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covenofagatha · 2 months ago

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Do I wanna know? (Part 6)

Agatha surprises you with a visit

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: fingering, strap, sex, mommy kink, fluff, it's almost all smut

You’ve just gotten back to your dorm room Friday afternoon after all your classes when your phone buzzes in your pocket.

It’s been a rough day with a pop quiz in Chemistry that you definitely failed and your group chat for the World History project has been blowing up, mostly with excuses as to why your other members haven’t been able to do their share of the work, so you can only imagine what it is now.

And to make matters worse, you had gone to your dad’s last night for dinner and when you had gone to the bathroom, you had found a box of condoms under his sink when you were looking for more toilet paper. It hit you like a train but you had fixed your face in the mirror and not said a word to him or to your mom when she inevitably called you after it to ask how it went. You didn’t want to talk to Agatha about it either, just because she had been married to him and it felt weird to complain or vent about that.

The only thing you want to do is collapse into Agatha’s comforting embrace and have her hold you. You are so fucking exhausted.

When you pull your phone out, you breathe a heavy sigh of relief when you see that it is Agatha. Your stomach warms. You’ve watched the video she sent you on Tuesday more times than you can count—you’ve touched yourself to it more times than you could count as well. After you got back to your dorm after dinner with Carol, she had sent you the second half of the video, in which she filmed herself coming while moaning your name.

You can still hear her breathy gasps and it’s been very distracting the past few days.

Hey, hon! Hope your day has been good. Would you be able to go to your car and send me a picture of your license plate so I can get it registered for when you come to stay with me?

You flop onto your bed and close your eyes for a few moments before whining quietly. She hasn’t texted you since this morning and now all she wants is for you to go back downstairs and take a picture of your car? Your mind is screaming at you to just do it tomorrow but you reluctantly sit up with a groan and trudge outside. At least now she’s talking to you.

The sunlight blinds you and you squint, rounding the corner of the building, and trying to remember where you parked. It’s been a few days since you drove and now you accidentally walk down the wrong row about three times.

Until you finally spot the front of it and you grumble as you walk around it and freeze—Agatha is standing right there in a casual gray blouse and black pants. Her hair is loose and catches the sunlight, making it appear a lighter shade than it is. Her blue eyes are full of joy.

“What…what are you doing here?” you ask, completely dumbfounded, but your heart swells and you laugh, taking a step closer to her and reaching out your hand to touch her just to make sure you’re not hallucinating.

She’s really there.

“Surprise?” she says sheepishly, holding out her arms and you laugh, completely giddy, as you jump into them. The force almost knocks you both down but she catches you with an oomph. You breathe in her scent and feel her hair tickle your cheeks and her fingers gently stroke your back and you can’t believe that she’s actually here.

Why is she here?

You pull back and scan her face. “I thought you had meetings this weekend.”

Agatha smiles and cups your cheek lovingly. “I did but then they got cancelled for tomorrow—something about the client having food poisoning? I was able to get out of work early today and thought I would come see you. And,” she leans in, a wicked grin on her face, “I got a hotel room.”

She slides her hands to your lower back so she can hold you tighter against her and with a sharp inhale, you feel a hardness in her pants. Your brain suddenly goes foggy and your knees almost buckle.

“Fuck,” you breathe and she nods. You feel an ache start to grow in your cunt. “Can we go now?”

Agatha chuckles and takes you by the hand to lead you to her car. You don’t have anything besides your phone and your keys, but the only thing on your mind is her.

You know you should ask about her job and New York and how she’s been doing, but it’s hard to concentrate over the thrumming of arousal in your veins and you squirm restlessly as you watch her fingers curl around the steering wheel. It’s only been a week and it’s not that you haven’t had an orgasm at all—it’s just so much different, and better, now that she’s here.

Agatha clearly feels the same urgency with quick glances to catch your eye and twitches of her hands like she’s trying to resist touching you. You have no doubt that she would already have her hand down your pants if it weren’t for the last time she tried to do that and almost crashed. She presses on the gas pedal harder than she needs to and the car shoots off down the road.

It’s as if the stoplights know where you’re going and are determined to make you wait—you hit every single red light and each time, Agatha and you both groan like you’ve been denied the world’s greatest luxury. At one point, she gets so fed up with it that she makes a right turn, a U-turn, and then another right faster than the light changes.

The air is thick with heat and tension and unspoken words brimmering just beneath the surface of the silence and finally, finally, she pulls into the parking lot of the Westview Inn, one of the nicer hotels in the town.

You both throw open the doors and when you begin following her to the entrance, you can feel the stickiness between your thighs that has pooled from the anticipation. Your stomach begins to twist, butterflies fluttering for no reason, and your palms feel clammy.

But then Agatha turns back to smile reassuringly at you from the front desk where she’s checking in and you push it away. You wipe your hands on your pants, eyes darting down to check out the swell of Agatha’s ass. There’s the sudden image of your fingers digging into her skin as she thrusts into you and you shift, antsy now with desire.

“Thank you,” Agatha says, voice curt and short, to the receptionist, before swiping the keys from her hand and walking back toward you. She breezes past you and you jog to catch up to the elevators. Agatha taps the roomkey against her hand impatiently while you wait and finally, the doors ding open.

She clicks the button for the fifth floor and the moment the doors shut, she’s pressing you against the side and her mouth is on yours. You moan and the sound is swallowed by her and her tongue is moving against yours and you close your eyes to soak her in. She tastes of cinnamon and coffee and you suck on her bottom lip to savor it.

The elevator stops and Agatha practically drags you by the hand to room 513. Your shoes are soft against the plush gray carpet, low lights on the plastered walls, and you wonder how many other people come here for a romantic rendezvous with their lover.

This is the hotel that Agatha stayed at after she moved out of the house she shared with your dad and walking down the hall gives you a sense of déjà vu.

The room looks exactly the same. The fuzzy dark carpet, the small kitchenette, square table with two chairs, and the mossy green couch across from the television. Past the combined living room and kitchen is the narrow hallway to the bedroom, doors to the bathroom and the closet facing each other on the sides.

The only real difference is the painting that hangs in the living room. The one in Agatha’s old room was of a dock on a lake. This one is a ferris wheel.

You can’t help but think it’s almost fitting. Even though so much has changed since then, ending up back here like you have something to hide is a full-circle moment.

Will you ever get off the wheel?

Once you move to New York, you assure yourself. There won’t be any more sneaking around, if that’s even what this is.

“Just like old times,” Agatha says fondly. You smile halfheartedly, the thought of no real progress being made yet sobering you up just a little, but then she pulls you in closer and kisses you softly. The hardness in her pants presses against your upper thigh and you lose yourself in the feeling of her.

She cups your cheeks to deepen the kiss and you wrap your arms around her shoulders. You pour all of your emotions into it—the joy at seeing her and how sad you’ve been without her and how much you’ve missed her and how much you love her.

Agatha starts to walk backwards, pulling you with her, and you don’t ever want to let her go.

The king-sized bed is so perfectly made that it almost feels wrong to mess it up. Agatha must be thinking the same thing because she pushes you gently against the wall and slots a thigh between yours for you to grind on. She tugs on your bottom lip with her teeth and you groan, slowly rutting against her leg. The pressure on your clit is delicious but fleeting and you hike one of your own legs up to get a better angle. Agatha’s hand slips to the back of your thigh to hold you up like that and she presses her thigh against you harder.

“Agatha,” you pant, “I need you.”

She smirks against your lips and her fingers slide up, now splayed against your hip, and she helps you move against her, helps you settle into a rhythm. The pleasure is dulled by the three layers of fabric separating your cunt from her leg but you grind down harder to feel more. Her other hand strokes up your side, her heat seeping through your shirt, and it makes your core feel like molten liquid. It feels like the room is spinning, like you’re drunk on her, and you whimper into her mouth.

“What do you need, baby?” she murmurs. She pulls back from you, just a hair, so her gaze can smugly flick from your eyes down to your swollen lips and back up.

You take her hand from your side and without breaking eye contact, drag it down your body until your fingers pause at the waistband of your pants. She toys with the hem, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Is this what you want?” she asks innocently, dipping the tips of her fingers down inside. You moan at her bare skin against your public bone and nod frantically. She chuckles, breath heavy, and slides her fingers further until her middle finger is resting against your clit. You sharply inhale and she smiles. “How about this?”

You keen when she presses against your clit and rubs a small circle around it, your hips jerking. Her hand is now sandwiched between your cunt and her thigh and you slightly pull up so she can have a little more room to work.

She watches your face carefully as she moves her fingers to tease at your entrance through your panties, watches how your jaw slackens and your teeth find your bottom lip. Her eyes are hooded as they scan your face and the heat in them sends currents right to your cunt.

“Please,” you whine. Agatha leans in to ghost her lips over yours as she pushes her fingers into your entrance slightly, soaking your underwear even more. You gasp.

“I know you can do better than that,” she says in a low, taunting voice and expertly peels the gusset of your underwear to the side.

Your hips rock but her fingers are hovering just out of reach from your cunt, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off them. “Please, Agatha,” you pant, chasing her lips with your own before pulling back, “I need you to fuck me, I’ve missed you so much, please mommy—”

Two of her fingers plunge into your cunt and your jaw drops with a guttural moan. Your eyes roll back in your head and your walls clench around her tightly. She lets out a small gasp and her forehead drops to rest against yours.

“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this—I’ve missed you,” she groans and draws her fingers out of you. Your hips buck to get her touch back and she quickly resheathes her fingers inside you. She curls them and finds your special spot, the spot she always intuitively knows how to find because she might know you better than you know yourself at this point.

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you spasm, back arching off the wall and burying your hands into her dark locks. You hike your leg up higher against her waist with her help so she can get deeper and the pressure in your core makes you see stars. She’s moving fast and rough and you yelp when she twists her fingers inside you harshly.

You pull her even closer against you, crash your lips onto hers, and moan into her open mouth. She returns it, tongue sloppily stroking yours, and you feel light, almost like you could float away.

But you’re grounded when she starts to rub your clit and your core muscles tighten. Her lips trail down your cheek and to your neck where she sucks on your skin. A thrill runs through you at the thought of having marks from her, so when she goes back to New York you can look at your reflection and remember that she owns you. That you’re all hers.

She scrapes her teeth along the length of your jugular and then bites at the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you make a strangled noise.

And then Agatha stills her fingers inside you with a wicked grin and you struggle to keep the rhythm going, furiously grinding back and forth and trying to make up for the stimulation you just lost. With each roll of your hips, her fingers are forced deeper and she bites her lip while she watches you.

“Agatha, please,” you beg, pleading with your eyes, and she smirks.

“What is it, baby?” she coos and slowly begins thrusting into you again. Your head falls back against the wall, mouth agape. “Need mommy’s fingers to fuck you good? Need mommy to fill you up the way only I can?”

You nod frantically and she smiles, satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

She scissors her fingers and then curls and then pauses to fit a third one into you. You keen again, wetness squelching with each of her thrusts. You’re so full and tension is spreading throughout your whole body. You gasp each time she drives her fingers back into you and you’re a panting, shaking mess.

Just for her.

“Agatha, mommy, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come,” you babble and she huffs out a laugh and rubs your clit faster. Sparks fly in your stomach and up your spine and your cunt grips her fingers.

She pulls your leg that’s bent at her waist up even higher and her fingers reach a new depth inside you and the tension in your body explodes and you come all over her hand with a long moan. Her fingers keep fucking you, slowing down only the slightest bit, until you have to weakly push at her shoulders to get a break.

Agatha pulls her fingers out of you carefully but you still wince at the sudden emptiness before bringing her hand out of your pants and holding up her glistening digits to the afternoon light streaming in through the blinds.

Without being asked, you grab her wrist and envelope her fingers in your mouth, moaning sultrily at the taste of yourself. Her pupils dilate even more, almost no blue left at all, and she tugs her fingers out and sucks them into her own mouth. It’s like the air gets kicked out of your lungs when she closes her eyes and hums, like the mixture of your pussy and your saliva is too much for her to bear.

When her fingers slide out with a wet pop, you drag her to you again by her hair, connecting your lips in the middle and your faint taste on her tongue dances with the hint of cinnamon.

She pulls back, spins the two of you around, and then gently pushes you toward the bed. You take the hint, stripping off your shirt, underwear, and pants in the process, and watch in awe, perched on the edge of the bed, as she takes off her clothes too.

“Did you drive all the way here with that on?” you tease, nodding your head to the harness around her hips with your favorite purple strap-on protruding from it.

Agatha chuckles and strokes the length with her wet hand and you can see the smears of your juices along it. “Don’t be silly. I put it on once I got here. But thinking about it the whole drive? Fuck.” She moves closer to the bed like a lion stalking its prey. She stops right in front of you and tilts your head up by your chin even though your eyes keep darting back down to the toy. “Almost had to pull over to take care of myself.”

Your breath catches at the image of her in her parked car on the side of the highway, hand furiously working in her pants.

She smirks. “But you’re going to take care of mommy, aren’t you? Once mommy takes care of you?”

“Anything you want,” you say earnestly. Everything is already yours.

“That’s my good girl,” Agatha says softly and your insides grow warm. She strokes your cheek, a moment of gentleness in the otherwise hot and heavy sea you’ve been swimming in.

You yearn for more, but the ache inside your cunt is throbbing. The toy is only a few inches away from you when you look back down and you grab ahold of the tip and pull her to you.

Slowly reclining back onto the bed, she follows until she’s looming over you, arms bracketed around your head. Your fingers are still wrapped around the strap-on and you start to stroke it. Judging by the way her face contorts with pleasure, she can at least feel the base rub against her clit with each drag of your hand.

Agatha leans down to pepper kisses to your chest. She runs her tongue along the edge of your bra, a trail of goosebumps following in the wake, and you moan softly. You angle the toy so the tip is pressed against your clit and you raise your hips up to rub. It feels so good against your sensitive nub and you can feel how slick your inner thighs are. The wetness between them only keeps growing.

It doesn’t take long for you to work yourself up again but Agatha either doesn't notice or wants to drag it out, as she merely moves to mouthing at your nipple through your bra.

So you grip onto her shoulders and tense your body and flip so she’s on her back and you’re on top of her.

Agatha chuckles adoringly and runs her hands up your sides and fiddles with your bra. “Take it off, baby,” she rasps. “I want to see you.”

Heat flashes through you and you nod, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Agatha swallows hard and cups your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

She’s still in her bra, a lacy green one, and you paw at it, desperate to see her too. She chuckles and sits up for a moment, unclasping it and then shrugging it off her shoulders. Her nipples are hard and pointing, a dusty rose color, and you can’t resist the urge to bend down and suckle on one of them. She moans and arches up beneath you, pushing the toy against your pussy and you grind down. You scrape your teeth against her, enjoying her sharp breath, before settling back onto her lap.

You reach between you to position the tip at your entrance and sit down just slightly. The head of the toy pops in and your head falls back at the stretch.

“Fuck,” you groan, slowly starting to bounce on the tip to get used to it. Your walls burn but eventually accommodate the length and girth and you’re able to slide all the way down. You stay seated, feeling how deep she is inside you and Agatha begins to rub at your clit soothingly.

“Such a good girl, taking mommy’s cock so well,” she croons and you clench around her. Every breath you take, you can feel her filling you up deliciously. You nod, more to yourself than to her, because it’s been awhile since you’ve had anything so big in you. “Think you can start moving?”

