#if they went to school together they would be every teachers bane of existence

[fyeaheddiemunson]

These two together > everything

[cherienymphe]

xoxo (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, roofie use, Stark!Peter, snobby rich people, Peter’s an ass (I believe @opheliadawnwalker3 coined the term “baby Ransom”)

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: Peter Stark, the adopted son of the playboy philanthropist Tony Stark, has been a pain in your ass for years. Ever the womanizer, you always brushed off his flirtatious behavior as part of his personality, unaware of just how deeply his feelings ran.

You leaned against the bar with a grimace, nursing the strong drink in your hand as the annoying sound of high-pitched laughs and fake compliments drifted up from downstairs, swirling around you. You glanced over your shoulder to look down at the rest of the guests before rolling your eyes at this soiree that was nothing more than a pissing contest for the rich and snooty.

You truly hated being the daughter of a wealthy CEO more often than not. You’d grown up with the kind of lifestyle that more than half the world would never taste, ignorant to not only reality, but the true inner workings of the business that funded your lifestyle. It wasn’t until your junior year of high school when the rug was ripped out from underneath you, exposing the dark truth.

Now, you detested everything about this lifestyle. From the preferential treatment to the fancy parties, you hated everything that came with it. Despite the fact that you were an adult now, your father still had an iron grip on you no matter how much you pretended he didn’t. It was why instead of going on a humanitarian trip with some friends from college for winter break, you were back in the big apple, the upper east side to be exact, surrounded by a bunch of brownnosers.

“Another please,” you murmured, setting your empty glass down onto the bar.

The bartender was quick in giving you a refill, but before the glass met your lips, a finger slid in between to gently push it away. A sigh escaped you before you even turned your head, the familiar smell of his cologne reaching your nose.

“You’re always off by yourself at these little gatherings…”

You turned towards the voice, eyes meeting his dark ones as a playful smirk danced along his pink lips. His brown hair was neatly pushed away from his face, suit fitting him to perfection. He looked so put together and very much like a gentleman. Too bad that you knew better.

“Someone like me might take it as an invitation to approach you.”

You fully turned in your seat, leaning your elbow on the bar to gaze at him, unimpressed, cheek resting on your hand. He too was leaning on the bar, signaling for the bartender to get him a drink, already sliding into the seat in front of you. You could’ve protested, but he wouldn’t listen anyway.

Peter Stark was the bane of your existence. Adopted by the great Tony Stark when he was just a toddler, a big ordeal that made the papers apparently, the dark-haired male grew up in the same environment you did. The same circles. You went to the best schools together, often times having the same batch of friends. He always had the teachers and just about every other adult fooled, but everyone else knew better.

Peter’s charm was notorious. Those soft brown eyes and boyish good looks could have any girl swooning at his feet. He was so good that most girls didn’t even mind being one of the many. As long as they were a number, they didn’t care. Let them tell it, he had a way of making every single one of them feel special. You probably would’ve been one of them had you not seen his behavior firsthand all those years ago. How he’d tell one girl one thing and say something completely different to the next.

Peter’s constant flirtations with you and your absolute refusal to ever even entertain him had made your relationship…interesting. Could you even call yourselves friends? He flirted with you, and you rolled your eyes at his antics. That was the gist of it. His behavior had only gotten worse once you’d denounced this lifestyle the minute you left for college, a non-Ivy League college at that.

You remembered the surprise you felt that Peter had seemed to be genuinely upset with the 180 you’d done with your lifestyle. You had rolled your eyes as he’d called you all sorts of ‘wannabe’ this and ‘wannabe’ that, biting your tongue as he insulted your ‘low rate school’. Even now, after a little over 2 years, he still sneered whenever he brought up your new life.

“Color me shocked you even showed up today. Last I heard you were going to build houses for children,” he said, nursing his drink.

You smirked at him, fighting back a laugh.

“Last you heard? Keeping tabs on me, Stark?”

He returned your smirk, dark eyes trailing over you, gaze lingering on whatever skin your short dress exposed. You weren’t fazed by his conspicuous onceover, more than used to it.

“Of course. I have to make sure my best girl stays out of trouble,” he told you, leaning in.

You scoffed, looking away from him as you downed your drink.

“Your best girl,” you dryly repeated, standing. “Yeah, okay.”

Peter hurried to stand with you, whistling at the bartender as you walked away. It wasn’t long before you felt his arm being thrown over your shoulder as he pulled you against him. He waved an expensive bottle of champagne in your face as he walked down the hall with you.

“You may have switched up and hate me now-.”

“I’ve always hated you,” you deadpanned.

“…but you can’t deny that I know how to throw a party within a party,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “Ned and I are having a little get together in the penthouse suite.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you sighed as you thought about how angry you’d been to be forced back home for the break instead of doing what you wanted to do. You could honestly use the distraction, at least for a little while until you had to be in your father’s presence again. You sighed again, and by the grin on Peter’s lips, you knew that he knew that he had you.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you said with a flourish.

His grin widened, and he pulled you closer as he took you to the elevator. You leaned against the mirrored wall once inside, staring at your reflection with a frown.

“You shouldn’t frown so much,” he said, pressing the button. “It’ll give you premature wrinkles.”

“Why are you so concerned with how I age?”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, approaching you as he swung the bottle of champagne in his hand.

“I want you to age as gracefully as me when we get married,” he teased, pressing his free hand onto the wall beside your head.

You laughed, shaking your head.

“I’d never marry you, and you… Well, you’d never get married,” you said with a shrug, shaking your head.

His grin dimmed a bit as his eyes met yours.

“I’d marry you,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, head leaning back against the wall as he moved closer, pressing his forearm to the wall, face suddenly serious as he eyed you. It was his turn to sigh now, the sound heavy and drawn out.

“When…are you and I finally going to get together?” he slowly asked, voice low in the quiet elevator.

Your eyes widened just a tad, nose brushing his as he leaned in. Peter hadn’t asked you that for some time now. It was a recurring question of his that you always brushed off, and even though this time was no different, something in his voice made you blink. There was a yearning that had never been there before. Something new lingering in his eyes.

You laid your hand on his chest, pushing him away, and he let you.

“Seriously, Peter? You know the answer to that question,” you said.

He huffed, his grin returning as he shook your rejection off.

“You know I always have to ask…just in case you change your mind,” he replied, quickly scanning your frame.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted behind him, the low hum of a small party reaching your ears.

“I’m never going to change my mind.”

Without a second glance, you brushed past him to exit the elevator.

“You need to start getting serious about your future, Y/N.”

You stared out of the tinted window, watching the city fly by as your father’s car weaved in and out of traffic. He was giving you yet another lecture on what he thought you should be doing with your future. After all, it wasn’t like you had already decided on a major and knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life, so you could understand his- oh. Wait… You had!

“Dad,” you sighed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Humanities isn’t a real major,” he argued for the umpteenth time, tone laced with contempt.

You cut in before he could continue.

“First of all, it is. Second of all, it’s my minor-.”

“Oh, of course. How silly of me to forget that- what is it? International relations? That’s the major, right?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ll never understand you kids. So fickle with your goals-.”

“Dad, I’ve had the same plan since before I even went to college. You can’t call it fickle just because at 17 I told you I didn’t want to follow in your footsteps. I’ve known what I wanted since then. Its literally the opposite of fickle,” you huffed.

You heard him sigh.

“I don’t understand what happened here, Y/N. I really don’t. Ever since you were little, you wanted to follow in my footsteps-.”

“…and now I don’t. Things happen,” you told him. “I don’t want anything to do with this lifestyle.”

You’d told him this a hundred times. You were so tired of having the same discussion, and you knew that he was too.

“Why can’t you be more like Peter?”

You frowned, finally looking over at him. This was a new tactic. The older man had his eyes focused on the paper as he continued to speak.

“He’s following behind Tony swimmingly, a real successor in the making,” he praised.

You fought the urge to groan and sink down in your seat like a child. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your father would be comparing you to Peter Stark of all people.

“You’re comparing me to Peter now?” you scoffed.

The paper ruffled as he turned it, humming.

“I’m just noting that the two of you came up together, but you somehow deviated so far off track.”

“Well, since you love Peter so much, just pass the company onto him when the time comes. God knows he’ll appreciate it way more than I will,” you grumbled.

Your father hummed at that.

“I actually have hopes that, in some way, the company will be his one day,” he replied.

Your brows furrowed, confusion filling you as you fought to understand what he meant. Your father’s eyes finally met yours, a serious look on his face.

“Peter’s exactly the kind of man you should be considering when you finally get ready to get married.”

Shock poured over you like a bucket of ice water, his words having been the last thing you expected to hear. Marriage? Peter? You blinked a few times, fighting to clear your head enough to articulate what you were thinking.

“You…you can’t be serious…?”

He fixed you with a stern look.

“As a heart attack. What is there to oppose? Peter is young and handsome and well brought up. He’ll be taking over after Tony one day, and you really can’t do much better than that. Unless you’re aiming to be the next Meghan Markle, but no offense sweetheart, you don’t strike me as the type,” he elaborated.

You pressed your hand to your forehead as your mind spun.

“I’m not telling you to marry him or anything. I’d never go so far to participate in something as archaic as an arranged marriage. I’m just telling you to consider it. He’s a good match for you, and I’d like you to be open to it…”

You couldn’t begin to believe how sharply this morning had turned.

“It’s why you’ll be seeing a lot more of him over the break. Just keep it in mind when we meet with them,” he said.

He must have noted the confusion on your face because he continued.

“We’re meeting them for brunch. Tony wants to run his latest idea by me, and we figured it would give you and Peter more time to catch up,” he explained.

The car had finally stopped just as he finished, and you didn’t have time to process anything before you were being ushered out of the car. The brisk air whipped around you as you followed your father into the fancy restaurant.

Your father wanted you to marry Peter? The idea was so absurd that you actually considered the possibility that your father was playing a joke on you. You felt like you were having an out of body experience as you and your father sat down, you across from Peter. As always, he looked absolutely tickled to see you, while you simply returned his grin with a withering stare.

Brunch was a taxing affair. Tony Stark greeted you as politely as he always did before he and your father got right down to business. That left you and Peter with no one but each other to look at. You did your best to ignore the annoying brunette sitting across from you, barely speaking with him no matter how many times he tried to engage you in conversation.

You supposed that your behavior towards Peter was a bit unfair. After all, it wasn’t his fault that your father wanted you to marry him. Although, as you thought back to your conversation in the elevator the other day, you had to wonder if he knew, or at the very least, had some idea. And that was exactly what you asked him once you were alone.

