#only to have it all turned around when he discovers what a crush is *supposed* to feel like. and that that's what he feels for nico

[poisoncupids]

say what u want about it but jiper really is for people who didn't know they were gay until after the majority of their teen years

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Giant! König Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Creep! König, Perverted! König, König Owns a Cum Jar, Size Difference, Giant! König, Size Kink, Sadistic! König, Abuse of Power, Dub-Con, Cum Soaking, Attempts at Forced Impregnation, Implied Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Hostage Situation, Human Pet! Reader, Physical Violence, Human! Reader, Fem! Reader.

Giant! König captures you after he catches you sneaking around his castle, trying to loot something of value to take back to your impoverished village.

Giant! König immediately jumps at the opportunity to take you as his human pet, throwing you into a nearby jar and closing the lid, observing you like a spider beneath a glass.

Giant! König who, after deciding he wants to keep you long-term instead of turning your body into the sprinkles atop his ice cream, creates a more sustainable living space for you after discovering you’re not as durable as he thought (almost suffocating, dehydrating, and starving to death whilst being held in that damn jar).

Giant! König surprises you with a dollhouse of his own design: a door that locks from the outside, windows too small for you to crawl through, and walls made of a material too strong for your tiny utensils to burrow through.

Giant! König doesn’t take long to start using you for his own pleasure – almost like he has no other outlet; like he was just waiting for this opportunity to come.

Giant! König who, whenever he feels like punishing you, puts you in The Jar and stares you down whilst stroking his cock, gigantic even in comparison to other giants’. He grunts, berating you, telling you how he’d “Fill you with my cock if you weren’t so small – bet I could crush you with it if I wanted to.”

When he��s ready, he cums into the jar – all over you – thick and heavy, almost drowning you with just one spurt of his load.

He loves watching you struggle to keep your head above the viscous pool he’s trapped you in as you literally swim in his semen, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to “Get me out, please!”.

He’ll often leave you in there without clothes to try and teach you a lesson. Until it turns into another reason – to breed you – which you accidentally sparked in him when you told him to be careful! You’ll end up getting me pregnant!

Giant! König can’t get your words out of his head, the primal urges he’s suppressed for so long unearthed by your pleas for him to spare you, if only once.

Giant! König knows he’s way too big to fit inside you, so this –  cumming profusely into a jar he’s encased you in whilst giving you no means of refusing his attempts – is the next best thing.

Giant! König gets off on the sheer size difference between the two of you  – the fact that you’re entirely dependent on him for your survival. Makes him feel like the kind of giant he’s supposed to be; strong and well-seeded.

Giant! König lays awake at night and fantasises about having a family, a far-off dream until you came along. It’s all he can think about as the image of you, his tiny wife, swollen to an almost painful degree as you bear his children, floods his mind, makes his cock twitch – harden. He resists the urge to relieve himself of this burden, preferring to save every ounce of his seed for you rather than wasting even a drop of it.

Giant! König who, despite his…questionable treatment of you, does try to treat you well. He lets you eat as much as you want, both because he knows you come from a poor background and because he has to keep you healthy to bear his offspring — especially since he knows they’ll be quite big compared to you.

Giant! König enjoys questioning you about your life before him, how humans work, what they do all day, whether the stereotypes of them all being lustful, pride-driven,  creatures are true.

If you validate any part of this stereotype, he’ll use that as an excuse to sink you in even more of his cum, to subject you to the task of sitting on his cock (horizontally, might I add) while he commands you to get yourself off by humping the shaft.

Man’s had no outlet for basicall all his life – he’s feral.

Giant! König loves to watch you while you’re tucked up in your dollhouse, observing everything you do. Humans are a rarity in the Giant Lands, so to have one in his home is a mythic occurrence.

Giant! König loves showing you off; he thrives on the reaction he gets when his friends see you. You’re, as stated before, a rarity in their parts, often used as a delicacy rather than a pet since humans aren’t particularly sturdy compared to giants, so managing to keep one alive is something of a status symbol in itself; the mark of a truly capable mate (hence captive humans are often given as courting gifts between giants).

However, König is also highly protective of you – especially after he caught Horangi (another giant he’d been showing you off to) goading you – harassing you – stroking his cock, telling you to “Lick the tip. Never felt a human tongue before.”

Needless to say, König never invited him around again after that.

Giant! König is, obviously, good with his hands and technical know-how. Thus, if his method of soaking you in his semen doesn’t work when trying to knock you up, he’ll create some unlawful contraption to make it inevitable.

Despite his size, König has managed to make a tiny glass syringe that he’s packed with his cum, holding you down easily with one hand as he presses the tip to your entrance, pumping you full of his seed.

He struggles to contain how the scene – the feeling – of you trying desperately to fight him off, to stop him from filling you, makes him feel. You have to watch the bulge between his legs grow as the feeling of being filled past full overcome you.

Giant! König does this as many times as he likes until he knows his seed’s taken, when you start showing. Which, considering how big his offspring will be, is pretty early on.

He definitely makes maternity clothes for you – comfortable garments that show the swell of your stomach as the weeks crawl by into months.

Giant! König loves bathing you, too. Especially after he’s covered you in his cum.

There’s something so intimate and gentle about it – a scarcity in the Giant Lands. Having something so small and fragile in his hands, knowing that he can crush you in his grip at any moment, makes him feel…responsible. Trustworthy.

Giant! König will never let you go, btw. You can try to run as much as you want, but he’ll always catch up to you, his human pet.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[sanakiras]

HEAVEN

PAIRING — jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 3.4k

SYNOPSIS — wonwoo has a reputation for being distant, quiet and a bit mysterious. once you get to know him better, though, you come to find the sweet, shy boy underneath the surface.

TAGS — established relationship, explicit sexual content, sub-ish virgin!wonwoo, lowkey corruption kink, i have a sickening crush on this man can you tell, not proofread :)

♪ — the nbhd - heaven,, hank lotion - k-sEx

NOTE — gam3 bo1 wonwoo and ep 1 nana tour wonwoo footage has been making me act UP and i think he’s just so cute <3 screw the hard dom wonu agenda i like to see my men a lil WEAK ‼️😁

like most people, you felt rather intimidated when you met jeon wonwoo for the first time.

stoic, quiet, intelligent. the strong and silent type. that was the clear image you had of him. and to top it all off, he had the criminally good looks too. a relatively rare kind of man to come across, in your opinion.

though you began to see him in a different light after bonding with him over your shared love for video games. since then, you’ve discovered he can actually be quite talkative, cracking silly puns or laughing at the corniest dad jokes. he’s well-spoken and is actually very open about his feelings, which you found refreshing.

and while developing a friendship with him, you realized how much of a big softie he actually is, which paints quite the contrast compared to his cold and quiet persona he unintentionally seems to put up towards those outside his circle of close friends and family.

it reminds you of the day he asked you out — that sweet, shy smile on his face with rosy cheeks, all flustered and stuttering that you really don’t have to say yes if you don’t feel like it and he’ll push it all to the side like nothing happened if that’s what you’d prefer—

you very easily interrupted him by agreeing to go on a date with him. you’d never seen him smile wider.

wonwoo is cute when he smiles.

and despite his nervousness in the beginning, he still made efforts to be as talkative as he could and show you his interest in you, which you found very sweet. you had a great time with him, and you noticed rather quickly how comfortable you felt around him.

a couple dates later, he asked you if you wanted to be his girlfriend, and you certainly didn’t refuse him.

he’s also turned out to be a gentleman in his own way — subtly saying he could do certain things for you to make your life easier in that monotone voice of his, eyes following you around whenever he’s with you.

the first time he slept over at your place was rather recently after you two made it official. it wasn’t planned, since he was supposed to go back to his place after your date, but due to issues with public transport, you offered him to stay with you instead.

with his face and chest bare, he got into bed next to you. of course you’d imagined what he looked like underneath his big hoodies, but actually having him by your side like this was different.

and wonwoo was putting every bit of effort into playing it cool, even though he was freaking out to be sleeping next to his first girlfriend, forcing himself to look away from your tank top that left very little to the imagination.

yet ironically, it was all he could fantasize about before drifting to sleep.

normally, you’d only let a guy into your bed to do things other than sleeping once you’ve been dating for quite a while. it’s never been something you like to initiate quickly — but wonwoo’s been making you question it. severely.

because he looks so hot when he’s out on the field with his football team, when he’s working out, when he’s gaming on his pc, even when he just fucking smiles at you. the worst thing of it all might be that he doesn’t even seem the slightest bit aware of how attractive he is, nor what effect it has on you.

maybe you should really just tell him you want to jump him like a tree.

but you don’t want to rush him. for all you know, he doesn’t feel like doing that at all with you yet, and for some reason you just didn’t know when or how to ask him about it. later, you thought to yourself.

though you will say you’ve been pushing his buttons a little over the course of time. ever since that night, you’ve subtly been putting yourself on display for him. low-cut shirts and dresses so he can take a peek at your cleavage, accidentally exposing a bit of the fabric of your lingerie, sitting in his lap and rubbing up on him — unintentionally, of course.

it took every ounce of self-control in your body not to smirk when you felt him stiffen up underneath you.

the progress of your relationship has been nothing but positive, really. but you’re aching for him to just touch you at this point.

the day you hit your breaking point isn’t much later. you were trying on some newly bought dresses in front of him, one more revealing than the other — sundresses always work magic on men for whatever reason — and you turned around to find him pathetically trying to hide his hard-on while seated on your bed.

and you just couldn’t find it in you to wait any longer.

so that’s how you ended up sitting in his lap, hands on the back of his neck as you’re grinding against him. his glasses are sitting lop-sided on his nose, black locks messy from your fingers threading through them, lips swollen from your kisses.

the moment he feels your fingers tugging at his hoodie, he feels the need to clear up what he’s been meaning to tell you for a while now.

“i need to tell you something. i’ve—” he cuts himself off when he accidentally lets out a whimper, “i’ve never had sex with anyone.”

he’s still heavily breathing, looking at you in anticipation, and you just can’t escape the buzzing feeling you get from the idea of taking his virginity.

“do you want to?” you ask him, and how could he say no when you’re holding his face like this, looking at him like you’re willing to give him the ride of his life?

“yeah, yeah, i just—i usually don’t last very long,” he sheepishly admits, then internally asking himself why the fuck he would say that, “sorry, i’m nervous.”

but you think it’s endearing. “i don’t mind. we can always go for a second round, right?”

all he can do is nod his head in agreement. “i, i um—i’m not sure what to do next. i’m sorry, this is embarrassing.”

“it’s not, really. it’s not some big performance you need to put up, it’s something fun and exciting and intimate. you can go ahead and relax, and tell me if you like or don’t like what i’m doing.” you reassure him so patiently, which puts him at ease.

jesus — if anything, he’s already a whimpering, stuttering mess and you’re hardly even touching him.

so you move your hand down into his boxers, fingers wrapping around him to test the waters. he gasps in surprise once he feels you touching him, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“just let me take care of you, ‘kay? we can stop anytime.” you tell him, and he trusts you enough to let you go on.

you press another kiss to his lips before moving backwards, fingers taking a hold of the waistband of both his sweatpants and boxers.

the cold on his skin makes him shiver, but he’s hardly given the time to feel exposed in front of you when you’ve already got your hands on him, pleasantly surprised by his size.

“you’re so big, wonu.” you tell him in a sweet voice, feeling like you’re about to drool at the sight of him.

“didn’t think i was big.” he mumbles more to himself than to you, staring at the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing.

you chuckle a little as you watch him. “you are. gonna have to work for it to make you fit into me.” the words make his eyes widen, images of you getting fucked by him flashing through his mind.

“fuck, really?”

“mhm. but you’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

wonwoo is absolutely crumbling underneath you here. the effect that your mere words have on him should be studied, because shit, he’s never felt this hot before. why is it so hot in here? is he sweating already? “yeah, i’ll—i’ll do anything you want me to.”

he’s such a sweetheart that it makes you want to ruin him.

for the sake of both his and your own pleasure, you decide not to tease any longer and touch his cock with your lips. he lets out a moan of surprise, the feeling being unfamiliar to him, but holy shit — this has got to be what heaven feels like.

his chest heaves as he tries to control his breathing once more, focusing on keeping his breathing by his stomach. your tongue darts out to lick his cock, and he whimpers, which makes you triumphantly smile a little.

you’re genuinely curious to see how long he can last, so you catch him by surprise by taking him into your mouth as far as possible, and his hand subconscously flies to the back of your head, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to push your head down or pull it back. he releases a choked moan, spurring you on to keep him lodged in your throat despite his efforts to pull you off him.

“fuck—please don’t make me cum already, baby, please—” he begs, loving the feeling of your mouth on him like that — he just doesn’t want to hit his peak that fast.

unfortunately for him, you do.

with your mouth currently no longer on him, you gently jerk him off instead, his hips automatically bucking into your grip. “what if i want you to?”

“you’ve barely—barely touched me. ‘s embarrassing.” he chokes out. the heat is still rushing to his cheeks. his hands are shaking.

of course he’s nervous. you’re his first time, his first girlfriend, it’s all new to him. he’s clearly afraid you might be turned off by him being all flustered like this.

so you make it your mission to show him it’s very much the opposite.

discarding your dress, you’re left in your tank top and underwear, nipples poking through the thin, white fabric. you move to tilt his face up with your glossy, acrylic nail, gently holding his chin, your face mere inches away from his.

“do you have any idea how wet i am? just from seeing you like this?” you ask, pulling his one hand down so he can feel the dampness of your panties. “bet you could slip right in.”

a broken whimper slips out of his mouth when he feels it. he didn’t know you were this turned on.

you push his head and upper body back against the pillows, making him lie down fully, and you’re just so eager to suck the life out of him.

the feeling of your warm mouth and tongue around him makes him experience a sensation he didn’t think was possible. christ, this must be what heaven feels like.

“oh my god—you’re so fucking good.” he’s arching his back with his eyes tightly shut from the pleasure you’re giving him. it’s only when you take him as far in your throat as possible that the first guttural groan is ripped from the depths of his chest. it’s a low, sexy sound that makes you clench around nothing.

he’s burning hot under you, causing his glasses to fog up a little. he carelessly throws the pair onto his nightstand, the grip on the back of your head becoming harsher and less gentle than before, because he’s that fucking close now.

it’s cute seeing wonwoo not knowing what to do with himself. keeping your mouth on his cock, gripping the sheets, throwing his head back before he casts his eyes back down to watch you suck him off — it’s like he’s being overstimulated in the best way possible.

it’s enough for you to sense he’s close, which makes you take your mouth off him to jerk him off instead, all so you can watch him chase his release. “that’s it, wonu, give it to me.”

there’s a sudden shiver that runs from his back and core all the way down to his toes. he tenses up, unintentionally grabbing your wrist to stop your movements as he trembles and his body gives in to his orgasm.

once he’s coming down from his high, he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“that was… holy shit.” he laughs a little to himself, eliciting a chuckle from you.

“i’m that good, huh?”

“yeah.”

“wanna keep going?”

“mhm.”

“okay. take off your shirt.”

wonwoo blinks for a moment. he practically forgot he was still wearing one, so he sits up and gets rid of the black shirt, throwing it beside your bed, now completely bare before you.

if he’s being honest, you did ease his nerves by letting him have his first orgasm already. the strange sense of shame he previously felt has disappeared into the air, with only nervous excitement left.

he feels good.

especially when he watches you move to sit on your knees on the bed, removing the tank top and slipping out of your underwear.

his eyes are glued to your naked body, hardly able to look away — that is, until you sit down in his lap, your dripping heat touching his hardening dick, making him twitch under you.

“where do you keep your condoms?”

the question forces him out of his constant staring at your body. “uh—nightstand.” he mutters, taking the initiative to reach and get it himself.

thankfully, he manages to get it on himself quickly. you urge him to lie back down again while you position yourself above him, shamelessly staring at his strong chest and broad shoulders.

his mouth is agape when you sink down on him, and fuck, he’s in so deep.

the stretch burns, especially because you didn’t get yourself ready, but you’re so dripping wet to the point you don’t care — you need him in you.

wonwoo notices you struggle despite your arousal. “you don’t have to take me all the way if it hurts.”

you hum, a half-smirk creeping onto your face. “but it hurts so good. so i will.”

once he’s sheathed fully inside you, he’s subconsciously holding his breath. the anticipation for you to move is killing him. the sensitivity of his dick makes him whimper, his lashes fluttering as his teeth sink into his lower lip in a failed attempt to hold it together.

you decide to tease him a little by clenching down on him. his hands fly to your hips, gripping the skin harder than intended from the sudden feeling, his breathing becoming erratic again. “hah—don’t do that, please, i don’t wanna cum yet baby—please.”

“why? you close?” you ask him with an innocent face, knowing damn well what you’re doing to him.

“yeah. need you so bad.” he answers truthfully, his ego and pride nowhere to be found anymore. whether he sounds pathetic or not, he doesn’t give a shit. all he knows is that you’re sitting on top of him and he needs you to make him feel what he’s been desperate to feel for so damn long.

so you tilt your head. “‘s okay, wonu. i’ll give it to you.”

he can hardly even make out a response before you lift your hips and proceed to sink back down on him, your hands on his chest. a filthy moan rolls past his lips — you think it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard in your damn life.

then you begin to roll your hips, and he sucks through his teeth from the feeling, a mix of overstimulation and pleasure rushing through him. once you let out your first dragged-out moan, his fingers twitch for a moment, digging deeper into your skin.

“have you thought about this? fucking me?”

despite the position he’s in right now, he still feels his face heat up when you ask him dirty things like that, even more so when he answers them.

“yeah, i did.”