You rock forward in response to her pressing on your clit hard and moan when the toy presses against your g-spot. “Yeah, mommy,” you say breathlessly and slowly sit up, your cunt lips dragging against the toy.

She looks at the strap once just the tip is left inside you and lets out a guttural sound—it is absolutely coated with your wetness. Heat flares inside you and you take the length back inside you, moving down easier this time.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” she says when you begin to build up a steady pace of riding her. She thrusts her hips up with each of your drives down and you’re both panting and sweaty in no time. Agatha rubs your clit and you stop for a second to swirl your hips around, feeling her in every ridge in your cunt, and you groan loudly.

“Mommy, feels so good,” you whine, resting your hands on her ribcage to get more leverage to continue moving up and down on the toy. You dig your nails in and when you slide your fingers up to play with her boobs, you delight in the indents in her pale skin.

“I know, baby,” Agatha grunts, pistoning her hips up hard now and making you gasp each time. She’s hitting so deep inside you and there’s an intense, hot pressure feeling inside you. Your movements grow sloppy and gradually turn into short, shallow rutting because your muscles are starting to get stiff, but you try to persevere. “You’re taking mommy’s cock so well, fuck, honey, you’re so pretty—such a good girl for me.”

Her words make you stutter and you whimper while you writhe on top of her. She sees your struggle and grips onto your hips before flipping you over, a role reversal mirroring your one from earlier. The toy never leaves your cunt but you clench around her tightly when she shoves your legs up and you bend your knees to cross your ankles around her lower back. Agatha drops to her forearms, face merely inches away from yours, and she begins driving the strap into you over and over roughly.

There’s no thoughts in your head and you think you’re babbling something incoherently because she’s smiling down at you, cheeks red, forehead vein throbbing. Her nose brushes against yours and she’s breathing into your open mouth, you’re breathing her air right back, and she suddenly slows her pace down. Her eyes scan your face with a seriousness you haven’t seen before.

“What—mommy—Agatha—” you gasp and she stops entirely, toy hilted all the way in you. Your walls clench around her, trying to get her to start moving again, but she has a strange look on her face.

Agatha strokes your hair and meets your eyes. “I love you,” she whispers and your breath catches in your throat.

“What?”

She laughs like that’s a ridiculous thing for you to say and kisses you softly. Your clit throbs.

When she pulls back, you study her. She’s not looking at you with any expectation, just honesty. “I love you, too,” you say softly.

She smiles and thrusts into you, just once, but it’s deep. Your walls tighten and you inhale sharply.

“I said it before, you know,” you tell her and Agatha thrusts again. “When we were on your couch.”

She begins to pick up her pace, but keeps it gentle. Loving. “I know,” she admits and you gape at her. “I didn’t know if it was just a spur of the moment thing. You didn’t say it again and I didn’t want to freak you out by asking about it. But—” Agatha kisses you before nipping at your bottom lip, “—I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.”

You roll your hips up to match each of her thrusts and feel a pleasure greater than almost anything you’ve ever felt before. She reaches down between you to rub at your clit again and your walls convulse.

“I have, too,” you say and she smirks, scooting up closer to you which forces your legs up higher and allows her to get even deeper. Her fingers slip off your clit with how much of a soaked mess you are and you arch your back off the bed. Your vision blurs from pleasure and electricity races underneath your skin.

“Fuck, baby, I love you so much,” Agatha groans, her other hand digging into your hip, keeping you angled up as she pounds into you. With the way she’s faltering ever-so-slightly, you think she might be getting somewhere too. “You’re so fucking perfect—fuck, you’re mommy’s good girl, want you to come all over my cock, honey, please—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your moan interrupts her as you come, any resolve you had left absolutely shattering, and there’s a gush of wetness from your pussy that soaks her stomach. She groans and falls apart too, her lips crashing onto yours, messy but perfect and even though you need to breathe, you don’t pull away.

You never want to.

She fucks you through both of your orgasms, whispering “I love you” over and over, but the words never lose their meaning. You say it right back and it overlaps until everything bleeds together and then her mouth is on yours again for what seems like hours.

When you start to shiver, Agatha pulls out of you gingerly, smirking at the pool of liquid beneath you. You remain on your back, absolutely spent, while she climbs off the bed, unfastens the harness straps, and slides it down her legs. Your clit throbs weakly at the pink lines on her skin.

She leaves the bedroom for a moment and comes back in with a washcloth. It’s warm and wet and you gasp when she cleans your cunt off. Agatha winks knowingly and you giggle.

“Do you think you can get up for just a second?” she asks and you groan exaggeratedly before rolling off the side onto your feet. She playfully swats your ass before pulling the duvet down and gesturing for you to slide under the covers.

You happily do and the moment she gets in next to you, you curl into her and she tucks an arm around you. Your eyelids feel heavy but you fight them because you want to spend as much time with Agatha as you possibly can before she goes back.

But her warm fingers lazily stroke your back and she leans down to kiss your forehead before whispering again, “I love you,” and you fade off into sleep.

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#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #covsfics #do i wanna know

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bows4tyun · 4 months ago

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PASSIONS - ! ⸝⸝ 최수빈 & 최범규

۶ৎ: "c'mon sweetie, tell us what you want." beomgyu's voice dripped with lechery as he spoke with a sexy tone. both of them looked down at you menacingly, waiting for you to speak. "we don't have all day"

⌗ pairing! - band member!soobin x fem!reader x band member!beomgyu

⌗ warnings! - smut, softdom!soobin, meandom!beomgyu, sub!reader, threesome, unprotected sex, oral (both m. receiving), no mxm, big dick soogyu, degrading, voyeurism, teasing, vaginal fingering, choking, ass smacking, cum restriction, breast worship, nipple play, soogyu call reader sweetie, baby, good girl, and whore

⌗ lexi adds! - this one made me... feel something. I'd be the same as reader if I was in this situation :3 also ty to anon for sending this yummy request!! also might be inaccurate cos I've never been to an actual band concert ;( not proofread!

your favourite band was coming to town, how could you not go?

so here you were, amidst the crowd of eager fans in the front row waiting for the members to come out and begin the concert. music videos of the band display on the big screens as the fans sing along to the songs.

once the last music video ends, it's silence. and suddenly, the lights go dark, signalling that the concert was beginning. roars and shouts began to join together as the members walked on stage, looking better than ever as the bright lights focused on their forms, positioning themselves in front of their designated instuments and microphones.

you looked at them in awe, taking your time to admire each member.

yeonjun, a confident guy who was also the main singer began to sing their newest song while the other vocalist stood beside him. taehyun sang with yeonjun, their voices harmonizing with such beauty that you and the crowd couldn't help but cheer for them. behind them was kai on the drums, his amazing drumming skills working amazingly with power and rhythm.

when you turned to taehyun's right, you saw soobin, a tall guy towering over his keyboard, his eyes focusing on each of the notes played.

finally, your gaze reaches beomgyu, who was right beside soobin. your eyes widened as you realized that beomgyu was a looking straight at you, a smirk adorning his face as his fingers worked on the strings of his bass guitar. he elbowed soobin gently and nodded toward you for soobin to look. you watched as his eyes searched for you, the person who beomgyu already had eyes on.

you made eye contact with him, smiling eagerly at the fact that two of the band members were gazing at you. they smile back and you wave your glow stick with power that had been given to you by the other fans before everyone was inside the venue.

beomgyu doesn't hesitate to laugh at how excited you were. finding it cute that you were acting like that just for them. you felt like your heart could just melt on the spot.

It went on like this throughout out the concert. of course, you had interactions with the other three members; a high five from yeonjun, a wave from taehyun, and a wink from kai, but soobin and beomgyu gave you the most attention.

you knew that getting the expensive front row tickets was worth it at this point. you were having the time of your life right now.

⸝⸝

then the concert came to an end. fans flooded the exits of the venue, buying merch and grabbing extra banners to keep as memories.

you followed behind the big crowd, about to walk through the doors of the venue when you hear a slightly muffled "excuse me" from behind you. when you turn around you realize you were stopped by a staff member.

you thought you were in some kind of trouble but what could have you done wrong? certainly nothing, right? "um... is there something wrong?" you stammered on your words as you spoke, a bit anxious for their response.

"come with me" the staff spoke with such bluntness, saying no more but turning around and starting to walk. hesitantly, you follow behind, your mind full of scepticism as they lead you to a part of venue you had never been to before.

finally, you reach a door, the room is labelled as "green room"

and then it hit you, this was where the group waited before going on stage. why were you being taken here? "uh- I don't have the vip ticket..." the staff leaves your words unanswered and opens the door, holding it and waiting for you to enter. you quickly do, not wanting to leave the staff waiting. "is there some kind of mistake?"

you couldn't see the staff's face, half of it covered by a white mask but you could tell they were getting tired of you, "do you want to see the members or not?"

"I'm seeing the members?" your eyes widened in surprise from the staff's words, completely bewildered.

before you could look at the staff member again, they left the room, leaving you to figure it out yourself. so you stood there, gripping your purse nervously as you await for the members of your favourite band to appear. you were so tense at this point, overthinking everything. thinking of what to say to them, how to act, and if you looked good right then and there.

before you could even check yourself in a mirror, the members came out, but only two; soobin and beomgyu.

they smirked when they saw how still you stood from shock. beomgyu chuckled softly, "what are you? some kind of statue?" his tone was joking yet sweet, just how you had imagined it. this felt like a dream. everything felt so surreal you wondered if you were even alive.

"uh no-" you stuttered and quickly fixed your stance.

"you're cute" soobin said, his hands leaving from his pockets as he crossed his arms over his chest. they both looked so menacing in front of you, they were even better looking up close.

they started walking closer and you didn't know what to do. your thoughts were running through your head like a bullet train and you felt the heat of their bodies radiate off of them ever so slightly when they were close enough.

beomgyu ran a finger softly across your jawline and cheek and suddenly, heat ran up to your face, your cheeks immediately turning to a pink hue, spreading like blush. of course, this was a normal reaction when your celebrity crush was this close to you and even caressing your face.

"when I saw you in the crowd... " he began, his tone in a low and soft growl "i couldn't help but think of how hot you were." you blush even harder than before at his words. you couldn't believe it. dressing to impress was definitely the way to go for the concert and it was paying off. you look at his face, only to see his eyes glued onto your slight anxious look on your face, a smirk running along his face as his eyes deepen into yours, creating some kind of romantic feel in the air.

"do you want to do us a favor? " soobin asked, his voice less menacing than beomgyu's. you nod your head, causing both of them to grin. "good, tell us what you want from us."

"what I want..? " you repeat his question, a bit confused of what he was implying.

"okay, let's make this easier for you to understand." soobin gripped your shoulders and pushed you down, making you get on your knees in front of them. you could feel your body heating up as you tried not to gaze at the bulges in their pants.

"c'mon sweetie, tell us what you want." beomgyu's voice dripped with lechery as he spoke with a sexy tone. both of them looked down at you menacingly, waiting for you to speak. "we don't have all day"

"I-I don't know..." you stammered over your words, the scene getting overwhelming.

"then we'll just have to ask you, don't we?" beomgyu put his hands in the pockets of his jeans while soobin moved a hand to softly rub your hair affectionately. "do you want our dicks?" he spat out with no filter and soobin chuckled under his breath when he saw the way your eyes widened.

"don't ask her, just give it to her." soobin said, leading both of them to unzip and unbutton their pants. you moved your gaze to the floor, not wanting to look like a pervert.

"hey, look up." beomgyu commanded , gripping your chin with his thumb and pointer finger to make you look up, their dicks both hard and hanging right in front of your face. they each griped their base with one hand.

"oldest goes first, hm?" soobin said, pushing beomgyu to the side softly before gripping your head. you looked at the monster that they expected to fit in your mouth: a long and girthy cock, his tip a pulsing sweet pink, veins running along the length with big and heavy balls. just looking at it alone made your throat want to close up.

soobin looked down at you with soft and gentle eyes, making you calm down a bit. he caressed your head again, fond of your pretty features. "you're so pretty," he said, admiring the scene for a few more seconds "just signal me when you can't take it anymore, okay?" his words of reassurance made you nod, a small smile adorning his face and he placed his satiny tip against your pursed lips. when you felt comfortable enough, your parted them, his dick making it's way into your mouth slowly.

soobin couldn't help but groan at the feeling of your mouth enveloping him with so much warmth. "just like that..." he mumbled under his breath, his eyes closed shut as he enjoyed the moment.

he thrusted into your mouth, making sure to not hurt you or go to hard, just the right speed, allowing both you and him to enjoy it.

when soobin spoke, his tone was of embarrassment "fuck, I'm gonna cum already... you're gonna swallow like a good girl, right baby?" you nodded a bit to eagerly at his words, sucking even harder than before, causing him to hiss. "take it, baby..." his cum shot into your throat and your felt him pull out with a pop. your mouth felt so full and sticky but you swallow, opening your mouth to show him. "such a good girl..."

suddenly beomgyu cuts into the moment "get over here." he said as he signalled toward the gray couch that decorated the minimalistic room. soobin helped you off your knees and you both walked toward him. you sat down next to beomgyu and he began taking your top off, catching you off guard. he smirks at your expression "what? thought you'd only be here to suck dick? you're in for a ride."

he pulled your shirt over your head, throwing it on the floor and leaving you in only your bra and skirt. his actions followed with him ripping off the other pieces of clothing from your body and having them all in a built up pile.

and that was when they began staring in admiration, taking in every inch of your body. "fuck, you're beautiful..." soobin said, moving his hand up your waist to cup one of your breasts, sitting on the opposite side of you, allowing beomgyu to do the same.

both of them rubbed their thumbs over your hardening nipples, the touch on your sensitive skin, causing you to whimper.

"what? do you like this?" beomgyu asked a bit harshly, moving his finger away to lean down and place his lips tightly around your bud, sucking lightly and running his tongue over it.

sounds of ecstasy rolled off your tongue when you feel both of them sucking on each of your nipples, the lewd scene seeming so vulgar and full of lust.

beomgyu's hand discreetly slid down your body, feeling each of the curves and dips of your form before reaching your embarrassingly wet folds, the amount of slick enough to wet the couch. he ran his lanky and long fingers along them, the wetness coating with digits with ease from how wet you were.

his lips left your nipple, the cold breeze hitting your nipple like an iceberg as you shivered. your eyes screwed shut once he rammed two of his fingers inside your hole, the stretch a bit painful from how long you had anything inside you. you could just hear and imagine the look on beomgyu's face as he chuckled ominously at the way your face contorted with pleasure as his fingers pumped in and out of you aggressively. only the wet sounds of the fingering and the somewhat loud noises that escaped past your lips were audible.