Your father and Tony had gone back to Tony’s office in a hurry to remedy some oversight that had been missed. You’d been left with your father’s car and driver, and you eyed Peter, waiting for his answer, as you made your way outside.

“Not really, no.”

You slid into the backseat, thanking the driver before scooting as far away from Peter as possible as he joined you.

“Not really or no? Those are two different answers,” you told him.

A smirk danced along his lips as he leaned his head back, turning it ever so slightly to gaze at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I had an idea. The great Mr. Y/L/N never came outright and said it, but little things he’d say here and there started to add up,” he explained with a chuckle.

He apparently found this funny while you did not. You crossed your arms over your chest, anger bubbling within you at the thought of your father playing matchmaker behind your back. Peter reached for your hand, attempting to pull it away from your chest, but you jerked it away as soon as his fingers brushed yours. He sucked his teeth.

“Come on. Would marrying me really be so bad?”

You turned to fully face him, not a hint of humor on your face.

“Yes,” you answered, voice steady with conviction.

He simply rolled his eyes, lips twitching, and you shook your head with a scoff.

“Is your father in on this too? God, I bet Tony Stark is just eating this up,” you complained.

The tone of Peter’s chuckle gave you pause, and you eyed him as he grinned at you.

“Quite the opposite actually…”

You frowned, and God help you, because you found yourself…offended.

“He thinks I’m not good enough for you or something?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

You didn’t want to marry Peter, but you knew that you were more than good enough for a guy like him. The truth was that Peter wasn’t good enough for you. He shook his head, picking at a piece of lint on your shoulder as he hummed.

“No actually. In fact, he’d dare say that you are out of my league, and I’d be forced to agree,” he told you with a shrug. “He thinks you’re too much of a ‘wild card’.”

Now it was your turn to chuckle, nodding as you understood what that meant.

“I see. So he wants you to marry a meek and submissive little thing who will do everything you say and conform to the Stark image. Got it,” you replied with a smirk.

He returned it, finger trailing along your collarbone now as he eyed you.

“He thinks that you march to the beat of your own drum…and you do…,” he said, smirk growing as his gaze met yours. “…but I think I can handle you just fine.”

You slapped his hand away, disgust filling you just as the car stopped.

“We’re at your place. Get out,” you sneered, looking away from him.

“Care to join me? No one’s home…we’ll have the whole place to ourselves…”

You opted for ignoring him and the way his voice lowered, the hidden meaning in his question loud and clear. When some time passed, he finally sighed, and you heard the car door open. When it didn’t close, you turned to see Peter standing outside, one hand pressed onto the top of the car door while the other rested on the hood of the car as he leaned down.

A dark strand fell out of place and brushed along his forehead, dark eyes somehow darker as he trailed them over your tense form. His smirk slowly fell, and you blinked at the less than humorous expression on his face. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d seen Peter so serious.

“You really shouldn’t try so hard to show your dislike for me…”

You frowned at him, and the corner of his mouth curved upwards just a tad.

“…someone might think you’re playing hard to get.”

Before you could process that, he’d closed the door. He didn’t go inside right away, instead opting for standing on the curb to watch your father’s car drive away.

When your father said that you’d be seeing a lot more of Peter over the break, you underestimated just how determined the old man was to get you and the Stark heir together. Every innocent gathering turned into a run-in with Tony and his wife, Pepper, and Peter. Whether it was brunch or dinner or a shopping trip. Hell, even an innocent day at the park had you coming face to face with who you now liked to refer to as ‘the pain in your ass’.

Had you known that this is what your winter break would entail, you would have fought tooth and nail with your father on it. You felt like this was such a waste of time, one big joke that you’d walked into and you were the punchline. You had no idea how much worse it could get.

You were currently in the hallway of the home that belonged to none other than the Starks. You were killing time by fleetingly looking at the artwork that was hung up on the dark walls, a half empty glass of some brown liquor in your hand. You could hear the voices of Tony, Pepper, and your father drifting to you from the lounge, and you rolled your eyes.

When your father had told you that you’d be joining them for dinner, you thought it’d be in their apartment in the city. Some place that you could easily escape if need be. You never would have agreed if you’d known you’d be in upstate New York hours later, conversing with them in one of their many secluded vacation houses. Dinner was long over, and you had no desire to be privy to anymore of their business talk. Peter had scurried off to only God knows where, and you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Perhaps you should have.

Your mood soured even further as you felt an arm slide over your shoulders to curl around your neck, pulling you back into a firm chest. Peter hummed, and you sighed. The story of your lives.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he wondered, gesturing to the painting. “I picked it out. I thought it would brighten the place up a bit.”

You threw his arm off of you, and he chuckled.

“Don’t look so glum, Y/N. The grownups are knee deep into stock market talk, which means they won’t even think about us for another hour at the least…”

You looked to the ceiling as he slipped an arm around your waist, praying for some higher power to strike you down. Or him. You’d be happy either way.

“Surely we can find some way to keep ourselves occupied,” he murmured.

You turned to face him and turned your head again just in time for his lips to brush the skin of your cheek. You pushed yourself away from him with a frown, backing up until your back rested against the opposite wall.

“Whatever happened to MJ?” you suddenly asked him, a faint smile on your lips as you took a sip of your drink.

Peter smirked, leaning against the other wall as he stared you down, raising an eyebrow at you, dark suit hugging him nicely.

“Keeping tabs on me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hardly,” you snorted. “My father likes to bring up you and your personal life every chance he gets. Of course, now I know why. I was shocked to find out that you had a girl in your life who stuck around for more than two months.”

“She was too much like you,” he dismissively said. “She wanted to travel and see the world and make a difference. There’s only room for one girl like that in my life. Anything more, and things would start to get a little…dull.”

You hummed, pushing away from the wall to walk past him. Peter followed, and your mind spun.

“What exactly are you going to do when I finally meet a nice guy to get serious with? Surely, this behavior can’t go on forever, Peter,” you wondered.

He grabbed your elbow and gently pushed you into the wall. His other hand was beside your head, dark eyes narrowed and inquiring. You sharply inhaled, unintentionally breathing in the scent of him, and you blinked.

“What nice guy could you possibly meet at that sad excuse of a school you call-?”

“I don’t know how to break it to you that an Ivy League education isn’t exactly the picture of intelligence you think it is,” you sneered at him.

His own face grew taut as he glared at you, tilting his head to the side.

“Is that why you turned down your acceptance to Princeton? To prove some silly point?”

“For your information, Peter, I turned down my acceptance because I learned that the main reason I got in was because of my father.”

“So what? What is the point of our parents working their asses off for years if not to give us the opportunities they didn’t have growing up? When are you going to drop this holier-than-thou wannabe Mother Teresa act?”

“It’s not an act,” you spat, shoving him away from you. “This world? This way of life and everything that comes with it? I hate it. I despise everything about it. Its sickening that we live like we do while people down the street struggle to keep a roof over their heads. What is it to you, anyway?”

Peter ran his hand through his hair, huffing as he stared you down.

“You and me?” he started, gesturing between the two of you, his other hand on his hip. “We could’ve been unstoppable together. We were supposed to go to Princeton together. We were supposed to leave our mark on that campus together, create a legacy, and make a name for ourselves on our own, and instead I’m doing that by myself while you go off galivanting down south-.”

“Is that what this is about?” you demanded, incredulity filling your voice. “…some fantasy in your mind that we’d be some power couple who’d go on to take over after our fathers and rule the upper east side? Seriously? That’s a new one, even for you.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he glared at you, nostrils flaring as he ran his eyes over you with the nastiest look you’d ever seen on his boyish face.

“You can run all you like…reinvent yourself all you want…”

His voice lowered as he approached you, and you stood your ground, glowering at him.

“…but you will never escape this life,” he threw at you, and you flinched at his harsh tone.

“That may be true…but I can still try,” you whispered.

The corner of his lips lifted into a mocking smirk.

“Try all you want. Hell, jump into a relationship with the next guy you have some anthropology project with for all I care. We both know that the only guy to give you the life you deserve…to give you what you need…”

He reached to fix a stray hair that had come out of place, smirk smug and eyes smugger.

“…is a guy like me.”

You stumbled away from him with a frown, arms folded over your chest.

“Screw you, Peter.”

You turned away from him to go find your father.

Peter had always been an annoying thorn in your side, but his behavior tonight had reached new heights. It amazed you, really, how far he was willing to go just to finally get you into bed. He had never had any problem being an asshole, but there was a shift in him tonight. His tone was harsher, words meaner, eyes just a tad bit icier than normal. In fact, it almost seemed like it wasn’t his usual cruel teasing.

When you finally neared the lounge, you frowned at the words that reached you.

“She’ll probably be a bit bitter about it at first, but I’m sure Y/N will grow to love it. This will be an amazing opportunity for her.”

You recognized your father’s voice, and you slowed just before finally entering, listening in.

“I was surprised to hear that she’s transferring, which is why I had never initially considered her for the internship. I was under the impression that she wouldn’t be here to do it.”

Your frown deepened at Tony Stark’s words, a sinking feeling in your gut, and although you wanted to hear more, something in you prevented you from staying still and doing so. You stepped into the lounge, greeting them all with a smile before resting your gaze on your father.

“I hate to cut the evening short, but I’m feeling a bit ill,” you lied.

Perhaps it wasn’t a complete lie. Peter’s harsh words didn’t exactly leave you feeling the best, but your father believed you anyway. The two of you said your goodbyes to the Starks, even Peter who had slithered his way into the foyer eventually. He’d sent you off with that stupid smirk on his face, and it took everything in you to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The ride home was quiet. Your mind was too stuck on the snippet of conversation that you’d heard. You knew that it was about you, that much you had heard, but the talk about internships and transferring had you confused. Again, there was that sinking feeling in your gut, and it wouldn’t go away. You wanted to bring it up to your father, but he’d spent the entire next day in the office.

Your paranoia got the best of you though, and the next evening, you found yourself in his study, mind going a mile a minute as you poured over the papers you found. Shock coursed through you at every reveal, hands shaking and heart sinking in disbelief. That was how your father found you that night, perched in his desk chair, tearful eyes glaring up at him as he walked through the door. He sighed as soon as his eyes landed on the papers scattered all over his desk.

“Tell me this isn’t true,” you quietly pleaded.

You knew that it had to be, but you needed to hear him say it.

“You’ll be going to Princeton for your senior year. All of the paper work has been done and whatever needs to be transferred has been transferred,” he breathed, stepping into the room.