“when? tell me. i wanna hear it.” you tell him, and when you’re so gorgeously riding him like this, how could he not oblige?

wonwoo swallows, stuttering as he focuses on recalling the memories while admiring you and the feeling you’re letting him experience. “when i saw you wearing that short skirt on our second date, and—and that time you came to watch me at the football game. couple of my teammates were drooling over you. so was i.”

his words turn you on, because you doubted whether you were sensing actual jealousy from him that night, and this confirms it.

“were you?” you ask, running your nails down his stomach. “what’d you do about it?”

he bites his lip. “i’ll sound like a pervert if i answer that.”

teasing him again, you push yourself down on him almost harshly, relishing in the way he gasps under you. wonwoo is wonderfully responsive in bed, and you’re having a fucking field trip with it.

“yeah? try me.”

“i touched myself after getting home, and i... thought about you. in that skirt.”

“i’ll wear it for you next time.” you smile, watching him close his eyes in pleasure when you leave your marks on his chest, putting a few hickeys on his neck and collarbone on purpose. “i touched myself thinking of you, too.”

that makes him twitch inside you, which is exactly what you wanted.

his hands dip to the curve of your ass, following your movement. “really?”

“mhm. i thought you looked so sexy in your football attire. you were wearing that tight compression shirt that you always wear when you go to the gym too — drove me nuts, wonu.” you confess, which seems to work as a brief shot of adrenaline for him.

he moves to sit up, bringing your bodies closer together by looping his arms around your waist, the slight change in position making you moan.

the drag of his cock inside you is slowly making you go insane. your face is hot and you’re dripping wet for him, sucking him in to the point you feel like you need to claw at the walls.

“god, feels so good.” he mutters, his mouth finding your breasts before he begins to suck on the skin like a man starved.

once he notices you’re both getting closer, but you’re getting tired from your position on top, he takes a breath and flips you over, now hovering above you.

burying his face in the crook of your neck, he holds onto your body and fucks you. his thrusts are harder than he intends them to, the control over his body lost in his relentless drive to make you both feel good.

he’s panting hard, doing everything in his power to make you cum first this time while indulging in his own pleasure as well. “am i doing good for my first time? does it feel good?”

god, you can only half-catch the words with the way he’s fucking you. it’s almost funny — such a sweetheart he is, asking you if he’s doing well while simultaneously fucking you into oblivion.

“you’re so good, wonu. so good—‘m so close.” you cry out, manicured nails digging into his back, making him groan.

“wanna feel you cum around me so bad.” the words almost sound like a plea, like he’s begging you for it.

then he kisses your neck, and he hits the perfect spot inside you over and over, and it’s enough to make you clench so hard around him that he can’t hold it any longer. your orgasm makes your legs shake, and he fucks you right through it, making you wonder why the hell it took the universe so long to let him into your life.

he moans and whines and shakes when he hits his climax, twitching inside you, filling up the condom. with heavy breaths, he lets his body rest on top of you, his head by your collarbone, a comfortable silence emerging as your heartbeats slow and breathing steadies.

surprisingly, it’s him who speaks up first.

“i’m gonna need a while for my legs to start working again.” he chuckles breathily, covering his face a little when he notices you poking fun at him.

“aw, baby, did i drain you that much?”

“i genuinely can’t even feel my limbs.”

you laugh at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he smiles so sweetly — as if he didn’t just fuck the living daylights out of you. “wanna go again?”

he blushes a bit, tilting his head as if he has to think about it, before sheepishly giving you his answer.

“... yeah.”

thanks for reading! let me know if u liked it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

[f1goat]

more than friends + lando norris x part two

In which your best friend wants to help you so you get more sexual experience, but he discovers quickly that he never wants to share you and your new sexual experience with others.

masterlist - playlist

warnings: smut with a plot or a plot with smut? :) minors dni! i never proofread so probably grammar or spelling errors

requested: yes, based on: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things (ofc pretending for it to bot mean anything), while he’s actually in love with her

part one

“Lan, can we keep this a secret?” 

Lando is driving the two of you to the restaurant where you’re meeting with Max. You feel a bit stressed, what if Lando already told Max what happened? Lando and Max Fertwell have been friends for ages, so it won’t surprise you if Max already knows. Lando gives you a quick look. He notices the stressful look on your face. In a try to relax you a bit he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“Of course babygirl,” Lando tells you, he gives a soft squeeze in your thigh. 

This form of contact isn’t new for you. Lando and you have always been a bit touchy, maybe a bit too much for friends even. But after this morning it feels different. Every simple touch he makes starts to remember you on the event from this morning. Everything remembers you about them and even more things turn you on right now. Fuck. 

The only thing you can smell is Lando his aftershave. It’s not a new fragrance, but now you know how it smells when he’s pressed against you… Are you ever going to manage to think straight today? Your thoughts are going everywhere except for the things that matter. 

Lando parks the car and waits for you to get out. Together you walk towards the lunch spot Max earlier chose. You try to stop thinking about everything that happened, but you can’t. Lando his body pressed up against yours, his mouth on yours and even his tongue into your mouth. How are you suppose to forget about these things? You can barely think about anything else.

“Are you okay baby?” Lando asks you. 

You don’t know what to answer. Are you okay? Is it okay to only think about your best friend in a sexual way? It’s probably not. 

“Yeah,” you eventually say to Lando. 

Lando puts his arm around your shoulder while walking next to you. “You look a bit flustered,” he tells you with a soft voice. You feel your cheeks heating up only more. “It’s kinda cute,” Lando adds. Your cheeks are burning now. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that you have reached the lunch restaurant, maybe it’s not. Max is already sending you weird looks. Maybe it’s because Lando his arm is still wrapped around you? Lando doesn’t even notice the weird looks from his friend. This will be a weird lunch. 

After ordering your lunch, you decide to get a bit of air and go to the toilet. You need to get your mind straight. You can’t even focus on what Max is saying because you’re only thinking about everything that happened between Lando and you. When you walk towards the toilets, Max is quick to start asking questions at Lando. 

“Did you finally tell her about your crush?” Max asks his friend.

Lando sends him a confused look, “No of course not.”

“Then why are you this touchy with Y/N?” Max asks confused, “and why is she looking at you all the time?”

“I don’t know,” Lando mutters, it takes a lot from him to keep this a secret from Max. 

“You did something stupid, didn’t you?” Max is quick to question his friend, “You look like you did something stupid.”

Lando sighs, “You might be right, but I can’t tell you.”

“You can’t tell me?” 

“No,” Lando replies, “I promised Y/N.”

The lunch stayed pretty awkward. Mainly because you couldn’t find your focus again. Whenever Max told you something, you were quick to drift of to thoughts about Lando. You’re glad that you’re sitting next to Lando in his car right now. Although, it makes it even harder to think straight. His hand has found it’s way back to your thigh. Lando is slowly drawing some circles on it while driving. 

“Anything else you want to do today?” Lando asks you.

“No not really,” you reply, “I could use some sleep after yesterday night.”

Lando softly whines. You show him a confused look. 

“I have a triple header starting in two days,” Lando tells you, “and I want to spend some time with you before that.”

You blush from his words. Of course you know about his triple header, but after everything that happened today you forgot about it for a bit. Sometimes you join Lando for his races, but this time you can’t just go away for three weeks. You still have to work. Although you’re already thinking about the possibilities, maybe you can work remote? Working from home isn’t new for you and working from the track isn’t either. But three weeks is a long time.

“What do you want to do?” You ask Lando back. 

“What about a movie night?” Lando asks you. 

“It’s still in the afternoon,” you reply with a soft laugh.

“Yeah first we need to shop!” Lando exclaims excited, “For the snacks of course.”

You nod to show Lando that you agree with his idea. He shows you another excited smile.

“And then you can do a small nap,” Lando continues, “We will order some take out and then we do our movie night.”

“That sounds great Lan,” you tell him happily, “certainly the napping part.”

Lando laughs and start to drive towards the closest grocery store.

+++

Lando his hands haven’t left your body since you started to watch the movie. You’re currently watching a horror movie, you don’t even know which one. When Lando picked out the movie you were thinking about something else. Once again. About Lando and his hands to be honest. You never realized how big his hands are. And now that you have felt them on your body, you can only think about how nicely they will feel around your more private parts. Fuck. 

“Fuck,” Lando mutters after a jump scare. You chuckle. Lando pulls you closer towards him. You’re currently leaning against him. Your head is placed on his chest. He is playing with your hair while focussing on the movie. You can’t focus on it, but that doesn’t surprise you.

Lando uses his other hand to draw figures onto your thigh. It’s making you lose your mind. 

“Aren’t you scared babygirl?” Lando asks you suddenly, “Normally you’re more scared then me.”

“Hm,” you let out a soft sound before really answering, “I’m a bit distracted,” you then confess. Lando looks away from the television screen to look at you. 

“Distracted?” He asks you. You simply nod. “By what?” Lando continues to ask. 

You feel a blush creeping up onto your cheeks. Now that you have said A, you need to tell Lando the B to. And maybe the rest of the alphabet. You let out a soft sigh.

“I uh, I can’t stop thinking about this morning,” you confess, “about what we did.”

Lando is quick to pause the movie. “Do you regret it?” He asks you.

“No!” You quickly exclaim. 

“But?” Lando asks further.

“I uh,” you ramble, “I’m turned on. Have been for the whole fucking day.”

Lando shows you a genuine smile when he hears your words. He moves his hand away from your thigh. You’re quick to let out a soft whimper. You instantly miss the feeling of his hand. Lando chuckles. 

“You’re turned on?” Lando asks you. He stares at you. You nod to answer his question. “Want me to do something about that?” Lando continues to ask. You nod again, more eagerly this time. “What did I tell you baby, I need words,” Lando states while looking at you. 

“I want you to do something about it,” you confess.

Lando is quick to react to your words. He pulls you on top of him. You let out a soft gasp from his sudden movements. Lando smiles at your reaction. His hands are quick to find the hem of your pants. You’re glad that you have changed into sweatpants when you got here. You like it even better that they’re from Lando. They fit you way too lose, which gives Lando the possibility to slide his hand under them easily.

You feel his hand palming your pubic mouth. Your string is still in the way.

Lando presses a soft kiss against your neck. You let out a soft moan. How can this feel so good already? Lando chuckles again. “You’re so responsive to me,” he tells you, “and I really like that.” He presses more kisses against your neck and shoulders. 

“Have anyone ever touched you here?” Lando asks you while drawing figures over your string. You’re quick to tell Lando that no one has ever touched you there. “Good,” he replies. It’s more a whisper then a well said word, but you heard it. His finger slides under your string. He caresses your labia. You let out another moan. 

“Do you want this?” Lando asks you again. “Yes,” you reply as fast as you can manage. 

Lando moves his fingers a bit. This time he’s properly touching your clit. Slowly he flicks his finger around it. The moan you let out this time is even harder. This is what you needed. You have touched yourself before - to be fair you have masturbated a lot, but that’s nothing in comparison with Lando his hands.

“Fuck,” you mutter when Lando flicks his finger around your clit again. 

Lando moves again. He slides his fingers through your slit. You feel one of his fingers slowly coming closer to your entrance. Without any patience you wait for him to continue and to press his finger into you. Lando doesn’t. He moves further away from doing what you want. You let out a soft whine.

“Patience babygirl,” he whispers into your ear before pressing a kiss against your cheek. You turn your head around a bit more so you can kiss Lando properly. Lando is quick to react to your sudden movements. He didn’t expect you to do this, but he’s really glad about it. He feels how you open your mouth a bit, he sucks softly onto your lower lip. It causes you to moan again. Lando can safely say that it’s becoming his new favorite sound. Your moans are angelic in his ears. He wants to pull out every moan of you that you own. He wants to be the one who hears you like this and he doesn’t want to share this sound with anyone else. Ever. 

It causes him to realize how stupid he is. His feelings will come in the way. But when you buck your hips so you can feel his hand better, he’s quick to forget about those thoughts. Problems for later he thinks before continuing to spend all his attention on you. 

Lando moves his hand towards your clit again. He draws figures on it. He quickly earns a new moan from you. He moves his other hand towards your breast. He slides underneath your sweater - or better said his sweater that you’ve stolen earlier. It surprises him to find out that you’re not wearing anything underneath it.

“Fuck babygirl,” he mutters. Then he softly grabs one of your breast. In the mean time he increases the speed on his movements on your clit. You feel your stomach tighten from his movements. 

“More Lan,” you whisper.

Lando reacts to your words. He increases his speed again and uses a bit more force on your breast. He starts to knead it. You reward him with a new moan. This time it’s louder. You start to feel a bit ashamed for the sounds that are coming out of you, but you can’t help it. Lando is making you feel all kind of things.

“You’re making the prettiest sounds,” Lando tells you softly. It’s almost as if he reads your mind. “All for me,” Lando adds even softer. 

You feel how you’re getting closer to your orgasm. Familiar waves of pleasure are already washing over you, but this time harder then ever before. It’s amazing how Lando makes you feel. 

“I’m close,” you tell Lando. You feel him moving his finger towards your entrance again. He touches you around it, but his finger is still not into you. Not like you want it right now. You buck your hips again, hoping Lando will get the hint. He does, but he doesn’t react to it at first. He waits for you to say something.

When it takes him too long, he decides to ask you. He needs to know for sure that this is what you want. “Want me inside?” Lando asks you with as less words as he can. He needs your answer quick. “Yes please,” you reply. 

Lando lets his finger enter you. Slowly he moves inside of you. He feels your walls tighten around his finger. He increases his pace a bit and starts to finger fuck you slowly. In and out. You’re quick to reward him with another moan. 

“Fuck Lan,” you moan, “I’m close.”

Lando doubts for a few seconds, but then he decides to add another finger inside of you. He moves slowly at first, but is quick to increase his pace. He feels how your walls are getting even tighter around his fingers. 

You feel the waves of pleasure getting closer and closer. Just when you want to tell Lando that you’re really coming now, you feel your orgasm hitting all over you. Instead of letting out words, you let out a hard moan. Lando feels your walls clenching around his fingers. Slowly he removes them when he notices that your orgasm is over. 

When you look at Lando and think about what to say, you notice what he’s doing. He’s puts his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. Fuck. 

“Next time I want to taste you,” Lando states after removing his fingers from his mouth. 

Fuck. You’re turned on all over again. What is this man doing to you?

“Are you staying over?” Lando asks you suddenly. You show him a small smile, “Of course Lan.” Lando pulls you into a hug, “Let’s get to bed then.”

“What about the movie?” You ask surprised.

“I’m in the mood to cuddle,” Lando states, “and that’s an important part of aftercare.”

“Aftercare?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah,” Lando says, “It’s the most important part. After you’ve done something sexual, you need to make sure you’re getting your rest and that you still feel good. Emotionally and physically.”

“How do you mean?” You ask further.

“It can be anything,” Lando answers, “I always like to hug after anything sexual, but not everyone is into that. Aftercare can be as simple as cleaning you after we have fucked but it can also be talking about what we did and what you thought about it.”

“Cuddles sounds nice,” you eventually say. 

Lando smiles and is quick to take you upstairs with him. He doesn’t tell you that there are a lot of guys who aren’t bothered with something like aftercare. The most guys only do aftercare after a girl told them about it and asked for it. With the one night stands he had over the years, he wasn’t one for aftercare. He didn’t even knew what it meant before having a girlfriend. 

Lando does know that you deserve every bit of it. He also knows that he wants you to feel good. And that he really likes to cuddle with you. 

So that’s exactly what he does that night. When the both of you are trying to sleep, he is still pressed up against your body. Making you the small spoon for tonight. It doesn’t even scare him anymore that he wants this every night. He checks if you’re already sleeping, it doesn’t seem like it. Before he can thinks about what he’s going to say, the words are already leaving his mouth.

“Join me for the triple header,” he states.

“I have work Lan,” you say tiredly.

“You can work from the hotels and the race tracks,” Lando replies quickly, “please join me.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow morning.”

Lando smiles in your neck. “You’re the best,” he tells you before pressing a soft kiss against your head. “The absolute best,” he adds so soft that you can’t hear it.

thanks everyone so much for all the likes, comments & reblogs!! there are so many!!!!!! <33 let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

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part three

[partywithoutsmiling]

Another AU that has been knocking around my mind for a while XD I call it Moonlit AU

It can be summed as such: Pop Trolls are pretty wild bunch when it comes to looks, varying in colours, flocking/fur patterns, glitter, freckles, hair, you name it

It got me thinking, what sort of thing would they find attractive in prospective partner? While singing/harmonizing could be a part of it (and ngl, that did made me think of the Happy Feet movies, as silly as those were), my mind turned towards more physical attributes

Thus, this AU was born- where one of the reasons why Pop trolls like to be most active at night (to party) is that a Moon's Light also allows them to appreciate fur/flocking patterns otherwise hidden, where the complexity and style varies from troll to troll, as is thought to show one's inner self

Contrary to what one would expect from the Princess (and future Queen) of Pop, Poppy's patterns are rather simple- but striking nonetheless, firm and bold stripes, like taking a wide brush to a canvas- straightforward but chaotic in their hardly orderly fashion Poppy struts her patterns; they are unique and dominant among the general showing of swirls, polka dots and flower like spottings She is aware her stripes are not considered the most attractive of features- too similar to that of a predatory critter, too sharp for who is supposed to be cheerful queen of equally cheerful people- but she is a romantic at heart and believes that when it will be time to choose a consort, those physical features are surface-level importance at best, and this is the mentality she has going forward, looking at the glowing marks of her friends and considering them equally beautiful no matter what.

Until she manages to spot Branch one night outside under the full moon light that is.

Branch's pattern, in high contrast to Poppy, is far more complex. Symetrical but delicate in its filigree, and far more detailed than anything the Princess has ever seen before. Usually, Branch ventures out only on moonless nights, as he feels the glow of his marks are too visible, too dangerous to just show out and about, for every dangerous predator to see- and it is purely bad luck when bad weather caughts him outside longer than he would have liked, and Poppy manages to catch the sight of him while he is completely unaware he had been seen.

