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sushiwriterhere · 1 year

Text

two: required texts

flight path

summary: "It takes your remaining sober thoughts to refocus on beer pong instead of how hard it hits you that you want Jake." rating: mature (eventually explicit, 18+ mdni) pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader word count: ~6.9k lol warnings: angst, masturbation ment, enemies to lovers!, college au!, eventual smut, hangman being hangman, no use of y/n. notes: dedicated to @waklman bc u entertain my insane dms <3 pls pls pls let me know what you think everyone!! masterlist here this fic is being posted from my queue while I have little access to the internet. any tag list requests/fic replies will be slow; thanks!

"Jake said you were coming to our party this Friday?" Bradley's smile is so genuine, so unlike everything about Jake, "Never thought you'd agree but it'll be good to see you."

Sometimes you regret making things so sour with Jake, because Bradley’s actually really sweet. He’s been letting you and Jake duke it out about your project at their breakfast bar counter while he cooks in the background. He’s kind of always on FaceTime with someone, usually a girl, and he even makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. Something about the flakey sea salt just does it.

Bradley is the kind of guy you think you might settle down with one day. Bradley doesn’t throw his hands up in the air at you in frustration when you argue about what exactly qualifies as sustainability, and he certainly does not make deals with you to try and get you to come to frat parties.

That being said, he looks so happy to hear that you might be joining them that you really don’t have the heart to knock him down.

“Oh, yeah, Jake–” You consider your words carefully.

Jake hadn’t explicitly said that the deal was to be kept hush-hush, but you didn’t really know how much you wanted people knowing that you were willing to trade your introvert lifestyle just to ensure a good grade. Plus, it felt just a smidge pathetic that that was what you’d caved to.

“Jake told me he talked you into it in exchange for going with your lead on your project, but it doesn’t seem to really be working.” Bradley’s laugh fills the hallways of the lab and you feel yourself tense up.

God, you really did get the short end of the stick if it was that obvious that Jake wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain at all.

“Yeah... well...” You trail off, twisting your hands in front of you until someone calls you name at the end of the hallway.

Bradley looks at you, his gaze a little too knowing, before you both wave goodbye and you take off toward the sound of your supervisor’s voice.

Running into Bradley is one thing, he’s nice and doesn’t make you want to poke your eyeballs out, getting to the end of the hallway to see Jake standing in front of your professor with an easy-going smile on his face is another. Fantastic.

“Mr. Seresin here was just telling me that the two of you have been hard at work,” Jake bounces his shoulders just a little behind your professor’s back, as if rubbing it in how much he’d obviously been talking himself up in the few seconds before, “I have high expectations for the two of you.”

You resist the urge to call him a dumbass in front of the man who’s probably going to single handedly get you into MIT, and school your features into something a little more school-appropriate. You are not going to let him screw this, especially this, up for you.

“Of course, Professor Simmons, we’re certainly putting our all into it.” Jake mock gags behind the professor’s back for a split second before he turns around, and then he’s the picture of academic excellence.

Simmons wanders off in the way he usually does, leaving just you and Jake standing in the hallway. Distantly, you know that you’re technically on the clock, but you’re well-liked enough that you can get away with a little time theft. No one’s had any complaints on time sheet day so far.

Jake rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, smile ever present. For a moment, he looks a bit unsure of himself, but the expression is gone even quicker than it came.

“What are you doing in the labs, Jake. Don’t you have some other poor girl to harass?” You cross your arms and stare expectantly at him– you’d rather spend your stolen time reading the New Yorker on your phone and not dealing with Jake Seresin.

“Was just dropping by to chat with Simmons, you know how it is. Office hours, etcetera, etcetera.” He’s at ease once again, his gaze trained fully on you.

“Why did you say etc like that?”

“Did you just say ‘e-t-c’?”

For a moment there’s complete and entire silence, the type that happens right before exams are handed out. Then, Jake starts howling with laughter, completely doubled over. You watch in horror, listening to his voice echo around the sterile hallways and probably right into every professor’s office.

Once he’s done completely humiliating you, he stands up and wipes at his eyes, “Sorry, you just—you were lecturing me the other day about ‘histrionics’ and you’ve never heard etcetera said aloud have you?”

You bristle, teeth gritted, “I’ll have you know, you can say it either way.” He doesn’t need to know, but you haven’t heard it aloud.

“Oh, I was also looking for you.” His abrupt change of subject makes you nervous.

You and Jake have admittedly been spending a lot of time together. After your first few hours at the library, Jake’s been making a habit of being around you. Like, a lot.

First, he’s always sitting next to you in your shared classes. You’re only taking four, and sharing three of those is just a lot of Jake-time. He mostly leaves you alone, thankfully, but he’s taken to poking you to get your attention for his random thoughts, turning his computer your direction to show you a funny meme someone sent him, and occasionally reaching over to doodle on your notes. He also always uses your shared seat rest.

You don’t know why you let him do it. But, if you were brutally honest, it’s kind of nice having him around. Despite all your petty disagreements, Jake’s a bright personality, and it makes your stomach flip in a funny way when he spots you across the quad and waves wildly to get your attention, or when he buys you lunch before your library sessions. You do keep bickering about nearly everything though.

That’s the second thing. Now, after your two classes together on Mondays and Wednesdays, the two of you will go to the library and study til the wee hours of the morning. On more than one occasion, he’s bought you coffee to sustain your hours of staring at complex equations and trying to apply to grad schools.

(“What grad school are you applying to now?”

“Nunya.”

“Okay, unless the top fifteen rankings have been updated since the last time I checked there is no grad school that—“

“Nunya business.”