You shook your head in disbelief, tears spilling over. You were shocked to find yourself…shocked. You knew that your father didn’t approve of your new lifestyle and your plans for your future. You knew that it ran deep, and yet it had never occurred to you that he’d do something about it. You had foolishly thought that he’d let you make your own decisions.

This was the main reason you hated this world you were born into. The things that people could buy, could do, if they had enough money to do so scared you. It shouldn’t be allowed.

“…and the internship?”

You didn’t even care that you had revealed yourself to be eavesdropping last night. Your father stepped further into his study.

“You’ll be interning with Stark Industries immediately after graduation…”

You were out of his chair and stomping out of his office before he could even finish. He didn’t even call for you to come back, and why would he? His word was law. You both knew that this was going to happen, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The night air was cold, and you wished you’d grabbed a thicker coat before stepping outside. After all, the only thing you had on underneath was a flimsy dress. You’d had plans to meet up with some old friends from high school tonight after your talk with your father, but you had never imagined that the talk would reveal this.

A lot of people were out in the city. It was a Friday night, after all. There was some light snow falling, but you could hardly even see it because the tears had finally spilled over. You couldn’t remember a time where you were so angry that you’d cried. You were grateful to be in New York of all places, right now, because a girl crying on the sidewalk was the most normal thing someone would probably see.

You crossed the street to a less crowded sidewalk, still trying to wrap your head around what your father had done, when a sleek black limo slowed beside you. You wouldn’t have thought anything of it had the window not rolled down to reveal none other than Peter.

“Are you drunk?” was the first thing he asked you.

Fed up with this night and having no patience for Peter Stark and all of his glory, you sneered at him.

“No,” you snapped.

You huffed when the limo rolled slowly along the street in time with your steps. Peter called to you, but you ignored him. What was he even doing out, right now? It was a Friday night. Shouldn’t he be at someone’s party participating in at least 2 illegal activities?

You sped up when you heard his door slam shut, but you weren’t quick enough. His firm hands grabbed you and turned you to face him, shaking you just a little as he ran his eyes over you, gaze lingering on your tearful one.

“Hey…”

“Go away, Peter,” you said, fighting to get out of his grip.

His hold tightened, and he stepped closer.

“It’s late. Why are you out here on the street like this? What happened?”

You snatched one arm out of his hold and shoved yourself away from him.

“Did you know?”

His brows furrowed, frowning slightly at your question. His cheeks were red from the cold, giving him a cherubic aura that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. Did you know that my father was getting me transferred to Princeton behind my back? That I’m supposed to be interning with your father as soon as I graduate?”

You registered the shock on his face, and he slowly shook his head, thrown by what you’d told him.

“No,” he softly said.

You crossed your arms over your chest, more tears falling.

“If I had known…I would’ve told you, Y/N.”

“Would you?” you scoffed.

His face hardened at your insinuation, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, I would have. Look, I may hate this 180 that you’ve done with your life just as much as your father, but even I know that you’re going to do what you want anyway. You always have.”

He whispered the last part, and your gaze reluctantly met his. He pursed his lips, running his eyes over you as he reached for you.

“Where are you headed?” he wondered.

It hit you that you hadn’t really had a destination in mind. Your eyes widened, and you were sure that the panic and confusion was written all over your face. You shrugged, a few tears escaping.

“I…I don’t know,” you pathetically answered.

Peter softly sighed, pulling you towards the limo.

“Well, I was on my way to a party-.”

He cut himself off as you started to shake your head. You didn’t know where you wanted to go, but you knew that a party was not it. He pulled on your jacket, and you stumbled towards him in your heels.

“Hey,” he softly said when your eyes started to stray, and you looked at him. “I’ve got a couple of bottles of champagne in the limo, a full tank of gas, and a driver who’s getting paid by the minute. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”

You glanced away, thinking it over. You couldn’t stomach the thought of being near your father right now, and although Peter had shaken you last night, in the end, it was just him being his usual self. Your uneasiness from his words last night you wrote off to sensitivity and overthinking. You suddenly let out a humorless chuckle.

“You promise to get me really, really drunk?” you teased.

You were joking, but you honestly didn’t want to even remember your conversation with your father right now. That familiar smirk of his graced his lips as he threw an arm over your shoulder, guiding you towards the car.

“I promise to get you anything you want,” he purred.

The inside was warm, and you had almost forgotten how roomy limos could be. The L-shaped seating could easily fit 4 more people. True to Peter’s words, there was indeed two bottles of champagne on ice, and he reached for one as soon as the vehicle continued down the dark street.

You leaned your head against the window as he popped it open, getting you a glass. You felt defeated, and you were sure your face showed it as you took the offered drink from him.

“So what are you gonna do?”

You shook your head at Peter’s question.

“What can I do, Peter?” you quietly wondered with a shrug. “I mean… If my father is willing to go this far to get me where he wants me to be…? What’s stopping him from doing so again and again and again?”

Peter leaned back in his seat, eyeing you as you sipped on the bubbly alcohol.

“I’ll never be free of him,” you said, more to yourself than Peter. “God, he really is going to get everything he wants. Looks like I’ll be seeing you in 3 years at our engagement party, after all.”

Peter slid along the seat to get closer to you, rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” he dragged out. “Would marrying me really be so bad?”

You almost choked on your drink, and you incredulously eyed him.

“We’ve been over this before, and the answer is yes. That’s if we can even get you to walk down the aisle.”

Peter sighed, sitting his drink down.

“I would marry you,” he argued, looking at you.

“Come on, Peter. You’re just saying that!”

You took another sip, thankful for the liquid courage.

“It’s all a game to you. It always has been. The minute you finally get with me, it’ll be over. Hell…,” you said, thinking. “…maybe I should sleep with you so you’ll finally leave me alone.”

Peter laughed, resting his arm behind you on the back of the seat.

“If I had you, I’d never leave you alone,” he replied, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you barked a laugh. “Okay…”

“I’m serious,” he said, tone matching his words, and you fought to hold his intense gaze. “When are we finally going to get together?”

You glanced away.

“You’ve asked me this probably a hundred times, and the answer is always the same,” you murmured.

“When are we finally going to stop playing this game?”

Your eyes met his again, brows furrowed.

“I wasn’t aware that we were playing a game-.”

“I want you,” he whispered so quietly that you weren’t sure you heard him right. “You know that, Y/N. I’ve always wanted you.”

There was a frown on his face, and you swallowed.

“You want everyone,” you quietly replied, suddenly feeling very odd.

You scooted away from him just a tad, but he followed.

“When I have you, Y/N, I won’t treat you like those other girls,” he told you.

“Ha! How reassuring,” you sarcastically replied.

His hand rested on your arm, and you squirmed, head feeling a bit light.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, hand trailing upwards to brush along your shoulder before resting on your neck. “You’re my best girl…”

You blinked at him with a frown, and he tilted his head at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why would I treat my best girl like the rest?”

You shook your head, moving away from him some more.

“Maybe…maybe I should just go home after all. I’m not feeling so good, right now,” you told him, alarmed at how slurred your words were.

You watched as Peter reached to take another sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” he calmly said, taking your drink from your trembling fingers and setting it aside. “That would probably be the Rohypnol.”

You slowly blinked at him, trying to clear the fuzz from your head as you processed his words. Did he just say…Rohypnol? As in…?

“Roofie is the common term, also known as the date-rape drug.”

Your mouth felt dry, and you felt like you weren’t sliding away from him fast enough.

“Peter, this…this is a joke, right? You’re kidding…?”

He snorted, and even without his confirmation, you knew that he wasn’t kidding. Your head had been spinning for minutes now.

“Come on, Y/N. When have you ever known me to be a huge comedian?”

You fell against the door as you tried the handle, but it was locked, and that was when you really started to panic.

“Y/N.”

You ignored Peter as he called your name, opting instead for hitting against the partition. You heard Peter heave a sigh from behind you before his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you back. Your movements were sluggish and futile, but you fought against him anyway. He pulled you down onto his lap as he leaned back into the seat.

“Peter…”

Your words died in your throat as his hands clasped around the back of your neck, pulling you down until his lips met yours. The kiss was hungry, Peter a man starved as he moaned into your mouth. He was panting when he pulled away, chest heaving before he kissed you again.

Your hands were pressed against his chest, trying in vain to push yourself away from him. You gasped against his lips, heart stuttering when he flipped you, your frame now between his and the seat. He settled against you easily, fitting perfectly in between your legs as his fingers danced over you.

The buttons of your coat flew as he yanked it open, and you shivered. Peter paid no mind, running his hands over your exposed skin before sliding them under your dress. You felt like you were barely hanging onto consciousness, not even realizing when Peter had started to drag your underwear down your legs until they were already to your ankles.

You feebly kicked against him, but he simply grabbed your legs, spreading them to settle in between them once more. You could feel him hot and hard through his pants, and more tears kissed your eyes. How on earth had you missed this? You cursed yourself for not taking his behavior more seriously. For not listening to yourself last night.

Confident that you could not fight him off, one of his hands worked between your legs while the other worked to release himself. He was right to be confident, because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get your arms to work right. You felt like you were underwater, weighed down by sand.

“Peter,” you quietly pleaded again, and he shushed you.

You squirmed beneath him as he pushed his fingers in and out of you, hating how easy it was because of how wet you were. He pressed his mouth against yours, forcing his tongue past your lips, and you trembled as you felt him line himself up with your entrance.

A high-pitched yelp left you as he filled you with one thrust. The moan that climbed out of his throat was low and long, and he cursed as you clenched around him. Your hand pressed against the back of the seat as he pulled back before snapping his hips into you again.

“You feel so good,” he groaned into your mouth.

One arm locked around your waist as he pulled you both into a sitting position, his throbbing cock still inside of you as he held you onto his lap. You pushed against him, but your arms buckled when he lifted his hips up into you.

You whimpered, falling against him, and both of his hands fell to grip your waist, tightly holding you as he fucked you. Your body couldn’t support itself, and you sagged against him, forehead pressing against his as your eyelashes fluttered. Your jacket was barely hanging onto you, and with one hand, he pulled it all the way off. He gripped the bottom of your sequined dress before bunching it around your hips.

You tried to push yourself up, push yourself off of him, but not only was his hold firm, your body was too under the influence of the drug he’d given you. You pathetically whimpered as you fell against him again, a sob caught in your chest. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck, the strap of your dress falling, and you shuddered.

He pulled you into another kiss, the taste of your salty tears seeping into your mouth. Your head was light, mind spinning with the pleasure being forced onto you. You pressed your hand against the seat, attempting to push yourself away again when Peter spun you both, your back connecting with the seat as he laid you down, his clothed hips slapping against yours. He moaned into your mouth as you fluttered around him, and with a start, you realized that despite your unwillingness, an orgasm was creeping up on you.