All her conviction flies right out of the window, as she looks at his delicate patterning and her mind just goes blank and - Oh

Usually she would have called out to him, ask him to come to a party- but she feels mesmerized, hypnotized by the elegance of the filigree, and her mind longs for a way to memorate it forever- with a photo, or a painting- and she stares at the entrance of his bunker long after he vanished inside, completely stupefied and wrong footed.

Before, Poppy hardly ever gave Branch a thought, when it came to this part of Pop Troll culture; as part of her, guiltily, sort of assumed that with his lack of colour, his patterning would be rather bland as well- and besides, it's not like he ever shown a desire to participate in courting dances.

But now she is left with sudden new, and unexpected feeling- her heart and breath going now a bit faster everytime she catches a glimpse of him from now on, her cheeks flushing and her tail wagging in excitement

(Her desk's drawer is filled with failed cut out scrapbook pieces of leaves and tiny detailed filigree, as she attempts to journal her sudden and new discover and cant get it quite right)

Tldr; Pop Trolls have fur/flocking patterns that appear only under the moon's light, and Poppy finds Branch's so irresistibly attractive she hardly knows what to do with herself

This pushes her to try and spend more time with him- just spend time with him, no trying to push him to go to parties with her or trying to get him to sing or hug

For his part, Branch is both secretly pleased his own crush is now paying more attention to him than to Creek (who is not happy with this development) but also holy shit Poppy is paying more attention to him, so it is kind of unnerving for him, freaking him out

[starsstuddedsky]

Persimmon Problems

jaemin x reader

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

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

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

wc: 18.3k (oops)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That looks like shit.” 

“Trust the process,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. 

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

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

Instead, he says, “You’re YN, right?” 

“Yeah. How did you know that?” 

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

You don’t trust your voice so you nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Music to my ears, sweetheart.” 

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks, Jaemin from microbio.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks!” Jeno says brightly. 

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

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

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

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

“Did you need a handshake?” 

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

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

“Advice?” 

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

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

He shrugs. “I’m going to apply.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you following me?” 

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

“As opposed to by myself at the table?” 

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

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

“You could–” 

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

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

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

Jaemin pouts. “Why not?” 

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

“Not yet.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What just happened? 

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

“Yes–wait, how do you know him?” 

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

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

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

“He wants to be president.” 

“Of student council?” 

“Apparently.” 

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

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” Jisung stares at you. 

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

You should have trusted your gut. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you even passing this class?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I always do it!” Renjun says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?” You frown. “Why?” 

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

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

Renjun raises his eyebrows. 

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s hitting buttons on a microwave.” 

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

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

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

“That’s so much work.” 

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

“You okay?” Chenle shouts. 

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

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

“So,” he says. 

You raise your eyebrows. “‘So’ what?” 

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

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

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

“And if I ask you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I heard he’s running for president.” 

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

“Why are you helping him?” 

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

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

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

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

“I know what I’m doing.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Na Jaemin] you busy? 

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you have a lab partner?” 

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

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

“So are you free?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Bye, Jaemin.” 

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, you’re not physically possible!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[yn] need me to come find you? 

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

“Is there any other?”  

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

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

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

“That’s not at all what I want.” 

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

“Good bye, Chenle,” you say pointedly. 

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

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

[yn] on the way now 👍 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Chenle] good luck 🤪🤪🤪

[Chenle] have fun with the hottie 🔥🔥🔥

[Chenle] but not too much fun 😼😼

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?” 

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

“Fresh-tern?” 

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

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

“Sounds like fun,” Jaemin says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of you are poli-sci?” 

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

“You really hate them?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” 

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

 “What’s our motto?” Donghyuck shouts. 

“Two and three to infinity!” Mark shouts. 

“Nobody goes to the hospital!” You shout. 

“To the grave!” Renjun shouts. 

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

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

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

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

“Professor Ahn,” she says. 

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

She smiles even wider. “Really?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jaemin.” You grin at him. 

He tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”  

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

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

Jaemin leans closer. “You’re prettier.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Renjun shrugs. “He’ll catch up.” 

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

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

Yeah, you’re definitely staring. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know what persimmons taste like?” 

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

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

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

“You feeling okay?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, he’s—wait, you watch it too?” 

You shrug. “It’s fun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you?” 

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

“Take me home?” 

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

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

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

“Goodnight, YN,” he says. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The one in red?” 

You nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

Your phone rings, but it isn’t Jaemin. 

“Hey,” Renjun says. 

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

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

“And how’s Donghyuck doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want toast?” You offer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

1) Jaemin approached you about the presidency first 

2) he pretended not to know you were running 

3) he’s known for hooking up with anyone 

4) he never belonged in your world 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I’m not understanding.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be too easy,” you mutter. 

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

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

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

You snort. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

.

.

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

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

And today, Chenle got a puppy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “She’s really cute.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How was the sex?” 

“You’re seriously asking me that?” 

He shrugs. “Well, yeah.” 

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

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

“That’s not at all what I said.” 

“And yet you’re not denying it.” 

“Please shut the fuck up.” 

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

“Just tell me.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “He dropped out.” 

“Of school?” 

He rolls his eyes. “The election.” 

You stare at him. “Seriously?” 

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

“But it doesn’t make any sense.” 

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

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

“Why am I cleaning up after your dog?” 

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You better be fun, then,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you say. 

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

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

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

You shake your head.  

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

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

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

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

He nods slowly. 

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

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

“Do you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They really don’t like me,” he says. 

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

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

“What’re you doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Good answer,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

“A persimmon?” 

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

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

“No more magical mystical fruit,” Jaemin says. 

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

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

“Jay-Z?”

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

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

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

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

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

thank you for reading!

[ryescapades]

juno | wind breaker

— in which endo accidentally (or is it) discovers about your crush on him.

characters: endo yamato x gn!reader contents: fluff, petname (princess), some teasing, lovesick!endo ?? slight hint of possessiveness and violence, one curse word, possibly OOC a/n: first wbk fic and it's for endo .. help what have i become /lh not proofread‼️ idk what's happening here ngl 1k wc

"well, well... look who do we have here,"

amusement seeps in to the cold evening air around you, drawled out by a voice you're all too well acquainted with. you startle, the cool evening air causing goosebumps to prickle on your skin.

knees pulled to your chest, you turn your head to see endo strutting to your little spot on the park bench, all in his tank top and loose checkered shirt glory. you immediately glance away lest your eyes decide to indulge themselves in the inked swirls on his stupidly toned arms.

endo stops just a few steps away from the bench, looking down at you with that peculiar look of fascination reserved just for you.

"why the long face, princess?" he catches your gaze, and you grimace slightly at the nickname he'd insisted on calling you. "what are you doing here?" you ask instead.

his little grin widens as he takes the last few steps, occupying the empty seat beside you. you tense, suddenly aware of the gap between you two. it's a decent amount of space, but you'd never felt so smothered before.

"i can ask you the same thing. shouldn't you be heading home by now? it's pretty late. don't want you getting kidnapped by a delinquent or something," he quips, and the jest doesn't pass by you as you let out a small huff. "i'll get going soon. just need a moment,"

endo glances at your passive form; chin tucked in between your knees and arms wrapped around your shins, your fingers fidget with the fabric of your long sleeves. he notices the troubled look on your face, obviously. as much as he loves teasing you, he's also curious about what's going through your mind right now.

he leans back, getting himself comfortable and draping one tatted arm over the back of the bench. "spill your thoughts, princess. heard that's an easy way to deal with problems,"

a faint blush forms on your face then, reminded once again of your current dilemma as you snap your head to give him a reply but you falter when you catch sight of his figure.

your blush deepens. too caught up in your head a few minutes ago, you failed to notice that he's manspreading beside you.

endo subtly perks up, your flustered state never a dull view to his cerulean orbs. "oh?? what's gotten you so red like that, huh?" you audibly click your tongue at the call out. "you're worsening my mood, endo,"

he chuckles at your glare, lifting a shoulder in a casual shrug. "sorry, sorry. i was just trying to help. really," is what he's saying, but the mirth is still heavily laced in his lilted tone.

your mind wanders again, though your scrutinizing eyes never drops from him before you relent begrudgingly. low as the leaves rustling in the breeze, you mutter almost incoherently, "someone confessed to me,"

halting, endo's smirk drops only for a second before that sly smile appears on his face again, your words slowly but surely registering in his head. "you didn't know how to handle it, did you?" he concludes.

you sputter, not expecting him to guess something so correctly. "i-i was— he didn't—" the ravenette barks out a laugh and the embarrassment just multiplies inside you. frustrated at his frivolity, a drawn out groan escapes from your mouth, "god, you're annoying!"

"whaaat? i just find it funny that someone like you gets shy over some measly confession," he muses, causing you to gape at him offendedly. "what does that even mean?" you grit out, "the guy confessed and didn't even let me say anything. he just... said he's willing to wait however long and immediately left! how was i supposed to react to that?" you squawk, finally having had enough of bottling it up.

there's a short snicker before it mellows out to a hum. "so? what's actually the issue then? have you decided an answer yet?" he raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.

your pulse quickens, the crease in your forehead deepening in agitation as you awkwardly glance around the empty park save for the two of you. "yeah, w-well... i kinda..." you're mumbling under your breath at this point, "have a crush on someone else,"

you never expected him to hear, given how quiet your voice is, but unfortunately for you, nothing gets past his perusing eyes and ears. nothing about you, at least.

you're lucky your scouring gaze falls on him, for you get to catch the telltale sign of him wanting to get a cheeky comment out. quickly, you scramble to kick away the pyre before a flame is even lit up.

"i'm not telling you who it is!" you sneer.

endo grins, jet black curls brushing his eyes as he tilts his head to the side. his next question comes out promptly, "why? is it me?"

...whelp, looks like the pyre is already burnt to crisp.

"wha—" speechless and immensely mortified, your mouth gapes open and close yet no proper words spill out. it's also not helping that your whole body just seems to burn hotter than the sun, tinges of crimson creeping up to your cheeks and ears like it's nobody's business.

the man in front of you blinks once, twice, before his lips slowly tug into a cheshire smile. his eyes feast on your red cheeks, the organ rapidly beating in his chest literally singing at the endearing sight.

your skin is too hot, clothes too icky, dignity too lost to be found. you clamber to your feet, grabbing your bag on the ground as you turn away from him. "i'm going home," you give your parting words, albeit in a hushed whisper before you rush off, leaving behind an awestruck man who's still reeling from the whole conversation.

an inked hand reaches up to cover the bottom half of his beaming face, a breathless chuckle warming up his palm. gingerly, he opts to cover his whole face with both his hands instead as he feels his own cheeks tinting with that familiar pinkish hues. "fuck," he grunts.

if only you knew how much, much more infatuated he is by you, now growing tenfold after confirming you're just as captivated by his untamed and roguish charm.

surely you won't mind that he's planning to act out on the split second of bloodlust that manifested itself inside his gut after hearing about the confession, yeah?

me running away from the "endo wouldn't do/say this!!!" comments 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

anw what's wrong with guys and their slutty off-shoulder clothes huh

@maruflix @pixelcafe-network @17020 @stunies (dunno who else wanna be tagged in my future wbk works so yea)

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[mangoshorthand]

Hii I'm a real sucker for your smuts and I was wondering if you could do a five one where he walks in on reader riding their pillow and thinking about him while doing it (and they haven't had intercourse in a long while because of apocalypse stuff and all that) and the aftermath where you can do anything with it after but I'd really like it if five was being gentle to the reader :<

Sorry this is a long req I hope you write it and it's okay if you dont wanna, thankiee 🫶

Your welkiee! Hope you enjoy. 😊 Lucky Fucking Pillow | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3k words, Rated E

It had been four weeks: four fearful, lonely, miserable weeks. You felt stupid, irritated with him. You hated the fact you were waiting at home for him like the sweetheart of a world war two vet, living on the letters he sent from the front lines. 

You held it together until just before he left, duffel bag over his shoulder.

“The situation’s dangerous; unpredictable. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

On the floors below you, you could hear a bustle of activity as his siblings made similar preparations to leave.

“Why is this your responsibility?”

He looked at you, disbelievingly, the hand not supporting the bag went directly into his pocket.

“This is the world. Am I supposed to sit at home and wait to be subsumed by another apocalypse?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees up to your chest, not able to articulate what you were feeling.

“Let me come with you then.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, picked up the last of his morning coffee and knocked it back, shaking his head. 

“I’m not having this discussion again. I’d want you beside me in anything else, but not in this. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Your best chance of survival is staying well away.”

“What if you die? What am I supposed to do?”

From slight irritation, he softened further. Bending from the waist, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you, okay.”

He crossed to the door, but a strangled sob made him turn back. Your face was suddenly red, tear-streaked. When you spoke, the words tore themselves from a tight throat. 

“Don’t go!” 

He closed his eyes, hand still on the door handle. He let out a breath and dropped the duffel bag, turning back around, crossing the room in two strides and holding you close, your head against his chest.

“I have to, angel. I’m so sorry.”

Since then, your days had been spent scouring the horizon for impending doom and following the news incessantly for any hints of what was going on. Your nights had been spent sleepless, remembering Five’s caresses and trying to get your head around the fact that you and everyone else could die at any moment.

You at least knew he wasn’t dead. He got messages to you sporadically; short dispatches from the field. They appeared mostly via an ancient telegraph machine stowed in Reginald’s old office. The most recent of these hadn’t been very encouraging:

We’ve got a plan, but it’s tenuous. If it doesn’t work, we’ll really be fucked. If that’s the case, then I hope to see you on the other side, -F x

smut below cut

They were four sexless weeks too. You quickly discovered that it takes more than the threat of imminent death to crush the human capacity for horniness. Before that month, you would have thought it would be a deluge of cold water on your libido, but that was far from the case. 

On the contrary, knowing that time could be short, all you could think about was having Five in your arms again: running your hands all over his body, the feeling of his lips on yours and the sensations of his lovemaking. 

As you lay in bed, his phantom was a heavy, intoxicating presence. Your need for him was strong tonight. You rolled to look at his empty side of the bed and imagined his head on the pillow. His eyes (that fickle forest green that masqueraded as blue in some lights and brown in others), you imagined them shaded by his hair. You saw his raised eyebrow, his smile, soft and suggestive, with the dimple that only appeared on one side of his face, recessing two large freckles by his mouth.

You pulled his pillow to you and buried your face in it. It smelled of him. You inhaled it deeply: his aftershave, his antiperspirant, his shampoo, a hint of coffee and something more  indefinable: a more fundamental scent that was all him.

It was this last smell that made your stomach flip, that made you breathe in the scent of the pillow again. It awakened something primal in you: ripples from your center outwards; flutters down each of your limbs. 

Before you knew it, you were stripping off your panties and kneeling up in bed. One hand held his pillow to your face and the other held your own pillow between your legs. When you started to grind, it was him beneath you. In imagination, he was teasing you: not allowing you to get on his dick until you came from humping his leg.

It wasn’t enough friction, so you sped up your hips, snapping them back and forth desperately. There was a whisper of something, a tingle from your neglected pussy, so you chased it, sinking deeper into the fantasy and imagining his hands squeezing your hips, guiding you as you rode him.

“Oh, Five,” you whispered, feeling your body begin to respond, wetness gathering between your labia, “Five, fuck.”

You threw your head back and closed your eyes.

“Hm,” said an approving voice from the doorway, “that lucky fucking pillow.”

You gave a violent start, dropped his pillow and turned around. There he was, framed in the open doorway. You gave a grateful, ecstatic cry.

“Five!” 

In nothing but your t-shirt, you were across the room in a leap and bound and throwing yourself against him, holding him to you with sudden, tight urgency.

He immediately stiffened and let out a sharp groan of pain. You loosened your grip

“Oh my god, what happened? You’re hurt! Are you okay? Is it over? Is everyone okay? Is the world okay?”

He was holding himself stiffly, but now his pain had faded, his face was amused. He leaned forward and kissed your lips. On your side, the kiss was desperate, joy-filled; on his, more passionate. His tongue flicked between your lips before he broke away.

“How about this? l answer each of your questions if, each time, you answer me one in return?” he said, smirking. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, smiling gently, “but that wasn’t a question.”

You were too happy to see him to have space to be irritated by this game.

“Fine. What happened to you?”

He moved as if to put his bag down on the chair. Seeing his wince, you took it off him and placed it there yourself.

“Thanks. It’s just a wound. There was an explosion. I was hit by a piece of flying steel.”

“Shit,” you whispered, looking down at his chest and the bandages that must be underneath his shirt, “oh my god, are you okay?”

“Hey,” he admonished, “it’s your turn to answer a question now. What were you doing when I came in?”

You looked at him with annoyance.

“You know what I was doing.”

“Yes,” he smirked, “I want to hear you describe it.”

“I was masturbating.”

“How were you masturbating?” he pushed.

“It’s my turn to ask a question now,” you said, using his own tactic against him, “How long will it take to heal? Are you seriously hurt?”

“That was two questions,” he said, stepping towards you, “but I’m feeling generous: I’m not seriously hurt. It’s a flesh wound. It’ll heal nicely.”

You looked at him with concern and he shook his head with a smile. 

“Now it’s my turn: what exactly were you thinking about when you were humping that pillow?”

“You,” you mumbled, “I missed you.”

“What exactly? You didn’t answer properly.”

You feel your face flush.

“I was thinking about fucking you. On top. Riding you.”

Five’s smirk grew, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows suggestively. You hurried on.

“Is the family okay?”

“All present and correct.” he said, moving even closer to you and stroking your hip in gentle circles.

It was a long, long month without you. There was barely time to think, let alone have the privacy for any ‘self care’ sessions of his own. Now that it was all over, his dick was complaining rather vocally about this neglect; insisting that if it didn’t get inside something warm and tight within the next five minutes, it would be most seriously displeased with the rest of him. 