“Very funny. Real mature. You’re really childish y’know that.”

“I’m childish? Remind me which one of us spent eighty five dollars at a candy store last week after taking forty five minutes to decide.”

“There’s a lot of options!”)

You two don’t make a lot of conversation but it’s getting easier to talk to him like he’s a normal person, like he’s anyone else. You still keep your cards close to your chest, though, unready to let him in fully and still not entirely trusting him.

Once, you’d shared a bit about how much pressure you felt to get into a top graduate program, to ensure that your parents were taken care of as an only child. Jake had been surprisingly empathetic, and had shared some about his home life, which you suspected wasn’t as idyllic as he made it seem, but it had made you smile.

“Youngest, with four sisters, I was a little doll,” He’d laughed. He never talked about his parents, really.

It had been an odd moment of peace between the two of you until he had teased you for the way you read out an equation as you were checking your work, and then it was back to trading barbs.

The third thing is that he hadn’t invited you to a party til this week, about four into the semester. Before he had, it hung over your head like an anvil–ominous, always present, and not exactly forthcoming on when it was planning on crushing you like a bug.

He’d been too nice about it, assuring you that whatever you wore would be fine (“Just think... slutty?” “Don’t be sexist, Jake.” “What! That’s what the sorority girls say.” “Well, are you a sorority girl?” “I can be if you want me to be, sweets.” “You have issues.”). He’d also said he’d keep an eye out on you but that his frat brothers were all great people, and besides, Bradley would be around. You don’t really want to share how it makes you feel that Bradley had asked you if you really were attending.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re coming on Friday.” His smile softens into something more genuine than his usual wild grin. “Was worried I might’ve scared you off.”

You huff, “I’m not scared.”

The way he looks at you in that moment makes you want to shove him so he’ll stop staring at you, a combination of pity and something else you’re afraid to identify, “No, not at all.”

Then, his demeanor changes back into something that’s a bit more familiar to you as he tucks his hands into his pockets and turns to leave, “Besides, if you don’t come, we’re doing our entiiiire project on Naval mechanics. Bye!”

He’s gone before you can yell at him.

This isn’t who you are–outfits strewn all over the floor of your room, music blaring from your phone where it’s charging in the corner, a layer of nervous sweat starting to coat your forehead and palms. Nothing fits right or in a way that doesn’t make you want to lose your mind.

For a moment, you wish that you were a sorority girl, surrounded by women who know all the cultural rules of what you’re about to walk into. It’s not in a “I’m not like other girls” way, but more in a “my parties consist of wine and boardgames”. You are excited, but you also just feel stupid.

You jump about half a foot in the air when your music cuts off all of a sudden and is replaced by the someone singing “save a horse, ride a cowboy” at far too many decibels. Scrambling, you grab your phone from the far side of your bed and see that it’s Jake trying to FaceTime.

“When did you change your ringtone?” Is the first thing you say when you pick up, endlessly irritated. “Your voice is terrible, by the way.”

Jake just laughs, “Oh, it absolutely is not. And you left your phone unlocked when you went to the bathroom two weeks ago, it was the only logical course of action. How have you not noticed til now?”

“I keep my phone on silent like a normal person.” You try to angle the camera so he can’t see the fact that you’re only in a sports bra and that you are absolutely not dressed despite the fact that you need to leave relatively soon.

“Again with this normal person thing, sweets,” He looks like he’s walking through the frat house as you hear people in the background, and you have half a mind to ask if Bradley’s around but decide against it. Something tells you Jake would be, well, weird about it. “You have got to be the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something.”

The absolutely unimpressed look on your face makes him laugh, and you almost hang up until you remember that he could potentially be helpful with your predicament. He wasn’t helpful last time but maybe this time he will be. He at least knows more about what girls are supposed to wear to this stuff.

“Jake...” You start, unsure of how to even ask.

‘Oh hey Jake, how am I supposed to dress slutty for the frat party you cajoled me into going to because this is really out of my comfort zone and I’m this close to just telling you we can do your stupid Naval aircraft idea so that I don’t have to deal with this’ is a decidedly bad start.

“Sweets...” He croons back at you over the phone as he sets you down on a bathroom counter.

It’s then that you realize that he’s been shirtless this entire time, and is still very much shirtless. Look, you may have a deep dislike for Jake Seresin as a person, but you’re not blind. You have eyes. And your eyes are telling you that Jake is absolutely so fucking fine that you have sort of forgotten your question.

He’s absentmindedly applying shaving cream to his face and bustling around the bathroom while opening drawers and humming to himself. You remain silent.

You just sort of stare at him for a few seconds before he raises an eyebrow at you. It’s then that you realize you’re holding your phone at an atrocious angle and you’re supposed to be asking him how to dress for this and showing him the insides of your nostrils is definitely not going to be doing you any favors.

“Sweets, did you have something you were going to say or are you just going to spend the next thirty minutes checking me out?” Jake says it so nonchalantly it almost makes you hang up, but you’re caught off guard by how something as simple as watching him shave on FaceTime can feel so endearing and domestic.

“Very funny. I was going to tell you you have something sticking out of your nose but I guess I won’t now.” You huff, hoping it’ll distract him from the last two minutes of silence.

At the very least, it works. Jake frantically tries to figure out what’s danging from his nose while you try and regroup.

“I need your help picking an outfit.” It’s dramatic, but it feels like a weight off your chest to say it, “I just– Well, it’s just that nothing looks good and I hate this.”

Jake sets his razor down and leans close to his phone so you can see only his face and nothing else, “Lemme see what’cha got, sweets.”