Both of his hands rested on your cheeks as he kissed you again and again. His dark hair was falling into his forehead, sweat coating the strands, and your skin fared no better. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt your stomach clenching, shamed and disgust coursing through you.

“Look at me,” Peter quietly demanded.

You shook your head but yelped when one of his hands reached to pinch your nipple through your dress. You peeled your eyes open, tears blurring your vision, but your gaze met his all the same.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured just as you clenched around him with a choked moan.

Your climax triggered his own, and he pushed into you a few more times before falling against you with a groan. You were both sweating and panting, and you felt the flames of sleep licking at the corners of your vision.

There was so much that you wanted to say to Peter, to scream at him, but you couldn’t form the words. You could only lay there as he kissed you again before pulling out of you, leaning back against the seat as he fixed himself. Sleep was just in your grasp, but you were scared to close your eyes. Scared of the man you thought you knew.

He spread his arm over the back of the seat, the other pulling your dress down, that annoying playful smirk dancing along his lips.

“I think a winter wedding would look absolutely beautiful.”

~

tags: @bamposworld @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @buckybarnesplumwhore @harryspet @coconutqueen21 @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @hurricanerin​

[say-the-name-sebongie]

I hate you

Synopsis: Jihoon didn't like feelings, at least not after his last crush had left him broken. It was just his luck that he got stuck with Soonyoung to clean the classroom and that the boy wouldn't leave him alone.

Pairing: Soonyoung x Jihoon

Genre: angst, highschoolAU!

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.3k words

a/n: the text messages in the pictures will still be written for those who can’t see the pictures

also posted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29650716

As the hands of the clock above his teacher's head painstakingly ticked to 3:00PM, Jihoon could only shake his leg in annoyance. He wanted this class to be over. Not that he had any problem with the subject, Literature was one of his favorite subjects. It wasn't that he hated his teacher either.

Normally, Jihoon had no problem with sitting in Literature class. he rather enjoyed reading stories and creative writing, it was one of the only ways he could truly be himself and express his feelings under the mask of "it’s a fictional writing for class".

There was just this one nuisance in his class that he couldn't stand.

Jihoon looked up at the clock again. Fifteen more minutes. He put his head down onto the table to hide his irritation. Fifteen minutes was too long. The bad feeling he had since that insufferable boy sat beside him only grew stronger. In an attempt to put his mind off the boy, Jihoon pulled out his phone and sent a text to his brother, Seokmin.

Save me <

He hoped his brother was bored enough in class to have his phone in hand. Soon enough he was rewarded with the appearance of the small typing icon on the bottom of his screen.

> What's wrong this time hyung

YOUR FRIEND SAT BESIDE ME <

> Which one?

> Soonyoung?

THE ANNOYINGLY LOUD ONE <

> yup that's soonyoung

> hes not that annoying youre just overreacting

am not <

Jihoon risked looking back up at the clock. Ten minutes. Okay, he could handle ten more minutes.

"You know you're not supposed to use your phone during class, right?" Soonyoung whispered.

He froze, hands hovering above the keyboard. Jihoon decided to ignore the boy and continued typing. He had just sent a message to both his brothers, telling them to wait for him so they could all walk home together when someone tapped his left arm. There was only one person who would be able to do so (considering that he was sitting beside the window).

"What do you want Soonyoung?" he hissed at his classmate. The boy coiled back in surprise; his hand pulled back to his chest.

"Don't use your phone in class. You might get caught." Soonyoung whispered again, eyes boring into Jihoon's very soul and existence. It made him feel somewhat unsettled. Though that wasn't quite the word that would describe, he knew exactly what it was.

And he hated it and everything associated with it. Which meant he hated Soonyoung.

"Mind your own business," Jihoon said, rolling his eyes at the obnoxiousness of his seatmate when a loud bang made him look up. His gaze went to the front of the room where his teacher (and all of their classmate) were staring at him. No, not just him.

At him and Soonyoung.

"I know you both want to go home as soon as possible but it is very disrespectful to talk when someone in front is discussing."

Their teacher gave them both a stern look as she turned back around to finish the lesson. A few of their classmates snickered at them both. Jihoon fixed his gaze on the board, overly aware that the boy beside him wasn't looking at anything but him.

Soon enough the teacher dismissed them, earning soft cheers from the class.

"No, not you two." She called out, pointing at Jihoon and Soonyoung. "I want both of you to stay and clean the classroom. During that time, reflect on what respect means."

Jihoon groaned. All he wanted to do right now was escape from the presence of Soonyoung but now he was supposed to spend more time with him. Alone. In a classroom. For probably two more hours.

On the other hand, Soonyoung seemed unbothered by the extra work. He nodded and walked to the back of the classroom where they kept all the cleaning supplies.

The smaller boy sent a hurried text to his brothers telling them to go home without him before grabbing a cleaning rag. Walking to the front of the classroom where Soonyoung was erasing the board, he tried to steady his breathing. The amount of hate he had for this specific boy was suffocating him.

"So, this is why." Seokmin mused, his voice ringing in the empty classroom. Jihoon looked up to see both of his brothers' heads peeking out of the door. Chan was holding up his phone, ever so obviously snapping a photo of this historic moment. Furious, Jihoon slammed down his cleaning rag. "Lee Chan of you don't delete—"

"Chan stop taking pictures without consent. Delete those." Soonyoung said, his voice dead serious. Jihoon's youngest brother shrank back, hiding his phone and apologizing.

Seokmin however, had been looking at Jihoon who was slowly turning red. The boy gave a suspicious smile as he grabbed his brother's hand. "I'll take care of Chan; we'll be going now. Have fun, you guys!"

He dragged Chan out— the younger complaining that he wanted to stay— and winking at Jihoon in a teasing way.

Jihoon grabbed his rag and went back to wiping the tables. He wanted to get this over and done with so he could get away from Soonyoung then go home and murder his brothers.

"Those are your brothers, right?" Soonyoung asked. Jihoon's heart jumped to his throat. He weakly nodded, his mind befuddled with that weird feeling. It made him dizzy. It made him feel as if he was about to get sick. Jihoon wanted to leave.

"Yeah, sorry about them. I'm done. I'll go home now." And with that, he hurriedly threw the rag back into the closet, grabbed his bag, and ran out the room.

Jihoon hastily walked across the field, ruffling his hair in anger. He just couldn't stand being in the presence of that insufferable, annoying—

"Jihoon!"

At the sound of Soonyoung's voice, his first instinct was to run for it. He sped towards the main gates and didn't stop running until he had gotten past the convenience store a few blocks away. Jihoon gasped for air, his hand dropping to his knees.

"You run so fast." Horrified, Jihoon turned around and saw the bane of his existence, breathing hard. Soonyoung must have followed him from school all the way to the convenience store. Both boys stood there for a moment, taking in each other's presence when their eyes met.

Jihoon must have been more exhausted than he felt because his knees suddenly buckled. Soonyoung reached out and caught him before he fell to the floor. "Are you okay?

Never in his life had he been so close to the face of someone who wasn't a family member. He could see all the lights and shadows of Soonyoung's irritatingly attractive face; from the curve of his nose to the twinkle in his eyes. Jihoon's breath hitched when he noticed that they were staring right at each other. His heart dropped.

Jihoon panicked and scrambled out of the boy's embrace. His breathing was even more uneven than it was before.

"Just leave me alone Soonyoung." he gasped. Stumbling into the convenience store to hopefully hide away until the annoying boy left. Fortunately for him, it was empty. All he had to do was hide from the girl at the cash register so he could collapse onto his knees and catch his breath.

He hated this effect Soonyoung had on him. It made him feel like he was swimming in honey and not able to move properly. This feeling made him short of breath and made his heart beat faster, clouding his mind. None of which was good when he wanted to be able to think properly.

This wasn't the first time he had felt this way. No, he had definitely experienced this for another boy. That wasn't an experience Jihoon liked to look back at, nor was it an experience he wanted to go through again which was why he decided to hate Soonyoung. Yes, he hated Soonyoung. Jihoon hated Soonyoung with every fiber of his being. He hated the boy so much that he was willing to mask his love with hate.

Jihoon was determined not to fall in love again, and this was the only way to do so.

[vanchlo]

Green Eyes

*Thanks so much for reading! c: There are now several parts you can read here:   2    3    4 

I’m so happy to share that I won a fiction writing award for this short story through my college’s art journal! c: 

Blurb Synopsis: You had been subbing for Mr. Styles for the last couple of months, but you’ve yet to meet him. The notes you leave for each other have sparked a friendship, leading you to want more, and you wonder if he does too.

Genre: Teacher Harry, lots of fluff, friendship, and maybe even some romance? ;) 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Green Eyes by Coldplay (click to listen)

*

His shelves were full of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rumi, and Charles Bukowski. His desk was covered in scribbled Post-It notes, Bit-O-Honey wrappers, and empty mugs of tea. 

This is what you noticed the first few times you subbed in his classroom. 

These were the only details you knew about the man whose face you’ve never seen. As you gradually began to substitute for his high school English classes more and more, you learned about him more. This was due to his students, and his personal belongings. 

What he didn’t and didn’t like: all the way from no fringes on a notebook paper, no red pen ever because that was his grading color, no using the word ‘can’t’ in his class, and students can eat all the snacks they want as long as the trash goes in the bin where it belongs. 

The CDs in a stack on the shelf told you which ones he actually listened to because they were the ones that were on top and without dust. 

You learned that the pristine book on his desk was never the one he was reading. No, it was the weathered and used copy beside his mug with dog-eared pages and penciled notes. 

His drawers told you another story with their contents: boxes of teas ranging from peach to vanilla macaron, journals filled to the brim with words, adult coloring books with tv show themes, and books on Van Gogh and Monet hinting at his artsy background. His students slowly warmed up to you, and through them, so did he. 

At this point, you’d only been subbing for Mr. Styles the last five months, racking up around two and a half weeks worth of subbed days. He always left precise and concise lesson plans for you. The books were where he said they’d be. The webpages he mentioned were bookmarked on his desktop. The teacher copy of the textbook and current group book were on his desk. At the beginning, his desk looked like a professional organizer had gotten their hands on it. Slowly, as you came to sub more for him, it grew messier, albeit you kept it tidy during your appearances. As the first few months passed and you became one of the few subs in his room, you started to find notes. They weren’t just any notes. They were more than the straight forward sub notes for the day’s agenda. No, they weren’t that simple. You can still remember the first one you found on a Post-It note - it went like this: 

Y/N, peanut butter on your waffles or syrup? 