As if to punctuate the point, it was now requisitioning rather a lot of blood from his brain, leaving him rock hard and almost lightheaded with the rush. 

“You’re so horny for me, aren’t you? Humping your pillow like a dirty little girl?”

“Was that a question?”

“Yes.”

You sighed as his hand snaked around to your ass. He stroked one of your buttocks up and down slowly, palm cupping the curve of your skin.

“Then yes: I’m horny for you.”

“How horny?” he said, immediately, squeezing you gently.

“Did you save the world?”

“Are you wet for me?” he said, huskily.

The fingertips of his other hand came to rest on your thigh. His eyes, dark in the low light of the bedroom, captured yours and held them firmly, authoritatively.

“If you’re not going to answer my question, I’ll have to find out for myself.” 

You looked back at him and his lips twitched. Slowly, he walked his middle and index fingers between your legs and parted your labia. He let out a low ‘oh’ as he felt the sopping folds waiting for him.

A jolt twitched down the boner now pressing insistently against the crotch of his pants. 

“How about you ditch the pillow and have a piece of the real thing?”

His fingers slipped slickly up and down your slit and you nodded, trying not to let your knees go weak. Your hands came to the hem of your shirt, pulled it over your head and discarded it so that you were standing naked before him. 

As your breasts bounced free, his befuddled mind could only think how much he’d missed them. He bent forward eagerly to try and take a nipple into his mouth, but froze mid-stoop with a wince and harsh intake of breath.

“Ow. Shit.”

He straightened up slowly, stiffly and leaned against the door, experimentally stretching out his limbs.

“You okay?” you said, worried. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, hand over his injury, “Got a bad case of hornybrain. Made me forget I was impaled by a steel bar for a hot second there.”

You winced in sympathy and rubbed his clothed stomach in circles. When the pain had abated and he was again looking at you with lust behind his eyes, you leaned in and whispered to him.

“Looks like you’re going to have to stay still and let me do all the work.”

His lips parted but no words came out, for once unable to think of anything cocky to say. You could see the glisten of saliva on his tongue. You smirked and lowered yourself so that you were kneeling in front of him.

He laid his head against the door and exhaled as you deftly freed him of his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He squeezed his eyes closed, thoroughly undone by the mere suggestion of being sucked. He was even hornier than he realized. 

He groaned in a strange mix of satisfaction and need as you licked him through his underwear, using one hand to pull the fabric taught around the thick five and a half inches imprinted there in harsh relief. The stretch and your saliva made the white material semi transparent and you felt a pleasant twist in your stomach as the hint of soft, flushed skin beneath. You lost yourself, aware of nothing but the perfect outline of his glans beneath your tongue and the heady, pheromonal smell of him. 

He made another tight, needy sound as you put your lips around his still-clothed head.

“Please.”

How could you refuse him? Pulling at the elastic and reaching in, you pulled him out to twitch in the open air. It looked painfully hard, as always curving slightly to your left but otherwise sticking straight out like an exclamation point to his arousal.

Slowly, still inhaling that intoxicating scent, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking him. You hummed appreciatively at his solid, hot skin between your lips. You were in heaven there, happy to keep sucking him as long as he’d let you.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” he said, weakly, knees buckling as you built to a steady rhythm. You paid close attention to his head, enjoying the little pop it made as it left the tight seal of your lips.

He looked down at you with hazy eyes, watching the way your lips pouted as you slid your lips up his length. When you caught his eyes, the pupils suddenly widened and he immediately looked away, head snapping straight back to look up at the ceiling.

“I can’t look at you right now,” he breathed, by way of explanation, “You’re too perfect; I’ll come too fast.”

You flushed, glowing with his praise. Though Five was a loving partner, his compliments were usually hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and sarcasm. Him saying this now was evidence of how overwhelmed he was: inhibitions swept away in the rush of reunion. 

Slowly, you withdrew and laid your head against his stomach so that his cock rested on your cheek. You looked up at him adoringly, simultaneously enjoying the intensity of his arousal and giving him time to calm down.

“I love you Five.”

“I love you too, baby.” he said, voice breathy and hoarse, “Now, please god, take me to bed and treat me like that pillow.”

You smiled, rose to your feet and led him to the bed, helping him out of the pants around his ankles. Standing by his side of the bed, you kissed his lips gently, enjoying the way his dick stabbed and pressed periodically at your thighs. When you broke apart, you looked into his eyes, at his soft look with his thick eyelashes shading his eyes. 

Aware of his injury, you supported him as he lay down, helping him to ease onto the mattress with the bare minimum of pain. His solid presence in your arms as he let you assist him was bliss.

Though you were being careful not to place any weight where it would hurt him, he pulled you into his arms. 

“Please,” he whispered, “I want you to fuck me. Ride me. Just use me to get off. Use me like a goddamn dildo. I don’t care.  I need you.”

You smirked at this.

“Who are you and what have you done with Five?”

“Please.”

More begging. You didn’t have it in you to tease him, not when you too were desperate to feel his body against yours, to feel him inside you, to mingle your sighs and your pleasure with his.

You slipped him inside you and gasped. The resumption of this perfect coupling alone told you just how much you needed it. You knew you missed it, but now he was inside you again, you realized that it made you whole. His small keen as he slid home was enough to send a fluttering shudder from your center outwards.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, leaning close to him.

He nodded, biting his lower lip and caressing your hips.

Slowly, you began to grind against him, rolling your hips with him inside you, moving on top of him just as you did the pillow. This time, it really was Five beneath you, his cock twitching inside you, hitting and charging that sweet spot inside you until it felt like you were buzzing with his electricity.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, “Five!”

“I-don’t-deserve you,” he panted, “So perfect. Perfect. Beautiful girl…so goddamn sexy. I love you. I-fucking- Ah!”

He always got more talkative yet less coherent the closer he got. He was watching your swinging breasts, hanging a few inches above his face. You leaned forwards immediately, keen to give him what he couldn’t take for himself a few minutes before.

He took the hint eagerly, taking your nipple into his mouth and groaning along with you at the change of angle. He suckled enthusiastically, hungrily; hand leaving your hip to rub your breast with his palm. 

His groans now sent miniature, warm vibrations onto your nipple, creating a new center for charge to build upon. As it crackled down your limbs, stoking the heat in your stomach and groin, you moaned, wanting to ride him hard- ride him like a bike - but you were reluctant to let loose in case you hurt him. 

Instead, you rolled your hips upon him desperately. Judging by the sudden shout from him and the ache from your pussy, this motion was to both of your liking. You were on the edge now, teetering.

“Gonna come. Gonna come.” he whispered, urgently, removing his mouth from your titty with a wet sound.

He meant this to warn you but, instead, his desperate voice gave you the final push.

As you came, your pussy clenched, squeezing him suddenly. His eyes shot open and he all-but squealed at the unexpected stimulation. His hips surged upwards, the pain from his chest eclipsed for the moment by this maddening, raging orgasm. It felt like your pussy was milking it from him, pulling his rapid shots of come up into itself. 

At last, you came to a stop. 

“Is the world safe?” you asked, after a warm breathless minute or two.

“Yes,” he said weakly, “the world’s all okay.”

You carefully climbed off him, laid beside him and held him. There was the fresh smell of his shampoo and antiperspirant. The smell of home if ever there was one.  After a minute or two becoming heavier in your arms, he spoke again.

“Well, the world’s certainly all okay now.”

He stroked your stomach as if you were made of paper-thin glass, inclining his head towards yours as he spoke again.

"I meant what I said: you are perfect, you know."

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[councilofcastamere]

DAY OFF [ETN.L X READER]

(Ghostface doesn’t exist AU. Quinn and Ethan live as normal siblings.)

summary: Your best friend Quinn has gone to buy some snacks for the sleepover. Luckily, her brother is there to keep you entertained.

warnings: oral (m receiving), masturbation, subby(?)ethan, mentions of cunnilingus,

“Oh, come on y/n.” Quinn urges you, lying on her stomach. “Give Chad a chance, he’s hot.”

“I don’t know, Quinnie.” you shrug, plopping down on the bed. “He seems decent, but I'm not interested in anyone right now.”

That was a lie. By a long shot.

You were interested in someone. The only problem? He just so happened to be Quinn's brother. And Chad's roommate.

Did it stop you from touching yourself and humping your pillow pretending to ride him? No.

He was such a sweet boy. You couldn’t help but pump those fingers inside of you, moaning his name aloud once you were sure no one would hear or enter.

You shamelessly let the thought of riding his face bring you to your orgasm. You imagined his tongue lapping up your folds and pushing that button in your cunt.

And let’s not get started on that fantasy of you taking him into your mouth, guiding his inexperienced hands to grip your hair and allowing him to completely fuck your throat as your tits are out, bouncing with every thrust past your plump lips.

“Anyways,” Quinn sighed in boredom, standing up and putting her jacket on. “You've got 5? I wanna get us some snacks.”

“In my pockets.” You answered, biting your cheek as you looked up at the ceiling.

You sighed softly, pondering what to do once Quinn leaves. Until an idea pops up in your head.

Ethan is in the living room. What’s wrong with wanting to watch an innocent movie with your friend's sweet brother?

“Hey Quinnie, I’ll see you out the door.” you say softly, standing up and following behind her.

“Thanks y/n/n.” she smiled, walking out of the room into the living room where Ethan sat. As soon as Ethan heard footsteps, he turned around and looked at you with those heart eyes that never failed to make you smile. He was so whipped for you.

Ethan first discovered his crush on you when Quinn took you to her home for an econ-project. You were so pretty, so kind. It’s a shame Quinn closed the door. But as luck would have it, you began to stick around even after the project.

You became a regular in Quinns appartement, somewhere Ethan would also be in frequently. You’d often help him with his homework, and each time he almost came inside of his pants with the way you leaned down to explain something to him, your breath hitting his ear and you’re tits hanging. Or when you'd bend over the table to point at something on the other side, your ass raised in the air.

Each little detail of your movements played through his mind as he pumped his length every night, desperately whimpering into his pillow as to not let his roommate hear. His other hand occupied with scrolling through your instagram, ultimately coming across a video of your voice which pushed him to his orgasm, splashing all over his stomach.

“Call me when you get there, Quinnie.” you chirped happily, closing the door.

His heart skipped a beat when you turned to him, walking around the couch to sit next to him.

“Hi, Ethan.” you smile, your tits bouncing as you plopped down on the lap. god, how was he supposed to spend this night without feeling those soft breasts?

“Hi.” he murmured quietly, turning to tv.

“Can I watch this with you?” you ask in your softest voice, your hand on his thigh, dangerously close to his semi-hard cock. “I get lonely when Quinnie isn’t here to entertain me.”

“Y-yeah, sure.” he stuttered, resisting the urge to guide your hand to palm his dick.

“Great!” you smile, scooting closer to him, the back of your skirt rubbing against the sofa, causing it to be help up. god, he wanted you to stuff that into your mouth as you praised him.

“Can I sit on your lap?” she interrupted his thoughts, rubbing his thigh. “I like cuddling with people.”

“Mhm,” he managed to get out of his mouth, resisting the urge to let out a moan at your words. albeit, that failed when you sat on his lip, your clothed ass rubbing against his clothed cock.

and although his lips were bitten on by himself, she could hear the whimper, causing her to turn around and straddle him, her pussy rubbing against his hard length.

“Sweet boy, can I do something to ease your pain?” she asks sweetly, her hand finding the waistband of his pants. he couldn’t have nodded his head faster. anything for her. his dream girl.

she smiles, getting off his lap causing him to whine. she dropped to her knees, pulling his pants with her.

“You want me to see how big you are?” she asked in a soft tone, her fingers hooking her fingers under his boxers. “Is that it, baby? You want me to praise your cock?”

“Mhm, yes!” he whimpered out as soon as she took his sensitive length into her hands. “W-want you to be proud of it.”

“I am, baby.” you soothe him, your hand reaching up to stroke his brown curls. “Relax.”

he sighed in pleasure, closing his eyes as his curls are being paid attention to by your fingers. the silence being interrupted by a moan as soon as you place a kitten lick on his tip.

“You want to fuck my throat, baby? you ask sweetly, licking the vein underneath. “Ask nicely, sweetie.”

“P-please, y/n.” he whimpered, his cock throbbing under your attention. “need you. fuck, you’re so hot.”

“How long have you wanted me?” You tease, kitty licking the tip again. “Tell me and I'll relieve your pain with my mouth.”

“Mhm,” he whimpers, hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to gain pleasure. “S-so long. I like you coming over. I-I want to feel your tits.”

“You will, baby.” you coo, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Not now tho. Now you can only look at them as I suck you off, my pretty boy.”

He nodded feverishly, head thrown back as you took him into your mouth.

You stilled her movement in her mouth to let your round tits spill out of your top, before bobbing your head up and down his length, your tits bouncing with every movement.

Ethan really tried to hold it in. He knew you wouldn’t like it if he bucked his hips and just fucked your throat raw until your saliva dripped in the same route as the vein.

you she moaned loudly, the vibrations shooting straight up his throbbing cock as he let out whimpers and moans.

“I'm close!” he moaned out, feeling that tight knot in his stomach. “Please, let me cum in your pretty mouth.”

“Praise me first.” you demanded, pulling off his cock to speak, using your hands instead.

“You’re so - fuck!” he moans, shuddering and squirming. “S-so pretty. I l-love it when you’re being kind to-to me.”

You let out a moan at his words, using your mouth again and hollowing your cheeks.

“F-fuck. When you bend over to teach me something I j-just… want to kiss and suck those tits.” he moaned, thrusting his hips. “I-I don’t like hearing Chad talk about you. I can’t stand sharing you.”

You keep sucking, gagging on his cock. You use your hands on the part that doesn’t fit, squeezing your thighs together with your slick wetness im between them.

“F-fuck. You’re so kind. I just want to suck on your cunt u-until you come all over my face.”

That did it. At his words, you let out a loud pornographic moan, shooting straight up his dick, causing his cum to stream down your throat.

You pulled your mouth off his cock with a pop, your eyes teary and panting.

“God,” you whimpered, straddling him but careful not to grind against his sensitive cock. “You really are my sweet boy.”

He smiled at her words, leaning into her touch. “Promise me you only do this to me?”

“I promise, my pretty boy. All mine.” you whisper, cupping his cheek.

“Now,” you grin, licking a stripe up his throat. “I think I deserve to sit on your face, don’t I?”

[azrielsdove]

Forbidden Love: Lucien x IC!Member Reader

Warnings: Angst

***

You couldn’t help the way your eyes drank in the fire-haired male currently speaking to your High Lord. You sensed the animosity radiating off of Azriel and Cassian from next to you, their annoyance with the Spring Court ever present. You knew that it was wrong, that it would never work. You didn’t want to imagine the way your friends would react if they discovered your little crush on the emissary.

Lucien’s eyes drifted over to you, cold and hard. “Any new plans to attack the members of my court, assassin?” You rolled your eyes at his question, spinning the dagger you held between your fingers.

“As we have reminded you and your High Lord several times, those fae were traitors and not to be trusted. They were not true members of your court.” He scoffed at your answer, shaking his head.

“Why should we ever believe you? All these meetings consist of are you all acting holier than thou, speaking as if we should automatically trust you.” He sneered in your direction, his hatred for you and your court palpable.

“Please, spare us the melodramatics. Not only did I do my job, I kept your court and its members safe from further harm.” You smiled sweetly at him. “A thank you would be nice.”

You could almost feel the fire that radiated in his eyes before he turned back to Rhysand. “Tamlin has requested a personal meeting after Calanmai, to discuss ongoing efforts of rehabilitation at the Spring Court. Can we fit into your insufferably busy schedule?” Annoyance was dripping from his voice, as it usually got by the end of these meetings.

“I suppose I can squeeze you in. I’ll send a message with available days and times at my convenience.” Rhysand gave a smile that showed all his teeth, a deadly threat thinly vailed as a friendly gesture. Lucien gave an equally fake smile back before turning and leaving the room. Azriel and Cassian immediately flanked to Rhys’ side, prepared to fly back to Velaris and debrief. You headed towards the door Lucien had left from, tasked with making sure he didn’t try snooping around the Hewn City. You spotted a flash of red hair turning a corner and started after him.

The corridor you entered was empty, your senses immediately on high alert. Where had he gone? You scanned the alcoves as you passed, one dagger held ready in your hand. You were halfway down the hall when an arm wrapped tight around your waist,

pulling you back into the dark alcove you had just passed. You twisted in the hold until your blade was

pressed tight against your assailants neck, a strand of red hair brushing against your hand.

“Quick little thing, aren’t you?” He hummed, looking down at you with his arm still wrapped around you. You sneered up at him, pressing the blade a little harder on his neck. He chuckled against the dagger, his free hand coming up and tugging your hand away. You sheathed the weapon, placing your hands on his chest with a small smile. Lucien tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, hand cupping your face. “I’ve missed you.”

You pushed up onto your toes, lips brushing gently against his. “I bet i’ve missed you more,” you teased, blood heating at the wicked grin on his face.

“Is that so?” His hand moved to the back of your neck, angling you up to him, lips pressing hard to yours. You sighed into the kiss, the familiar warmth spreading through your body at his touch. The love and joy you felt with Lucien was unlike anything you had ever known. Your fingers dug into his shirt, clutching onto him as if he was your lifeline. His hand flattened against your back, pushing you tighter into him. You gave a small moan as Lucien’s lips moved to your neck, kissing and biting the soft skin.

This was what life should be.

The thought sent a bitter chill down your spine, body tensing in Lucien’s hold. A change he noticed instantly, pulling away to look into your eyes. “What is it, my love?” You felt the tears coming, the overwhelming emotion that attacked when you were most vulnerable.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide like this.” Your voice was small, Lucien sighing at the conversation you’ve had countless times.

