Crush x Reader One Shots

Wrong Number

i hope that you are all staying safe and healthy! have a wonderful day and i hope you enjoy this one shot <3

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You tumble out of your bed with a sharp grunt, landing on your tailbone.

"Stupid phone," you mutter angrily, rubbing your bruised butt as you get up from the floor. You reach for your cellphone on your nightstand, eager to see who had been calling you nonstop for the past minute and a half.

The same moment you pick up, a familiar voice blares through the speaker, "Why are you ignoring me? Our project is due tomorrow and you haven't even helped me start it!"

Shocked, you take a seat on your queen sized bed. "(C/N)?" you ask, your voice gentle and soft.

Why is he calling me at eleven o'clock at night? How does he have my number?

"This...this isn't my chemistry partner, is it?" (C/N) stammers, embarrassment evident in his tone.

What are the chances!

"No, it's me, (Y/N). We have—"

"English together. I know who you are, (Y/N)," he assures you, a light chuckle coming from his end of the line.

Your fingers dig into your bedsheets and your heartbeat skyrockets. You never thought a guy like (C/N) would notice somebody like yourself. But he does, he notices you!

"Oh," you choke out, a nervous lump forming in your throat. You are unsure whether to hang up or not, since he had dialed the wrong number in the first place.

Another soft chuckle cascades through your ears. (C/N)'s laugh is like gentle rain landing on your window during a light shower—peaceful, relaxing, and mesmerizing.

"What are you doing up at eleven o'clock?" he pipes up suddenly, and you imagine him smirking while holding the phone to his ear.

It's now your turn to laugh. "It's only eleven. Only insane people go to bed before one in the morning," you joke. It's true, though. You hardly go to bed at a regular time anymore.

"Oh, sure," (C/N) muses, "everyone else is insane for going to bed at reasonable hours." His voice is breathy and raspy, causing your pulse to quicken immensely.

Heat rises to your cheeks as you take in what the heck is happening right now. "I can't believe I'm talking to you," you say aloud, on accident. Once you realize your mistake, you clasp a hand over your mouth.

"Really?" (C/N) questions. A pause follows his response, and you forget how to breath for a minute. "I...I can't believe I'm talking to you, either."

Oh. My. God.

You inhale in a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your wildly beating heart. You are afraid it's going to jump out of your chest if you don't take a moment to relax.

"(Y/N)?"

You notice how pleasant your name sounds on his tongue. It sounds natural, beautiful, and...right.

"Yes, (C/N)?" you reply hesitantly.

Silence.

"I'm glad I called you instead of my chemistry partner," he confesses, his words barely above a whisper.

"Me too," you answer back honestly. You bite your lip anxiously. Does this mean he has feelings for you?

For the next few hours, the conversation between you both flows from one subject to another. You never knew how much in common the two of you have.

It's around two in the morning when you hear (C/N) yawn for the third time in a row.

"You're tired," you point out, smiling to yourself. "It's two in the morning, so, technically, if you went to bed right now, I wouldn't consider you insane." You are now laying in your bed, and you shift your body so that your back is on the mattress and your staring up at the ceiling.

(C/N) sighs, and you start feeling a little bad for keeping him up this late. "Are you staring at your ceiling right now?" he asks bluntly, avoiding your observation about his clear exhaustion.

You start to think his drowsiness is making him slightly delusional. "Yes. Why?" you breathe out, fighting the giggle threatening to escape you.

"I want you to imagine that your ceiling is my face," he says.

Unable to hold back anymore, you burst into a pit of laughter. "What the heck?" you ask, continuously snickering at his ridiculousness.

"Just do it," he orders playfully.

You roll your eyes even though you know he can't see you. "Okay, fine. Your face is my ceiling." Your intrigued tone urges him to go on.

"I want you to talk to it," he explains vaguely. "Talk to me as if I'm right in front of you." He whispers the last bit, making your insides tighten.

Butterflies erupt everywhere inside you as you continue studying your bland, white ceiling. You search for the right response, but it's difficult to put your feelings into words.

"You go first," you instruct, your nerves pinching at you. It's suddenly getting harder to concentrate on anything but the image of his beautiful face in your mind.

You wonder what it feels like to run your hand through his (C/H/C) hair. You imagine yourself holding his hand. In your mind, his hand fits perfectly into yours.

"(Y/N)," he begins, "a part of me is mad at myself for not getting to know you sooner. I just wasted precious time I could have used to get closer with you. But, right now, that all seems irrelevant because all I'm thinking about is the future." He pauses briefly. "I'm completely infatuated with you."

Your heart thumps against your rib cage, and you place your hand on it. It feels like a dream to you. A crazy, perfect, amazing, heart-stopping dream.

"I'm completely infatuated with you too, (C/N)," you say after a beat of silence. His words are literally breathtaking, as you find it hard to fill your lungs with oxygen. You pinch yourself, making sure you're still in reality.

"Good," (C/N) replies, his raspy voice growing huskier. "I'm looking forward to becoming even more infatuated with you when I see you at school today. Sleep well, (Y/N)."

Your mouth is desert dry at this point, but you manage to respond, "You too. Goodnight."

With that, the line goes dead.

There is no way you are sleeping after that.

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