It took you by surprise, but nonetheless, you answered his call. Each time, you’d find a contrasting pen color and scrawl your answer underneath his. Then leaving it somewhere he would find it the next day. They were one-liners at the beginning, and always interesting. Walking to his classroom from your car on those mornings, you’d fill with excitement at the anticipation of finding the next one. Sometimes it took you the entire day to find where he had hidden them. 

In the closet. 

In a nook in a drawer. 

Under the chair. 

On the backside of one of his books. 

Hidden in plain sight amongst his current choice of notes and lists. 

They never failed to spark a smile on your lips, whether it was quirky, confused, astounded or humored. 

Guitar or piano?

FRIENDS or The Simpsons?

Vanilla or Chocolate?

Would you rather become a superhero or a wizard?

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Slowly, the questions became more personal, and more than just ‘this or that.’ His questions became longer, and so did your answers.  

What was the moment that made you decide to become a teacher?

Is Donny a good student for you, or is he lying to me about that?

What color are your eyes?

What book/film do you believe had the largest impact on you while growing up?

What is the one meal you always order at a restaurant?

Do you have a family?

Should I splurge and buy a new desk chair?

What book should I buy for my classroom you think I need to have? Why?

Why don’t you have a classroom of your own?

When is your birthday?

Star Wars or Lord of the Rings?

They were never a chore for you, or tedious. No, they were fun and you felt as if you saw a little sliver of who he really was with each note. After a while, you started to write and leave your own notes for him to answer. At first, many of them were similar to ones he had left you, because you wanted to hear his responses, too. 

*

The newest one stares back at you, his half-cursive registering in your eyes.

What’s your favorite part about subbing in my classroom? Don’t say the students, that’s what everybody says. 

Giggling to yourself, you reach over to his Pink Floyd mug to pull out a green pen. You take a moment to think of your answer. This time you found the note peeking out from behind the smart whiteboard. The sounds of the end of a school day tickle at your ears as you scribble down your answer. Pressing it to an open square of wood on his desk, you turn back to the royal blue pad of Post-Its. Peeling one off, the green pen hovers over the paper, but you can’t get yourself to write the question you’ve been wanting to know all along. 

He didn’t have a Facebook, or an Instagram. 

The high school doesn’t have a wall of staff pictures like others you’ve subbed at do. 

It’s late winter, so yearbooks are still a ways off. 

For all you know, you could have seen him here before in the halls when you subbed in another classroom. 

Exhaling, you press the pen to the paper before you can convince yourself to stop. Unlike the many times before when your fears got the best of you. 

What do you look like?

With a proud but nervous smile you stick it to the desk, layering the first note on top. It sticks to your lips as you bend down to reach your hand into your bag. The glossy bag greets your hand, and you pull it out to set down beside the note. 

A small bag of Bit-O-Honeys. 

Looking up, your eyes scan the empty classroom. Few footsteps, voices, and lockers slamming trickle in from the halls. You suddenly realize that this is the same view he sees, these are the same sounds he hears, and the same place he sits in every day. Well, when he’s not away on personal days, sick days, on holiday, and at workshops, hence your appearances. The thought knits something together inside of you, making you feel just that bit more closer to him. Something that’s been slowly happening over time since you first stepped foot in his classroom. 

One of the first things that did this was the posters scattered across his walls. A poster from the 2013 remake of The Great Gatsby, The Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover, a cartoon of William Shakespeare, a unifying print of Keith Haring’s art, and several posters of quotes from famous books - To Kill A Mockingbird, the Kite Runner, Of Mice and Men, The Life of Pi, and even The Hunger Games. It delighted you watching him add some of them to the walls since your time here, and you’ve been itching to purchase him one as a gift. You’re unsure of what he would like though, and the fear of failure has held you back from doing so. 

A bleep! catches your attention. Casting your eyes to the dormant desktop screen, you wiggle the mouse. A red circle has appeared on the title of a tab opened to your professional email. Clicking over to it from a YouTube video he had you show the class, you find you have a new message. At the sight of who sent it, your heart skips a beat: harry.styles@isd . . . . . . . 

Hi. I reckon you’re still sitting at my desk this moment, now that’s a funny thought. I wanted to ask you a question while I remembered. I have to go out of town on Friday for a funeral. Believe me, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, but these things are a must. I apologize for it being short notice, but I thought I’d ask you if you would like to take it before I posted it to the sub database. Please let me know either way by tonight, so it has a few days to sit on the website to be claimed. Also, I wanted to say thanks for everything you do. My students really love you, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing. Enjoy your night! 

Sincerely,

Harry Styles

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you. - WW”

A smile warms your cheeks as you finish reading his words, and the familiar poem that ends every email of his. You quickly type up a response to him, agreeing to take the job on Friday, thanking him for thinking of you. A new email appears in your inbox shortly after from another colleague, which occupies you before you lose yourself in your thoughts again. 

Perhaps your favorite addition in his classroom is the Fender acoustic sitting on a stand in the corner. Of course, you’ve yet to see it move in the last five months. The stories his students have told you in a way have given it legs of its own in your mind. Much like the little notes you’ve been leaving for each other, something you dread ever ending. 

*

It was a Wednesday. You’re convinced that Mrs. Watson’s Pre-Calc class is surely the bane of your existence. You keep cursing yourself for taking sub assignments for math classes. Seeing that you’re terrible at the subject, you vowed you’d never take one of her assignments again, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You found your respite in the cozy staff lounge. Couches lined two of the walls, along with an arrangement of tables on the other side of the room. 

As you walk in, you see that one of the ancient history teachers has nodded off again on the plaid couch. Otherwise, the room is empty, and all to yourself. If that didn’t make you happy before, the assortment of food on the counter definitely does. 

Voices float in through the open door as the plastic lid to the cupcakes opens with a pop! 

“Ah, looks like ya got tha last chocolate one. I was savin’ that one fer me,” a voice comments from behind you. Turning, you find a tall man in his late 20’s walking towards you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can have it,” you volunteer, holding the blue-iced cupcake out for his taking. 

His blush lips curl up with an amused smile. Dimples fall neatly into his cheeks covered with thick stubble. Its deep brown color matches that of the short quiffed curls atop his head. Misty green eyes stare back at you in the middle of his round, but sharp face. “‘m only joking. Go ahead and have it. I already had one earlier. They’re quite good actually, but I dunno ‘bout tha vanilla. Never really cared fer tha flavoir when it comes t’ cake and ice cream,” he comments, passing you to stop at the nearby sink. 

“Yeah, I like to forget vanilla exists half of the time,” you remark, peeling away the paper liner of the cupcake. 

Leaning against the counter, you watch as his ringed hand grabs a red coffee mug from the cabinet. “So do I. ‘s ratha boring, if I do say so meself.”

Nodding to yourself, a silence follows your words. The sweetness of the cupcake is shocking when you take a bite. It makes you wonder how you devoured these sugar bombs as a child. A few beeps and a hum from the microwave echo throughout the room as you check your phone. 

“Y’know, I haven’t seen ya here at tha school befo’. Are ya new dis year or a sub?” he asks, bringing your eyes back to his lean figure. He pulls a yellow square packet from his tight-fitting black slats, a blush button-down tucked into its waist. 

“I started subbing here this year,” you answer before taking another bite of the cupcake. Half of it consists of the sickeningly sweet frosting that makes your teeth ache. 

“Mmmm I see. How d’ya like it so far? Are ya a new teacher, ‘s that why yer subbin’?” 

“Yeah, I went back to school kinda late in the game after doing something else. I figure I’d sub for a little bit for some experience, because what’s another year of waiting by this time?” you comment, observing how he fiddles with his black tie while searching in the refrigerator. 

“Well, congratulations. ‘s a big step t’ go back t’ school fer sumthin’ ya love. ‘s a good profession, I reckon. I’ve been teaching fer 7 years, and here at dis school fer 5. Sumtimes schools even hire subs they’ve had when a position opens, so keep yer eyes open,” he tells you, turning to you with a smile, a yogurt in his hand. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, returning the smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Sure thing. I know it helped loads when I was a newbie. ‘ll see ya around, I gotta get back t’ class befo’ me students do first. Have a good one!” 

Walking towards you with the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he pats your arm with his other hand on the way out. Nodding at your ‘thank you’, a small ‘you’re welcome’ falls from his lips before the door closes behind him. Eating the last bite you can muster of the cupcake, you toss its remains in the bin. A thought worms its way into your mind as you sit down at the table. 

Wow, I wonder who that guy was? And is he married, because shit, he was handsome. 

*

The smell of orange essential oil greets you when you stepped foot into his classroom the next time. The state of his desk made you frown, and made you want to scratch the itch to clean it. You resisted it and didn’t, and that thought was taken away when his students began to find their desks. 

Another day of 7 classes came and went. 2 classes of Introduction to Creative Writing. 3 classes of American Literature. 2 classes of World Literature. Amusing YouTube videos broke up the monotony of your day, and those of his students. The lesson notes he left for you had become more concise as the months have passed, and as you learned from each other. The same couldn’t be said for the dish of Bit-O-Honeys on his desk that he’s kept stocked for your appearances. You’re just glad he’s put the bag you left for him to good use. All throughout your day you had been looking for his newest note, but this time it wasn’t in any of his usual spots. After correcting some quizzes from today, you finally found it in the bottom left-hand drawer of his mahogany desk. Stuck to a tall can of Coke, your favorite drink of choice. 

I’m sorry it’s warm, although I’m not sure how you like to drink it. I just find warm soda to be rather nasty. The answer to your question is I have green eyes, brown hair, I’m rather tall, and I like to dress up. Is that good enough for you? Now, what do you look like, love?

Your insides melt at the sight of his answer, but then you groan at the vagueness of it. Off the top of your head, you know there are at least 10 male teachers here at this school with brown hair, maybe more. Maybe even with green eyes, too, and you know that because you’ve seen them in the staff lounge or in the halls. The thought only grows worse when you lose count of  how many teachers there are here at this school. Let’s just say, there’s a lot. Yeah, that sure helps a whole lot. Annoyed, you pluck a pen from the green mug and answer his question with as little detail as possible. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself as you sigh. 

If you could have a jam session with any musician, dead or alive, who would it be?

Sticking the new note where its corner peeks out from under his tabletop calendar, your eyes return to the Coke. It’s undeniable, you feel a little less perturbed at him just at the sight of it. Only a little bit, that is. Sure, you’ve subbed for a countless number of teachers at this school, and more so in this school district. A few of them are even friends or relatives of yours, but you’d never connected with one before like you have with Harry. You just wish more than anything you could find out what he looks like and what he’s really like. Continuing to take his sub jobs doesn’t really help with that. It only drives you crazier wanting to know the other side of this fascinating human being. 