“You know I would tell them all in a heartbeat,” he said, looking over you carefully. “My position in the Spring Court means nothing to me, if it came to that. The only thing that matters is you.” Your throat tightened at his words, the love that he held for you.

“I know, Lu.” You bit your lip, thinking. “Rhysand would never forgive me.” Your eyes fell from his in shame, focusing on your hands that still rested on Lucien’s chest. He gave another deep sigh, his hands coming up to cover yours.

“Do they not wish you to be happy?” His question was quiet, cautious. You peeked up at him from under your eyelashes, shaking your head.

“They would never accept my happiness lies with you. I’d be sent away, marked a traitor to the Night Court.” Lucien tucked one hand back under your chin, pulling your face up towards his.

“Then they don’t deserve you here. We could go somewhere else, live with each other. I’d go to the ends of this world to see you happy and at peace.” Your heart squeezed at his words as you pushed up to kiss him again. Lucien, the king of your heart.

Maybe it was time to talk with Rhysand and your friends.

***

You and Lucien stayed in that alcove for as long as you could dare, kissing and touching and whispering sweet nothings. Every goodbye got harder, an inevitable end to your little peaceful bubble. You brushed away the fallen tears as you watched Lucien head out, preparing to winnow back to the Spring Court.

You hated these moments.

You composed yourself before going back to Velaris, putting your cool and calm persona back on. A fact that bothered you, that you now felt to hide your true self from your friends. From your family.

You had been in the Night Court for a hundred years, the feared assassin that Rhysand set on his enemies. You had created a name for yourself, deadly and dangerous. You never cared about the fear you instilled in others, not until you met Lucien.

The first time he had come to your court, you instantly felt drawn to him. It had knocked the air out of your lungs, the deep connection you felt to this unknown male. By the flash of shock in his eyes you realized he had felt it too. After that meeting you had cornered him in the hall, demanding to know what magic he had used on you.

It was only minutes after that he had you pressed up against the wall, his lips doing sinful things to yours.

You knew, in your heart, that he was your mate. He knew it too. The bond you couldn’t accept, not yet. Not when you lived in two rival courts, only seeing each other when meetings were called by either High Lord.

You took a deep breath before pushing the doors open to the townhouse, a smug smile on your face. Rhysand turned towards you, raising his glass of whiskey in greeting. “Get that Spring Court scum out of my town?” He teased, a flare of anger igniting in your chest. You pushed it down, laughing instead.

“Don’t I always?” You cooed, heading towards the ever-stocked liquor cart. You grabbed whatever was hardest, only caring about easing the pain in your heart. How long could you keep this up? You loved your family, you loved the Night Court, but you knew you would never be complete without Lucien at your side. You kept your breathing calm as you poured your drink, acting as if nothing were wrong.

“I wish they’d send someone else. How did he even manage to become the Spring Court emissary? He was not born there.” Cassian was musing, his dislike for Lucien strong. He didn’t like any of the Vanserra brothers, regardless of the fact that Lucien himself didn’t care for them either. “I wonder what kind of pity story he told Tamlin to rise up in that Court. I’d wager that he is only there at the order of Beron, probably with some plan to take the High Lord title for himself.” He shook his head and took a deep drink from his glass. “We shouldn’t let him keep coming here, Rhys. Who knows what he’s really doing?”

Your hand tightened around your own glass, raising it to your lips to try to hide the rage coursing through you. It was always like this after the meetings. They would talk about how horrible Lucien is, theorize about his life. You often kept quiet, throwing in the odd comment to not seem suspicious. It felt like a stab in your gut to hear your family speak so terribly about the male you loved.

“Now, Cass, he has never given us a reason not to trust him. Any of the deals we have made he has held true to.” Rhys swirled the liquid in his glass as he spoke, a smirk on his face. “I would rather never have to see that garish face again, though. He carries himself as if he is so much better than everyone, and for what? Being the disgraced son of the Autumn Court, forced to run to his little friend for safety? Pathetic, if you ask me.” You shot back more of your drink, vision turning red. As if you are any different, you thought, immediately checking that your mental shields remained up.

“I think you give him too much credit, Cass. I’ve sent my shadows after Lucien several times and they never have anything interesting to report. He’s just a sad, lonely male.” Azriel shrugged, as if it should be obvious that Lucien had nothing going for him.

You poured more alcohol into your rapidly emptying glass. It got harder and harder to listen to them as your love for Lucien grew. “What do you think, our deadly assassin? You always follow him out, has he ever tried to speak with you? Glean any extra information about our home?” Rhys asked, cocking his head as he did.

You swallowed the drink you had just taken, forcing a cold smile onto your face. “I think Azriel is right. He never says anything, never strays from leaving. He comes to do what was instructed and then he goes. Everything he does is at the hands of another.” You felt sick to speak about him so, but you were too scared of the repercussions the truth would bring. Perhaps that made you a coward, someone undeserving of Lucien. Soon. I’ll tell them soon, you told yourself, shooting back another drink.

***

This had to be a nightmare.

You stared blankly at Rhys, unable to keep your usual calm demeanor. The look of concern on his face told you that you were blowing your cover, that he was going to know something was amiss now.

You couldn’t get yourself to breathe.

“I can select someone else, if this is an issue? My apologies, I didn’t think this would be the most difficult task i’d ask of you.” You wanted to laugh at his joke, to shake your head and smile and go along with his plan. He was right, out of all the things you had done as the Night Court Assassin, this was far from the worst. You simply had to pretend to be betrothed to Azriel.

At the next meeting.

With the Spring Court.

In front of Lucien.

As if the pain of being separate from him wasn’t enough, you would parade around in front of his eyes with a male who wasn’t him. The thought sent a stab into your already injured heart, a reminder of how pathetic you were for not just telling Rhys.

You blinked, clearing your throat. “No, uh, I can do that. Sorry, it just took me by surprise.” You knew it was a weak response, and by the narrowing of Rhys’ eyes he knew it too.

“I don’t trust that Lucien has been coming completely innocently. I have seen the way he looks at you during our meetings when he thinks no one will notice. I am worried he has been sent to try to trick you into a courtship, some sort of sick pairing between the Night and Spring courts.” His scoff of disgust sent another pang through your heart. “By alluding to your engagement to Azriel, we can observe their reaction. See if they slip up with any emotion, anything that proves my theory.” A smirk appeared on his lips. “Besides, what better pairing than my feared Assassin and Spymaster?”

You forced yourself to laugh, nodding along to his plan. “A deadly pair.”

***

You slid your hands down the front of the elegant dress you wore, looking over yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful, a deadly angel donned all in a blue so deep it was nearly black. Your hair had been twisted up, exposing the expensive earrings and necklace you wore. The gems on them direct matches to Azriel’s siphons, a silent claim that you were his.

As if the giant diamond on your finger didn’t make that clear enough.

You knew it wasn’t real, that it was all a facade. You truly did love Azriel, just not like this. Somehow even pretending to be with another male made you nauseous, uncomfortable in your own skin. You couldn’t help but worry about how Lucien was going to feel when he saw you. Would he understand none of it was real? Or would he fall for the trap Rhys had laid?

“You look lovely.” You turned to the low voice coming from your doorway, a small smile plastered onto your face. Azriel knew something about this plan upset you, cornering you about it earlier that week. You had insisted it was nothing to do with him, that there was no real issue. You faked “confidence issues”, worry that you wouldn’t be able to pull it off. You felt like he hadn’t believed you, but he did not argue further.

“As do you,” you complimented back, the words truthful. Your friend looked as handsome as ever, dressed in his finest to escort you to the meeting.

As his betrothed.

You walked over to him, placing your arm delicately in the crook of his elbow. “Let’s go raise some Hel.”

***

He believed it.

Lucien’s eyes were full of pain and betrayal as he took you in at the side of the Shadowsinger. He stared far too long at the ring on your finger, far too obvious to everyone else. Rhysand smirked from beside you, confident that his plan had succeeded.

You wanted to scream.

Azriel’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you protectively. Typically you would feel safe in his hold, but every touch from him felt like razors across your skin. Especially with the way Lucien looked at you.

There was anger there. He truly believed you had tossed him aside for Azriel. You felt sick again, swaying slightly in his grasp. Azriel’s arm tightened around you, concern on his face as he looked down. “You okay?” He murmured, not wanting to draw any extra attention to you. You nodded, looking away from him. You didn’t trust your voice.

“Allow me to extend my congratulations to you and yours, Rhysand.” Tamlin spoke smoothly, a genuine smile on his face. You realized that he didn’t know about you and Lucien. You couldn’t help but to glance over at him, your heart aching at the empty expression on his face. You wanted to scream. This plan was ridiculous.

“Thank you, Tamlin.” Azriel spoke politely, his body against yours all of a sudden too hot. Every instinct told you to run to Lucien, that it shouldn’t be Azriel you are stood next to.

“I must say, Tamlin, that you may be more clever than I gave you credit for,” Rhysand began, inspecting his nails as if this was a mindless discussion. No. No. No.

Stop this.

You need to STOP THIS.

Your mind was screaming at you, but your body was frozen in place. Horror coursed through your veins, disgust in yourself twinning with it. Why hadn’t you spoken up sooner? You looked to Tamlin, his brows furrowed as he listened to Rhysand.

“An alliance between our courts would be something extremely beneficial to you, wouldn’t it? So beneficial, in fact, that you would resort to such lowly measures to try to secure it.” Rhysand glanced up at Tamlin then, lips pursing as he took in the genuine confusion on his face. Rhysands eyes narrowed, looking between Lucien and Tamlin. “Or did you not know? What your emissary has been doing here?” Tamlin now turned to Lucien, eyes wide.

“What are you talking about?” Lucien spat out, his typical cool demeanor gone. Rhysand smiled gleefully, gesturing over to you.

Say something. You need to say something.

“Your little game you’ve been playing with my assassin. Trying to win her heart, her hand in marriage.” He laughed. “It’s too bad our Shadowsinger here got her first, isn’t it?”

Coward. Coward. COWARD.

SPEAK UP.

Lucien turned slowly to you, eyes rimmed in red. “Is this true?” His voice was quiet, broken. Your hands shook as you took him in, the heartbreak so strong you could almost taste it.

“I-I,” you stuttered out, looking to Rhysand in a panic. How could he do this to you?

How could you LET him do this to you?

You shot away from Azriel, sucking in deep breaths of air. You turned wildly to Lucien, tears streaming down your face. “No.”

Rhysand gave a cruel laugh, drawing your attention back to him. “Whatever do you mean?” He asked, venmo dripping from his words. You wanted to cower at his anger, to back away and continue on with the plan.

But you had remained quiet long enough.

You shook your head, voice growing stronger. “No.” You looked back to Lucien, every inch of you hoping you could fix this. “I do love Lucien, Rhys. But it is not how you think.” You took a step closer to him, a pathetic relief soaking through you when he didn’t back away. “I have loved him from the moment we met. I have loved him secret, hiding this part of myself from you all.” You took another step. “I wait, heart aching with the pain of being apart from him, for these stupid meetings. I stay awake at night and watch the stars, imagining him doing the same.” More tears fell, matching ones trailing down Lucien’s face as you took another step towards him. “I live for hidden moments in dark corridors, for whispers of love only when no one else can hear them. And i’m tired.” Your voice cracked as you took the final step, bringing you right in front of Lucien.

“I’m so tired,” you whispered, slowly holding your hand out to him. You needed his strength, his warmth. He glanced between your hand and face, expression unreadable.

And then he took a step back.

The air disappeared from your lungs, your knees shaking as they struggled to support you.

No. No. No.

You had to fix this. You looked towards Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. They wore similar expressions of shock and…pity. Pity.

You fell to your knees. “He’s my mate,” you choked out, the already silent room going even quieter. As if time itself stood still at your proclamation.

“Lucien is my mate,” you said again, anger with yourself charging through you. “He is my mate and I never told anyone. I allowed us to suffer in silence, too scared to tell you the truth. I thought you’d dismiss me from Court, from your life if you found out, Rhys.” More tears fell as you watched the flicker of pain go across your High Lords face.

“No, I would never-“ He started, moving towards you.

“Wouldn’t you?” Rhys stopped as you cut him off, gazing down upon your tear stained face. “Look what we are doing right now, Rhysand. The mere thought of Lucien being interested sent you to create a whole plan to catch him.” You looked down in shame. “And I let you do it.”

You felt like you may die right there. You had waited too long to say anything, you had allowed Lucien to be humiliated in front of his High Lord and yours. You had hidden your heart too deep, too afraid of what would happen if your friends found out about Lucien. All for you to lose him in the end.

A hand appeared in front of your blurred vision.

A familiar, welcoming hand.

You looked up to see Lucien’s face, a small smile on his as he helped you up. You stood in front of him, unsure what to say.

“You want this?” He asked quietly, tucking his hand under your chin. You swallowed, nodding.

“I only want you. Now, and forever.” It was true. You realized now how silly you had been, how you never should have feared losing your friends and court. All that mattered was Lucien. The male created just for you.

“My mate,” he whispered, before pulling you in and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was full of fire and love, the now acknowledged mating bond singing. You melted into him, holding him as tight as you could. The rest of the room disappeared, leaving only you and Lucien. You felt as if you were glowing, wrapped up in the love he exuded.

You pulled away only when your lungs cried for air, smiling up at Lucien. He was yours. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

You turned to Rhys, grasping Lucien’s hand tight within yours. “If you wish me to go, then I will. But I will not sit and suffer and lie in fear any longer. I love you, all of you.” You looked at Lucien next to you. “My heart and soul belong with Lucien. I hope that you can accept that.”

Rhys rushed over to you, grabbing your hands into his. “How could you ever think that? I made this plan thinking he was trying to use you. If I had known, I would never-“ his voice cracked as he looked at Lucien. “I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies. I would never do anything to compromise her happiness.” You felt new tears slide down your cheeks, both relieved and embarrassed. You should have trusted Rhys, not hidden away in fear. You squeezed his hands, bringing his attention back to you.

“I should’ve told you a long time ago. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, pulling you in for a hug.

“No, i’m sorry. I never should have created an environment where you didn’t feel safe telling me this.” His eyes were shiny as he moved away, releasing you back to Lucien. “Whatever you want, I will grant. If you wish to live here I will accept you with open arms.” Tamlin stepped up next to him, nodding in agreement.

“My Court will always be open to you as well. I can’t imagine anyone who deserves this joy more than Lucien.” He gave him a broad smile, happy for his closest friend. Lucien nodded once in thanks, an arm wrapping securely around your waist. His fingers traced the diamond ring on your hand, slipping it off easily.

“I think we should replace this, don’t you?”

***

Some Time Later

You were admiring the elegant gold ring on your finger, watching the way the suns rays bounced off the firey ruby in the center of it. No matter how much time had passed you couldn’t help but be stunned by the beauty of the thing. The balcony door opened behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. A pair of lips met your neck, kissing you as you hummed softly.

“Early morning?” Lucien asked, teeth grazing your skin. You leaned harder back into him, welcoming his touch.

“Mmm. Rhys wanted to go over my upcoming assignments. He’s…worried about me completing them.” One of Lucien’s hands slid down over the slight curve of your stomach, the beginning signs of the life growing inside you.

“He’s not underestimating my wife, is he?” Lucien asked with a playful bite to your neck.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I told him it was fine, and if I felt I could not complete a task I would tell him so. He still didn’t seem convinced, if i’m being honest.”

“Hm. Perhaps i’ll have to talk to him.” Lucien turned you in his arms, pressing a searing kiss to your lips. “Let him know how perfectly capable you are.” You smiled up at him, kissing him again. Lucien tugged you close, opening your mouth with his. Ever since he found out you were carrying his baby, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of you.

Not that you were complaining.

***

[dawnagustd]

like that || jjk

⇝ title: Like That ⇝ pairing: jungkook x f!reader  ⇝ genre: slight college au | house party au | smut ⇝ summary: Running into an awkward situation at a house party? Your first instinct is to hide. And because you have the worst luck, your hiding spot is already being occupied... by another awkward situation.  ⇝ rating: 18+  ⇝ word count: 1.7k  ⇝ warnings: unedited | strong language | rejection | a little tension | mentions alcohol but no one is drunk | consent because that’s hot | biting | scratching | bit of a strength kink | jealous/possessive!jk | soft dom!jk | praise | protected sex | dirty talk | eye contact | f*cking against the wall | restraints (wrist pinning) | teasing | big dick!jk because that’s the brand | ass grabbing | body shots?...idk what to call it but not exactly body shots | i think that’s all  ⇝ author’s note: See how late I am? This is why I’ve been absent. I have so much going on, when I have free time I just... yeah. Anyway, here it is as promised. I know it’s a mess lol.

masterlist | permanent taglist form | read on ao3

Shit.

You’ve always known your luck was shit, but running into your crush at a party was the last thing you thought would happen. Especially the day after you finally talked to him only to discover he has a girlfriend. You found out also that he’s an asshole who likes to lead people on until he feels like crushing their feelings.

You can’t see him right now. Not like this. 

Peach Cîroc staining your top, now soaked into your flesh… It’d be too embarrassing.

So, you hide. But the room you’ve chosen is already occupied.

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Oh, shi–”

Someone’s in here, and their voice startles you. Your right palm lays flat on your chest, trying to settle your racing heart. You turn around expecting to give an apology and be on your way, but once again, shitty luck.

“Jungkook? Seriously?”

How can things go from bad to worse?

Let’s just say you’ve been… Well, you’ve been avoiding one guy so you can chase another. A couple of months ago, you went on a blind date with a guy, and he just so happens to be the person standing in front of you. Only one person enjoyed that date, and it damn sure wasn’t you.

You knew by the way your friends described him that he was too good to be true. On paper, Jungkook sounds amazing—brown eyes, healthy hair, smart, talented… hot. But no one talks about his competitiveness. The 8-year-olds at the trampoline park will never be the same.