"fuck, you like being pleasured by two men don't you? such an attention whore..." beomgyu stated, his other hand creeping up from your breast and to your neck, he didn't apply any pressure but the threat still lingered in the air. "hyung, get your phone, would you?"

soobin detached his lips from your chest and went to another room for his phone. beomgyu smirked at the opportunity he had here. he picked you up with ease and placed your over the armrest of the couch, your back arched as your hands gripped the armrest. a shaky breath left your mouth and you felt the tip of beomgyu's cock prod against the rim of your hole, drawing a circle around it repeatedly.

you parted your lips to say something but the only thing that escaped were whines. beomgyu leaned in next to your ear, his breathing warm against your neck and earlobe. "you're whining?" he questioned, his tone sinister and dangerous as he spoke. "why are you instead of telling me what you want, hm?" his hand reached your throat once more, applying the pressure that he hadn't applied last time. "say what you, beg for it like a whore."

when you spoke, you had sounded this desperate and needy ever if your life. "need y-your dick... pleasure beomgyu..."

another low chuckle came from beomgyu, his words and questions never failing to leave you wanting more. "hm? need this fat cock inside of you?" you nod a bit more eagerly than needed and yelp when a his other hand is brought down hard to your ass unexpectedly. "I don't that's enough begging, is it? doesn't seem like you'll be having dick anytime soon"

tears began to adorn the rims of your eyes, threatening to fall from your lashes as you begged even harder, "please! p-put it inside of me! even if it's just the tip...!" your voice was failing to keep the tears a secret which only turned beomgyu on even more.

his eyes seemed to have soften for a while, but just how quickly they softened, they turned and went back to the fierce look of lust "that's more like it baby..." you shriek when he smacks your ass again and lets only his fat bulbous tip push inside of your awaiting hole, the stretch so good your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head and your breath quiver.

soobin came back into the room, one hand holding his phone while the other still held a grip at the base of his cock, his fingers able to wrap around it with ease unlike your mouth. he rolled his eyes at beomgyu already having his turn with you, "you really can't play fair in anything can you? I wasn't finished. "

"don't worry, she's not even getting dick yet... I'm just waiting until she snaps." and with that, he slid his tip out of you, leaving your hoke to be clenching around nothing.

desperate and pathetic, you whine again, the tears finally falling down your face. "put it back in-!" you cry out, moving your hand behind you to possibly put his dick inside you yourself. beomgyu sees this, quickly gripping your wrist with such force you swear it could've stopped your blood circulation.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?" the sterness in his voice didn't fail to scare you, your arm weak against his as you give up trying to get what you want. "that's not how things are given." he throws your hand back onto the arm rest where it was. "hyung, get a picture of her face, I bet she looks pathetic as hell right now, just like a whore would be."

soobin nods and moves in front of you, panning the phone down to an angle where your whole face was visible through the camera app. he was taking the picture with one hand, the other jerked himself off. he spoke to you softly unlike beomgyu, "chin up baby, let me see your pretty face. he's not hurting you, right?"

you shake your head, letting him capture your vulnerable form displayed before them. just as he took the pictures, you feel beomgyu's dick surge into you and thrust relentlessly causing you to yelp and cry out, "t-too fast!"

soobin smiled and placed his dick against your lips again, prodding them open. you look at him, your eyes shimmering from the tears you had shed and he nodded, leading you take in his cock once more as you moaned and whimpered from the speed beomgyu was going.

beomgyu smacked your ass again, causing you to lunge forward and choke on soobin's dick, taking it in deeper than you had the previous time. your muffled moans not reaching their ears from how soobin's dick muted you.

"f-fuck... beomgyu let me have my turn. oh shit-" soobin huffed out, knowing that his climax was close. but beomgyu was still thrusting into you, in a completely different world, eyes closed as he continued to pound into you.

he pulled out of your mouth abruptly, a string of saliva stretching and snapping as he made his way behind you. he pushed beomgyu aside, the feeling of both of your holes being empty making you whine once more.

beomgyu lets out a long annoyed sigh, not liking how you were acting like a brat. he moved in front of you where soobin had been, lifting your chin harshly and looking at the pouty look on your face, finding it cute yet frustrating at the same time. "one second without dick and you're already starting to whine. you're lucky you're getting two instead of one" he grabs his dick and signals you to suck. slowly but surely, you tongue wraps and swirls around the tip of his dick; its smaller than soobin's, but it was super thick, the girth left you in shock.

beomgyu threw his head back as his adam's apple bobbed up and down from his heavy pleasured breaths. and again, you're surprised when soobin slams into you from behind, his dick reaching even deeper than beomgyu's.

soobin groaned behind you, gripping your hips as he thrusted in and out, "I wasn't going to let beomgyu have this all to himself... tell me if it hurts, okay pretty?" his reassuring words cause you to nod while sucking beomgyu off, small kitten licks given to the slit of his tip before beomgyu gripped the back of your head and pushed you down, forcing you to take him down your throat.

his fingers wrap around your hair and grip it tight and he guides your head along his shaft, pleasuring himself to the max as you tightened your cheeks. "oh fuck, of course a whore like you has experience with sucking dick, hm? fucking take it...!" without warning, his cum shoots down your throat just like soobin's had.

your moans and whimpers continue as you swallow and soobin fucks into you harder in order to chase his climax. the wet lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin echoed in the room along with their heavy breathing and your moaning. the tickle of his balls hitting your clit made you shudder and twitch.

"hmph! I'm cumming...!" you cried out, gripping the couches arm rest as if your life depended on her it.

"oh no you don't" beomgyu spoke sternly as he stared into your eyes, "brats like you don't cum until he cums."

you trembled as you tried to hold in your cum, feeling as if you'd pop like a balloon. A flash from the camera shot in your face, another picture captured for memories. each thrust of soobin's had you so close to cumming just by the way his dick pressed and kissed your cervix, sending you into a spiral of pleasure.

finally, you heard as his breath grew heavier and quicker, a signal of his incoming climax. he hissed as he pressed his hips against yours and he completely buried himself inside of you before his cum shot out. you cum right after him, listening to beomgyu's words and cumming all over his cock.

"that's it baby... you did so well for us... " he leaned in forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. soobin pulled out, taken a picture of the way your mixed cum spilled out of your hole and onto the couch.

beomgyu tilted your head upwards, his lips finding their way to yours as he kissed you with a bit of pressure.

both of them put their dicks back into their pants, zipping up and standing in front of you. soobin patted your butt lightly telling you to "get dressed". they kept the same smirk on their faces as they watched you pick up your clothes piece by piece. soobin spoke in a proud tone, "I guess we picked the right person to come backstage." his statement caused beomgyu to laugh with pride before speaking.

"I hope you enjoyed your vip experience, this won't be the last time."

⌗ taglist! - @hyunj00 @lovingbeomgyudayone @saejinniestar (please lmk if you want to be tagged in any of my future works!)

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wondrluv · 1 month ago

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୨୧ one more ; cb98

➪ summary: connor is a perfectionist, he's determined, he always gets what he wants... or 3 times connor says "one-more" because things didn't go his way

➪ warnings: none i don't think !

➪ word count: 1.4k

➪ emma's notes: um hello? me writing an nhl x reader fic? guys it's been like three months. anyway. um- yessss this has been sitting in my google drive since the hawks posted that video of the guys trying to stop the stopwatch at 3.12.

1. the time with the tiktok trend

“Connie?”

Connor looked up from where he was sitting on the couch, his right leg popped up on the coffee table, biting his thumbnail as his right hand stopped mid-scroll. He raised an eyebrow, eyes surveying her up and down, taking notice of the sweatshirt that hung to her mid-thigh, the Blackhawks logo plastered on the front.

“Hmm?”

“You know how you love me?”

His lips turned into a smirk, placing his phone beside him as he sat up, “I might be aware. Why?”

She shifted closer to him, her knees barely brushing his leg. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, nerves flowing throw her as she tried to form her question, “I- Do- Can you do a TikTok with me?”

He smirked even more at the blush on her cheeks, standing up and slipping his arm around her waist, “Which one?”

She handed him her phone, Sabrina Carpenter’s Slim Pickens, playing softly as he watched the video. She leaned into his touch, a subconscious habit she’d picked up on since the two of them started dating, her body seeking the warmth he emanated.

It was the third time around of ‘A boy who’s jacked and kind’ before he finally paused the video, looking at her with a certain look of fondness in his eyes, “I think I can arrange that to happen.”

She couldn’t help the grin that was now on her face, plucking her phone from his hand and placing it against her water bottle that sat on the counter. She looked back at him, “Do you want to practice?”

He shook his head adamantly, “No, I got this.”

“Cocky.” She started the timer anyway, backing up as Connor’s hands found their place on her hips like it was where they belonged.

The music started playing and with ease, Connor lifted her up, placing her on his shoulders, an embarrassed but happy expression on her face. He slid her off with just as much grace, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she stared up at him, eyes soft.

The two of them watched the video, Connor’s eyebrows furrowing when he saw how he stumbled slightly, and his lip pouting, “No no, one more. It makes it look like I can’t lift you up.”

“Baby, it’s fine.”

“No one more.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, propping it back up and stepping back into his arms. They repeated the same movements, Connor lifting her up without fault and placing her back down with a kiss on her cheek. And this time when they watched the video, he groaned softly, “My face looks weird. Please can we do it one more time? I promise it will be the last one?”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

It was in fact not one more time. The two of them recorded the video 5 more times after that, each time Connor critiqued something in it; whether it was the way he was standing or the way it made it seem like he didn’t love her enough to pick her up, he made her redo it.

And now, almost thirty minutes later from when she initially asked him to film it with her, he was grinning and nodding along to the final take, “Perfect.”

“The first one was perfect.”

“Just because you looked perfect in all of them, doesn’t mean I did.”

She blushed at his words, letting her forehead fall to his chest, “Shut up.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

2. the time when he loses (constantly)

Game nights were always something she had dreaded because watching four boys argue whether or not stacking was allowed in Uno was not her idea of fun.

She’d stopped playing thirty minutes ago after winning three times in a row and Kevin had all but made her stop so they could “have a chance to win”. So she’d resorted to watching them play, her feet tucked beneath her as she sat on the couch, eating some pretzels.

Connor groaned as Lukas placed down another +2 on top of Alex’s, “Sorry, Con.”

“This is rigged.”

“You can’t be the best at everything.” She reminded, taking a sip of her water.

“But I can try.” He retorted, reluctantly picking up six cards.

She rolled her eyes, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, focused on the game happening in front of her.

“Uno!”

She jumped at Lukas’ voice despite knowing he only had one card left. They all ran a hand through their hair as if they were playing the last five minutes of a tied game. One by one, Alex, Kevin, and Connor set their cards down, Lukas beaming with excitement when he placed his last card down.

“Y/n: 3, Lukas: 1. Alex, Kevin, and Connor: 0.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Kevin threw his cards down, scattering them across the coffee table.

“One more. C’mon.”

“No, I’m tired of losing,” Kevin whined.

“You’re such a baby,” Y/n claimed, moving to sit next to Connor, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Says the one who won three games in a row.”

“You guys win hockey games-”

“Barely.” Connor interrupted her, scoffing.

She glared at him, hitting his arm, “As I was saying. You guys win hockey games, I win board games. Maybe game night is more fun than I thought.”

“One more time.”

“I’m down.”

“Same.”

So, Lukas shuffled the cards, passing them out to the other three. She sat contently, her head somehow burying itself further into Connor’s hoodie with each card placed down.

She was about to drift off when Connor’s voice made its way to her ears, “Fuck!”

“Maybe y/n could help you next round.”

He glared at Kevin, resting his head on his girlfriends, “You guys are cheaters.”

“Just because you’re ass doesn’t mean we don’t.”

“Shut up.”

A beat passed before he spoke again, “One more?”

“NO!”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

3. the time with the kisses

It was late when he came through the door, exhaustion noticeable with every movement he made. He kicked his shoes off, almost stumbling over himself as he walked to his room, pushing the door open and freezing at the sight in front of him.

He was sure he’d never seen something, someone, as beautiful as she was; her hair messy, glasses on her face, knees pulled up and a book resting on them, her fingers turning the page every so often, eyes trailing over the words.

Her face was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp from the nightstand next to her, a candle burning next to it, creating a cozy atmosphere that welcomed him with open arms.

He sat his bag down at the entranceway to the room, her head snapping up, her eyes meeting his, a smile making its way onto her face, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Connor returned the smile, shuffling over to her, pressing a kiss to her head. “Wasn’t expecting you to be awake.”

She flushed slightly, “I started a new book and then I figured I’d just wait for you.”

He nodded, kissing her cheek and walking towards his closet to change into some shorts and a sweatshirt, the one she loved when he wore it. He collapsed on the bed moments later, eliciting a giggle from her as she placed her bookmark between the pages, moving to rest the book on the nightstand, blowing out the candle.

She settled back on her side, the two of them facing each other, “Good goal tonight.”

“Mm, thank you.” He murmured, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her closer to him, his eyes fluttering closed at her closeness.

“Proud of you.” She kissed his jaw softly.

“One more.”

“One more what?”

“Kiss.”

She smiled, kissing his cheek this time, pulling away. His grip on her tightened, not allowing her to stray too far, “One more.”

She didn’t say anything this time, kissing his other cheek.

“One more.” She kissed his forehead.

“One more.” She kissed his nose.

“One more.” She kissed between his eyes.

“One-” She kissed his lips, cutting off his sentence, her fingers tangling in his fingers.

He grinned, kissing her back, his one finger resting beneath her chin and his other hand still tugging her closer despite there being no space between them any longer. When she pulled away, he gave her an innocent look, peering at her with curious eyes, “One more?”

She huffed but kissed him again, each kiss met with another “one more” from Connor until she shook her head, laying back against the pillows.

“Fine just say you don’t love me then.”

“Connie, I’ve kissed you like 15 times in the past two minutes.”

“Sue me for wanting to kiss my girlfriend.”

“Go to sleep.”

And he would, but not without kissing her again.

꒰ CHICAGO BLACKHAWKS TAGLIST ꒱

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @petite-potato4 @absolutelyhugh3s @dyslecticdutchman @this-ass-is-eikonic @winterbarnesblog @fantillisgirl @macklin-celebrini-71 @lukesvangelista

CB98 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

#*｡✩ ꒰ wondrluv's writing ꒱#⋆·˚ ༘ * ꒰ fics ꒱#⋆·˚ ༘ * ꒰ connor bedard ꒱#connor bedard #connor bedard x reader #cb98 #connor bedard fic

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ink-perfect · 6 months ago

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obsessed bf!gojo x gn!reader ⋆. based on: 22 - lil candy paint, bhad bhabie

gojo had a bad habit.

a bad habit of blowing up your phone.

it wasn’t the 'three texts in a row' kind of blowing up, either.

oh no, gojo satoru didn’t do small-scale chaos.

it was an art form for him. the type of masterpiece that made your phone buzz off your nightstand at 3 a.m. with thirty consecutive messages that alternated between blurry selfies, close-ups of his sunglasses, and texts like:

“hey👋 (with the intention of getting midnight sushi)”

“do u think panda would let me dye him pink? 🤔”

“pick up plzzz i jsut saw the funniest video on instagram but i accidnetally exited tje app it and cant find it anymore so i'm jsut going to explain it to you in excruciatign detail”

and tonight was no different—except this time, it came after your first real argument.

you couldn’t even remember what had set it off anymore, but it had ended with you storming off and gojo… well, doing whatever gojo does when someone’s mad at him (eating mochi and sulking).

soon enough, after an hour or so of no contact, the first barrage had begun: thirty consecutive texts ranging from the initial

“i’m sorry 🥺👉👈”

to a dramatic

“why do you hate me? 😭💔 (don't answer that.)”

you’d ignored all of them, determined to let him stew.

but then the calls begun.

ring after ring, voicemail after voicemail, starting out with intense professions of love that slowly faded into desperate pleas for you to call him back, text him back, to respond just once.

and when those went unanswered too, he escalated.

your phone buzzed on your nightstand, flashing yet another text. this time, it came with a photo—gojo lying facedown on what appeared to be megumi’s couch, his hand clutching an empty box of tissues. the caption read:

“i’ve been crying for 84 years 😢 come back pls”

you rolled your eyes, but found the corner of your mouth twitching up despite yourself. he was impossible.

another buzz. this one said,

“fine if ur not gonna answer just know ur the light of my life and i’ll literally wither away like an unwatered houseplant if u don’t forgive me soon 😭 also ur socks are still in my room do u want me to wash them or nah”

the buzz after that said,

“actually nah i'm not bothered to wash them"

and then another buzz.