The next twenty minutes are, somehow, not entirely excruciatingly painful. Jake immediately vetoes every single one of your business casual outfits (“You are not wearing slacks to a frat party, sweets, be serious.”) but he’s nice about it. When you dive deep into your closet to pull out a box of items you haven’t thought about since you bought them freshman year, you really start to reconsider how much you don’t want to work on Naval mechanics.

“Okay, you can’t be mean, I bought these freshman year in a moment of weakness.” You can feel how hot your face is and you barely manage to get through the sentence without stammering or hanging up on him.

You lay out the tops on your bedding–Jake had already approved of a pair of jeans you hardly ever wore. These pieces are much more party-oriented than anything else you regularly wear, and you remember how for a weekend freshman year you’d felt so alienated, so weird, that you’d spent almost three-hundred dollars on going out tops. You’d returned most of them but the ones in front of you you’d kept in secret hope maybe you’d get to wear them.

“You are a liar.” Jake’s voice comes softly from your phone and you frown.

“I literally just asked you to not be mean. You can’t even not be mean when—”

“Sweets, any guy here would pass away at the sight of you in any of these,” He says and you make sure the camera isn’t on you so you can contort your face into a silent scream, “Talkin’ about, ‘I have nothing to wear’.”

“Drama queen.” It’s all you can say, but the thought of him passing away at the sight of you? That might be more appealing than you’d like to admit.

God, it’s so fucking loud in here. You managed to arrive fashionably late, as Jake advised. Now, you’re just sort of standing by the doorway, unsure of where to go or who to talk to.

Then, all of a sudden, Jake appears next to you, all bright eyes and white teeth as he bobs along to the music. He grabs your arm and pulls you into an excessively tight hug, one that smooshes your face into his chest and traps your arms at your sides. You try not to breathe in too hard, but you can’t really avoid smelling him (like a fucking weirdo). You’re only slightly disappointed to note that Jake smells really good.

“Sweets! I thought you’d bailed!” He exclaims, letting you go only slightly so he can take a look at your face. “When did you get here?”

“Um, like ten minutes ago?” You try and push out of his arms but he’s got a strong grip on you–glancing to the side you see that he’s grasped his elbows so you’re completely stuck.

“Only one hour and fifty minutes left to go!”

And with that, you’re being hauled off by one arm through the frat house. You stumble on your feet but manage to catch yourself on Jake when you trip over a beer can someone just threw on the ground. He turns around with a glint in his eye.

“Sweets, if you wanted to cuddle, you should’ve just said so!” His tone is gleeful, but he steadies you gently anyway.

“Just get me a drink, Jake.”

He doesn’t let you go but this time his grip is gentler and he walks at a human pace instead of trying to make record time. After turning a few corners, you finally arrive in the kitchen.

You have to admit, you’re sort of jealous. Your apartment isn’t tiny by any means, but you’d love to have a kitchen this sprawling, with its huge windows, what looks like a state of the art fridge, and granite countertops the sheer square footage of which could make you drool. You feel a rush of disappointment at how dirty it is in here, but you squash it remembering that this is a frat house. Clean is nowhere near part of these men’s vocabulary.

Jake makes you a drink that seems to be some odd combination of liquors and juices (he avoids the jungle juice thankfully, almost turning green when you ask him if you should try some–“Not unless you want to spend all of tomorrow throwing up.”). When he hands it to you, he looks at you expectantly, like a child who just gave their parent a crayon drawing.

“Well? What do you think?” You grimace on instinct when the liquid hits your tongue, but you realize it’s actually not that bad.

You tell him as much. Maybe you’re already starting to get drunk because it’s the only explanation for the way you think the look on his face could persuade you to drink three hundred cups of this if it means having him smile at you like that again. You keep drinking to avoid spilling your guts, figuratively.

Jake makes himself a cup while yammering on about planning the party, how he took shots with his frat brothers before you got here, and how he has a brunch planned Sunday with a few of his frat brothers. It’s all a bit too close, too intimate to be honest. Even with everyone around you, even with the way he almost has to yell so you can hear, it feels like it’s just the two of you. It makes you want to flee, but you force yourself to stay put in an effort to at least try.

And it’s not actually terrible. You keep sipping on the drink Jake made you, and try to engage with him.

He’s in the middle of telling you a story about him and Bradley from freshman year when one of his frat brothers walks up to the two of you with a wicked grin on his face.

“Now who is this, Jake?” He’s terribly handsome, but something about the way he’s looking at you sets you on edge.

“Javy, meet sweets.” Jake gestures at you with his perfectly iconic red solo cup.

You roll your eyes at the introduction, “That’s not my name.”

But Javy doesn’t let you correct the record, instead his entire face lights up. He looks like a kid on Christmas as he wraps an arm around Jake’s shoulders and looks between the two of you, a gleeful expression spreading over his face.

“You are famous in this frat, I hope you know that.”

You prepare yourself for a snide remark about your attitude in class, about your reputation, but instead Javy leans in close, so close that you can see how perfect his skin is (what the hell?), and he whispers conspiratorially, “Jake here never shuts up about you.”

The whisper clearly isn’t meant to keep much secret and Jake obvious hears him because he shoves Javy off him and starts waving his hands at him to shoo him off. When he turns back around, he’s blushing and you don’t think it’s from the alcohol or the heat.

“Talking shit?” You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow expectantly, not knowing what you’d do with any other explanations.

“Something like that. Want more to drink?”

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and he clearly doesn’t want you to remember this conversation either, because his next pour is overly generous. After that, he drags you out of the kitchen to ‘socialize’. He keeps you next to him, occasionally slinging an arm around your shoulders or even just leaning on you.