Instead of attraction, you can only feel annoyance when it comes to his arrogance. You would rather take the walk of shame than be stuck in here… with him.

“I’m leaving.”

“No,” he interjects. “You’re hiding.”

Jungkook takes the remaining steps to close the space separating you two, and like a deer caught in headlights, you’re frozen.

“Is someone bothering you?”

“What?! No, I’m not.”

The beginning of a chuckle travels past his lips, openly mocking you. 

“You squeaked. You’re lying.” Jungkook tilts his head. “He’s out there, huh?”

Great. Everyone knows.

“Fuck off, Jungkook.”

This time he doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. His smirk just continues to grow as he stands toe to toe with you.

“Or I can do you one better,” he suggests.

Your eyebrows lift involuntarily as curiosity invades your thoughts. The thing about people who are full of themselves, they sure do talk a good game.

Tension appears to grow after his finger beckons you to come closer, his minty breath hitting your skin when he leans closer. The vibration from his words sends a tingle through your body. You suppose lack of sex will make the smallest things feel electrifying.

“...I can fuck you senseless right here against this door.”

“Oh, you’d like that, huh?”

Jungkook pulls away, taking the soothing scent of his Versace with him.

“I would,” he agrees. “And so would you if you ever gave me a chance.”

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

“You wanna bet on that?”

Silence dominates the dark bedroom as the stare-down begins. Neither of you wants to look away because that would mean defeat. That’s not an option when it comes to Jungkook.

“Scared you’ll want more, huh?”

“The lies you tell.”

Jungkook’s crooked smile never fades as he shakes his head. “I bet you’re a runner.”

“Shut up.”

In the morning, you’ll think back on this and be mad at yourself for allowing him to get you worked up.

But that’s tomorrow's problem.

“Why? Don’t want to hear the truth–”

“You get on my nerves.” You grab Jungkook’s shirt and even he’s surprised. You could care less about his taunting because this is how he behaves when he wants your attention, but that smirk has got to go. 

“I don’t care. Do something about that.”

Those glossy dark orbs hidden beneath his thick lashes focus directly on your lips. Your eyes explore his features, lingering on the tip of his tongue peeking out to bring moisture. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and slowly releases.

“Give me an excuse to pin you against this wall,” he whispers.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Kissing Jungkook was not in your plans tonight, but something comes over you, and you do just that. Your teeth click, and you grab at each other’s clothes as he guides you backward. When your back hits the door is when he finally comes to a stop, and his mint-tainted lips begin to venture lower. 

Jungkook grips your ass while he nips the skin of your neck, leaving traces of him along your feverish skin. Your hair entangled in his hair pulls him closer as if there is any more space left between you.

“Hold on,” he breathes. “I smell alcohol. You good?”

Thinking about earlier, you roll your eyes as you recall some frat guy bumping into you.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just got here. Some guy made me spill my drink all over myself.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He grips your hair and tilts your head, granting him more access to your collarbone and cleavage, two areas he can’t seem to abandon. “Remind me to kick his ass before we leave.”

A shuddered gasp escapes your lips when Jungkook’s teeth attack your flesh. He scoops you off your feet in the same motion, pinning you against the door with his hips while he leaves your skin wet and bruised. You can feel his bulge when he pushes up your skirt.

“Jungkook,” you mewl, raking your nails down his biceps.

He removes his jacket so you can feel more of his warmth beneath your palms. You feel Jungkook’s hand slip between you so he can pull down his pants. In this position, it’s impossible to see what he’s working with, but you can tell by the pressure probing at your panties that you’re going to feel every inch of him.

“One sec,” he murmurs.

Jungkook reaches for his wallet and finds a condom instantly. He opens the package and rolls it effortlessly. He’s probably done it more times than you can count, but that’s none of your business. It’s your turn now.

You pull your panties out of the way, and the blunt tip of his dick begins teasing your entrance, testing the waters until he’s sure it’s okay for him to sink into your pussy.

He makes you look at him while his cock slips inside of you, wanting the image of your initial reaction in his memory. You try to give him something decent to remember, but the stretch is so overwhelming your eyes roll back.

Jungkook eventually buries his face in the crook of your neck, trying to muffle his own moans, but you hear how desperate he is to fuck you. With your permission, he makes small strokes until you both can overcome the sensitivity. 

“Pussy’s too good for you to be stressed over a piece of shit,” he murmurs into your bosom. He licks the sticky substance coating your breasts and moans. “...And you taste too good.”

He starts thrusting harder, and your bodies cause the door to rattle and shake. Your cries begin to fill the room, and Jungkook encourages them by filling your head with praises.

“You’re so hot and beautiful. You think that guy deserves to fuck you like this?”

He grabs your hands and pins them above you, supporting you with nothing but his slender but toned waist. You’re left in awe as he bounces you on his dick.

“Even if he deserved it. He couldn’t,” Jungkook adds. “He could never fuck you like this.”

“Jungkook!”

You sob his name as your muscles tighten, pressure building within you as you near your peak. His forehead presses against yours, and he looks into your eyes while he fucks you. 

“But I can do it. I can fuck you like this.”

“Please,” you rasp.

“Why should I?”

You knew he’d be a little asshole. Your pride does not compare to your pleasure, however. 

“I need to come,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

After gritting your teeth, you just allow the words to flow from your mouth.

“Please let me come!”

“Fuck. Okay, love.” His pace quickens, and your moans get louder, startling everyone outside the door. Sweat forms on Jungkook’s forehead as he puts in the work to make you reach your high. “Your moans are so fucking beautiful.”

His praise drives you over the edge, and your orgasm ripples through you without warning. Your body shudders as Jungkook guides you through an intense wave of pleasure before his thrust becomes wild and he spills his load into the condom.

“You owe me a second date,” he sighs as his dick slips out of you. Both of you groan. You from the emptiness, and he from the loss of warmth. “You’re paying this time.”

“I swear you get on my nerves.”

“I still don’t care,” he laughs.

Jungkook keeps you in this position while he caresses your thighs. You’re enjoying the gentleness of his touch. So, you don’t even complain. It’s a peaceful moment, and all the concerns you had recently have been buried underneath your dickmatized state.

After some minutes go by, Jungkook finally speaks.

“I’m going to put you down now, okay?”

“Okay.”

When your feet touch the ground is when everything sets in. You bask in it all as you both rearrange your clothing. You try to avoid Jungkook’s gaze, but it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t demand your attention.

“So, two options.”

“I’m listening.”

“We can pretend it never happened, or…”

“Or what?”

Jungkook smirks.

“We can pretend it never happened and go back to my place for round two,” he suggests.

The thought has you smiling before you even realize it. 

You respond a bit shyly. “I like option two.”

“Oh, yeah?... Well, let’s go then.”

He grabs your hand, but you both pause before opening the door. There’s no way to explain this situation to anyone, and the second that door opens people will begin talking. You aren’t entirely sure how you feel about that.

As if he can read your mind, Jungkook speaks up.

“Come on. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

And you know… Maybe Jungkook does deserve a second date. 

No trampoline parks, though.

[gladoswantscake]

You're so handsome when I'm all over your mouth - Dracula x Reader

Summary: Dracula will do everything to keep you safe. Even when you try to escape.

Warnings: Blood, gore, and possessiveness (Not over the top possessive. He's just really obsessed and wants to be with you :3 )

A/N: You can read this with any version of Dracula you want, I chose the Castlevania version of Dracula because I am respectfully down bad for him

Available on AO3

"𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. '𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶." (𝘞𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴, 𝘌𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭 𝘊𝘢𝘪𝘯)

You lose track of how long you've stayed within the castle walls of Dracula's home. You remember falling very ill before you were taken in by Dracula. It was supposed to be until you recovered back to health. It must have been a month or two, maybe longer since you last saw home.

The longer you stay, the more you discover his intentions. He's expressed how much he wanted you and has been doing everything he can to win your heart. He's also been carefully monitoring you but still keeping his distance. He's been alone for a very long time, and he couldn't let his feelings of possessiveness get the best of him.

Every time you left your bedroom with him by your side, you scrutinized what you've seen so far from the time you've spent in the castle and memorized what possible exits might lead you to the outside world.

Soon you would plan your escape.

---------------------------------------

You were sitting in bed when gentle knocks on your bedroom door causes you to look up. The door opens to reveal Dracula checking up on you.

Seeing you up at this time made him concerned. "It's rather late, darling. Shouldn't you be asleep by now?" He closes the door behind him.

"It's one of those nights where I can't sleep." You lie.

"I see." He walks up to you, gesturing in request to sit next to you on the side of the bed. "May I?"

You scoot over to give him plenty of room to sit. The weight next to you weighs down a bit deeper. His cold hand finds your clothed back, slowly running up and down in a soothing manner.

"Is something troubling you?"

You shook your head. "I'm not sure what could be keeping me awake." You pause, thinking of an idea. It was a bit risky, but you had to ensure that he'd be asleep by the time you made your escape.

"Is there anything I can do to aid what ever trouble you are having?" He offers.

"Would you…stay with me? Maybe some company is what I need."

His brows raise with surprise. His fangs could be slightly seen through his grin. "Of course."

---------------------------------------

You lift your head from his chest to see if he is asleep. "Vlad?" You whisper. No response came from him. You slowly remove his arms from your waist and quietly make your way to the door. You turn around one last time to check. He was still asleep.

You watch his sleeping form as you pulled the door closer to you. The bedroom door closes with a faint click. Now was your time to escape and you did so with whatever little time you had until he awoke.

Squishing sounds of wet leaves and crunching of branches being crushed underneath your shoes as you ran further from Dracula's castle. The night air was crisp without the feeling of the chilly weather sending you to shiver due to how fast you were running. You ran as far as your body could take you.

Was it a dumb decision? Perhaps. You were stuck in a foreign place, but there had to be someone or a place to find help. That was your idea once you escaped. The problem was where could you find help. The only option you had was to run until you could find something.

Within your distance, a slightly elder hiker was seen, walking on a trail equipped with a flashlight.

You express a weak smile from exhaustion as you stumble towards the man. "Sir! Please…help me." You pant, you hunch over with your hands resting on your knees.

The man expression was worrisome. His gaze fixates on your sweated and tired face.

"What happened?"

"I was kidnapped in that castle." You point in the direction where you ran from.

The man's eyes widened when he heard the word 'castle' from you. The rumors were true.

"We shouldn't stay here any longer." He quickly grabs your hand. "There's a town perhaps a mile from here."

As the man's head turns around, a dark figure pounces on the man. He begins screaming as his neck is being ripped open by a rabid dog's mouth. The man violently kicked and squirmed underneath its body. You stood in shock as the hiker's hands desperately attempted to push the dog's head away from his throat. Blood covered the man's hands and face, and his body was slowly moving. Eventually, his body went stiff.

The dog turns to face you. The hiker's flashlight was knocked to the ground now illuminating the crime scene. You could see bits of flesh stuck in between the canine's red bloodied teeth. You began backing up against a large tree as it started walking towards you. Its form shapeshifted into a human figure.

It was your captor.

Dracula wipes off the leftover blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, flinging droplets of blood to the side.

"I admire your ambition, but you should have known that I would have caught up rather quickly." Irritation arose from the tone of his voice. He turns to look at the mutilated corpse. "Although, I was feeling ravenous, however, your escape attempt cost the death of a human." He turns back to you.

You were trapped between the tree and him as he approached you closer. He moves strands of hair away from your face to see you better. "I'm quite displeased with what you tried to do." His face is mere inches from yours.

"I don't understand why you run from me. I have offered you my home and my devotion, so why must you turn your back on me?" He lifts your face to force you to look into his eyes. "Am I not worthy enough to care and love you?" His voice was filled with dejection.

The way you were leaning up against the tree made him tower over you. It made you feel anxious with the lack of space he was giving you. "All I wanted to do was to protect you. That's all, my love."

You wince as his bloodied fangs peak out from his half-closed mouth. "You're right. I should have known. I'm really, really sorry."

"I simply cannot express how worried I was when you were nowhere to be seen." His hand gently cradles the side of your face. You could sense how distraught he was rather than angry with you. "Promise me you will not do anything foolish as this again." He examines your exhausted face with both of his hands now cupping your face.

"I-I won't do it ever again. I. Promise." You whisper.

He gives you a half smile; relieved to hear your compliances. "I understand this is still new to you, but I promise to show you how much of a good husband I can be."

Then he brings his lips to yours. His fingers intertwine within your hair, gently balling your hair. His kisses become affectionate and possessive. He becomes more acquisitive as his bloodied tongue drags against yours. He loved feeling the warmth of your skin rubbing against his and the taste of your sweet saliva; how much he enjoyed tasting you on his tongue. He could only imagine what your blood would also taste like.

He pulls away to rest his forehead against yours with his eyes closed for a moment. "I will do everything in my power to keep you from harm's reach." He says with a shaky breath, then slowly pulls away.

"You must be freezing. Let's get you back. home."

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Chapter 23 - The Old Gods and The New

A Firefight or A Viper's Nest | Loki x Reader

Loki misses us and more threats descend on Tønsberg.

Warnings: continued angst from Loki, threats to the village and references to battles and war.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

It took a long while for the shock of Jane’s revelation to set in, the small court just stared at her for a while, a strange breeze that came from nowhere seemed to drift through her hair so that it floated around her face in artistic waves. 

“Well.” Brunnhilde said, shocked, “that’s quite the party trick, Jane.” Her lip quirked up into a smile as she looked her friend up and down before turning to Thor. “And you were going to share this information, when? I assume you must know?” 

Thor opened and then closed his mouth, at a loss. 

“Thor, she has your hammer.” Korg looked more confused than anyone. “I thought that was your magical hammer?”

“It is,” Thor grunted, looking more than a little betrayed. I still have Stormbreaker though, I am still as mighty and powerful as ever, do not worry about me.” He attempted a casual laugh but it came out as a weak cough. 

“I’m sure that’ll come in very useful,” Brunnhilde didn’t move her gaze from Jane until she’d put the hammer down, the armour, hair and magical wind vanishing as quickly as it’d appeared. 

“All this to say, Estrid, I’d be happy to come with you to save Loki. He saved my life, once, I thought he’d sacrificed his own life for mine and Thor’s. I feel like I owe him, even if he is still alive.” 

You’d yet to hear this story, but you were even more determined to hear it with Loki present. There was still so much you didn’t know about each other, and the loss of him was still so keen, so painful. You needed him back, so you could discover everything there was to know and relish in everything you already knew him to be. 

“Thank you, Jane, you’re a good friend.” 

Jane reached out and squeezed your hand. “I suppose we have a rescue mission to plan then.” And you smiled for the first time since Loki had been taken because, for the first time, you thought there might actually be some hope of seeing him again. 

Brunnhilde called a recess on your, admittedly, very casual court and strode into her back office, slamming the door. You weren’t sure if it was Jane’s admission that she too held powers similar to Thors, or that Carol wouldn’t be joining Asgard any time soon, that had led to her unusually emotional outburst. You’d known Brunnhilde only a short time, but she was always collected, snarky almost, releasing her emotions carefully out of sight of her court and her people. 

You took a step, aiming to follow her. It must be very, very, lonely to have to keep a brave face all the time. Your own had been woefully unsuccessful, but you could at least offer her your support. 

Thor touched your shoulder, tightening his fingers and drawing you back with his gentle strength. 

“Leave her, Trouble, she just needs some time to - process.” He looked sad, tired, and for the first time you thought about what a toll this must be taking on everyone. 

Korg slid a pint sized mug towards you, liquid sloshing over the sides, “it helps.” He offered. 

You took the mug gratefully, lifting it to your lips and sipping expecting tea or coffee - spluttering you sat the mug down and looked at the smiling Kronan. 

“This is mead,” you coughed. 

“Yes, it helps.” And you allowed a rare smile to creep to sneak onto your face. 

Loki had been alone before. He had fallen through space, probably time as well if he really thought about it, he had been cast aside by his family, made poor choices and been equally as punished by his father as he had Thanos. He had been alone and rebuilt his life on Sakar. But he had never felt the crushing weight of this loneliness as he did now, staring at his own gaunt reflection in the reinforced glass of his prison. 

He had never before remembered your touch, his home had never had another dwelling in it that he felt such an affinity for and he hoped that you were still there, still safe. 

Loki’s thoughts drifted constantly, even when he was with strangers at least he could talk to them. He had created quite the social circle alongside Thanos and in Sakar, though he did rather regret aligning himself with both rulers. Here no one spoke to him, no one even looked at him. 

He remembered being alone on Asgard as a young boy, how thrilled he’d been when his mother had told him that her friend was bringing her own child. Someone of a similar age and disposition, who liked to read, who was learning magic, who enjoyed games. Loki had imagined someone like himself, a tall boy who he could hunt and fight with. He had been shocked when a girl had peaked around her mother’s skirts at him. 

“Estrid, you  very welcome here in Asgard. May I present my son, Loki. He has similar talents. Perhaps he could show you the palace.” 

He had peaked between his mother’s skirts to look at you, hidden inside your own mother’s cloak. Loki had bowed, just as he’d been taught and looked back at Frigga for confirmation that he’d done so correctly. In return you’d stepped forwards, holding your dress and curtseying. 

He had missed you dearly for many years and not even known that the ache in his chest was you. How had he let you out of his sight for even a moment. 

You, who had brought him everything he’d been looking for, a go-between to soften the often difficult relationship with his older brother, a playmate that was on his side and, eventually, someone who saw him as he truly was. Loki closed his eyes, unable to look at his own sullen face a moment longer, and reached out to you again. 

I miss you, my darling, and, though I would hate to ever be the cause of your distress, I hope that you miss me too. 