"also u look hotter when ur mad 🥰”

the audacity of this man.

you let your impulses get the better of you and texted back a stern "leave. me. alone."

and not even a second later, your phone screen lit up with gojo's face for the umpteenth time.

you groaned, snatching it up and finally swiping to answer to put an end to all of this.

“gojo, what part of ‘leave me alone’ don’t you understand?!”

“oh my god,” he gasped, his voice overflowing with fake relief. “you’re alive!”

“i—”

“you weren’t answering, so i thought maybe you’d been kidnapped! or fallen down a well! or—”

“i ignored you,” you interrupted sharply. “on purpose.”

“no yeah, i got that,” he said breezily, completely unfazed. “but we're talking now! the devil sure does work hard, but gojo works harderrrrr."

"gojo—"

"so, how much did ya miss me?”

"gojo."

"also did you see my text about the socks?”

"gojo!"

“aaaaand i’m outside your window by the way.”

“you’re what?”

“outside!” he chirped back like it was the most normal thing in the world.

sure enough, when you yanked open your curtains, there he was—gojo satoru, standing on your lawn in a hoodie two sizes too big, clutching a mismatched bouquet of convenience store snacks and flowers that you could just tell he had made himself.

“ta-da~!” he grinned into the phone as you watched him hold up the haul like it was an olympic medal. “i come bearing gifts!”

you gawked at him. “are you serious?”

“deadly,” he said, his smile widening so much you could even see it from your vantage point. “i brought your favourite snacks, and also, i stole these flowers from my neighbour’s garden. don’t tell anyone.”

“oh my god.” you smacked your forehead, torn between laughing and drawing your curtains shut. “it’s three in the morning.”

“yeah, well, you didn’t answer my texts,” he said, pouting dramatically. “do you have any idea how sad that made me? i’m so sad, baby, like, devastated. i swear i saw my life flash before my eyes.”

you folded your arms, mock unimpressed. “what’s sad is that you think this is going to work.”

“it’s already working,” he shot back smugly. “you’re talking to me, aren’t you?”

you hated that he was right. you hated even more that your annoyance was quickly being replaced by amusement. he was lucky he was cute.

“toru, just go home,” you sighed, though your voice lacked its earlier venom.

“not until you forgive me,” he declared, dropping to one knee with such theatrics you were surprised broadway hadn't whisked him away already. “or at least let me in so i can grovel properly.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah. unbelievably in love with you.”

you threw a pillow at the window, even though it wouldn’t reach him, giving yourself a minute to think.

okay, more like a few seconds.

to be fair, you were sure he had learnt his lesson. and, well...you were craving ramen, which happened to be placed front and centre in his haphazard bouquet.

“fine!" you whisper-yelled into the phone, a smile already creeping its way onto your face despite your best efforts to stay mad. "but if you wake up my neighbours, i swear i'm locking you out.”

his grin practically lit up the yard. “deal!”

and just like that, you were stomping down the stairs, blanket in hand, ready to let in the most exasperating, ridiculous, adorable man you’d ever met.

because, really, how could you stay mad at him?

masterlist

#jjk #jujustu kaisen #gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #fluff

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alchemistc · 1 month ago

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get by (with a little help from my friends)

Eddie's "Hey man." gets completely ignored when he answers the phone, which isn't entirely unusual, considering the man on the other end.

"I need you to talk me off a ledge."

Tommy sounds like he's gone three rounds already, and that's entirely possible. At this point, he's got the same steps as Buck does any time he feels like flying off the handle: phone a friend, and then another friend, and then talk to Buck about it. Eddie always likes it best when they just fucking talk to each other, but he can see the wisdom in asking for advice first. They're both reactive fucks who love each other way too much to be rational face to face, sometimes.

"Am I qualified to give advice on this subject, or is this gonna be another Spare Key Fiasco?"

Tommy chuffs from the other end of the phone. He still hates that Eddie had had a front row seat to that freakout.

"It wasn't a spare, Eddie, I had it specifically made for -."

"Yeah, that's my bad, dude, stop taking every opportunity to change the subject. What's up, man?"

There's a noise Eddie recognizes vaguely as the breathing exercises Buck had been explaining to him a few months ago. They both use them - Buck to prevent the leap to anger and defensiveness, Tommy to prevent... whatever his reactive habits are. The pair of them have been surprisingly light on details, since they got back together. Well. Surprising that Buck hasn't word vomited all of Tommy's idiosyncrasies, at some point.

It's going on a year since he's seen Tommy in person, but he can picture the exact curmudgeonly expression he's probably pulling right now. "I bought a ring, last week."

Only about a month behind Buck. They're getting better about the whole pacing thing. Eddie's been sworn to secrecy, so this is gonna be a fucking minefield to navigate.

"That's great, man. When are you gonna ask him?" Buck has a spreadsheet already. Two, actually, if you're counting the Worst Case Scenario tab Eddie'd caught a peek at when Buck shared his screen instead of ending the video call they'd been on.

That's going in the speech whether Buck likes it or not.

"You remember that ledge I was talking about?"

Of course. Of course that's what he's worried about. Of course Eddie's been dialed in to either talk him down or throw out a rope and wrangle his ass off a cliff side.

Man's stolen helicopters, evaded military and FBI and earned medals for his reckless bravery, and yet the idea of settling down with a man he loves more than the entire world and flying is rattling him enough to need backup.

"Who was your first call?"

Tommy's huff is fairly telling. Sal, then. Eddie's only met him once and he wasn't his biggest fan, but Buck loves the guy. Says sitting between the two old friends is better than watching a UFC match. He's got weird priorities, Buck does.

("They're so mean, Eddie, you'd think they were mortal enemies, but Deluca, like, gets Tommy. Do you think he'll help me with the contingency plan?")

From what Eddie can remember, they'd only reconnected about six months ago, but they'd fallen back into their aggressively combative friendship easily, according to Buck. Eddie's of the opinion that Tommy reached out to Sal Deluca specifically to combat Buck's intense positivity when he finally cottoned on to the fact that Buck considered himself a permanent fixture in Tommy's life.

"Sal told me to woman up. And swap the ring out for a leash."

Yeah. Eddie's not sold on Sal Deluca. Considering they're most likely gonna have to plan some sort of joint bachelor party across state lines sometime over the course of the next year, Eddie's going to have to woman up himself.

"Not to make everything even worse than Deluca, but what the hell are you hoping I can help with? My only proposal came about three days after the pee stick showed two lines."

Tommy blows out a breath. Not the breathing exercises, this time. Eddie can almost see the hand he's dragging down his face, nose folding and bouncing back when the hand gets to his mouth and hangs there, for a moment. "I've proposed before," he murmurs.

Well. There that is. Eddie had definitely forgotten about that little hiccup.

"I mean, it's not like you're gonna propose, sit on it for a few years, and then decide you actually don't like dick, right?"

"Your support is overwhelming," he deadpans, and the line goes quiet. For about forty seconds, Eddie stares at the time on the call tic up and up. "But no, that's not the issue."

"No offense, buddy, but I have no idea what the issue is. He's gonna say yes. It's gonna be great. He'll cry for like an hour and then for a few weeks he'll tell every random stranger he meets that his fiance is a pilot for the LAFD." If Tommy swears him to secrecy, too, he's gonna have to get creative. See if he can coordinate a joint proposal without either one of them cottoning on.

"You ever been gun shy before?" Tommy asks, in that roundabout way he has of trying to explain the thoughts inside his own head.

He tried. He failed. He hurt someone. He doesn't want to do it again.

"Yeah, but like - besides the fact that you're attracted to and in love with Buck, they're...very different people." He'd only met Abby once. Hadn't particularly cared for her, on account of the whole leaving his best friend in limbo for months, and the Making His Best Friend Act More Out Of Pocket Than Usual At A Scene.

"Both with amazing hair, though," Tommy jokes, and then groans. "I'm going to gouge my eyeballs out with a teaspoon."

"Yeah, don't do that. You think Evan Buckley's going to decipher that as 'Lets get hitched'?"

"I resent the idea that you think that I'd use those words."

"Apologies. You gonna quote a movie he's never seen?"

"It's easy to recycle when he thinks they're all my witty rejoinders."

"He knows when you're quoting something. Tommy, your whole body vibrates, and you get this deranged smile. You are many things, my friend, but subtle is not one of them."

Christ, Tommy has a type. Drawn to whatever asshole can slice him to the bone while keeping up with his brand of sardonic banter. Eddie doesn't enjoy the new knowledge that he's basically the Buck-adjacent version of Deluca.

How the hell had he ended up with the human equivalent of a socially anxious Great Dane?

There's an easy solution here. Is it a violation of the bro code to tell Tommy to just sit on it? Carry the ring around everywhere and wait til the time is right? That's not a hint, is it?

"You're trying to distract me," Tommy observes. "What do you know?"

"I know that despite the fact that the two of you could fill Michigan Stadium with your insecurities and diametrically opposed capital I issues, this is gonna work itself out in a really good way."

"Eddie."

"Tommy."

"He already bought the ring, didn't he?" There's his typical bemused sigh whenever Buck does something that he, personally, finds adorably annoying. Annoyingly adorable. Something. Eddie doesn't know; he still doesn't quite get them. They work, and that's all that really matters, at the end of the day.

Sometimes they work because Eddie, Maddie, and Sal Deluca, for some reason, can offer the right support and the right advice at the right time.

"For legal and personal reasons I'm invoking my right to remain silent."

"Are the personal reasons to do with wanting your ankles intact?"

"I might take a vow of silence, actually."

Tommy's quiet for a long, long time. Long enough that Eddie has to check and make sure the asshole hasn't hung up on him.

"Is his plan going to cause any permanent damage to county property? We've both got priors." Stealing government property, evading police and military, technically domestic terrorism. All wiped from their records because they both have main character syndrome, so exactly zero actual prior offenses.

"I don't recall saying anything about a plan."

"That vow sure has legs to stand on," Tommy muses, and Eddie has to fight the urge to blow a raspberry.

"You can ask one yes or no question that I retain the right to not answer. If it'll help you walk yourself back off that ledge."

Tommy takes long enough forming the question that Eddie gets through three of the syllabuses Chris' school is requiring him to confirm he's read. He hates this damn school, but Chris loves it.

"Should I start carrying the ring with me everywhere, or can I assume Evan will at least make it clear we have plans, when he decides he's ready?"

That's not a yes or no question.

"That's not a yes or no question."

"Should the ring be on my person at all times, yes or no?" Eddie can't tell if he's throwing the bitchy tone in for a laugh, or because he's actually annoyed. For all Eddie knows, he could still be a little prickly about the fact that he's having to seek out the competition for advice on his love life. Buck says they're over that, but sometimes Eddie's not sure.

Sometimes Buck still encourages him to lean into it a bit because apparently "The sex is mind-blowingly hot, Eddie."

"You'll probably be fine without it at work," Eddie hedges.

"Probably is not a yes or a no."

"I never told you how I was gonna answer."

Eddie hates that he knows Buck's gonna get laid tonight on the back of Tommy's frustration with Eddie.

"So. How's that cliff looking, from over there?"

Tommy's put-upon sigh is edging on overkill. "What cliff? It's plains and valleys from here."

Eddie's well aware that Tommy can dig himself trenches a mile deep just to have a ledge to jump from. He has a good feeling about this, though.

"Let him romance you, for once, dude."

That shouldn't be such a polarizing statement, for the man who's been desperate to be loved almost as much as Evan Buckley himself, but Tommy has a nasty fucking habit of shooting himself in the foot whenever Buck makes it a point to take care of Tommy back.

Tommy groans. "None of this makes it to the speech."

"Yeah, it's absolutely going in the speech, man."

#bucktommy fic #tevan fic #eddie & tommy #give me an eddie and sal rivalry #give me tommy and buck putting in WORK because it's worth it to try #give me eddie and tommy being buddies despite themselves #i'm trying to ignore the horrors the next episode is gonna give us

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losermuse · 5 days ago

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PAW-VERWHELMED

CW: gn!reader/mc, body worshiping, caleb grovels for forgiveness, reader is petty and dramatic, not proofread and short AN: caleb you will explode in two days…trust on josephine's grave. (He beat me in kitty cards three times and it pissed me off)

Losing three Kitty Cards matches in a row to Caleb wasn’t the issue—it was the smug little smile after the third win that sent you over the edge. You stood from your shared blanket on the floor, phone in hand, silent and unreadable. Caleb looked up, still grinning, and cards fanned out between his fingers like trophies.

“That was brutal,” he chuckled. “Rematch?”

You gave him one look, blank and empty. Then turned and walked away.

That was two days ago.

Since then, you’d spoken only when absolutely necessary. A nod when he asked if you wanted dinner. A head shake when he offered dessert.

You even slept at the far edge of the bed, wrapped in your own fortress of pillows and plushies. Each one strategically positioned to face him—an army of stuffed witnesses to his crimes.

Caleb had tried everything.

Your favourite snacks he knew you liked? Unopened and untouched.

Your favourite tea that he made in your chipped dragon mug? Went cold.

Memes and videos of him saying this is us? Left on read.

You basically ignored him.

And that was worse.

The second night, he found you curled up on the bed again. His hoodie swamped your frame, legs tucked beneath you, eyes on your phone and headphones in. No glance spared his way. Just the occasional ghost of a smile at whatever video you were watching.

Caleb stood in the doorway, breathing in deeply before stepping inside.

“I made your tea,” he said gently, “with honey. Just how you like it.”

Nothing.

He placed the mug on the nightstand like it was a peace offering and then sat on the floor beside the bed with his head bowed.

“I booked us tickets to that movie you’ve been wanting to see,” he tried again. “This weekend. I made sure it doesn’t clash with anything.”

Still no response.

Caleb took a chance to look up. You were still beautiful in your silence, and if you’d turned just slightly, you’d see how his gaze clung to you like he was trying to memorise your silhouette.

He dropped his chin onto the edge of the mattress with a soft, defeated sigh.

“Please talk to me.”

Finally, your voice came, low and cold, like ice down his spine.

“You didn’t have to combo me like that.”

His lips parted. “It wasn’t on purpose. I just…got excited.”

You pulled your headphones down and turned to face him. For the first time in two days.

“And you smiled.”

“I… I did?”

“A smug smile,” you said, pointedly. “Like you were proud of breaking me.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “It was Kitty Cards, pipsqueak. I didn’t think it would cost me everything.”

“That’s the problem,” you said. “It wasn’t just a game. It was our game. I invited you into something I enjoy, and you…you comboed me to death.”

Each word struck like a hit to the gut. Caleb swallowed thickly, then shifted onto his knees beside the bed, and resting his palms on the edge.

He then started crawling onto the mattress.

Slowly. Shamefully.