Much to your dismay, Jake doesn’t let you wallflower, to disappear as you stand next to him–suddenly you’re being introduced to everyone in the frat. You grouse about being forced to remember a thousand different white men’s names and Jake’s laugh rises even above the din of the music and the chatter. You’re loath to admit it aloud, but it’s sort of nice, being included, being in on jokes and spoken to like you might have something funny or interesting to say.

Part of you wants to bring up what Javy said, because almost every guy that Jake introduces as being part of his frat smiles in the exact same way that Javy had. Like a cat who got the cream. But the alcohol is making your tongue heavy and you worry what might be said if you start down that path.

Then, you hear your name distantly, and you whip around to see Bradley making his way through the crowd waving wildly. Nearly missing elbowing some poor sorority girl in the head, he pushes past people. His face is flushed from drinking and the heat, and he’s got his phone pressed to his ear. Why he’s attempting to take a phone call in this type of environment, you’re really not sure.

When he gets to the both of you, he at least has the sense to hang up before he separates you from Jake when he sweeps you up into a bear hug that lifts your feet off the ground and crushes you to him. He seems so happy to see you, and you smile bashfully as you hug him back.

Once your feet are back on the ground and Bradley’s released you, you notice how Jake has stiffened slightly beside you. He and Bradley engage in some long, complicated handshake that ends with jazz hands and eventually Bradley sweeps away in just the same way he came over. No words are exchanged, and Jake relaxes when Bradley’s out of sight.

“You’re being weird,” You accuse, leaning into Jake so you can get closer to his ear to be heard over the noise, “Well, you’re always weird, but you were being weird towards Bradley.”

“Was not.” Jake says haughtily, pouting lightly like a child.

“You’re literally pouting right now.” You’re too tipsy to deal with him acting like you just took away his toy truck, and you poke his arm to emphasize your point.

Jake immediately schools his expression before taking you by the arm and pulling you outside. His broad form clears the way for you and you do your best not to trip on any more beer cans. You two aren’t alone by any means, but here the sound has space to dissipate. There’s beer pong tables, a bonfire going (which, frankly, seems very unsafe), and people milling about.

“Do you like Bradley?” The two of you are now standing off to the side of the sprawling deck behind the frat house, illuminated by a series of string lights that only seem slightly out of place for a frat house and Jake’s staring at you intently.

You shrug, “I mean, what’s not to like? It’s Bradley, I think we’re friends.”

This is so awkward and you hate it with every fiber of your being.

He wrings his hands just a bit, and it strikes you that there’s a chance that he’s actually upset. It’s not the kind of annoyed that he always seems to take on when you two are going at it, it’s more genuine, like whatever he’s imagining might be enough to get him really worked up. He opens his mouth but then shuts it.

“Jake. What is wrong with me liking Bradley.” This is so ridiculous–standing in the backyard and trying to get Jake to talk about whatever issues he has or doesn’t with Bradley is probably almost as close to the opposite of socializing as just staying home would have been.

“You don’t like like him, though, right?”

You roll your eyes and snap at him, “Jake, what is this, middle school?” He’s not calling you sweets, and when you notice, it bothers you just a tad more than you’d like to admit, “No, I like Bradley because he doesn’t yell at me when I correct his projections and he makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. He’s a friend.”

Everything about his demeanor changes in the oddest way when you say that, he peps up and it’s like the Jake that was pouty (jealous?) was never there, and he takes you by the hand, “Great! That’s solved then, let’s go play beer pong.”

You try to ignore the way you get emotional whiplash as he drags you over to the people standing around a folding table.

But you can’t help it. As Jake tries to teach you how to play beer pong you end up ruminating on whatever the hell that just was. Why would it bother Jake if you did “like like” Bradley? The two of you, you and Jake, could barely be classified as friends. Besides, as frat brothers, there’s no way both Jake and Bradley haven’t gotten around or even been with the same girl. No shame for anyone involved, but what’s his fucking deal? (And, Bradley’s a cutie, so what?)

Eventually, you give up trying to figure out what Jake’s issue is as the two of you start losing at beer pong, and badly, given just how inebriated you are. Jake keeps trying to shout instructions every time you go to throw the ping pong ball and it keeps messing you up, so eventually you shove at him. He barely moves as he starts laughing at your anger.

“Jake! Stop messing me up!” You can feel how bad your coordination is from the alcohol as you stumble a bit as you lean your weight into him. “You’re making us lose!”

He can barely breathe through how hard he’s laughing at how far off your last shot had been, but he still steadies the both of you and wraps his arms around you, “Sweets you’re just too easy to mess up, oh my god. Are you even looking at the cups?”

You just hit his chest once as you start taking in the way that you’re pressed up against each other. He doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he just sort of lets you step back enough to have full control of your arms and continues standing at your side with his arms around your waist. Then, he starts leaning down to breathe instructions in your ear.

Normally you would find it in yourself complain about how gross having his breath in your ear is, but in that moment, already past tipsy and just enjoying the warmth of his body and skin against yours, all you can do is shiver. You fuck up your next shot worse than the last one. You hope it’s dark enough to cover how flustered you are as the patio lights glimmer weakly in the distance.

It takes your remaining sober thoughts to refocus on beer pong instead of how hard it hits you that you want Jake.

It’s honestly the most fun you’ve had in a long, long, time and you lose yourself in it. Jake at your side, his arms wrapped around you, laughing loudly as you lose to team after team. He barely removes himself to make his shots. When he laughs it shakes your whole body. Every time he takes a step, he knocks your legs together so you move with him.