*

There he was, snoring on the couch again, tv remote in hand. The weather channel is playing, surprising you very little. Snickering, you yank open the door to the black refrigerator. After retrieving your striped black and blue lunchbox, you place the container of leftovers in the microwave. A laugh is heard over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Green Eyes from the other day. 

Tittering as the door closes behind him, he says, “No fail, John ‘s always passed out on dat couch, I swear.”

“I know, it’s every time I’m here. Maybe he should just retire already so he can take his naps at home. Then maybe we could watch something on the tv for once,” you comment, shaking your head. Unpacking your lunch box, you take out a clementine, vanilla yogurt, and silverware. 

“Nah, he loves it too much. I don’t see him leavin’ anytime soon,” he remarks, walking past you to search the shelves of the fridge. “What’re we having’ t’day? Couldn’t find any cupcakes dis time?”

“No, those ones were too sweet anyways. They gave me a stomachache,” you complain with a grimace. The beeeeep! of the microwave interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mmmm, I dunno, I thought they were pretty good.” Rubbing his tummy, he pulls a breathy laugh from your lips. 

Your steaming container of leftovers almost burns your hands, and you dread trying to eat it within the next 10 minutes. Setting up for a lesson in Mr. Harrison’s classroom was a pain, making you wonder why you take any sub jobs besides Harry’s anymore. 

“No free food fer us t’day,” he pouts beside you, closing the fridge door before venturing to the vending machine in the corner. Your eyes drift to his outfit choice today - a white button-down topped with a buttoned vest the shade of ochre, all tucked into brown slacks.

“That’s why you pack a lunch. I thought you’d know the drill by now, since you said you’ve been teaching for a while.”

“I do, but sumtimes I forget. Yer already ahead o’ me with dat part, love,” he who doesn’t have a name answers with a short laugh. Sliding a leather wallet from his pocket, you see him type in a number before you sit down at the table. “Who are ya subbin’ fer t’day then?”

“I’m on the west side in the Science wing for Harrison. Bloody Bio.”

“Ugh, I neva cared fer science. Where were ya a few weeks ago when I last saw ya?” he questions, sliding out a chair across from you. An assortment of vending machine food hits the table with a slap - peanut M&M’s, a nutrigrain bar, and a bag of Sun Chips. 

“Upstairs in Watson’s Maths class. Remind me to never sub for her again, because I can’t understand Pre-Calc for the life of me. I never could in high school so I don’t know why I thought I could know,” you chuckle. A warmth fills your cheeks at the sight of his lips spreading into an amused smile. 

“Yeah, I neva cared fer Maths meself eitha. Numbas neva made a bit o’ sense t’ me, words were always betta,” he explains. You nod along with his words, your mouth occupied with a bite of spaghetti and meatballs. “What subject would ya like t’ teach once tha year’s ova an’ ya go searchin’ fer a job o’ yer own?”

“Um, probably something in English since that’s my focus area. Dabbling in History has been fun, though. I enjoy learning about it myself, and I always have a better time subbing in either of those classes,” you reveal. 

“I see,” he replies, his head going up and down. The crinkling of the granola bar wrapper fills the silence between you before he takes a bite. Crumbs pepper his chin, but he wipes them away from his thin beard. “How often d’ya sub here then?”

“I’d say probably 3 days a week typically, but some weeks are 4. Otherwise, I sometimes sub for a friend or somebody I know over at the middle school.”

“Ah, so yer license is sumthin’ like 8 - 12, ‘s it?” he inquires, picking up the black mug you hadn’t noticed he had. 

“Yeah, I thought that would give me a good range for those grades. With my experience now, I think I’d like to stay at the high school level though,” you continue, twirling you fork around in the noodles covered in tomato sauce. Crossing your legs, the satiny fabric of your black dress pants moves with you. 

“We could always use anotha good teacher here. Ya neva know what’ll happen,” he smiles, standing to his feet with his snacks held in his large hand. Returning his smile, he adds his mug to that hand, patting your back once on his way out. “See ya next time, love. Keep yer head up, it’ll get betta.” 

“Thanks,” you automatically respond with. When you go to say his name, you’re lost for words, because you suddenly remember you’ve never gotten it. Now, he’s already too far away to ask for it. 

Shrugging your shoulders, you stab a meatball with your fork, wondering when the next time will be that you’ll see him again. Because, he sure is nice to look at, and he’s nicer to you than anybody else here. 

*

Stevie Nicks or John Lennon, it’s a tough call. Okay, I’m doing two questions from now on, because you ask such good ones :( Who would you jam with then? Question #2: What was the last concert you went to?

This time, you found the Post-It before the school day even started. It was on the seat of his chair, making you think he wanted you to find it right away. You’re thinking maybe he remembered one of the last times you complained about how hard he had made it. Sometimes you worry about how excited you get to look for these each time you sub in his classroom, but then you remember it’s only once every few weeks. 

That can’t hurt, can it? 

That day the hallways were louder than they usually were after school. You attributed that to the boys’ semifinals basketball game set to be played tonight in the gymnasium. The school’s home team against a nearby rival school. Students couldn’t stop talking about it all day, and many of them shared they’d be sticking around after school to attend. Checking your watch, you note that you should have enough time to stop at home to eat dinner before coming back for it. Even though you hadn’t even known about it before today. 

The Sufjan Stevens song floating from his desktop fills the room as you get out books for tomorrow. Your hands are full with copies of The Kite Runner, making you feel grateful again to Harry- Mr. Styles for picking a decent classic for the class to read. Although you’d only read it a few years ago yourself, and it broke your heart, you’re excited to sub next time to help his World Lit class with it. 

“Oh hey, be careful there, yer gonna slip and fall with all o’ those,” somebody says from behind you, distracting you from your mission of bringing the pile of books from the closet to a desk. 

Don’t I know that voice? Turning your eyes to the doorway, you find Green Eyes walk in with a coat slung over his arm. Wait a second. 

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, but your actions that follow negate your words. Your eyes run over his familiar features, and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in your head. Harry? A thought bomb explodes in your head, and the books tumble from your arms. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yer okay,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. Kneeling down, you both begin to pick up the books, stacking them on top of each other. “Thanks for gettin’ me set up fer t’morrow though. I appreciate it.” 

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can say, because any words that want to come out can’t get past the lump in your throat. One that’s there because of the realization you just had.

Green Eyes and Harry are the same person. 

How did I not figure this out sooner? 

“So, ya must be Y/N, huh?” he giggles, his head bent down as he helps you pick up the books. 

“Y-Yeah, surprise,” you admit, and your laugh soon joins his. Before you know it, the both of you can’t stop laughing. 

“Here,” you hear him say. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you holding his hand out for you to take. A cozy looking maroon sweater covers his upper half, and blue jeans don the rest. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he jokes in between laughs. 

“You’re right about that,” you answer, taking his hand. He helps you to your feet where you smooth down the violet skirt of your dress. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Yer not tha only one, love,” Harry comments, bending over to grab a stack of books. He begins to set one on each desk as he walks down the aisles of them. “But I s’pose there wasn’t any way t’ know.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you on Facebook,” you confess, cursing yourself for the slip up a few seconds later. Lifting your head from the book you just set on a desk, you find his amused eyes on you across the room. 

“Ah, so ya were stalkin’ me, were ya?” he smirks, his delightful laugh following his words. 

“No, I wasn’t! You’re just one of the only colleagues I’ve subbed for who I’ve never met, or like don’t know what they look like.”

Your small stack soon disappears and when you return to the pile at the back of the room, he does too. 

“So, what d’ya think? Are ya disappointed then?”

“No,” you say automatically, lifting your eyes to his green ones that land on you. His cheeks lined with a thick, neat beard crease with dimples as he smiles at you. 

“Neither am I . . . .  Ms. Vance Joy fan,” he returns, holding your gaze. The sincerity in his words gets under your skin, going straight to your heart. The sarcastic joke inside of them makes you giggle. 

Clearing your throat, you look away with what you’re sure are blushing cheeks. Most likely, an entire blushing face. “What are you doing here, anyways, if you were gone for the day?”

“I can’t miss me boys’ big game, a few o’ me students are on tha team. I thought I’d catch up on sum emails and grading befo’hand, but didn’t know ya’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just leaving, anyways,” you mutter, your movements stilling. 

“I didn’t mean it dat way, love. ‘m glad we finally met, it was about time, anyways,” Harry insists, and you nod before continuing to place a book at each desk. “Hey wait, you said you were short and all plain in yer note. No, yer not, ya fibber.”

“Oh like your description was any more accurate,” you scoff lightheartedly, setting down a book before grabbing another from your dwindling stack. 

His rich laugh meets your ears, and you can’t resist looking over to him. “Ya didn’t give yerself enough credit, ya know,” he almost coos, and you swear your heart melted into a puddle right then and there. That’s if it hadn’t done so already when you realized he’s Green Eyes. Swoon. 

It’s hard to hold back the excitement curling at the edge of your lips. Soon, you run out of books again and when you take a peek at him, so has he. 

“Were ya gonna go?” he questions, and you deal him one when you look at him confused. “T’ tha game, I mean.”

Your body feels like jello, and that any move you make would be sloppy. Embarrassing. That’s the last thing you want to look like in front of him. With his dazzling smile, adorably dimpled cheeks, and the cozy vibes he’s giving off. Not to mention, the clean citrus scent wafting off of him. A smell you certainly would be okay with smelling for hours on end. If only. 

“Well bloody Rob around tha corner bailed on me, so I have an extra ticket now. Would ya like t’ join me? I was thinkin’ o’ grabbin’ a sub from ‘round tha corner befo’. Concession food ‘s always too expensive, and never worth tha lines at halftime,” Harry suggests, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One corner of his mouth climbs up his cheek, making you feel like maybe you’re not alone in these jumbled feelings. Or in the fun you’ve had carrying on this blind relationship with him. 

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better than the few words Post-It notes can hold.”

Slowly, the other corner of his lips curls upwards, making the dimple fall into his cheek once again. Nodding, his lips split into a full-fledged smile, singing with a chuckle. “I’d really like that,” he reveals before venturing to the door and shutting off the light. Extending an arm, he waves a hand towards himself.

“Hold on, let me get my things.”

“No rush. ’s not like ‘ve waited seven months fer dis or anythin’,” he quips. By now, you’re certain your face resembles a tomato. You hope that in the muted light, perhaps he won’t notice. 