Watching the waves in the harbour you felt a surge of magic, as if it had wound about your heart and tugged you. Looking back at your door the lantern light that, since Loki had vanished, you couldn’t bare to turn off, flickered and danced. The artificial light stayed where it was, but something more flared and jumped, slithering towards you. The fiery snake moved swiftly and your own calf appeared from behind you defensively. But you knew it wouldn’t harm you. With a smile you waved the calf to the side and allowed the snake to coil around your ankle and slink its way up your leg. Reaching down it coiled into your cupped hands and you held it close, allowing its warmth to sink into your chest. 

“I miss you too, Loki.” You whispered to the waves, hoping they’d take your message back to him somehow. 

The council didn’t pick up again when you returned to the Long Hall the next day. A walk along the wharf had cleared your head and a glimpse of Loki, even just his sedir, had given you the courage you needed to keep going instead of just staying at home and crying as you wanted to. 

He was right, you were a Goddess, a Princess and you would act like one. Wiping a few tears from your cheeks you stepped back into the hall to be met with a familiar face. 

The man was sat with Brunnhilde, the King in her throne, a worried look on her face. The older women were cooing and fussing, filling a trestle table with tea, mead, beer, biscuits, half a fruit cake, anything they could get their hands on. His blonde curls formed a halo around him, even in the harsh fluorescent light. His spear was propped against the table casually and, hanging up your own coat, you noticed his green cape on a hook. 

Lugh. 

He had found you then and, after all you’d heard about his friendship with your mother, you were unsure how to proceed. Embarrassed that you had argued with him so fiercely when he had cared so deeply for your family. 

“Estrid.” Brunnhilde looked up, beckoning you closer, “I think it’s time we all talked.” 

Lugh stood, offering you his chair, which you cautiously accepted. 

“Thank you for not running, Princess, I believe you listened to the prophecy?” 

Lugh took a chair opposite you, folding one leg neatly over the other and lacing his fingers together. 

“Yes,” you said, warily. This was the first time you’d met without the panicking variables of your previous encounters. There were no Avengers or Gods to distract you. This was the Long Hall, Brunnhilde had been talking to him just moments before, and yet you couldn’t let yourself settle. 

“So you see how this simple prophecy, possibly even just a dream, has caused so much…chaos.” He smiled slightly on the last word, taking a sip from his cup.

“You think it’s about me?” 

“I know other people think it’s about you.”

Lugh’s casual demeanour was making your blood boil, fire danced between your fingers and your calf was back, nuzzling into your leg. 

“And I also know what I believe, knowing your family and your history. I saw your raw talents as a mere babe.” 

You stared at him, everyone did, waiting for him to go on. But he remained silent, waiting for your request. When you said nothing he raised a single eyebrow and sipped from his cup again. With a sigh, you gave in. 

“Please, tell me.” Your teeth were gritted, fingernails digging into your palms. The last time Lugh had been given free reign to talk to you, it had ended with you storming off and, this time, there was no Loki around to cool your fire. You could still feel his cold touch in your memories, the way he surrounded you and doused you. 

“Your gift,” Lugh pointed at the flames that sat above your skin, “you have been able to do that since I first saw you, swaddled as you were in your mother’s arms. It never burnt you, or her, but it kept others away.” 

“Bres?” 

Lugh nodded, “yes, Bres was already jealous, knowing you were not his, but he is not entirely cruel and had wanted to try for your mother’s sake. No one could get close until Brigid and Frigga tamed the flames. Bres believed you to be a Goddess of Fire,” at this Lugh rolled his eyes, “he always was so literal, such a bore. But the idea stuck, not just for him but with the Vanir as well. They wanted you to bring fire and chaos and Ragnarok so that they could seize power. So, naturally, Bres made a deal.” 

“The betrothal.” 

“Exactly.” 

“But, when he came for me, he said I would be the Goddess of Lust.” Your brow furrowed, “there’s nothing in the prophecy about that.” 

“You are correct, that was his intention. But he did not know you well, he believes he can control these things simply by being a King, forgetting that the universe has its own path, that gods forge their own way. Bres believed you to be a goddess of Lust because he wanted you to be, and then you seduced Loki -” 

“I didn’t seduce him I -” 

Lugh held up his hand, “child, do not fret on these details. You were but youths, you cared for one another.” 

You mused on this idea for a while and Lugh allowed you the quiet of your own thoughts. 

“If I’m not the Goddess of Lust, then what am I?”

“I can only answer for myself, child, for you have yet to ascend and truly come into your powers. But I believe you are the Spring, the way you forge through the darkness and bring new hope and life to those around you. It can be nothing else.”

Spring? You settled into the thought, it was kinder than Lust, yet, there was something wrong, something missing. It didn’t spark your magic the way Loki described enjoying mischief, it left you feeling hollow and empty. For a moment you considered arguing with Lugh, but he’d been so patient and kind it didn’t seem fair to push him away again. 

“And now, child, we must think about the future and not the past. Bres resides on the cliffs of your home, on the very limit of Asgardian territory, and one of your court is missing. I must request that you come with me for protection while the warriors deal with this threat.” Lugh said, matter of fact, standing and brushing the tiny wrinkles from his fine clothes. 

“Absolutely not.” You ground out, your blood cold at the thought of running again. 

As if from a shadow Thor approached again, having left the two of you to talk privately. “Trouble, I really think it would be best if -” 

“Thor, don’t, I know you just want to keep me safe -” 

“We all want to keep you safe, Estrid. Come with me and we can wait for this to be over.” 

“I won’t leave my people, I won’t leave my court, I am a sworn warrior of the Asgardian court and my place is here.” 

“There will be no court if Bres unleashes hell upon you!” Lugh shouted, it was the first time he’d truly raised his voice in anger towards you and it made you shrink back, fire tingling at your fingertips. 

“If you really don’t want me here, let me leave to rescue Loki. If you really want me safe, help me.” 

Lugh cast a withering glance back at Thor, who shrugged his shoulders and looked over at you with a half amused, half indulgent, look on his face. 

“Ah Trouble, you always know just how to twist things.” Thor reached over as if to pinch your cheek, but you batted his hand away, holding it out for Lugh instead, “do we have a deal?” 

Lugh sighed heavily, “is this the only way you will leave? To go from one firefight straight to a viper’s nest?” 

“It is, either stay here and fight Bres with me, or go with me to rescue Loki.” 

“Then I shall accompany you to rescue the mischief maker,” he agreed, holding his hand out, “after all, this village will need all the heroes it can find.” 

You had barely made contact with Lugh’s palm before an enormous bang rocked you from your feet, Thor caught you quickly, righting you as his armour manifested. With a half a thought, yours did too, the velvet and metal a reassuring squeeze against the echoing screams of the people outside. 

Brunnhilde ran in from the kitchen followed by Jane, both in their armour, swords drawn, Mjolnir and Stormbreaker hovering near. 

“What on Earth was that?” Jane shouted over the continuing rumble of noise. Clouds of brick dust billowed from under the doors and misted the windows. 

The largest windows faced out onto the harbour and village square, where snow sludged over the edges of the quay into the freezing waves beneath. Now sepia toned from the stone dust the harbour was at least intact. Brunnhilde marched into the back kitchen where high thin windows looked into the alleyway behind but, with the right angle, she tilted her head up and peered at the cliff above the village. 

“Fucking Bres.” She growled, storming from the kitchen, across the hall and out into the melee. 

Thor was close behind with Jane on his heels, Mjolnir in hand. 

The village was in disarray, rocks and mud sliding down the cliff edge had settled on the rooftops, an entire house had crumbled, its occupants thankfully free of the debris but sobbing in front of the ruins of their home and, from every corner, shadows and soldiers swarmed. 

The cliff seemed to be covered in them, all carrying Bres’ or the Vanir banner, headed by Bres himself, flanked by a cruel looking man at his side, his eyes narrowed and a smirk curling the corners of his lips. 

“I warned you,” Bres sneered, “I told you to come with me, welp, or you would suffer the consequences, I told you to know your place, or I would put you back there.” 

“My place is here,” you shouted back over the chaos unfolding around you, “this is where I belong, these are my people and you will leave them.” 

“Or what?” The Vanir beside him laughed, “I shall enjoy breaking you.” He leered, unsheathing his sword, and lept from the jutting rocks to the fallen debris below, getting closer and closer with each lurching stride. 

You wanted to fall back, wanted your stomach to stop churning, but you held your ground, spear aloft and bursting with flames as he charged. 

On signal from Bres the soldiers gathered closer and closer, the villagers backing up into the square where Thor and Jane corralled them into a circle behind them. 

He was getting closer, so close, and you missed Loki so much, missed his reassuring touch, missed the feel of him beside you, ready to face any challenge, missed knowing he believed in you…but that belief, that knowledge, it didn’t reside with him. Your left hand unfurled, fire whipping from your fingers and curling at your feet, a wall of heat rising before you. He had told you enough times that you believed him, whether he was with you or not. 

“Or, you disgusting pig, I’ll show you your place.” With a speed you didn’t realise you had, your left hand moved forward sending the flame snapping towards him like a bull whip. It cracked on the ground, cutting into the front of his leather boots. 

“You little bitch,” he parried forwards again, pushing through the shield of heated air you’d created, his skin crackling and his sword clashing with your spear. 

“Your argument is with me, leave the people alone.” You snarled, using your spear to push his sword back towards him.

From across the square you could hear Bres cackling maniacally, his own magic flashing as reflections in the windows, you could hear Mjolnir zipping past you and Brunnhilde’s battle cry as she pushed the soldiers back, towards the cliffs. Time seemed to slow, the sun hot on the back of your neck despite the grey clouds and biting wind. 

He stepped closer, pushing through the shield despite the pain until he was nose to nose, flecks of spittle settling on his chin in his fury. 

“I was promised a beautiful, lustful, bride and I have had to chase you across the universe and through the centuries just to discover that you are a wilful, disrespectful harlot.” 

“So fuck off.” Your jaw hurt from gritting your teeth, but you refused to back down, stepping toe to toe. 

“Like I said, I endured all that, and now I get to break you down too and I will savour every -” he pushed you backwards, “single -” his sword raised again, - “moment-” 

Everything went black, the dull roar of fighting in your ears and the startled whites of his eyes as the darkness took over and then blinding light. 

He had fallen back onto cobblestones, but there was no longer a Long Hall behind him, just more empty space, fields and trees, stones and even alpine flowers forcing their heads through the depth of the fresh snow fall. 

“Where the fuck have you taken me?” He jumped back to his feet, sword out. Behind you Thor and Jane backed the last of the soldiers over the harbour wall with a splash before turning to see the empty countryside. 

Beside you, Lugh placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, “you did it,”  He smiled softly, “you summoned her cloak.” 

The Vanir fled towards Bres, vanishing with a crack. 

Loki felt a tremor deep inside, a stirring of a preternatural sense, something deep seated and startling. He had felt it only once before, although it had been very recent, when Hela had brought down the palace of Asgard and he had helped the people flee onto a rescue ship bound for gods know where. 

It made him sick, roiled in his stomach and he marched for the windows, banging with all his strength. 

“You must release me, Asgard requires my help. Release me! I must go and protect my people! Let me lose!” 

There was no answer, only the subtle dimming of the lights and the echo of his own pleas. 

<<Chapter 22

Chapter 24>>

[unfriedough]

HIII

ok so I know it says you do fem but r u also able to do gender neutral? If not, it’s ok!!

Anyways

Hcs of Zuko w a S/O who’s like, blunt as hell, and doesn’t rlly express emotions a big majority of the time lmao

‘Taken’- Zuko x female!reader

Masterlist <3

An: JASMIN DISAPPEARING FOR ANOTHER FEW MONTH?? Why’re you surprised?

Also, this isn’t gender neutral. I know you asked for it but I said on the guidelines that I’m only writing female :( I didn’t wanna blow off the whole request tho

Summary: hc’s of zuko and you being falling for each other - but both of you such at love.

Warnings: reader was meant to be blunt but idk how to be blunt.

A shrug.

That was all Aang got when he asked for your opinion on Zuko’s joining of the team.

(“Couldn't care less,” you said when questioned about it later, on the soft beach of ember island)

Truly, it didn’t make a difference to you

Yes he was needed - firebender and all - but it’s not like he’ll be teaching you right?

Wrong.

Turns out you can learn loads from just different fighting styles and stuff, and you were intrigued in the foreign moves

Zuko would 100% get worse at what he was doing under your scrutinising gaze.

I mean that's how he interpreted it

Really there was no emotion

The firebender definitely asked you about why you were watching - took much courage though (poor boy)

“You’re good at what you do.” you paused, “Sometimes,”

“Sometimes?” he rubbed his neck, confused.

“Yeah, sometimes I’m surprised a twelve year old beat you that easily,”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“You think you’re better than me?”

You cocked your head to the side, furrowing your eyebrows, “I think we both know the answer to that,”

So that’s why you're now in this position.

Zuko’s pinned under you, arms immobile, heaving heavily

“Fine! I surrender!”

“No, I won,” you said, getting up and dusting your clothes.

“Whatever,” he walked away

That very night, Zuko laid awake in his hard bed space, thoughts of you plaguing his mind. He replayed the spar like a thrilling movie, his heartbeat soaring as he recalls just how close you were to him.

He didn’t like the feeling rising in his heart, it felt like it was bursting. He placed pale, slender fingers onto the centre of his chest sighing heavily to attempt to rid himself of this awful feeling.

“You’re breathing too loud,” you whispered, careful not to wake other people in the room.

“What do you want me to do?” he frowned, sitting up, and matching the intensity of your glare.

“Breath like a normal person, not like a fish just discovering oxygen,”

Nothing better to describe his face than this: ._.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” he whispered back, confused.

“Good night Zuko,”

He grinned, “It was funny,”

“GOOD NIGHT ZUKO” you whisper shouted.

You assumed he would relent, but the sleep deprivation mixed with the high of having a small (huge) crush gave him the confidence to talk to you just a little longer.

“Do you wanna fight me?”

“With the intention to knock you out? Sure.”

And now you’re both outside, and I guess he had the upper hand. 

He wasn’t tired, and you were exhausted

Your muscles were fatigued, but you weren’t going to back down

After an embarrassingly short rematch, you’d found that Zuko had beat you, and you laid defenceless.

“I win,” he mocked, getting up.

“Did you really?”

He whipped his head back around, any faster would’ve given him whiplash, “Um? Yes?”

“Are you sure?” 

“YES!?”

“Okay then, whatever you say,”

You rolled onto the sandy area, spreading your limbs with a heavy sigh.

Zuko looked up slowly at the sky, hesitantly nearing your resting body.

“I don’t bite prince,” you rolled your eyes.

“I wouldn't take your word for it,” he giggled.

You simply looked at him, not a glare though, or a smile or smirk or scowl or anything.

You seemed to be thinking about something, an internal war. On one hand, you wanted to reach out to him, pull him closer to you, tell him how you felt. And on the other, you didn’t want to. It was too mushy and feely for your character, you felt embarrassed you even thought about it. You looked away promptly, unable to conceal the frown on your features.

“You okay?” he asked, worry laced in his words.

“Sand’s not comfortable, it’s gonna give me a headache,” that wasn't a lie, it was disgustingly hard to get comfortable when laying on bare sand.

Zuko gathered up whatever confidence he had left, and scooted so he was sat criss-cross above where your head rested.

He gave a dopey smile, before opening his mouth to say something. You looked upwards at him, his grin contagious, contaminating your annoyed features.

“You could lay your head on my lap?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you scooted up, carefully rested your head onto his body, a look on your face.

And after a little more staring, he came to realise what it was,

You were shy

All the signs pointed to it; your averting gaze, fidgeting fingers, feet working antagonistically from point to flat (like when you point your feet and then like put them how you stand idk how to describe it ), and your quickened breathing.

He leaned down slightly, his nose practically touching yours.

“Hi,” you breathed out, fighting the urge to look at his lips.

Who gave him this confidence ??????????

Sleep deprivation that's what

“Hi,” 

You reached your fingers into his hair, slightly tugging down at him, trying to infer what your words failed to tell.

His eyes glistened with adoration, before fluttering shut as he contacted your lips.

The firebender’s lips were cut, you assumed maybe he did that, a stress coping mechanism you’d frequently told him to quit

When the kiss broke, neither of you moved.

You stayed on that beach the whole night - eventually even falling asleep.

You on his lap, and him lying down uncomfortable in order to keep your head comfy on his lap

Zuko woke up before you, rubbing his eyes as Katara came into view

She had been on a stroll, with the intention to swim, when she came across the scene

She’d never seen you look so soft, or Zuko look so tender

Her eyebrows flew up as she made eye contact with the boy, eyes snapping between your curled up figure and his sandy-hair covered face

Then furrowed again as she clocked in the scene

Zuko’s face glowed red as he realised Katara saw this, and even more so when he felt you shift, burying your head in his knee area to avoid the light of the scorching fire nation sun, a quiet groan leaving your lips.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of the firebender’s mouth as he watched you intently, a blurry emotion behind his irises.

“Can I ask: what?” She whispered, eyes blown wide.

Her voice, albeit quiet, brought you out of your trance.

You yawned, spreading your limbs then covering your face from the sun.

Suddenly, you gained enough consciousness to acknowledge your surroundings, and you quickly opened your eyes, despite the blinding light.

A gasp left your lip as you sat up, making eye contact with the flushed fire bender.

“Good morning?”

“Hi.”

You said at the same time, an awkward silence over taking.

Your eyes suddenly followed a sound of shuffling - only to see katara standing there looking rather out of place.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hello,” you replied, embarrassed.

“I’m just gonna-“ she pointed off to the side, before basically running away.

You both watched her leave, then turned to look at eachother.

The fire bender was dazed in the view of you, the way your eyes twinkled, and your lips remained pouted.

But the way that your face was illuminated, despite not even facing the sun, you looked straight out of a movie.

He was so entranced, that zuko was convinced that if the moon was to see you - it would be jealous of your effortless beauty.

You, on the other hand, were about to slap him for staring.