You’ve continued drinking so you’re only getting progressively drunker and it only makes you focus on him more. You lose track of time completely and wholly.

Every time you turn to look at him or talk to him, Jake’s already looking at you. He keeps looking at your lips. In that moment, your rivalry, the project, and really, the entire world falls away. You have nothing to think about but how warm he is, how good he smells, and how you want to keep this moment in a jar so you can come back to it later.

You think he might kiss you.

The moment breaks when you feel Jake’s phone start buzzing against your leg and he finally lets you go. In an instant, he takes a step back from you and his arms are gone. You didn’t realize just how much his body heat was keeping you warm in the cool evening air til he removes himself from you completely. You miss it immediately.

He steps off to the side, face completely impassive but frozen in a smile as he reads a text, and he starts typing furiously. The smile slides off your face as you think of all the girls in his phone who are probably waiting for his drunk “you up?” texts and you take a step back, putting more space between the two of you. Someone more important than you must want his attention.

“I, uh, I’ve got to go, sorry, sweets.” Jake says, but you don’t feel the apology as much as you do the rejection. It stings in the way a harsh winter wind burns at your cheeks, pricking your skin and raising the blood to your face.

Somewhere in your mind, you remember considering hooking up with someone tonight. That’s what people do, right? Get drunk, sleep with a stranger, then stumble home in last night’s outfit in the morning. And maybe somewhere along the way, maybe between drinks three and four, you’d thought about what it might be like to kiss Jake. At some point when you’d watched his eyes linger on your lips, you thought that was it.

You take a few steps back, trying to feel sober again, but swaying slightly without Jake to hold you, “Right.”

His face falls as he takes a step toward you, but the magic of the night is gone. There isn’t anyone standing on the opposite of the folding table anymore. The backyard is somehow too quiet despite the loudness coming from the house. Jake doesn’t reach for you when he sees the expression on your face.

“I’ll uh, venmo you for the Uber.” His face betrays nothing but the cool indifference you remember from freshman year��are you really back to where you started after everything tonight?

Him offering to pay for you only makes you remember that you hate him–flirting with you all night then ditching you to go hook up with someone he actually likes. Classic Jake Seresin, everybody.

You don’t care that he slept with someone else after how close the two of you were. You are deciding not to care. It does not bother you because you and Jake aren’t even friends, you are sworn enemies and the only reason you’re even going to these parties is so that you can ensure the project isn’t a flaming mess.

You’re repeating these mantras to yourself from the moment you wake up, while you go to classes, while you avoid making eye contact with or speaking to Jake for fear he’ll know. You say it to yourself as you sit silently across from him in the library, headphones firmly over your ears so you don’t have to hear him ask if you want coffee.

He brings you one anyway.

It’s clear that you are utterly failing to convince yourself, because all you can think about is how close he was, how the heat radiated off his body, how he smelled, and how his eyes flitted down to your lips ever so often. You feel like you want to crawl out of your own skin with the realization that you want Jake to want you. You’ve sort of always wanted his attention, it’s just that up until now it’s almost entirely been in the form of your little rivalry.

You find yourself scoffing as a thought comes to the forefront of your mind, It’s like in those romance novels. That shit does not happen to people like you.

The shame and desire washing through you reaches its peak when you find yourself biting into your fist with your hand between your legs a week after the party. All you can think about is how he’d smelled, how close he’d been to you, and the way his hands felt around your waist. You finish with a whine tearing itself from your chest and a deep sort of mortification coursing through your veins.

You can’t avoid him forever though, the work must go on.

The thought of attraction goes as quickly as it comes when you find yourself sitting across from him at his and Bradley’s kitchen table again, the two of you bickering about a piece of analysis.

“Why do you refuse to listen to me, even the slightest bit, sweets? I’m literally second in our class, I can’t be an absolute idiot.” Jake looks at the ceiling as if some supernatural being will give him the strength to deal with you, and sighs heavily.

You clench your fists, “I’m not refusing to listen to you, Jake, I’m just telling you that you’re wrong.” You don’t remind him you’re first in the class.

Bradley walks in the kitchen, phone held casually in front of his face, a bag of chips grasped in his other hand. He stops to observe the two of you still arguing, now going on about a quiz question you two had disagreed on first semester sophomore year. He could be surprised that you and Jake have found something else to argue about, but then again Jake told him the two of you spent almost three straight hours arguing your first time together at the library. He’s also been witness to countless pointless fights about god knows what since the beginning of the semester.

“Can you two just fuck already, good god.”

The room goes so quiet the only thing you can hear in your ears is your own heartbeat. Jake looks similarly mortified, cheeks turning red as he tucks his head to the side in clear embarrassment. The tips of his ears are bright red.

Bradley, unaware of the absolute nuclear bomb that he just dropped, tucks his chips into the pantry, and leaves as the FaceTime call sound starts trilling from his phone.

Neither you or Jake move. All you can think about is how you felt in that moment last Friday, Jake pressed up against you, his breath heavy in your ear, and his body solid and warm against you. You think about the way want had coursed through your veins when you’d been alone. But he doesn’t want you. His current reaction is evidence enough.

Jake’s the one to break the silence by muttering something under his breath.

“What?”

“I said, he’s one to talk.” He clears his throat and avoids eye contact.

You can’t take this, so you try to laugh a bit, but it sounds fake and tinny in your ears, “And I don’t know what he’s talking about. In case everyone’s lost their minds and forgotten, I do not like you, Jake Seresin.”

He laughs lightly in response and says, “People don’t use contractions when they’re lying.”

And you don’t really know what to say to that. Because you don’t really know if there is anything to say. So you decide not to say anything to that, at all.