Like a puppy denied the couch but still wanting to lie at your feet. His large hands sank into the comforter as he climbed up, shoulders hunched and gazed lowered.

He didn’t speak or crack a joke.

Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your ankle.

Soft. Barely there. His breath trembled.

You didn’t move. But you didn’t stop him either.

Caleb kissed it again, just above your sock line, reverent and silent.

“You haven’t even glared at me,” he whispered. “Do you know how sick that is? I miss your glare.”

Still nothing.

So he kissed the inside of your calf. Then just beneath your knee. Each press of his lips was more desperate, like maybe he could earn your forgiveness one inch at a time.

“I brought my dumb competitive pilot brain into something sacred,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to be good at something you loved so you’d be proud of me.”

You finally looked at him—expression unreadable, but eyes locked.

That was enough to undo him.

He rested his cheek against your thigh, looking up with his big violet glassy eyes, and a soft voice.

“You’re my favourite place to be.”

You didn’t answer, but your fingers twitched. He caught it.

So he nuzzled you gently, like a mutt seeking warmth, then whispered, “I’ll wear the kitty ears. I’ll meow. I’ll let you combo me every day for the rest of my life.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do it. Now.”

“Meow,” he whispered immediately. “Meow. Meow.”

Your hand finally reached down, cupping his face. He leaned into it like a drowning man would to air.

“You’re pathetic.”

“I know.”

“And dramatic.”

“Only for you.”

You traced your thumb along his cheek, and his eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

“You’re not allowed to win without grovelling again,” you murmured.

“Deal.”

“And next time you combo me like that…” you leaned forward just slightly, your lips close enough to feel his breath stutter, “you better cry about it.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

He smiled. “You looked hot ignoring me, by the way.”

You shoved a plushie into his face. “Caleb.”

He kissed the plushie. “Still counts.”

#꒰ა 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 .ᐟ #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #lads caleb #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads x reader

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georgeclarkeys · 7 days ago

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tiktok trend series - george clarkey x reader

summary: you make george's friends be mean to you for a tiktok trend - 800 words

hi friends!! this is the first installment in my new tiktok trend series about your fav uk youtubers and your fav tiktok trends!! please please please send me any ideas you might have for this, especially a trend or a person you would like to see featured!!

Scrolling through TikTok was beginning to find a permanent spot in your nighttime routine. It had been several years since your account blew up, so you convinced yourself that you were doing research for new video ideas every time you spent an hour or so watching before bed. One recent trend was definitely piquing your interest, and with the help of your boyfriend's friends, you were confident that you could pull it off. Creators were staging a “who’s most likely to” game with someone close to their significant other, and asking the other person to be mean to them in order to catch their partner's reaction. You had the perfect idea, and were planning on getting a great reaction out of George.

It was an unusual evening at Casa Clarke-Dixon-Hill. All three roommates were home, and no one was streaming or working, so you managed to round them up and convince them to film a TikTok with you. You had talked to Arthur and Chris beforehand, letting them in on the prank and giving them permission to be as mean as they could, but George was clueless.

You placed your phone on the tripod and sat in a row, with Chris and Arthur on either side of you, and George standing behind looking curious.

Pressing record, you smiled, “Hey friends! Today I am joined by George, Arthur, and Chris, and we’re going to be playing a game of “who’s most likely to” where all of the answers are decided by George!”

All three of the boys let out a small cheer.

“Alright, George, who has the best voice?”

“Oh wow, starting off with a difficult one are we?” he laughed, “Obviously my singer friend Arthur.”

Arthur pumped his fist and cheered, “Yes! I’m just glad you didn’t say (Y/N), she sounds about like nails on a chalkboard.”

You saw George make a bit of a face in the camera before saying, “(Y/N) has a lovely voice.”

Ignoring the comment from Arthur, you continued, “Okay next, who is the smartest?”

George’s eyes bounced between the three of you in deep thought before calling out, “(Y/N).”

You turned around to smile at him, while Arthur and Chris shook their heads. George was suspiciously eyeing both of them as they looked at each other. Chris leaned past you to say to Arthur, “there is absolutely no way he actually thinks she’s smarter than either of us, right? She’s a TikToker for crying out loud.”

Arthur laughed and answered, “I thought he was joking to be honest.”

Your boyfriend was not laughing, he eyed the camera warily before putting on an exaggerated confused face in an attempt to ease the tension, “is this a who’s most likely to quiz, or an everyone bully George’s beautiful girlfriend quiz?”

You laughed awkwardly, doing your best to play into the uncomfortable atmosphere that was rapidly growing.

“Anyways, who’s the meanest?”

George does not even hesitate before answering, “Chris.”

Chris’s head turns around, eyes wide with shock, “you’re actually joking.”

“I would have said (Y/N),” Arthur mumbled, loud enough to hear.

“I would have said (Y/N) too!” Chris exclaimed, “she’s so unnecessarily rude all the time!”

You sat back with wide eyes and listened to the chaos unfold, watching George’s face grow red as his flatmates continued ripping into you.

“What the hell is going on!” he snapped, looking back and forth between his two friends, “Why are both of you being such dickheads to (Y/N)? Don’t talk about her like that.” He grabbed your hand to pull you up from your seat, “C’mon babe, delete that video. Let’s go film something else for you to post.”

Before he could grab your phone you decided it was time to give yourself up, “it’s a joke! It’s a trend!”

He turned back to look at you, “what?”

“I put them up to it. I told them to be mean to me.”

“Well that’s a fucking relief,” he laughed and put a hand over his heart, “I thought I was going to have to move out, oh my days.”

By the end of the day the video had over a million views, and a comment section filled with women thirsting over your boyfriend.

comments

user1: okay but why is george so sexy when he’s mad…

georgeclarkeey: This is something I would expect from Chris, but Arthur threw me off

user2: yes george defend your gf 😫

arthurhill69: i am so sorry queen (y/n) i love you

user3: (y/n) where did you find this man he’s perfect

user4: where’s the green flag guy

#i didnt proof this lololol i was to excited to share my new series idea with yall #george clarke #george clarkey #george clarke imagine #george clarke x reader #george clarkey imagine #george clarkey x reader

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kumkaniudaku · 2 months ago

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A Lovely Night

Summary: Terry and Patrice prepare for prom and a new level of their relationship.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: None

At the tender age of 13, with braces still on her top row of teeth and dreams of marrying a pop star who didn't yet know her name, Patrice came to three conclusions: she was leaving St. Pius after 8th grade, she definitely did want to be a teacher someday, and she was going to have a prom date before she graduated high school.

The third conclusion came as she sat by herself at the 8th-grade formal, watching throngs of white children dance to censored hip-hop music in pairs and large groups while she was but a beautiful wallflower without the pleasure of being asked to attend. If not for her mother preemptively purchasing a dress before Patrice could confirm a dance partner for the evening, she would've stayed home and wallowed in her room. Better to cry in private than to suffer the embarrassment of visible loneliness in public. But, while she fought incoming misty tears threatening to smudge the mascara her mother had so graciously allowed her to use, Patrice swore that things would be different by her senior year. Her luck would turn. Shit, she might even be prom queen.

Years later, when dreams began to catch up to reality, Patrice's 8th-grade formal debacle seemed primed for a remix. One month until prom and still no prospect for a prom date was social status killer number one. She'd worked hard in her senior year to reinvent herself, shed the reputation she'd inadvertently received as Terry's cute but strange shadow friend, and step into a new image as the senior hottie she was destined to be. Becoming Homecoming Queen was step one in the plan. Step two was senior class president. Step three, the hardest of them all, was having a small army of young men vying for a chance to take her to the ball. So far, only the weird junior from AP Calc had stepped up. Everyone else had slowly split into pairs, preparing matching ensembles, limo rentals, and after-party plans, leaving Patrice as a lone wolf destined to repeat past failures.

"Is Napheesa really going to prom with Nate? Like for real?"

Wednesday evenings were set aside for family spaghetti night and Calc homework with Terry via ooVoo video chat. She'd completed her first task of sharing something sweet and sour from her day around the dinner table. After lying her way into something sour that didn't include her prom woes, math with Terry was a welcomed distraction.

Patrice wiped away wayward red sauce from her mouth with her hoodie sleeve before refocusing on Terry's face taking up her laptop screen. "Yeah. He asked her Sunday when they were hanging out. It was kinda cute, really. I think he sang a song or something."

Terry snickered. "Nigga swear he Trey Songz." He mocked Nate and the R&B hearthob's singing voice in one go, sending him and Patrice into laughter. When they finally calmed down, Terry settled into a more serious temperament. "Corey's going with Jasmine. I think they're wearing red."

"I heard. He showed me his tux. You know he's planning to wear red shoes? I told him he was gonna look like a Mississippi pimp, but he don't listen. Is the answer to number six 375?" As quickly as she'd delivered more news, Patrice was already on to the next thing.

Terry smiled at how her face scrunched in confusion. "No. I think you miscalculated somewhere."

"Shit," she whispered. "Don't tell me. Let me figure it out." Terry watched in rapt silence, enamored by Patrice's prominent features, which were made more striking by a neat ponytail showcasing her face as the main attraction.

He waited silently as she typed the expression into her calculator again, battling whether now or in person was a good time to ask his question. If he waited again, he risked chickening out like he did before they parted ways in the senior parking lot to beat the morning tardy bell. He decided to strike while she wasn't looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes.

"So…uh…you going to prom with anyone?"

She scoffed without looking up. "No. At least not yet. Usher still hasn't responded to my emails. I sent Chris Brown one, too, so maybe he'll come through."

"Good luck with that," he chuckled. Nerves tried to caution him on moving forward. A rational, fully formed frontal lobe would've told him to quit while he was ahead. Teenage folly made him open his mouth to say, "Wanna go with me?"

Patrice paused her work to look up and smile. "You sure? We don't have to. I wouldn't be mad if you asked someone else."

"I'm asking who I want to go with. Unless you givin' me the run around like Phee did Cam."

"No," Patrice cut in, rolling her eyes. "I was just saying!"

Terry smiled. "So we're going to prom together? Me and you? In Carolina blue? You see how I made that happen? Creative writing really might be worth it."

A genuine, hearty laugh came from Patrice's mouth as she threw her head back in reaction to Terry's terrible attempt at an off-the-cuff poem. Or so Terry thought. Really, she'd released years of pent-up fear and expected disappointment. Finally, in the 11th hour, Patrice had a prom date. Sure, it was her best friend she'd been falling more in love with day by day with no indication they'd ever be together, but it was something. Dream realized. Victory.

"Yeah, we're going to prom together," she confirmed after her giggle attack had ended. They stared at each other momentarily, basking in the implications of a night under makeshift stars in the swanky event space across town. Patrice fought to look back at her calculator and announce what had to be the correct answer this time. "It's 215. I multiplied by 23 instead of multiplying 2 and 3. Movin' too fast, I guess."

Terry nodded proudly. "Yeah. You got it. Good job."

As Patrice moved on to a new exam prep question and rolled through the math aloud, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction coated his tongue. The spark he expected from asking the girl he'd been falling deeper into what he knew of love with was nothing more than a quick flicker of excitement – fun but empty. He could do better. Especially if he wanted his true intentions of turning a friendship into something more substantial to stand a chance.

Two mornings later, with a day separating Terry's promposal and the opportunity to back out before their paring was set in stone, Patrice bounced into Francis from a doctor's appointment with a new lease on life and big news to share with Napheesa.

She opened her locker as usual before fourth-period English, looking for her orange class notebook and the assigned textbook. She found them both without issue and nearly pranced off to class with nothing but gossip on her mind until she noticed the index card taped to her locker mirror.

Can you meet me in the library after school? 398.2. I'm sure you know what that means.

The handwriting looked more feminine than Patrice was accustomed to, not matching what she'd seen from Napheesa's notes back and forth in class or from Corey, who'd mastered the forgery dark arts. Still, she tucked the instructions into her everything binder's inside pouch and kept it close until the final bell rang.

Like a spy on a top-secret mission, Patrice dodged conversations from her classmates, threaded her body between students walking to and fro in the main hallway, and quietly ducked into the library on the hunt for the mysterious being requesting her presence.

398.2. It took Patrice an entire class period to decipher what the collection of numbers meant. Too short for a phone number, obviously, she thought to herself. It wasn't a locker number or any other location in the school. Area codes didn't come with decimals. She thought long and hard, willing the answer into existence. Realization smacked her in the head with the full force of Mike Tyson on her way to Terry's locker to grab her sociology notebook. The Dewey Decimal System. More specifically, the section of the library dedicated to folk and fairytales.

Led by an ironclad knowledge of the library's layout and excitement nearly pouring from her pores, Patrice speed-walked past the librarian's station at the front, waved hello to Ms. Wanamaker re-stocking returned library books from seniors trying to clear their outstanding balances before fines set in, and turned the corner onto her intended row.

Snow White piqued her curiosity first. The book appeared to jut out from the rest, so she glanced around for any lookie-loos straggling nearby and pulled it off the shelf. Nothing. Patrice shrugged and put the book back before focusing on other possible answers. Fairy Tales from The Brothers Grimm turned up nothing. Some weird book of Greek myths briefly felt like cracking the code but ultimately fell flat. Patrice had been duped. Led astray. Lied to. She was sure someone was watching through shelves and laughing at how she'd been fooled in a scavenger hunt.

Some hopeful part of her brain directed Patrice's annoyed attention to the book spine conspicuously sticking out amongst its neighbor. She thought about what she might do if she were to flip through another dud and settled on knocking everything down as she yanked the worn edition of Cinderella from its spot. Luckily, a quick flip to its front cover ended her search.

I don't know if I'm your Prince Charming, but I want you to feel like a Cinderella for a night. Will you go with me to the ball? I'll have you home before the clock strikes 12.

She recognized this handwriting, slanted and slender, on another index card. Patrice ran her index finger over the words and gave them another full read, not noticing the tall young man slowly revealing himself at the end of the aisle with a smile on his face and the gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"I should've done this the right way the first time," he spoke, startling Patrice. He lifted his hands in surrender and disarmed her with a smile. "My bad."

Patrice smiled back. "Since when did you learn the decimal system?"

"If I tell you, I can't take you to prom. So, you either gotta answer the question on the card or get the answer to yours. Which one is it?"

"Give me your answer."

Horrified confusion and feigned annoyance flashed across Terry's young, handsome face as he watched Patrice double over in stifled laughter. He chuckled and kissed his teeth as he stepped closer. "Patrice, be serious. Will you go to prom with me? I'm really asking."

Terry's sincerity, both in his voice inflection and in how his brows knitted in anticipation of a response, made Patrice stand up to her full height and smile back at her best friend.

"Of course, TJ. I will absolutely go to prom with you."

A fist pump and smile in the back corner of the school library was as good as any contract signed in black ink with a felt-tipped pen and the appropriate amount of witnesses. It was official official. Terry and Patrice were going to prom together.

News of the expected pairing spread through the halls like wildfire, the truth morphing into something of a fairytale itself as it passed from person to person. Terry had asked Patrice in the library on one knee or in the parking lot, and they kissed, or between classes, and Patrice cried. Actually, Patrice asked Terry! In one version of events, Terry had abruptly reneged on his promposal to Junior cheerleader Cierra and asked Patrice at the last minute. A messy affair in a messy love triangle between the messiest best-friend duo the school had ever known, according to some twisted version of events.