Hurriedly, you slip on your light coat and drape your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes catch something as you’re tucking your phone in your pocket. Grabbing one last thing, you turn to find him watching you from the lit doorway. 

“What?” he wonders aloud, still with that smile etched onto his face. One you’re fairly sure you could get used to seeing. 

“Here,” you tell him, placing the Post-It note in his palm. His fingers dotted with dark hairs brush against you, just for a second longer than need be. 

“Ah, can’t forget dis now. Important stuff here.”

“Indeed,” you note, stifling a laugh as the sarcasm floats in the air. 

You observe his eyes flit across the paper holding your cursive as your steps echo down the empty hallway. 

“Hmmm, funny. It says ‘would you like to meet up sometime’ on here,” Harry reads, casting his twinkling eyes to you. Green eyes. “I was jus’ ‘bout t’ ask ya tha same thing on me next note. But I had sumthin’ that woulda took tha cake fer sure.”

“What’s that?” you remark, wondering how that could be. Those thoughts fly out the window when you feel his arm come around your shoulder. A squeal sounds inside of your head, but hey, at least that’s far less embarrassing than doing it out loud. 

“I was gonna tell ya dat Tracy across tha hall from me ‘s leavin’ afta dis year, and I may have recommended a certain sumbody t’ tha principal t’ replace her,” Harry hums, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes as they hover over you. “What d’ya say t’ bein’ colleagues instead o’ bein’ me sub?”

“I think I could get used to that,” you answer, letting your smile take over your entire face.

“So could I, love. So could I.” 

[brittledame]

Pairing: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader

Warnings: Explicit, Cursing, Hair-pulling, Name-Calling, Hate Sex, Spanking, Slight degradation, Panty stealing, Table sex

Word Count: 7.6K

Summary: A school project brings together two academic rivals, where their dislike for one another reaches a whole new level. You and Shirabu constantly duke it out for the top grade, where it becomes an everyday occurrence to see the two scowling at and insulting one another. The tension between you two finally reaches a boiling point one afternoon when an argument breaks out.

Series: Part 1 of 3 (Part 2 & Part 3)

Shiratorizawa was a private school full to the brim of prestige and practically screams ‘money’. Inside of the sleek modern exterior, each extracurricular club ranging from calligraphy to kyūdō possessed state-of-the-art facilities. Basically, you name it and there was most likely already a club for it, with each one allocated a ridiculous amount of funding. It did help that a lot of old and new money sent their kids to the school, which unfortunately leads to uppity pricks with uptight attitudes flaunting their wealth at the drop of a hat festering the hallways.

One such uppity prick went by the name of Shirabu Kenjirou and he was the bane of your existence. He came from an affluent background, old money resulting from smart trades in property stock way back before the global telecommunications were even conceptualised. You could smell the money oozing from his pores in the form of some ridiculously over-priced Giorgio Armani cologne, topped off with his neatly pressed uniform and copper-toned hair perfectly sleek.

The part that pissed you off the most about the male, and has led to your open dislike for the asshole, was the fact that he got into Shiratorizawa solely by his phenomenal grades, never once relying on daddy’s money to get in, like most of your cohort. Meanwhile, you made every single second count when studying, not a moment wasted between school and sleep, just to hope to qualify for the academic scholarship. For a while your parents fretted that you were studying too much just to pass some school’s entrance exams, where their platitudes of ‘you’re already plenty intelligent enough, honey’ and ‘you could ace it this very moment’ weren’t enough to soothe your stressed mind.

Not even three months later, you sat the exam and low and behold, you did ace it, much to your amazement. It was a beautiful moment, witnessing your name on their admittance board not even a month later, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. The only thing that ruined your moment was the name that ranked just above yours, taking in first place: Shirabu Kenjirou. So, your well-known rivalry with the copper-tinged blonde asshole started one-sided and quickly evolved into something much greater than you could’ve ever imagined.

For both your first and second year, you shared the same class as Shirabu. It was to be expected since you were both in the same grade average bracket, but still a girl could dream, right? Much to your ever-growing annoyance you were placed in the same third year class as well. Evidently you were unable to escape his prickly attitude.

Every task, assignment and exam became a silent challenge between the two of you. Each and every time, you’d throw yourself into your studies just to wipe the smug look he gives you every time he pulls through with the top mark.

The worst part of all this was the fact that he consistently pulled high marks while balancing a sport on top of his studies. You’d have to give it to him, you honestly don’t know when he manages to fit in eating and sleeping in that hectic schedule of his.

Now to place two head-strong individuals together was just begging for trouble, especially when your little competition has reached infamy around the sprawling campus. Turn out trouble is exactly what your science teacher was looking for when she placed the two of you together for the physic unit’s partner research report about their topic of choice. You looked at her like she’d lost her goddamn mind, not sparing the equally shocked Shirabu a glance. You didn’t even bother to argue with her, knowing it would’ve ended up worse somehow if you did.

“Fuck.” You muttered, hoping four the next six weeks to pass quickly

As soon as the Ms. Nakamura dismissed the class, you marched over to his desk. Stopping directly in front of him, you perched your hands on your hips and gave him a disdainful look.

“Look, for the course of this project I am willing to be civil with you.” You place a genial hand over your chest to complete your saintly sacrifice. Looking up, Shirabu gives you a blank look, before returning to annotating his textbook with bright sticky notes.

‘What a fucking dick,’ You silently seethe.

“Whatever. Just pick a topic and I’ll start on it.” His monotone voice serves to piss you off more. You curl your hands into tight fists, resisting the glorious thought of punching his pretty face.

“Um, I think not. We’ll pick the topic out together and we’ll equally distribute the work. I don’t want to hear you bitching to your hot teammates that I’m slacking.”

Grabbing a vacant chair near his desk, you spin it around and sit on it backwards, ignoring his disgruntled look. Tapping on your phone, you open a new contact and start filling it out.

“What’s your number, dickhead?” Shirabu’s head shot up at the insult and you grin at him, shaking your phone in front of his face.

“None of your fucking business, bitch.” He bites out, forehead creasing as he glares at you, completing his signature expression.

“Well, asshole, if you somehow managed to forget already, let me remind you. We need to collaborate on this and to do that, we need a line of communication. Texting is the easiest option.” You reason. You weren’t fond of the idea of Shirabu having your number either, the ass will probably write it in the boy’s changeroom as retribution for some misdeed you’ve done.

Deliberating, Shirabu’s pen stops its furious scribbling. Heaving a great sigh, he concludes that unfortunately you were correct, but that didn’t mean he had to explicitly admit that.

Snatching your phone, he ignores your indignant shout as he taps out his phone number and tosses the phone back at you.

“Great, thanks for being a team player, sport.” You say, as you clean the screen off on the bottom of your uniform top.

As you get up and return the chair to its correct place, you trudge over to your desk whilst starting to conjuring up some topic ideas to suggest.

Peeking from under his uneven fringe, Shirabu watches your skirt sway as you walk. He loves it whenever you walk away from him, leaving him to both think in peace and admire the way your hypnotising hips move as you walk. The short purple plaid Shiratorizawa skirt left little to his imagination whenever you bent over, or a strong breeze came through. Shirabu briefly wondered how the hell you evaded the school’s disciplinary committee’s strict uniform coding monitors in the hallway because he’s sure that you’re breaking at least two of them on any given day.

The next day, you texted Shirabu the list of thesis concepts you wrote up. You were surprised when your phone vibrated in your hand, delivering his speedy reply.

Shithead: Sure.

What the fuck were you meant to do with that dry ass reply?

Now angry that he wasn’t taking you seriously, you texted him back to pick a god damn topic before you went over to his practice and caused a scene. And just like that he stopped being obstinate and picked the one you were secretly hoping he would choose; it was the one focusing on Einstein’s thought experiments how his process was adapted into modern-day quantum research.

After a few back and forth texts by that afternoon you had both scheduled a few meetups over the next few weeks for the more challenging components, such as devising a solid thesis and finding some credible academic papers to back-up your statements.

A week later found you waiting in the library, going through your homework as you wait for Shirabu’s team practice to end, hoping to make good use of some of your free time.

By the time Shirabu swept into the room, you had already gotten a good head start in the assignment. Dressed in his neatly pressed uniform and not a hair out of place, you almost suspected that he made up the excuse of volleyball practice to get out of spending anymore time than necessary with you. The asshole breezes past you, not even offering an apology or reason as to why he was late, but you could at least deduct that practice was at fault – that is if he even went.

“Well since you decided to keep me waiting for –“ You glance down at your phone, “forty-five minutes, I already started it. I’ve written both the study’s aim and objective and began devising the outline for what needs to be addressed in the introduction.” You say shortly, not waiting for him to seat himself and set up before you push your laptop across the desk and into his personal space.

Shirabu rolls his eyes at your accusing tone and started to read what you’ve written up in the shared word document. Kenjirou was mildly impressed at how much you accomplished in such a short amount of time, but he tried not to show that outwardly though, afraid your already inflated ego would grow. Grunting in agreement, Shirabu slid the laptop back over to you.

“That’s fine. I’ll start pulling some sources for the statements you outlined and start writing them up. Why don’t you start researching any recent projects detailing new discoveries and start collecting data to include?”

That last part was less of a question and more of a demand, but his usual flat tone made it hard to distinguish between the two. The lack of inflection in his voice could just about put anyone to sleep, and after sitting here for almost an hour in the calming atmosphere of the library, you were ready to start dozing off.

A sharp kick to your shin ripped you out of your thoughts, causing to to yelp and rub at the sore spot. A quick look at Shirabu’s smug face illuminated by his screen was enough to rid the last of your daze, begrudgingly returning to your work.

Two hours had passed, filled by the tap-tapping abuse of your keyboards and the occasional groan released by you at another paywall obstructing an article containing some nice data. Other than that, Shirabu was a quiet as a graveyard. You’d assume he had spontaneously passed away if not for the typing and blinking, the fucker didn’t even look like he was breathing.

What a completely boring guy with a nasty attitude. The most interesting thing about him was his unfortunate fringe, looking like he got mugged in an alleyway by a guy with no fine motor skills wielding a pair of scissors.

Plainly coloured hair, irises almost an identical shade of almost blonde but not quite there. He was of average stature, maybe a little below for the volleyball team. He was completely normal, nothing you would normally give a second glance while passing by, and yet…

You mentally shake away the unwanted thoughts conjured by the sight of his hands, or the slight flexing of his arm under the thin fabric of the uniform shirt.