“You still owe me twenty five dollars for the Uber.”

“Twenty five—“ Jake sputters, “Twenty five American dollars? Where the hell did you have him take you? Downtown and back!? You live twelve minutes from the house!”

“I tipped well.”

Jake mutters something about tipping culture being out of control but you still feel the way your phone buzzes so hard it rattles some pens strewn across the table.

When the second invite comes, you decide preemptively that you’re not going to drink. Your deal with Jake was about attending and staying for two hours, it said absolutely nothing about drinking or generally partaking in party activities. You don’t want a repeat of last time–you want the arousal that spikes your bloodstream every time you see his face to disappear as quickly as it came.

You’re avoiding Jake in the frat house by ducking into doorways and keeping an eye out for a blonde head of hair the best you can. At one point, Bradley spots you and sends a confused look your way, clearly scanning for Jake. He doesn’t do anything about it, you guess, because Jake doesn’t come running within the next ten minutes.

Keeping yourself pressed to the wall where the music isn’t so loud but you also can’t hear the way people are very obviously doing drugs in the bathroom, you count down the minutes til you can leave.

About five minutes before, you decide to sneak a peek in the kitchen one last time. Maybe you can rob these assholes of some Oreos or something as divine punishment–revenge of the nerds, or whatever.

When you get to the kitchen, you realize you’ve found Jake. His back is to you, and he seems to be holding court. Surrounding him is a group of frat brothers most of whom you don’t remember, with the exception of Javy, who’s leaning his elbows on the countertop and listening about as intently as a drunk person can.

“She’s fucking stuck up man, I don’t know how you do it. I don’t think being that obnoxious is a requirement to be top of the class.” One of the frat brothers that usually surrounds Jake scoffs.

You feel all the blood drain from your face and you suddenly feel like being sick. Backing away from the doorway to the kitchen you almost trip over your feet at the speed you’re trying to get away from the conversation, from Jake, from the frat house.

There it is–there’s your out. Your ick, if you will. Jake, standing in his perfect kitchen, surrounded by a bunch of barely matured fraternity bros, talking shit about you. It’s not that the feelings of hatred weren’t technically mutual, but the extent to which you complain about Jake is usually limited to surface level shit.

If you had stuck around for just a moment longer, you would’ve heard the way that he defended you over a chorus of agreement from around him, “C’mon man, it’s not like that. Don’t say shit like that about her. She’s under a lot of pressure and you’re kind of a dick in class anyway.”

But you don’t stick around. Instead, you push your way through the mass of bodies, accidentally stumble through a smoke circle, and you still seem so far away from the exit. You pass by Bradley again, and this time he’s with the girl that he insists is just a friend, but they seem too cozy for that in the moment. You don’t stop to say hi.

When you finally get outside, your chest is heaving and you think you might be sick, alcohol aside.

This is exactly why you focus on academics. They gave back as good as they got, never betrayed you, never let their friends talk shit about you. Academics never called you “stuck up”, stopping short of biting out the insult “bitch”. God you’re so stupid.

You should’ve never let him get close, you should’ve stuck to the project and just finished it without ever learning more about Jake beyond the bare minimum. No evenings spent crowded around a countertop covered in textbooks and notes, Bradley humming in the background as he cooked something delicious. No letting Jake buy you coffee or cafeteria food.

This is exactly what you deserve for letting him in.

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tagging: @roosterbruiser @joaquinwhorres @sometimesanalice @seresinsweetie @bobfloyds @theharddeck @jupitercomet @dempy @gigisimsonmars @sunsetsimpsblog @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @kajjaka @clancycucumber230 @desert-fern @bibitches-r-us @cruelmissdior @chaoticassidy @blue-aconite

#top gun: maverick #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake 'hangman' seresin #top gun: maverick fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfiction #top gun: maverick fic #hangman x you #hangman x reader #no use of y/n #flight path universe

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nirvanawrites111 · 8 months

Text

Boyfriend #2 Changbin x Reader(Kinktober 2023)

Pairing: Changbin x Reader

Word count: 1412

Pronouns: She/Her

Summary: You're on a break with Channie.. again and you decide to hook up again with Changbin. He's definitely a simp for you.

Warnings: Smut, good girl kink, cum eating, unprotected sex, fingering, strong language, PWP

SMUT BELOW THE CUT: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLS.

Changbin x Reader

"Are you going to keep talking about him, or do you want this dick?" Changbin asks you.

His bluntness was the thing that you'd always liked about him. Sure, he'd listen to you go on and on about how your current boyfriend wasn't shit. But, you both knew you weren't really here to complain about Channie.

You're here to feel better. Well, at least your pussy would feel better even though your heart probably won't after you leave. But, what difference does it make? You were on your 5th break from Channie because you found incriminating DMs.

"Binnie, you said I could vent about him."

"Yeah, I did. But, I think you just need to cum, and you'll forget all about whatever you did."

"I definitely do," You reply. You stand up from his couch and go into his bedroom. You remove your hoodie and toss it onto his couch that is adjacent to his bed.

His mood lamp is already on, and the room is a pretty lavender hue. You step out of your leggings, and you stand near his perfectly clean dresser. You notice a picture you haven't seen in a while. It's just you and him with his arms wrapped around your waist.

It was at Hongjoong's mixtape release party a few years ago when you were single and just co-workers with Chan and Changbin.

For some reason, this photo brings up some weird feelings for you. That night was the first time you hooked up with Changbin.

You always wonder what things would have been like if you had dated Changbin instead of Bangchan. Maybe, you wouldn't cry as much. Or, maybe you would.