Neither Patrice nor Terry cared to clear up rumors or refute gossip. They were too busy prepping for the best night of their young lives.

Pin cushions and yards of organza covered Patrice's living room floor by Sunday afternoon, turning recently the replaced grey carpet into a sea of light blue as her Aunt Sybil eyeballed measurements and cut the fabric into careful shapes to match the pattern Patrice and Imani had agreed was perfect for a Cinderella-inspired gown. Glitter. She needed glitter tucked into every inch to turn an ordinary dress into one that sparkled in the right light. Rosalyn requested sleeves for modesty, and Patrice agreed, not because she wanted to, but because she knew compromise was her best friend. They settled on sparkling flower appliqué details on the bodice to bring in the event's garden theme, a dainty off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline with draped sleeves to satisfy her beaming mother, and a soft corset to create a ball gown illusion for the flowing, floor-length-skirt. A masterpiece in Patrice's eyes. Especially the hidden thigh-high split she and Imani schemed, plotted, and cried to have included when Rosalyn wasn't listening.

Hair, makeup, nails, and fragrance were all Patrice thought about for days. She sat with Napheesa on Google for hours, looking for the perfect photos to show their beauty service providers when the time came. Every detail, down to the number of tendrils springing from her bun to add a little Princess Tiana into her Disney fantasy, was carefully crafted to fit the vision she'd had of herself since the 8th grade.

Terry hadn't dived head-first off the prom prep cliff, but he was close. Marvin couldn't understand why his son was suddenly so hell-bent on switching to the younger barber and his creative cuts until Diedra pulled him aside for a quick update in the Richmond Girl saga. He couldn't have any old fade. He needed something to stop Patrice in her tracks and garner enough praise to fuel him until he was 21. He'd work every weekend until boot camp to pay off that extra $50 plus tip if it meant his haircut was precise.

A trip to the tailor turned a baggy, hand-me-down wedding tux into something tailored for his brand new, 6'3" frame. Diedra watched with pride in her shining eyes as Terry stood tall and allowed the much smaller shop owner to stand on a step ladder and adjust the jacket's shoulders to Terry's proportions. Take in the waist here, lengthen that hem, get the fit of that cummerbund just right, not too shiny on the shoes or too dark on that blue – he's got a date with the prettiest girl in the world, and he can't get caught lacking. Another $150 withdrawn from his parent's bank account, another step closer to the best night of his short life.

The final puzzle piece was the paramount matter of transportation. Terry's Explorer had been out of commission since October, both from punishment and mechanical issues. He'd improved his behavior, but the starter was still shot, and any indicator that his dad would fix it went away when Terry chose to sign his life away to the United States.

Terry knew the perfect set of wheels to act as a chariot for his princess. The creamy, off-white Cadillac with less than 40,000 miles and a sick interior parked in their garage would take him from best friend to boyfriend in 15 minutes flat. He just needed the permission.

Slinking out of his room, Terry coached himself through a pre-planned script as he jogged down the front porch steps to the tall, greying, light-skinned man diligently trimming healthy green hedges per his wife's instructions.

"Hey, Pop. You need some help?"

Marvin looked up at his son, confusion sheening his blue-green eyes, and shrugged. "If you wanna, I won't stop you." A man of few words and enough brains in his head to know when his boy was about to ask for something.

Taking his father's half-hearted invitation, Terry slid on a pair of working gloves nearby, grabbed the garden hedge sheers lying in a pile of other tools, and began carefully chopping at his mama's award-winning bushes.

They worked silently for several long minutes, two tall, slender Richmond men toiling away in the mid-April breeze until Terry mustered up enough courage to make his request known. "Dad, could I…maybe, um…drive your car for prom? Just that one night?"

"The truck?" Marvin knew the answer but wanted to teach his only son a lesson in the type of directness that made boys into men.

"No. The Cadillac. Our friends are doing the limo thing, but I want to – I'm just not trying to spend the whole night with them. It's easier if I can put the money for the limo towards dinner and really enjoy myself. With Patrice. Together for probably the last time."

Marvin listened to his son's appeal without looking away from his task, mulling over the answer he already had in his head. He'd been in young love before and knew all of the fear and excitement from exploring matters of the heart.

Terry watched his father continue to prune errant branches and leaves from the collection of perfectly green hedges, feeling the pieces of his plan for a magical night blow away in the wind. He'd already begun working through how to get $50 to Corey by the end of the night when Marvin set his shears down and started rifling through his coverall pockets.

He pulled out a crisp $100 bill, allowed his neutral expression to brighten into a small smile, and extended his hand toward Terrence. "Hold that for dinner." Then he reached into another pocket to pull out a ring of keys to toss in Terry's direction. "And hold these for this evenin'. I gotta see you drive her before I let you off by yourself. You fuck up my Caddy, and you won't make it to Parris Island, Tybee Island, or Island Seafood down the street without a cane because I'm gon' need at least three toes for my car."

"I got it, Dad," Terry laughed. "I promise. I'll have it back a little after 12. Treece got a curfew.”

"Mhmm. She got your little nose wide open, too. When y'all gon' stop all that playing and do the real thing?"

Terry hoped he could return to his father triumphant by next Saturday night to proudly proclaim he and Patrice had finally decided to do "the real thing." He spent the whole week counting down the seconds until he could ask for her hand at the dinner table, confess his feelings, earn a big kiss, and walk into the event center as Francis Edwards High School's newest couple.

Patrice considered the possibility of going from best friend to girlfriend all week but kept her fantasies locked inside her mind for fear of interrupting Napheesa's now 15-minute-long, one-sided conversation.

The school week's events had long faded into vapors to make way for the dizzying sights and sounds of salon visits, light lunches to keep bellies flat, and gossip-filled chatter of prom preparation. Patrice and Napheesa sat side by side in massage chairs that made their bodies shake and jerk from an overzealous contraption while their feet soaked in bowls of bubbling lukewarm water. Their mothers had dropped them off for coordinated early morning nail appointments they both hoped would fit into 90 minutes. Napheesa had to be on time for her beautician or else she'd spend an extra hour at the hair salon. Patrice didn't have a fancy chair to sit in for her appointment. Still, Ms. Brenda's daughter liked to get off track in her kitchen studio, and she didn't have the time or patience for anyone to ruin her plans.

Napheesa flipped through color swatches while she multitasked providing updates to her best friend and picking which shade of baby pink would match her dress best. "Corey said his after-party is invite-only, but you know how he gets when he get a crowd. Everybody and they mama gone be over there. You and Terry sure y'all don't wanna ride in the limo with us so you don't have to worry about finding a place to park in his neighborhood? I don't think he'll care about the money at this point."

"Nope. Terry says he wants it to be just us, and I think he already got his dad to let him use the car." Patrice answered, smiling at the thought of being alone with him in a fancy whip.

"Okay, then! You didn't tell me about the Cadillac, now! I'm jealous." Napheesa teased. She noticed her friend's bashful smirk and reached over to playfully push her shoulder. "How you feeling about tonight? You nervous? Excited? What?"

All of that and then some, Patrice thought to herself before answering. "I don't know! I think I'm just ready to see him," she confessed. "We've never been, like, alone alone. What if I say something silly or trip and fall or something? Now the night is ruined, and I gotta come home by 8 o'clock." Patrice sighed and mentally settled on a classic French tip for her nails and feet. "I think it'll be fun. I'm just ready to skip to then."

"The way Terry acts like you're the second coming of Kevin Hart, I'm sure there's nothing silly you could do or say to make him end the night early. He might even fall down with you so you don't feel alone." The young ladies dissolved into laughter at the image of Terry's long, lanky body lowering to the ground just to make Patrice feel better about her blunder. "Just have fun, P. High school is almost over, and if you not with that boy by May, we not talking about his ass when we get on campus."

Patrice feigned offense. "We'll still be friends! I can't talk about him at all?"

"Not a peep. We only talking about fine college niggas after graduation. So, lock it down or get ready for orientatioooon." Napheesa's exaggerated body roll turned Patrice's giggling into a full-on cackle loud enough to eclipse the nearby whirring of an electric file.

Patrice would've laughed herself into a stomach ache if not for the loud ringtone trilling in her purse. Napheesa didn't need to see who was awaiting an answer to their call. The slight smile on her friend's face and starry eyes were answer enough.

"Hey, TJ," Patrice chirped as two nail techs rolled up to start their service.

In his bedroom across town, Terry eyed his face in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which parts of his facial hair to tell his barber to keep. "What's up, Treece. Wait, are you out already?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to end up late, so me and Phee decided to get our nails done early." Patrice passed greetings between her two best friends before continuing. "What's up with you?"

"I'm on the way to the barbershop in a little bit. I just wanted to tell you I'll be by to pick you up at 5:30 so we can get to dinner on time. The food's gonna suck tonight and I don't want you to be hungry. Think you'll be ready by then?"

Patrice smiled and softened her voice. "Yeah. I'll be ready."

"Um…" Terry cut himself short, smiled at the fleeting thought of seeing his Cinderella float toward him in something spectacular, and then picked up his thought again. "I'm excited to see your dress tonight and hang out. I think it's gonna be a good night."

"Me too. I get to see you in a tie for the first time."

Terry chuckled. "And this stupid waist thing my mama's making me wear. They're gonna follow me to your place, by the way, so be ready to take pictures for forever."

"That's okay. You just make sure you don't come over there looking better than me," Patrice joked. A clean-cut, suited and booted Terry could rival Hollywood's finest leading man. She'd put money on that.

"I could never. You win that battle every time." His compliment settled on Patrice's ears and heart like light snow coating freezing cold lawns in those Hallmark Christmas movies her mom loved so much. Terry smiled at her silence before noting his father's second honk in as many minutes. "See you later, Treece. I gotta get out of here. Love you."

Patrice looked to Napheesa pretending not to listen to every word of their conversation then tried to lower her voice. "Love you, too. See you later."

Another velvety smooth goodbye left a young girl with dreams of locking more than arms with her occasionally brooding, often sweet prince swooning in a building full of strangers and her amused best friend.

"Cute shit, mom and dad." The parents joke had gained traction in the school hallways and grown legs to follow Patrice into the world via a sniggering Naphessa. Patrice looked over at her friend with a sour look and received gut-busting laughter in return. "Damn, y'all sound like my parents."

"Shut up!"

-----

Staring at her daughter in the small vanity mirror tucked in the room's back corner, Rosalyn had never seen a more beautiful girl in all her life. The baby she'd spent hours of grueling labor to usher into the world, her first of three pregnancies and two births, had grown into a young woman preparing to enter the world as a free bird spreading its wings for the time.

Tears gathered in the inner corners of her eyes, threatening to garner a groan and quiet complaints for it was the third time in an hour she'd felt like crying. Leon joked with her the first two times, remarking that Patrice's eventual wedding might send her to the upper room if this was how Rosalyn would act for prom.

Rosalyn twirled a perfectly spiraled tendril from Patrice's bun around her finger after removing the perm rod giving it shape and smiled. "You're such a pretty girl, P. Don't let anyone tell you that you aren't. Alright?"

"Yes ma'am," Patrice answered as she looked back at her mother through the mirror. She took careful stock of her appearance, trying to see what in her reflection her mother saw to say such a thing.

Brown skin, smooth as luxury chocolate and covered in just enough makeup to highlight ancestral high cheekbones and youthful features, complemented shining eyes and mouth full of pearly whites her parents had paid a fortune for in middle school. She was pretty. Beautiful. A stunning amalgamation of her mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother long before she was a twinkle in the universe.

A larger roller removed from the right side of her forehead unfurled a bouncing bang. Rosalyn kept it in place with a careful mist of spritz. "The next time I get to see you like this, you'll be getting a new last name." Patrice looked away bashfully, trying not to imagine wedding bells and a church full of family watching her walk down the aisle to the one she…loved? Loves. She did love him, she thought. She was sure of that much.

Rosalyn slowly slid the other large roller off Patrice's left side, giving it equal attention to the first. "Have fun tonight, alright. I know you'll be okay with Terry, but I'll tell you anyway: be safe. You know you can call whenever you need us. We'll come get you, no questions asked."

"I know. I don't think I'll have to call. Terry knows to have me back by midnight, and we don't get into trouble." Partially true. They didn't get into much trouble. Nothing significant or life-changing. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm not worried about it," Rosalyn said, fixing a small sparkling tiara to the base of Patrice's bun. "So…do you like him? From my vantage point, it seems like you like him, but I could be wrong. What's the scoop?"

Patrice groaned. "Mamaaa!" An immediate desire to cover up the truth made her body hot with embarrassment. But something in her mother's knowing smile compelled her to come clean. "Yeah. I do. I like him a lot."

"Ain't no crime in that. It's okay to like a boy. You know your daddy was a boy I liked at one point. We don't expect you not to like anyone. We just want you to be smart. Don't have no babies yet."

"Maaa!"

Rosalyn chuckled at Patrice's teenaged disgust and prepared to pour more on for fun's sake when two knocks rapped against the bedroom door before Leon poked his head inside. He took a sweeping look over his only daughter and smiled. "Look at my little girl. They should be putting you in the children's books, huh?" Patrice said thanks with a small, timid smile before Leon dropped off pressing news. "The Richmond boy and his folks are comin' in. Lookin' like it's time to make your entrance."

"Thank you, Daddy. Can you tell him I'll be out in a little while?"

Leon accepted his marching orders with a nod and smile, then disappeared to entertain the growing swell of voices filling the living room.

Smiling, Rosalyn slid the cape shielding Patrice's glittering dress from debris off her daughter's chest and draped it over her arm. "Alright, pretty girl, it's your show now." She leaned down to press her cheek to Patrice's in a warm display of affection. "Knock his socks off, you hear? He's here to see you. Give him a show."

Give him a show. While Patrice mentally unraveled what that meant, Terry stood in the living room rocking back and forth on his heels and checking his wristwatch for the time. Zorah and Zanah talked on the couch while Junior snuck glances at the two identically beautiful girls and tried to keep the camcorder upright to ensure he didn't get a slap on the back of the head from his mother. Diedra chattered a mile a minute to her husband and good friend, saying something about pictures and keepsakes that Terry didn't care to hear.

He wanted to see Patrice. Weeks of waiting and dreaming every chance he got to let his mind wander came down to the soft tick, tick, tick of his silver link watch as the minute hand turned 5:29 pm into 5:30 pm—showtime.

Terry heard a door close down the hall and listened for the footsteps moving in his direction before looking up to see Mrs. Rosalyn appear in the hallway's threshold. She smiled at him first then addressed the room. "She'll be out in a few. Just grabbing a few last things."

"Oh my Gooood! I can't wait to see her. I know she'll be beautiful!" Diedra clasped her fingers at her chest as if it were her daughter preparing for a grand reveal. "Girls, come over here. I want you to see!"

Zorah and Zanah moaned and groaned about their conversation being cut short but followed directions anyway to avoid what existed on the other side of disobedience. Junior tracked both girls with his eyes until a nervously rocking Terry cut off his sightline. He looked up at the young man confused.

"Why you shakin' like that, Terry," he asked, genuinely unable to fathom why the boy might be nervous. "You seen Patrice a million times."

But not like this. He'd seen her in sweats and a T-shirt or dressed up for school, but not like this. That fact became abundantly clear as her high heels tapped across the hardwood floor, stepping closer to reveal a modern marvel amongst mere pretenders. Whatever he'd dreamed up in the back of classrooms or while tucked in his bedroom at night paled compared to what stood before him.