You tilted your head to the side, so confused that a question mark could’ve popped up above your head.

Immediately he looked away, attempting to rid the feeling of his heart in his throat.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to stare? 

Bye he was so embarrassed

“Shut up.”

You narrowed your eyes, pushing him onto the sand so that he was under you,

“And what if I don’t?” You leaned in, whispering.

His heart was running laps, his mind equally pacing.

“Hm? What would you do?”

He sat quietly, eyes wide, as he took in the proximity. Your lips just looked so…

Hey is it just you or is he about to kiss you?

It’s not just you because he did!

It was a sweet, long lasting, testing the waters type of kiss

And that’s basically how you started dating 

Did I or did I not get carried away?

Anyways now that you're dating !!!

Being his S/O was definitely something you could get used to

Zuko is absolutely the type of guy to give you constant princess treatment

He’d act like you’re already married - at this point you’re just missing the ring

He always made it a point to make sure you were fed and hydrated, warm too

Maybe he’d abuse that warmth power a little

You’d be lying in the same tent and he’d be like “Come closer you’re cold,”

“Zuko im room temperature im not cold,”

“No You’re cold come here,”

“Just say you want a hug,”

“Shut up,”

He tugged you closer so you laid against his chest unable to see his face - probably cuz he was redder than his tunic.

It was all the tiny things he did that get you really comfortable being affectionate

Even though he himself was shy, he knew he had to be the one initiating touch

Another instance is when you go eat - he'll ensure he sat closest to you, and always brush hands with you when passing you your bowl. Of course he thought he was slick when he would sit close enough so your knees touched - but you noticed.

You noticed but you didn’t tell him you noticed, you knew he’d be embarrassed if caught red handed.

As someone who felt like he was never enough, physical affection was something that really made an impact on him

Something as simple as tracing his scars with gentle fingers, or rubbing his arm soothingly after a particularly rough day

Although your words couldn’t convey how you felt, you weren’t raised to be touchy feely, you knew he understood what you meant

He could hear the words of affirmation even while you slept, he could feel the comfort radiating off of your curled body in his tent

He knew you felt comfortable around him, and that alone was a great achievement in his mind

Zuko was used to coming off as gruff and mean, but you know it was a facade - a coping mechanism

You knew he was the same thirteen year old mommy’s boy that he was years ago

These hc’s are so long 😨

You always made it a point to treat him gently - despite being such a blunt person

You found yourself holding your tongue more often, being nicer to people around you because you got used to only having compliments for Zuko.

Maybe, you’d even try to put your affections into words - and although not formulating like you wanted, with fumbling words and fidgeting hands - the thought was what counted

He knew being super fluffy was a struggle for you, and that you were trying your best to be your best for him

He could see your effort - and you could see his.

The gang definitely saw you as a weird pair at the start

They found out once they saw Zuko laughing, hiding his face and you smirked at him.

Your hands rested on his torso as you willed him to take you seriously

You just said he looked nice when he trained - you both know what you meant

His shirt was clinging to his skin and his hair stuck to his face - my man was just out of a movie scene.

After the gang had long dispersed, you spoke your mind.

This brought the shyness out 

Unfortunately, it was Aang who saw the interaction

“Zuko? YN? What’s so funny?”

When the rest of your friends heard Zuko, YN, AND FUNNY in the same sentence, they peeked.

“Nothing,” Zuko mumbled, his ears tinting.

You flinched your hand away from him, coughing awkwardly.

“Wait a minute,” Sokka narrowed his eyes at you.

“Why’re you guys on the floor?” Toph asked.

Zuko lifted his head, looking at you with panic, you returned just the same

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I don’t know..”

The prince looked to you for help, only to find you trying to hold back a laugh. 

Your lips tucked inwards and eyes pointed downwards.

He looked forward again, side eyeing you so aggressively.

“What am I watching?” Sokka asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t know,” toph mumbled.

You were laughing as Katara seemed so puzzled, and yet so sure of what her discovery could mean.

“Wait a minute,”

“Well that’s my cue!” you got up abruptly, dusting your clothing before practically beelining to the house.

The group was left staring at Zuko, who was on the verge of burning you alive

Eventually they got it out of him

Jk they got it out of katara

“Wait, what were you gonna say?” Aang asked katara.

“I was just gonna ask about that one time  she was asleep on his lap,”

Zuko looked like he was contemplating drowning himself

“SHE WHAT”

“Yeah on the beach before�� like two days ago,” she paused, “What was that about?”

“Umm, she was sleepy?”

“Why didn’t you sleep in a room then?”

“…Fresh air.”

“Fresh air?”

“Fresh air. Mhm”

“And what about when you kissed?” Toph added.

She was blind, but she knew how to sandbend.

It just so happened that that night seemed to be a sleepless night all around, the young earth bender was perched on a small chair, where her feet could touch natural ground so she could experience the surroundings.

(Or because she wanted to know what you and Zuko were doing, she’s blind not deaf)

“W H A T” sokka yelled, everyone staring blankly at Toph.

“Yeah, two days ago, this very beach, sparring in the middle of the night… ring a bell Zuko?”

“Not at all.” He stood his ground.

“Cut the crap,” Suki giggled, “it’s obvious!”

“What’s obvious?” He played stupid.

“Tha-“ suki was cut off by the dramatic show Sokka was about to put on.

“Oh YN! You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met!” He twirled, “I just wanna-“ he made a loud kiss noise.

The gang erupted into laughter, mainly because of the poor fire boy's reaction. His face was not only red, no, his eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

“I think that’s enough teasing,” katara giggled.

Aang and her went off to go do- whatever they do.

Suki, sokka and toph remained. As they were busy laughing, 

You overheard what he said as you were just around the corner, and decided to take a jab at his previous theatrics.

You walked up to them from behind, kicking sokka’s knees inwards.

He yelped as he fell to the ground, immediately looking up to the source.

You towered over him, the ghost of a smile on your face.

You paused, a rare smirk making an appearance on your face.

“I’m flattered, but unfortunately I’m not single,” 

An: I’d like to imagine chaos would start here

[shellem15]

Thinking about the Dawnfather. A god of light, a god of harvest, a god of the sun itself. Good but not nice, kind but not soft. Life-giving but also scorching. Protective, warm, and kind, but also stern, harsh, and abrasive. His light can foster growth, can protect and guide, but it can also scorch and burn. The sun is warm and nurturing but don’t stare at it too long, child, it’ll blind you.

Was he always so hard? Did he always hide his face with the harsh light of the sun? Or was there a time when he smiled and laughed, let others see him as he truly was?

Thinking about the Schism. Was the Dawnfather close to the Betrayer Gods before they turned? He must have been, Asmodeus wouldn’t be so hung up on him if he wasn’t. Speaking of Asmodeus, he was once a being of light, like the Dawnfather and the Everlight are now. Were they closer than the others? When the Gods came to Exandria, did they come from the same place or were they scattered, a ragtag group of survivors fleeing from predators seeking to devour them? And if the latter is true, did these three beings of light come from the same place? Siblings, born from the same stuff, forever tied to one another?

If this was the case, then, what was their relationship before the Schism? Did they call each other “Brother” and “Sister”? Did they hold each other when they were scared, dry each other’s tears, laugh and joke and tease and fight and make up because they were siblings and they’d always be together, and they loved each other with every fiber of their being and they only had each other. When Predathos came, when it devoured two of their newfound siblings, did the Dawnfather hold them both and promise them that everything was going to be okay because he was their brother and he was going to protect them, all of them. The gods, mortals, the world itself, they would not be devoured, they would not be destroyed, because he was there and would fight until his very last breath to keep them safe.

Wondering then, was that the moment when Asmodeus truly grew to hate their creations? Seeing his brother and sister and siblings risk their lives just to protect some mewling mortal wretches when they could just leave it all behind and start somewhere new. Was that the moment when he realized that mortals had done something to them, changed them when they were not supposed to change. Why else would they risk being devoured by Predathos, why else would they suffer through war with the Primordials? Why else would they choose them over him!? Was this the moment when he decided to conspire with the Primordials and the other Betrayer Gods? To destroy this world and the mortals on it so they could finally leave. And they would leave, of course, because the Dawnfather was his brother and the Everlight was his sister and the Gods were a family, and at the end of the day, they would always be together, and once the corrupting influence of those mortals was gone, they would surely all see reason.

And when the Dawnfather discovered this betrayal, when all the Prime Deities did, he must have been furious. How could they!? His kin, his brother, who had always been by his side through everything, how could they turn around and destroy their creations, their children. And so he and the other Primes took up arms and fought against their own family to protect this world they had created, and their children who inhabited it. Those battles must have been brutal, bonds of comradery broken, kin clashing against kin, screaming curses as they tore each other apart.

During those final battles of the Schism, when the Dawnfather clashed against Asmodeus, did they scream at each other in rage? A twisted reflection of previous squabbles, different because this time it was real, this time there is no forgiveness, no making up. When the Dawnfather knocked Asmodeus down, crushed his throat under his foot and banished him to the Hells, was he yelling when he disowned him? Or was he quiet when he did it, his voice going into a low growl, deadly calm as he told him that he was not his brother anymore. And moments previously, when the Dawnfather could have easily killed him, did he look into Asmodeus’s eyes and see his brother? Scared and hurt by his hands, hands that once held him and swore to protect him. In that moment, did the Dawnfather realize he couldn’t kill him? Because that was his brother and despite everything, he still loved him, and hurting him brought him more grief and pain than he could ever imagine. So instead, he banished him, locked him and all the other Betrayers away because he and the other Primes couldn’t bring themselves to kill their family, but they also couldn’t let them free.

Was this when the Dawnfather obscured his face? Hardened his heart because otherwise he would break, and he cannot break, because the other gods need him to be strong, because Exandria needs him to be strong. And so he stayed strong, despite the grief, despite the guilt, despite the pain of heartbreak, of hurting the ones he loved to protect the ones he loved. And this hardening must have continued, running himself ragged during Calamity, beating back Tharizdun, protecting Ioun after she almost died, sheltering the Everlight after Asmodeus once again betrayed her, stabbed her in the back and left her broken and weak when all she wanted was to do was get her brother back, to save him from his own wrath. Failure after failure after failure to protect those he cared about, to protect his siblings and mortals and Exandria itself. The guilt of his failures must be overwhelming, and these are his failures: Predathos devoured his siblings under his watch, his siblings betrayed them under his watch, Calamity ravaged Exandria under his watch, and even now, the threat of Predathos has once again returned under his watch.

No wonder he is so harsh now, so controlling now: because every time he has failed in his vigilance the world has suffered for it. He can’t fail again; he can’t lose any more siblings. And so, he continues hardening his heart, continues fighting, because the sun must always rise again in the morning, no matter what.

[sspextkr]

snowed in - gerard/gn! reader fluffmas ao3

A snow storm blows out the power, leaving you trapped in an ATM vestibule with a certain celebrity crush of yours. (Heavily inspired by that one episode of FRIENDS ngl)

meet cute, plotless/mostly fluff, celebrity/fan dynamic, takes place in '07 read here on tumblr v or on ao3 (link above ^)

"5.. 10.. 15.. 20.. Good." You mutter under your breath, counting the amount you had pulled out from your bank account out loud. One week until Christmas, and there's still lots of shopping to be done. The last stop on your list for the night is a hole in the wall comic store for your younger brother, who's into all sorts of nerdy comic-y things. You have no idea what you're doing or what to get him- Maybe they'll have a cool figurine or something. They only take cash for some reason too, meaning you had to stop by and pull some out.

Although, you're also beginning to wonder if you should go home and do this in the morning- The snow is only getting worse by the minute, and you don't want to risk anything going wrong. The power could go out at any moment- knock on wood- and this vestibule isn't the comfiest. The ATM's are running smoothly, and the doors are functioning with no problem, so things should run smoothly.

You pocket your cash before walking to the front, and pulling the door handle. Clunk. It doesn't open. Maybe it's a push? Clunk. Not a push either. Just as you're about to give the door handle another tug, the lights flicker, before shutting off.

"... Shit-" You grumble, running a hand through your hair. Well, there go your plans for the evening. You spoke too soon, it seems.

“Aw, crap-” An awfully familiar voice sighs from behind you as well. “Guess we’re stuck.”

You only hum in agreement, turning around only to find yourself face to face with Gerard fucking Way.

…

“Holy shit.”

Like many of your friends, you had discovered My Chemical Romance in your late middle school/early high school years and became a massive fan, downloading every song of theirs you could find and buying as many magazines that had them on the cover as your parents allowed you too. Now, a little older and a bit more mature, you grew out of your phase, but the celebrity crushes still remained- Were they as intense as they were when you were 15? No, but certain photos did get your heart fluttering a bit.

Gerard pulled out his phone from the pocket of his trench coat, walking a few steps away before speaking. “Hi, yeah- I’m okay, I’m okay- The power went out and I’m trapped in the vestibule.” He paused. 

Right. You should probably call your own family and let them know where you are. You felt around your pockets, only to remember that you left it at home. Well, shit.

“No, I’m not alone..” Gerard glanced at you briefly. “I don’t know. Some guy.”

“Ha. I’m some guy.. What the hell is wrong with me?”

He spoke a few more brief words before hanging up, then awkwardly clearing his throat and turning back towards you, holding out his phone. “Do you wanna call anyone?”

You took his phone with an equally awkward demeanor, and dialed your moms number- You were supposed to drop by for a family dinner after a quick shopping trip, but the snow decided that you had other plans. After listening to it ring for a while, it goes straight to voicemail. Gerard gives you a sympathetic glance as he takes his phone back, putting it in his pocket.

"I just called my mom from Gerard fucking Way's phone, no big deal at all-" Secretly, you wished your cousin, Sabrina, had answered. She was supposed to be there, too, and was a massive MCR fan a few years ago like yourself. She would've been great to ramble with about this.

Neither of you spoke a word for the majority of the time, the only sound being the violent storm passing by outside. You decided to take a seat against the wall, awkwardly tracing the floor tiles. Gerard had a few other calls, some made and some received- It sounded like Christmas stuff, mostly.

"Busy?" You asked out of nowhere after his third call.

He gave a tired chuckle and nodded. "Yeah.. Christmas is always a big time of year for me. I'm.. I don't want to sound like I'm bragging or boasting, but I'm.. Sort of a musician. A bit big- Too big, if you want my opinion. Always some merchandise bundle scandal to deal with, or a tour that collides with vacation time-" Gerard paused, cheeks going slightly red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, no, it's okay. I asked, didn't I?" That seemed to calm him down a bit. "I've.. Heard of you before, I think. You're pretty good." 'Heard of you' was putting it lightly, but there's no way in hell you're going to come out as a superfan and risk embarrassing yourself in front of your teen hero.

"Ah.. Well, thanks. I appreciate it. Really." He smiled shyly, gaze still facing the ground. Your heart fluttered again. Jesus Christ. "What about you? You have anything going on?"

"I was supposed to be Christmas shopping. I came out here to pull out some money, but-" You gestured to the window showing off the blizzard outside. "Mother nature decided I had other plans."

"I get that." Gerard stepped closer to you, taking a seat beside you on the floor. Ho ho holy shit- "I wanted to do some shopping myself before I went home.. Came here to pull out some money. There's a comic store nearby that I like that only takes cash for some reason."

That caught your interest. "Spikes?"

He nodded, giving you another soft smile. "Yeah! You've been there?"

"Once or twice.." You brushed a loose strand of hair out of your face. "My brother is really into comics and superheroes and all that stuff.. I figured I'd stop by and see what I could find him. Too bad I don't know the first thing about comics."

"Lemme tell you, as a fellow comic book nerd, a figurine of his favorite character will probably make his day. D'you who or what he likes?"

"Uh.." You paused as you thought. "Really, really big on Iron Man. He can't wait for the movie to come out. Hasn't stopped talking about it since he saw the first few previews."

"Iron Man.." Gerard repeated softly. "Well, he's one of the most recognizable superheroes ever, so I have no doubt you'll be able to find him something Iron Man related. Figurines can get pretty expensive, though.."

".. Will $20 be enough?"

Gerard chuckled like you had just told him a joke. "If they're having a sale.. Maybe."

You chuckled as well, the sound cut off by a shiver running down your spine. With the power off, whatever heating units they had going was also off, and it was getting pretty cold. "You okay?"

You nodded, wrapping your jacket around yourself a little tighter. "I just get cold easily."

Gerard frowned, scooching to the side for a moment to take off his trench coat before settling it over your shoulders. "There."

You mumbled a small thank you, cheeks heating up to an embarrassing degree. Why were you so easy? Who gets flustered from someone giving you their jacket? Maybe since it's Gerard fucking Way-

The two of you continued to exchange a few words here and there, small talk turning into lighthearted and playful conversations. It was a little surreal getting to know him. Yeah, you had read all sorts of articles and watched all sorts of interviews, knew every song lyric by heart, and could drop so many of his iconic quotes into any conversation, but you were able to see who he was off camera. And who that was, was an adorable, loveable bastard with a passion for comics. Who knew he had such a sense of humor?

Your time together came to an abrupt end when the power flickered back on, the ATM’s came back to life and the door unlocked, finally. The both of you stood up, and you gave his coat back, not feeling quite as awkward or shy around him.

"This was a surprisingly good time." Gerard said after putting his coat back on, adjusting the collar around his neck. "Any chance I can get your number so we can meet up again?"

You blanked before nodding. "Uh.. Yeah, yeah.. Sure.."

Gerard smiled. "Awesome." He opened his contacts and handed you his phone, in which you typed your number in with shaking fingers. "I'll, uh, text you soon?"

"Yeah- Totally. I'm free besides the holidays."

"Great." He began to step away, walking towards the front door, before turning towards you at the last moment. "It was nice meeting you."

"Y-You too." And with that, he left. You found yourself needing a moment or two before you left yourself.

...

Sabrina’s never gonna believe this-