But the strange thing is you haven't known Binnie to be in any relationships since you've met him.

Changbin's footsteps are in an earshot of you, and you feel his fingertips smooth around your waist. He gently kisses you on the side of your neck.

"You remember that night?" Changbin asks you.

"Yea, Hongjoong's mixtape party."

"Oh, that's all you remember?"

"Uh, I sucked your dick in the bathroom."

"And I took you home and fucked you for like two days straight."

Your body shudders just from hearing him saying that. Those two days were the best days of your life. It's funny how you two were able to go to work the following day as if nothing happened.

Changbin pulls you in tighter against his bare stomach and boxers. He laps at the side of your neck, and juicy moans escape from your mouth.

"Yeah, I didn't want to leave," you moan out.

"Well, maybe this time you won't. Can I touch you?"

"Yes."

Changbin rubs his hand over your pussy outside of your underwear, and already you are ready for him.

"I love how easily you react to me, baby."

You love hearing him call you baby. There is something about how sweet this man can be with you. You often wonder if he is this way with other people. You would hate to imagine other people getting this wet for him.

Changbin runs his hand down your slit and then back up. He quicks, finds your clit, and massages it through your panties. He lifts your chin up.

"Look at yourself.. so beautiful. Too beautiful to be crying over Chris. Right?"

You stare at yourself half nude with Changbin wrapped around your body. His muscles are perfect. You love the way his body looks against yours. You love your curves and how beautiful you look. He's right. You shouldn't be crying over him.

You are so beautiful, just like he told you.

"Yes."

"No, say it in the mirror, baby. Say it so I can hear it."

"I am beautiful," you confidently say as you stare into the mirror.

Changbin slides his hand inside your panties and slips down into your wetness to coat his finger. He massages your clit and kisses on your cheek.

"Such a good girl. I love it when you affirm yourself."

This man has your mind dizzy already. The sensation of him playing with your clit feels too good, almost as good as when you do it. You like that you don't have to teach him how to touch you. He already knows what you need when you need it.

Changbin continues to work his magic, and his talented fingers dance against your clit, bringing you closer to your first orgasm. It doesn't take much for you to get off when he's involved.

"Please, don't stop," you whine a bit.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I know my girl is close, aren't you, baby." Changbin bites on your neck and the right pressure that isn't too hard, but isn't too gentle.

Your body rides the first wave of your orgasm, and you close your eyes and release. Changbin sticks two fingers inside of you, and you cum on his fingers.

He pulls them out and coats your lips with your own juices. He moves in front of you and picks you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he kisses you to savor the taste of you. You enjoy the way he kisses you, always so passionate.

Changbin tosses you onto the bed and pulls down your panties.

You spread your legs for him, and he plants a kiss on your pussy. Normally, you would want him to eat you out, but the reality is you came for dick. Sure, you came over to vent, but the bottom line is you want to get your back blown out.

"Fuck me.." You whisper just loud enough to catch Changbin's attention. He continues to kiss your pussy, and your back arches just a little.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, I just want to be fucked good."

"Okay, Y/n."

Changbin is all about pleasing you and making you feel good. There's no doubt in your mind. You watch him slide out of his boxers, and his thick, juicy length flops out. He's already hard, and ready to give you exactly what you came for.

He moves in between your legs, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist.

Your eyes connect with his, and he's staring intensely into your eyes like you're the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

He doesn't even have to say it because he's already told you a million times, but the way he looks at you is more than just a lustful stare.

Changbin is captivated by you—more than just your beauty. You notice the glances when you are working together in the studio, but you always avoid them out of respect for Chan. But, tonight, you are a single woman, and you deserve to be adored.

"Binnie, why are you looking at me like that?"

"You know, why."

"No, tell me."

"I like watching you."

"I've noticed."

"You ready?"

"Of course."

Changbin guides himself into you inch by inch until you are full of him. He starts off slow, trying to find his rhythm with you.

You adjust to his size for a moment, trying to gather yourself, and you relax your body as he's giving you a moment to get yourself prepared.

Changbin runs his finger across your bottom lip, and down your throat. He plays with your left nipple, and moves slowly inside of you.

The movement is perfect, and his touch against your skin feels so good. Your bodies mesh together and are the perfect blend.

Your legs grip tighter around his waist as he thrusts into you, and you moan his name.

"Fuck me, harder," you request from him.

Maybe you shouldn't have told him that because he goes faster and a bit more rough with you. He doesn't even have to ask you if you like it because your eyes are already rolling back in your head from the pleasure.

Changbin let goes of your nipple just to instantly find your clit. He works it in perfect circles just the way you crave, and you can feel yourself approaching that second orgasm.

"That's it, baby. Cum on my dick... You're taking me so well." "Mmhmm.." You want to say more, but your mouth doesn't release any words, just moans, and whines because Changbin has taken your body to another level.

"So close, beautiful. Release for me." At that moment, your body reaches its peak, and you cum for him. It's such a beautiful experience to be sent to a whole another dimension thanks to your lover.

After you come back down from your high, Changbin pulls out of you and kisses all over your face.

"You did so good for me, baby. Shall we go another round?"