Shock. Awe. Amazement. Diedra squealed as if the Queen had walked into the room. His twin sisters whistled and gave praise like only pre-teen girls could. Even Junior had to nod in approval to give credit where credit was due.

Terry could only see Patrice in all the noise. The way her dress shimmered in the sunlight streaming through the glass storm door at the front of the house. How her makeup made her look like a movie star in her greatest role to date. Heels helped her legs stand out from the hint of split peeking back at him. Her hair was beautiful, her nails were beautiful, her lips, shoulders, and eyes were beautiful – Patrice was beautiful.

Terry's hand was out beckoning for her hand before he knew what he was doing. "Wow," he breathed out as he gently pulled her closer. He had to will away the urge to know if the gloss coating her lipstick-covered pout had a flavor to say something coherent. "You look…wow."

"You look like Cinderella! It's so cool!" Zanah said the most consecutive words she had spoken in ages at that moment, stunning Marvin.

"Shoot, you really are something! You even got the mean one to talk!"

All in the room laughed, leaving Terry and Patrice to admire each other openly. Patrice straightened the lapel of Terry's tux jacket, then moved on to his bowtie just to have a reason for stepping close enough to smell his cologne.

He looked down at her, peering through thick lashes, and watched her go to work with a smile. Seeing her nervousness comforted him. They could figure things out together.

Patrice smoothed her hands over his shoulders and finally looked up to smile at Terry. "You look really handsome, TJ. Mean it."

"You too." Terry immediately recognized his tongue-tied mistake and rushed to correct course. "I meant you look pretty. Beautiful! I'm sorry. You ready to get out of here?"

They were more than ready. As they stood in front of the Ellis residence, pinning boutonnieres, sliding corsages on dainty wrists, and posing for more photos than they could count, all Patrice and Terry could think about was sliding into the front seat of their chariot for the evening and rolling off toward the sunset. They got their chance 40-odd grueling minutes later once their parents had done all their doting and laid down the rules.

The first stop was dinner. Somehow, good fortune pushed Terry to pick the one Italian restaurant no other prom attendee in the city thought to cram into with their large parties clad in fluffy gowns and starched suits. That foresight got them a free dinner from a lovely Black couple enjoying a Saturday date night.

His foresight also saved them from the disaster of a dinner at the venue once they'd wrapped up their make-believe date night and joined their friends for the last formal night of their high school lives. Luckily, the thrill of dancing and taking Facebook photos on a handheld digital camera removed the need to eat anything life-sustaining.

Together, they sang in each other's faces like maniacs, moved about the dance floor until their feet hurt, and forgot all the cares and problems of tomorrow. The only break came when the Prom King and Queen were announced after dinner service began.

Terry and Patrice watched Corey accept his title like proud parents, recording him on their cell phones while hollering their support from across the room with the rest of the crew. All the work they'd collectively put into his campaign made his triumph feel like a win for the table, not counting Corey's angry date. She stormed off into the hallway moments after an innocent dance between the royal couple went from an innocent sway to Corey reveling in the attention of a young lady with at least six inches of height over him.

The DJ for the night quickly cut "Slow Jam" by Usher and Monica off at a faculty advisor's request once Corey got a little overzealous and transitioned into Chris Brown's "Winner" to invite all who were willing to sway in each other's arms to the dancefloor.

Patrice sat in her chair, watching couples slowly float to the dancefloor. She smiled at nothing in particular and bopped her head to the familiar song. Terry watched her like a hawk, suspended between being mesmerized and the pressure of knowing his time was quickly running out.

Nerves at dinner convinced him to stay mum about his feelings and enjoy Patrice's fun facts about focaccia instead. When he rested his hand on her fingers in the car, and she didn't pull away, he thought about pulling over for his rehearsed speech, but they were already behind schedule. Part of him wanted to whisper how much he loved her into her ear as she pressed her back to his front for official photos. He let the feeling pass, though.

Now, with the center of the dancefloor free for the taking and the time left before his princess needed to be returned to her home dwindling, he took a deep breath and scooched closer to her.

Baby, you're a winner

Didn't even take you twelve rounds to do it

You got the title now

I'mma tell the whole world

To give it up for my girl

"You wanna dance?" Terry meant for the question to sound more confident and less like a creep whispering into his date's ear. So, he scooched even closer, slid his hand around her waist, and tried again. "I'd really love to dance with you. Please."

Patrice turned in her seat to look back at Terry's eyes pleading for the chance to take her out on the floor and felt goosebumps spring up on her forearms. How could she say no to such a perfectly handsome face? She wouldn't if given the chance. "I'm following your lead."

Hand in hand, Terry and Patrice sauntered out into the center of an empty dancefloor, receiving applause and encouragement from people and friends who had caught wind of something special unfolding before them. They ignored the ruckus as best they could while arranging limbs around necks and waists.

If he were being honest with his mind and body, Terry wanted Patrice closer than what school officials would deem appropriate for a sanctioned event. Having his fingers gently grip her sides while they swayed too slow for the music felt like torture, but he persisted for the sake of the moment. He'd have his chances one day soon.

Patrice hoped Terry couldn't feel the wild thump of her pulse against her wrist as they draped near the nape of his neck. Being so close to him, smelling the residual mint of his gum mixed with whatever heavenly fragrance he'd borrowed from his father was enough to send her body into overdrive. So this was what attraction felt like? This was what all the Ebony and Cosmo articles meant when they discussed the scientific responses of women to men and vice versa. This was infatuation, unshakeable physical longing, and…love? Separately, they were manageable symptoms curable by time away and deep breaths. Together, in the confines of the small square they'd created with sync movements, they were too much and threatening to spill over into utterances she wasn't sure she was ready to release.

Terry dragging his thumbs up and down along Patrice's waist snapped her out of a deluge of competing thoughts, forcing her to look up at him. He smiled. "What you thinkin' about?"

"How bad a dancer I am," she joked, allowing self-deprecation to be her scapegoat for the nerves bubbling inside.

"It's not you," he chuckled. "I wasn't really listening to how fast this song is. I just wanted to get you away from everybody else so we could talk."

Patrice tilted her head in curiosity. "About what?"

A quick scan of the immediate area to confirm there were no eavesdroppers or class gossipers helped Terry gather his thoughts. He had plans for something grand, something unforgettable for the rest of their lives. But when he looked back down at her brown eyes, waiting for his next move, he could only confess, "Patrice, I love you."

"I love you, too, Terrence."

For a split second, through the strobing neon lights creating shadows on their faces and hiding actual reactions, Terry thought he could see a flash of connection in Patrice's eyes – a hint of unspoken confirmation that what he'd shared was received in full without explanation.

Patrice hoped he understood the added "I" or the addition of his entire first name to mean what she was too afraid to vocalize beyond a few simple words.

They had more to say and share to ease the weight on their heavy hearts and minds. Things too sacred for the dancefloor, back at the table with their friends, or in the parking lot as everyone loosened their ties, switched out their shoes, and planned to reconvene for the party of the century. So, they left their I Love You's with Chris Brown and darted into the night for sweet treats separate from the group.

Underneath real stars in a dark blue sky, they rambled on, recapping highlights over two cups of fresh churned Oreo ice cream, trying hard not to leave the evidence behind on his father's interior.

"Corey lucky he around all them people, or Jasmine would've kicked his ass," Patrice laughed. "Oh, and did you see Chris and Diamond leave together. I knew they had something going on!"

Terry chewed through a chunk of Oreo and shrugged. "People could say the same about us. Shit, people do say the same about us."

"Yeah, but…this is different. We're friends. Right?"

"We are right now, but…I don't know if I want to stay that way." Growing serious, Terry placed his half-empty cup of ice cream in the cup holder and turned in the driver's seat to face Patrice. He reached for her hand, and, for the second time that night, she didn't pull away. He took it as his sign to proceed. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. As more than my friend."

Patrice nodded, understanding, and tried to wish away the tears pricking her eyes as she smiled. "I know. I did, too. I…I love you."

That spark, the small burst of magic that had fought for centerstage all day, was back and bursting into fireworks above them, daring someone to make a move. Terry took the bait and brought Patrice's knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. She watched him close his eyes to savor the feeling of her skin on his mouth, thinking of all the ways she'd explain this to Napheesa when they had a moment to debrief.

"I want to be your boyfriend. You know, if… that's cool with you." He chickened out in the end, but the sentiment remained the same. He wanted more than one-armed hugs and childish giggles with Patrice. He wanted a real relationship. As real as it could get for two people at the precipice of adulthood.

Patrice sucked in a deep breath, unsure of how to force an answer through a throat tightening by the second. All she could mutter was a quiet "TJ…"

"It's okay," he smiled. Breaching the center console between them, he leaned to kiss her cheek. Patrice's eyes fluttered closed and reopened in enough time to catch Terry returning to the driver's side, preparing to start the engine. "Just think about it, okay?"

Patrice thought about dating and a wedding, Terry's fingers threaded between hers, his thumb softly caressing her knuckles, the butterflies in her belly, and what it meant to be in love as he drove them through familiar streets. It was all she could think about. It was all she wanted to think about.

Thoughts of finally letting go battled with the fear of what the end may look like and stuck with Patrice as they walked into Corey's "quiet" house party. Neither of them would ever understand how he could convince his parents to allow teenagers around the county to dance, scream, and be merry in their two-story home, but they didn't complain.

Corey was the first to point out their joint arrival and holdholding, only to be shooed away to spread the news amongst the others.

"Phee is in one of the rooms changing, I think. Or fucking with Nate. I don't know what's going on, bro, I'm not gon' lie to you."

Terry shook his head at his friend's antics, then turned to Patrice. "You want a drink or something? Water?"

"Water would be nice," she answered through a broad smile that Terry mirrored. "Can you grab a straw, too? I don't want to mess up my lip gloss."

"Cool. I'll find you."

Only God could pry their hands apart and send Terry on a mission for cold water and straw in a house where he could barely move without bumping into someone. Patrice watched him disappear around a corner before dashing down a hallway for sound counsel.

She opened doors to coat closets, bathrooms, and bedrooms, which were occasionally filled with people sneaking sips of alcohol, but they came up empty. Panic settled into her bones as she frantically asked for Napheesa until some generous partygoer pointed her toward the family sunroom.

There, she found Napheesa sipping something in a red cup and massaging her aching feet like a mother who'd had a long day at work. When she saw Patrice barrel through the threshold, her face brightened. "P! I was -"

"Terry told me he loved me!"

Napheesa choked on air as her eyes bugged out of her head. "What! Wait, wait, wait. Start from the top!"

"We were dancing, and he said he loved me; I said it back because, like, I do love him, right! We say that all the time! You hear it! But then he said it again while we were eating ice cream and asked me to be his girlfriend! Well, really, he asked to be my boyfriend, which is like, somehow more romantic than the other way around, and Napheesa, I don't know what to do! What do I do?"

Patrice spoke a mile a minute, not stopping for breaths or input until she'd unloaded her full stream of consciousness, like word vomit, all over the floor. Napheesa stared blankly and answered matter-of-factly.

"Just say it back." Plain and without flowery language, she offered sage advice. "Say it back. You just said you love him. So, say it back to him. Why are you making this hard? Do you love him?"

"Of course I do!"

Napheesa laughed in confusion. "So say it back, crazy girl! Go ahead. Do it."

"Okay. Alright," Patrice started. "I love Terry. I love him. I love Terrence Richmond. There. I said it." She listened to the words return to her and tried them out again. "I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry. I love you, Terry!"

"See how easy that was? You really need to see somebody about all that worrying, girl. Want me to ask my mama who she goes to?"

Patrice sighed and chuckled away her nerves. "No. I just-"

When Napheesa's eyes flickered up to the sunroom entrance and stayed, Patrice turned around to find Terry caught like a deer in headlights with two cups and a straw in his hand.

"They didn't have bottles, so I just put some ice water in these cups," he announced. "Am I interrupting girl talk? I can come back."

"Nope. I was actually on my way to find Nate and get some water." Napheese looked back at Patrice, winked her encouragement, and then stood to brush past Terry and back into the action. She pulled one cup out of his hand on her way out. "Thanks for the water. See y'all later?"

One cup down and thoroughly annoyed, Terry stepped into the sunroom and took Napheesa's previous spot opposite Patrice. He extended the cup and straw in her direction. "Here. This one's for you. Don't tell Corey I went through his mama's kitchen drawers."

"Your secret's safe with me."

Terry smiled as Patrice mimed a lock motion over her lips. She never dropped her smile or sipped from her cup, striking him as odd. "You okay?" he laughed. "Why you smiling so hard? Did Napheesa say something about me?"

She shook her head no but answered, "Yes!"

"Yes, what?" Terry questioned, confusion knitting his brows together.

Patrice placed her cup on the ground and grabbed both his hands, threading their fingers together like he did in the car. He gripped them tighter, looking into her eyes like they held all the answers.

"Yes, you can be my boyfriend. Because…I really, really want to be your girlfriend. You know…if that's cool with you."

Shock kept Terry glued to his seat, disconnecting his body from a mind turning somersaults in triumph. Patrice watched in amusement as his eyes darted across her face before he shot up and pulled her along for the ride.

They'd hugged each other plenty of times – to say goodbye and hello, for comfort when the other was feeling down, to be close for no reason at all – but they'd never embraced as more than friends. Patrice had never experienced how good it felt to be fully wrapped in his arm and pressed into a heart beating with love for her. Terry didn't know how having Patrice wrap herself around him would trigger a desire to shower her in never-ending affection.

Terry tried the feeling on for size, pulling away to kiss her cheek and then her forehead. "I love you." If given the chance, he could say it a million more times.

"I love you, too." Easy enough. Practice would make perfect, and Patrice was ready to put in the work.

An unseen force, the same magnetism from their shared Christmas joy in Patrice's bedroom months ago, pulled them closer for another go at a kiss they'd been putting off for far too long.

Eyes blinked closed. Tongues ran across lips to moisten them for an eventual meeting. Hands tried to wander south and close the gap between their hips. All their pining and preparation had come down to one mo-

"Hell yeah, P! Kiss your man!"

"Terry! Terry! Terry!"

"I knew it! They almost kissed on the dancefloor, too!"

Thwarted again. A small crowd of familiar faces had gathered at the threshold, excited to see their favorite pair finally go the distance. Embarrassed, Patrice hid her face inside Terry's suit jacket, and he wrapped his arms around her as an act of protection.

Laughing, he tried to shoo the onlookers away. "Man, get out of here! Y'all ain't ever heard of privacy?"

"Nigga, this my house! Ain't no privacy," Corey laughed. "Go ahead and kiss. This everybody moment! We been waiting forever!"

The small group agreed, but Patrice wasn't interested in the spectacle. She pulled away from Terry, slid her hand in his, and began leading them out of the room. "And you'll wait some more. This ain't a damn zoo! I thought we were here to have fun!"

They were. And they did. Disappointment quickly faded, making room for more singing, dancing, and aching feet into the late hours of the night.

Patrice had long ditched her heels for flats, extending the life of her party animal personal until a quick glance at a perfectly positioned wall clock indicated a quarter til midnight. She roughly pried Terry's drifting hands, trying to pull her backside closer to his front from her waist, and hurried him back to the car in hopes he could make up the distance with some expert driving.