#changbin x reader #changbin x black reader #seo changbin smut #changbin fanfic #changbin smut #seo changbin #changbin stray kids #skz smut #stray kids smut #dom!changbin #kpop smut #ambw smut #kinktober

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herherteartear · 3 years

Text

bonus | ten and a half: stupid boy

a/n— this is so late🤧 but i wanted to be happy with this chapter before i put it out and i actually really like it!! i hope u guys do too, pls let me know how u guys like this chapterr🤍!!

there was something wrong with you. that much you knew. the shorts you had on were either too blue for the brown crop top you paired them with, or you were mentally ill. you shook your head. "no, no. this is it. this is what I'm wearing." you decided. then you scoffed. "why does it even matter? it's not like i care about what he thinks." Jeon Jungkook did it. he made you doubt your outfits and wonder if your makeup was cute enough to get a compliment from him. it disgusted you.

actually, more than repulsion, you felt fear. absolute fear.

you remember a time when Saem had posted about a girl he fucked right after you had been with him. and you felt nothing. no jealousy, no anger. when you got that text of the girl that was with Jungkook, you had felt the same betrayal you'd felt in your past. only this time it hurt more? it stung more?

you chalked it up to feeling offended because you were about to apologize to him, which was something you never did. it embarrassed you to see that Jungkook wasn't waiting around for your explanation. and you knew it was because you wanted him to be waiting for you. to accept your apology, to forget about dumb Saem. and that's when the fear crept in.

once you felt the dismay settle in your stomach, you knew you had to shut it down. you had to do what you do best in order to protect yourself.

"fuck this." you grumbled. your fingers quickly went down to undo the buttons of the too blue shorts you had on. just as you were shimmying out of them, your phone rang. your heart clenched when you saw Jungkook's name appear on the screen. "stop it." you told yourself. "hello?" you shoved the phone in-between your ear and your shoulder as you tried to find some better fit bottoms.

"hey, i'll be there in five. dumbass Namjoon doesn’t know the meaning of ‘be careful.’” Jungkook said. “but don’t worry. i’m okay.” you could hear his smile through the phone. you rolled your eyes, both because of his cockiness, but mostly at yourself for actually being worried about him for a second.

“i didn’t ask?” you replied. Jungkook knew you were going to say something snarky, something to make it seem you weren’t interested in him. he loved it. made him think he had some kind of hold on you.

“you’re cute. i’m getting in the car, see you.” he hung up before you could even respond. you tossed your phone onto the bed with a groan. you weren’t even dressed.

"stupid shorts, stupid blue, stupid boy." you muttered.

"you changed your hair. how are you not bald?" you adjusted your bag on your shoulder as Jungkook opened the car door for you. he perked up because you noticed his new hair.

"i change it when i want to look pretty." he said through a smile. he looked pretty no matter what, you couldn't help but think.

"you must change it a lot." you bitterly replied. your tone flew over Jungkook's head as he slid his hand into yours. he was starting to make touching you in any possible way a habit of his. it wasn't his fault he felt wrong if he wasn't feeling you on his skin in some form. he felt more secure with your touch.

"nah, i only want to impress you." his reply triggered an instinctive reflex in you. the one where you don't believe half the shit he says because there's no way he hasn't already used that on another girl. which is exactly how he saw you. as just another girl to mess with. you knew it. that's how boys like Jungkook were. "look!" Jungkook pointed in the direction of a cafe with plants clinging to every part of it. "this place has the best hot chocolate." his enthusiasm was radiant.

"it's July, Jungkook." your pessimism didn't stop Jungkook from happily pulling you into the cafe.

"okay, grump, you can order something cold." he moved to stand behind you and rest his chin on top of your head. "if you don't see anything you like, we can go somewhere else." he added on quietly. you bit your lip to stop your dopey smile. stupid boy.

Jungkook's never been on a date before. he never took any of the girls he's fooled around with on a date, because he knew they weren't worth it. Jungkook, also, thought of himself as a hopeless romantic. he's always wanted the movie night dates or picnics. when he first stumbled upon the cafe with delicious hot chocolate, he knew he wanted to bring a girl on a date there. his eyes shined as bright as the stars as he gleefully chatted away. they didn't lose any of their shine when he was silently listening to you talk; they sparkled brighter if anything.

“it was kinda terrifying! Namjoon deadass threw me across the room! i feel like i might have a concussion right now or something.. maybe i should ask Kosik for the video? i don’t have his number, but i have him on instagram. should i dm him?” you couldn’t stop a real laugh from erupting from your chest. Jungkook laughed along with you. "that's probably too much, huh?"

"i feel like you probably have a concussion. there's no way you talk this much normally." you shook your head. Jungkook blushed. he moved his gaze to look at the table in front of him; he wasn't that talkative usually. but he wanted to tell you every thought that ran through his head.

"um, i don't think you know how concussions work?" he teased. you picked at the muffin Jungkook bought for you two to share, but you had quickly claimed it as your own.

"of course not! i've never had one!" you said. you two shared a laugh before it got quiet. you finished the muffin and Jungkook slumped down in his chair until he bumped knees with yours. he continued to lightly knock them together. his eyes wondered as he thought of what to say next. he scanned your outfit.

"oh, i forgot to tell you how pretty you look. i like your sweatpants. it's like we're matching." Jungkook proudly pointed out. after your crisis with the stupid blue shorts, you ended up throwing off everything you were wearing and pulled on black sweatpants and a white crop top. you were matching with Jungkook. just like couples.

you glanced down at your black bottoms. he liked them. a warm feeling overtook your insides, making you feel bashful, yet accomplished for receiving a compliment from Jungkook. you squeezed your eyes shut. no. you've been through this before. you weren't going to give him your heart. stupid boy won't win again. never again.

masterlist

taglist— @unadulteratedlyunique @preciouschimine @cholychi @letmebreathepls @juju-227592 @whitepinkish @kirbykook @yoongiofmine @janedukiesworld @ladyartemesia @secretlycrazyhummingbird @joonswhore @miriamxsworld @hjinnie @ggukkieland @shreyuuu @thequeen-kat

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