Both of them prayed all patrol units were busy elsewhere as Terry guided them down empty streets and quiet neighborhood rows to return Rosalyn and Leon's precious cargo by midnight. Terry pulled into Patrice's driveway, cutting time dangerously close, opened the passenger door in a flash, and hurried her to the front door like the Secret Service escorting the president.

He watched Patrice shuffle through her purse for the housekey, wondering if now was a good time to return to that kiss. "Patrice, can I -"

"Found it! I really need to put this on a ring." She looked up at Terry and smiled. "I'm sorry, what were you gonna say?"

Terry shook his head free of previous plans and settled for a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Treece. I'll text you when I'm home."

"Good night, TJ." Patrice looked at the light turn on in the living room through the glass panels on the front door, then back at Terry. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Go ahead. Don't get in trouble."

A blown kiss and one more wave sent Patrice back into her humble abode and Terry to his horse and carriage for the night. As he backed out of the driveway, looking both ways for traffic that would never come, he noticed the heel of forgotten shoes in his back seat.

Terry smiled to himself, recalling the story of the dazzling beauty and her lost slipper. Luckily, he didn't have to scour the city looking for the beautiful belle of the ball that stole his heart. He knew where to his Cinderella.

------

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TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @ghostfacekill-monger @nyifly22 @kaylalb @literallegendicon @dee-deelovesyouu @drdimplesj

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x black oc #rebel ridge #rebel ridge au

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scary-grace · 2 months ago

Text

Here is a follow-up to the Hana Lives AU, in honor of White Day (because technically it's still White Day in my time zone!).

secret admirer

You have a crush on your best friend's little brother, and you don't know how to handle it -- except that donating your life-force to your crush's dog is probably the wrong thing to do.

You’ve been lying about your quirk for as long as you can remember, because you were ordered to. Your quirk emerged when you were three or so, and at first, everyone thought you were a healer. Why else would everyone who hugged you feel better afterwards, even if you came away tired and drained? It wasn’t until you were five that the true nature of your quirk was revealed. Your quirk allows you to transfer portions of your life-force from yourself to another living being, extending their life by the same measure that you’ve shortened your own. The doctors estimated that you lost close to a decade before your quirk was properly identified.

You’d be more okay with that if you knew how long you were working with in the first place, but there’s no way to measure it. The government has a thousand and one ways to classify quirks, and yours falls into a very specific category — exploitable by others, dangerous to you. Quirks in that category are erased from all but the most classified documents and replaced with harmless ones, typically aligned to the person’s interests or strengths. That’s how you wound up with ‘baking’ as your quirk. It was something you were already getting good at, because you needed a way to show people you loved them without touching them.

One side effect of your quirk getting memory-holed is that you never got quirk-counseling that would actually help. You don’t know what causes your quirk to activate. You don’t have any control. All you know is that sometimes it’s there and sometimes it’s not, and that nobody else can ever find out that it’s there at all.

“Tenko asked when you’re coming over again,” Hana says, the Monday after you all got together to study at her house. “I think he wants to ask you to make more treats for Mon.”

“I was going to do that anyway,” you say, trying not to do something silly like blush or faint. “Did he go through them already?”

“No, but look at this.” Hana takes out her phone, opens her text conversation with her brother, and scrolls past eighteen texts in a row to a video clip. “Those treats must be magic or something. Mon hasn’t done real zoomies in years.”

You weren’t sure how far the life-force you gave Mon would go, but when it comes to human life-force and dogs, a little apparently goes a long way. Mon is zipping around through the Shimuras’ living room, hopping up on the couches and taking flying leaps off the armrests, and in the background, Tenko is laughing so hard that he can’t hold the camera steady. You really, really like Tenko’s laughter. Hearing it brings butterflies to your stomach and a flush to your cheeks.

“You know,” Hana says, glancing sideways at you, “it’s nice that you’re okay about Tenko and Mon. People keep saying he’s weird for being so obsessed with his dog.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” you say at once. “It’s — nice. How much he loves him.”

“Mon’s so old now,” Hana says quietly. “My mom is worried about what’s going to happen to Tenko when he dies. I’m worried, too. So, um — if you are putting some kind of magic in those treats —“

“I’ll keep it up,” you say. “Send me that video if you want to. It’s really cute.”

Hana sends it to you, and you watch it at least once a day, even though listening to Tenko’s laughter makes you a little giddy. Knowing Mon feels good enough to run is worth what you gave up. You never really doubted that it was, but it’s nice to have the reminder.

But you won’t have time to go over to the Shimuras’ house any time soon. White Day is coming up, and the custom baked goods you do on the side are being ordered at an alarming rate — and even though your supposed quirk is baking, not chocolate-making, you keep getting orders for chocolates anyway. Most people just want standard truffles with specific flavors. One person is insane.

“A box of chocolates in a chocolate box? Do I look like the chocolate guy on TikTok to you?”

“You look like you need money,” Shindo says, and you glare at him. “Can you do it or not?”

You glance at the makeshift order form he just handed you. He’s a jerk, but he drew you a diagram of what he wants, which means you can give him an answer. “I can do it, but it’s gonna cost you.”

“How much?” Shindo’s eyebrows go up when you name the figure, but he whips out his phone and Venmos you anyway. “Monday morning. It had better be ready by then.”

“Monday morning.” You sigh and kiss the remainder of your weekend goodbye. At least you’re making money.

At least you’re making money, but it comes back to bite you later. “Studying at my house on Sunday,” Hana says, and your heart sinks. “Can you come over?”

You shake your head. “I have all my orders to do —“

“I thought you said Sunday was your day off.”

“It was going to be, but then I got this order from Shindo —“ You show it to her and see her eyes widen. “It’s going to take all day.”

“You can really make something like that? Wow.” Hana stares at it for a moment longer. “Okay, what if we come over to your place? We’ll just hang out and study — and talk to you if you want to be distracted — or help — and you can study with us while you’re waiting for stuff to cool or dry or whatever. What do you think?”

“That would be okay,” you say hesitantly. You’re kind of embarrassed at the thought of your friends seeing you shred your kitchen, but it would be nice to have company. “Come over around noon?”

“You got it.” Hana grins at you. “It’ll be fun, I swear!”

It seems like a good idea at first, but by Sunday morning, it’s worn off, because you remembered which quirk you’re supposed to have. Baking. Sure, making chocolates in a chocolate box isn’t exactly baking, but it’s adjacent, and because it’s your quirk, you’re supposed to be effortlessly good at it. You aren’t going to be effortlessly good at it. It’s going to be a mess, and your friends are going to see, and they’re going to have questions about whether your quirk is really baking after all.

The doorbell rings, and you rinse your hands quickly and hurry to open it without taking off your apron. “Hi, Hana. Yue and Manami aren’t here yet, but —“

You open the door the rest of the way and break off, puzzled. Puzzled changes fast into shocked, because Hana’s not alone on your front step. Tenko’s standing next to her, and he’s holding Mon. You can barely see his face behind Mon’s ears, but you hear his raspy voice loud and clear. “Hi.”

“I didn’t invite Yue and Manami,” Hana says, “so unless you did, this is we.”

You’re too shocked to say anything. Hana’s confidence falters ever so slightly. “Is that okay?”

“Um — yes. Yes! That’s totally fine!” You give up on trying to cover your surprise. “Come in.”

Hana’s been to your place before, enough that she doesn’t have a problem taking off her shoes and making herself comfortable, but Tenko hesitates in the doorway, trying to pry off his shoes while still juggling Mon. “You can put him down. It’s okay,” you say. Tenko sets Mon down and drops his leash, and Mon runs off to explore. “Um, hi.”

“You couldn’t come over, so we decided to come and see you,” Tenko says. He’s really focused on untying his shoes. He always wears the same red sneakers, and the same pair of gloves. “Hana says you bake stuff and sell it. I can pay for more treats for Mon.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you say hastily. Tenko looks up at you. “Those are easy to make, and not expensive — I mean, I used quality ingredients, Mon deserves the best — but they don’t take much time, so it’s not really —“

“But if everybody else has to pay —“

“Not my friends.”

Tenko’s eyes widen. He looks cute when he’s surprised, but then again, you think he looks cute all the time. “I thought you were just Hana’s friend. We’re friends, too?”

“Of course,” you say. A cautious smile crosses Tenko’s face, and a dozen follow-ups occur to you — explaining why, explaining that it’s not just because of Hana or Mon, admitting that you’d be more than friends if he wanted to. But before you can say a word, a timer starts going off in the kitchen. You can’t remember what it’s for, but you know it’s probably important. You mumble an apology to Tenko and race into the kitchen, feeling like you dodged a bullet and feeling really dumb at the same time.

The chocolate box is a pain to make, just like you thought it would be, but you at least get some studying time in while you’re waiting for the chocolate in the sides to set. You and Hana are studying for an exam, while Tenko is trying to write a research paper on quirk history. Mon explores your apartment, then settles under the kitchen table, half asleep on your feet and half asleep on Tenko’s. Whenever you have to get up, he makes sure to grumble in protest.

“He’s fine,” Hana says, after the third time you apologize to Mon for having to get up. “I had no idea you had this many orders. I didn’t think guys cared that much about White Day.”

“I think guys care about not getting in trouble with their girlfriends,” you say. Most of your attention is going into piecing together the chocolate box. “Girls tend to go really hard for Valentine’s Day, and most guys don’t want to put in that kind of effort. So they outsource it.”

“At least you get to make money,” Hana says, and you nod. “Think you’ll get anything for White Day this year?”

You shrug. “What about you?”

You know the answer to that one — one of your orders is for her. You made sure to finish it and hide it before she got here. “Maybe. I don’t know,” Hana says. “Tenko, are you giving anybody anything?”

Tenko makes a startled sound, and you picture him blushing, averting his eyes. “I didn’t get anything on Valentine’s Day.”

“You don’t have to get something on Valentine’s Day to give somebody something for White Day,” Hana scolds. “Come on. I know there are cute girls in your class. What about Ayaka? Or Chisato? How about —”

Your stomach twists, and worse, your hands shake, messing up the placement of the last side of the box. Now the entire thing’s at risk of caving in, and you can’t hold the entire thing together and place the last side at the same time. “Oh, no —“

“What?” Tenko’s chair skids out, and a moment later he’s in the kitchen with you. You don’t have a chance to explain — anything — before his hands come up to steady the sides you can’t get to. “Is this right? Should I hold it somewhere else?”

“No,” you say, stunned. “I’m sorry. You didn’t have to get your gloves dirty.”

“It’s okay,” Tenko says. When you pictured him blushing after Hana asked him about girls, you must have been right — his cheeks are pink. “You’ve been working really hard on this. I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

“Thanks,” you say. Your heart is missing beats all over the place, both from the near miss with the box and from being this close to Tenko. You’ve never been this close to him when Mon wasn’t involved. “It shouldn’t be long. I just need the whole thing to set.”

You affix the last side of the box, then steady it as well, taking care that your hands don’t overlap with Tenko’s. “This is for Shindo?” Tenko clarifies, and you nod. “I hope you made him pay a lot.”

“It’s the most expensive thing I’m making this year,” you say. “I just hope it doesn’t start a trend or something. Making more than one of these — maybe if I had a bakery or something. Definitely not like this.”

“Would you want a bakery?” Tenko asks. His gloved hands are steady, even though both his index fingers are lifted. “Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean it’s what you want to do.”

“Don’t quiz her,” Hana warns from the kitchen table. “We have to do enough career stuff already.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You glance up at Tenko, then look away in a hurry. His eyelashes are really long. “It’s nice of you to say that. Usually people just assume I’ll be a baker or a pastry chef or something.”

“You’d be good at that,” Tenko says. “But you should do something you like.”

You nod. The box is coming together, finally — soon you’ll be able to let go. Tenko doesn’t move, or complain about having to stay there, and he jumped up to help you right away. As far as your crush on him goes, that’s really bad news for you, and all at once, you wished you hadn’t chickened out on making him something for Valentine’s Day. In your class, almost all the boys wind up getting chocolate from somebody, even if no girl in particular has a crush on them. The idea that all the girls in Tenko’s class missed the boat — and that you missed it too — breaks your heart a little bit. Making dog biscuits for Mon is nice, but it’s not the same thing as making something just for him.

“White Day,” Tenko says, and you glance up at him again. “Do you think you’ll get anything?”

“Probably not.” It feels embarrassing to admit to the boy you have a crush on that nobody’s ever interested in you, but you don’t want to lie. “It’s okay, though. After today I never want to see another chocolate bar in my life.”

Tenko laughs, and you fight the urge to tilt your head sideways and rest it against his shoulder. “What are you guys doing in there?” Hana asks. You hear her chair scrape back, too. “Can I help?”

“Um, sure. The box is okay, but I still have to make all the decorations.” You let go of it cautiously, and Tenko does the same — but he doesn’t go back to the table. “If you want to help with that, you can.”

“We do,” Tenko says at once. “Right, Hana?”

“Definitely. We don’t hate chocolate yet.” Hana steps into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves. “Where do we start?”

Hana, Tenko, and Mon stay until your mom gets home from work and their mom calls to ask where they are, and everything goes faster with their help. The fact that you get your orders done at all is thanks to the Shimuras. Once they leave, it’s all you can do to clean up the kitchen, make dinner for yourself and your mom, and stumble through the rest of your homework before bed.

Monday morning is busy. You got so many orders this year that you have to bring them in a wagon, and you set up shop out just outside the school’s front doors to hand it all out. You’re expecting Shindo to complain about the box — he’s that kind of guy — but instead he’s visibly impressed. “This will work,” he says as he picks it up — carefully, like you warned him. “Thanks.”

Even if baking isn’t really your quirk, you’re good enough at it to make a lot of people happy. As you make your way into the school, you see a lot of your packages being opened, a lot of people smiling. You’ll be busy next year, and next year, you’ll make sure to have something for Tenko on Valentine’s Day. Even if it’s just as friends, since you’re officially friends now. And maybe he’ll get you something for White Day, even if it’s just to be nice. It would be nice to get something once.

But when you step into your homeroom class and head for your desk, you get a shock, because unlike last year and every year in middle school before that, your desk isn’t empty. There’s a small plushie sitting there, with a bag of sour candies propped up against it.

The plushie is a brown and white dog, with perked-up ears and big round eyes, and when you pick it up, its fur is ridiculously soft. The package of sour candies is a flavor you like, a brand you haven’t tried before, and there’s no note. Is it even for you? Maybe whoever put it here got your desk mixed up for someone else’s. That would make more sense than —

“If you know who left you that, you should give it back,” Yue says as she flops down into the seat next to you. “Everybody knows you’re supposed to give chocolate.”

That’s right. Everybody knows that, so anybody would, unless they knew better. Unless they’d heard you say it. Like Tenko did.

You tell yourself to hold it together. Not to get ahead of yourself, or assign more meaning to this than there actually is, or assume that it’s anything more than Tenko just being nice. Because he is nice, and the two of you are friends, and he knew you weren’t going to get a White Day gift from anybody else. You tell yourself that, but it doesn’t matter. You spend the rest of homeroom in a daze, running your fingers over the plushie’s ears again and again, as a hummingbird flutter of hope spreads slowly through your veins. Maybe. Maybe there’s a chance he likes you, too.

<- part 1

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#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shimura tenko x reader #shimura tenko x you #tenko shimura x reader #tenko shimura x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #hana lives au #a bisquared production

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