Dirty little fantasies of Shirabu just snapping one day after one too many insults, throwing you over his lap and just going to town on your ass with the same hand that scored so many serving points for the elite team filled your head incessantly. The force would jostle you forward, tears in your eyes as you beg him – for what you don’t know, but you would beg and he’d wrap his strong hand around your throat, the threat of cutting off your blood flow to your brain was enough to stop your breathless begs.

Wrapped up in your raunchy thoughts, your typing ceases and your eyebrows furrow as you’re faced with the horrible realisation that you actually have feelings other than hate for the up-tight prick. The feelings were far from romantic, more likely resting somewhere between hate and dislike, but it was still the principle of the matter. Acknowledging those feelings alone felt like you ceded your part in a game that you two had unofficially started.

Fuck.

The next few weeks were going to be hell. You internally groaned at the thought.

You had no idea just how right you were, as the next few Friday sessions were almost unbearable for you since that day. After that dreadful meet up, one could slice the tension that brewed between the two of you with their bare hand, even though it was solely emanating from you.

As most horrific diseases start, it was all innocuous at the beginning. The session all started the same: witty quips and digging barbs swapped at the beginning of your sessions before silently coming to the unanimous agreement to not speak another word to one another unless it was absolutely necessary. Even then, you could feel the migraine pulsating threateningly behind your eyes at how effortlessly hot he was. The headache was quite literally the physical manifestation of the vexation you felt towards the irritating copper-haired male.

It turned out that your exasperation was mutual, Kenjirou thought if he had to sit through another session with your loud breathing or deafening clacking of your keyboard, he was going to start ripping out hair. He was at his wit’s end and he had no reason as to why you set him off so easily. Not even the over-exuberant Goshiki could elicit such a nasty comment so quickly from him, even on his worst days.

The tension mounting between you two from previous sessions hung heavy in the air, but neither of you were willing to acknowledge the elephant stampeding through the small and rarely used study room.

The irritating sound of your long, trimmed nails typing, no more like smashing, on your keyboard cut through the tension. It was enough to put Kenjirou on edge faster than any other assignment meet up. He’s had a hell of a week and while he didn’t have grueling practice today, spending it alone with you was the cherry on top.

Usually the silent and calming ambiance of the library never failed to soothe him when he’s tense and anxious, but his irritation was hitting a whole new level he’s never experienced before.

“I swear if you keep smashing at your keyboard like that, I’ll rip them off and shove them up your ass.” He seethes, hands curling into fists where they rested on the table.

Looking up, you give him an incredulous look before opening your mouth. God what Shirabu wouldn’t give to get that stupid mouth of yours to not ever open again. He’d be saving the world from one less idiot spreading their stupidity.

“That’s kinky Shirabu. This is a library, keep it in your pants and save it for the bedroom.” You tease, fluttering your long eyelashes at him paired with a plastic grin.

At the murderous look his gives you, you throw back your head and laugh quietly. You weren’t willing to face the librarian’s wrath if you broke the rules, even if you were situated on the deserted top floor in a room furthest from her station at the entrance.

Conversation stalls from there on out, with only the clacking of your keyboard’s once again filling the air, although you do take greater care when typing now, not that the asshole thanked you for your consideration.

Kenjirou watches you from his periphery as you brush your glossy hair over you your shoulder, ponytail bouncing with added weight. That stupid ass hair style that made Kenjirou want to reach over and yank –

“I know you lost a couple of brain cells playing volleyball but come on, are you really that slow?” You raised your eyebrow at him, glancing at the unfinished excel charts Kenjirou had elected to do.

Giving you an unimpressed look, he chooses not to bite, thinking he’s already wasted enough time acknowledging your existence. Kenjirou hadn’t even noticed you talking to him, he was just that used to tuning you out and hearing your annoying voice as background noise.

“Can you add a trendline to the data, so that the upward trend we mention in the discussion is clearly evident in the chart?” You carefully enunciate each word to him.

Your demeaning tone and slow talking really pissed Shirabu off this time, he clenches his jaw and expels an exasperated breath through his nose.

“I’d appreciate it if you don't address me like that ever again. A trendline on the data we collected is pointless, just a pretty line. If we generated the data ourselves, then maybe, but the studies these numbers are sourced off of don’t even have trendlines.” His reasoning is rock-solid, but he was a prick about it, so you rolled your eyes and moved on to the next section of the paper that needed sorting.

“Fine, I acquiesce. A trendline here would be rather inappropriate.” He scoffs at your formal language. This was coming from the same girl that he heard on many occasions say obscenities so vulgar it’d make a seasoned soldier blush.

Tense silence fills the void between you both. You brushed of the strange sensation of being on edge. It is true that Shirabu seems even more pissy than usual, but you’ve been dealing with his shit for weeks now, you could put up with two more sessions with the unbearable prick. Hopefully.

Focusing back on the shared document open before you, you stare blankly as you try to decipher his nonsense tables. Concerned, you quickly scroll through the rest of the discussion he had begrudgingly volunteered to complete. To your absolute horror, you noticed that your format of your portion of the discussion was utterly incongruous with his formatting.

Well shit.

While grammar mistakes and sentence structure could be tweaked and fixed within a day’s work, it would take you both at least a good day's to make the report’s content flow freely and have a singular format. Thankfully, you guys have the time to fix up his �� and maybe some of your – mistakes.

“Could you not?” You say shortly, tacking on a sharp glare aimed at the bane of your existence.

“Could I not what? Use your big girl words.” He bites back, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore.

“Could you please stop fucking up our assignment. I don’t know about you, daddy’s money, but I’d really like to get full marks for this.” You shoot back, angry that he had the gall to be annoyed at you when he was the one fucking up the format of the assignment.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m doing everything that we outlined in our past sessions.” Kenjirou fumed. He swears to fucking god, if he has to argue with you over the (lack of) importance of a trend line for this data set again he’s going to scream.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you miss the way his eyes quickly flit down. Kenjirou hates himself for the way his dick twitched at the sight of you inadvertently pressing your breasts together. Licking his lips, he allows you to stew over his words and watches as you reluctantly accept his logic.

It was true, you guys didn’t really decide on a true format in the initial planning phases, it seemed like a far-off issue to worry about at that moment. Well the future is now and that issue was just going to compound by the day if it didn’t get sorted out soon. It didn’t help that you hated editing papers with a passion.

At your silence, he rolled his eyes so hard you were scared they may get stuck – although he deserves at least that much for all the shit he’s given you over the past three years. He turned back to his work and went back to ignoring you.

Oh well, two can play at that game. You didn’t want, nor need, to talk to the prick anyway.

Shifting your restless legs under the table, you accidentally kick Shirabu in the shin, earning you a dirty look. Enjoying the ugly look of his face, you give him a sickly-sweet smile.

“Oops, my bad, Shirabu. I’ll sure to be more cautious next time!” Topping off your act with some obnoxious batting of your eyelashes.

“Do it again and I’ll wipe that look off your face real fast.” He sneered back at you.

Ignoring all common sense, you played with the idea of what exactly he meant by his threat. Most likely nothing sexual and most definitely involving a punch. But that doesn’t stop you from briefly entertaining a short sexual fantasy involving the two of you fucking in his chair.

Damn, these thoughts have been getting more frequent and out-of-hand recently. If they became anymore of an issue, you may just have to see the on-campus therapist about your obvious undiagnosed nymphomania.

True to your nature, you decide to grab the metaphorical bull by the horn to see how hard he bucks. Adjusting your posture again, you lean your elbows on the table as you uncross your legs and again hit his leg stretched out under the table.

You could practically hear Shirabu’s restraint snap, a dark expression taking over his face. He jerks up and out of his chair and proceeds stalks towards you, a dangerous glint in his ochre eyes.

‘Oh shit, I might have actually overdone it this time. He’s going to fucking kill me.’ You were frozen in place, not even breathing as he towers over your seated form. You mentally said your goodbye’s to family and friends. They wouldn’t be shocked to find out that you met your end due to pure pettiness.

You were expecting at least a slap, maybe even a gut punch, so when he grabbed your arms and hoisted you onto your feet, you assumed the absolute worst. Unexpectedly, he backed your body against the table, his hips pinning yours against the hard edge, making it dig harshly into your back.

You gasp as a calloused hand grabs the back of your exposed neck, the other moving to your waist. He pulls himself incredibly close to you. You're sure there isn’t an atom of space left between the two of you now, feeling every inch of his body pressed up against yours.

He bends down and breathes softly into your ear words that set off a blaze within you.

“I warned you not to try me today and yet you kept on pushing me.” His low tone sent shivers down your spine.

Hands flat on the table, you shove yourself up against his hard chest even more, meeting his dark expression head-on.

“I figured you were all bark and no bite, so what’s the harm?” Ignoring the sharp edge of his previous words, you kept making digs at him. You already made peace with the fact that you may die at the hands of the unfairly attractive man before you.

Snapping, Shirabu grabs you by your tie, pulling you upwards and meeting your lips in a fierce kiss. It honestly was more teeth than lips, but you’d take whatever he would give you. Lust quickly replaced shock as you reciprocated the kiss, giving back as much as he gave you.

Never one to be one-upped, you both furiously made out against the table. Eventually you reluctantly conceded to him, pulling away gasping for breath to fill your aching lungs. While he didn't look as effected as you, he still panted as he caught his breath.

Lips kiss-swollen from the hard kiss he gave you, he gulped at the mussed up look of your uniform from the short make-out session. The sight alone was enough to spur him back into action. You met his lips half-way, hands flying up to bury themselves into surprisingly soft hair.

The kiss was more than just that, it was a battle of wills. It was another challenge set before you both, another one added to the extensive list of trials. It tested who had the guts to resolve the unresolved sexual tension building between you both.

Fingers digging into your soft flesh, he easily hoisted you up onto the table, slotting himself between the space made between your open legs. The kiss picks up intensity as he throws in a few nips at your bottom lip, while you lightly bite at his tongue invading your mouth.

You gasp at a particularly harsh bite at your bottom lip, drawing back to give the self-satisified male a scowl.

“Oh? Is this the reason why you’ve always been so short with me. It’s cute that you don’t know how to act around your crush.” Your teasing words make the male between your legs tense up.

“I’d rather bite off my own tongue than date you, bitch.” He goes to kiss you again. It was the only thing that got you to shut up, which he very enjoyed.

“Who said anything about dating, dearest? My, my, so you have been thinking of me.” You laughed and gave him a belittling look.

“The only thoughts I’ve had about you involve either shutting you up or fucking you senseless, so make of that what you will.” He grits out between clenched teeth, not willing to give you that inch he threw out to you like a lifeline.

If he was going to go through with this, he at least wanted you to know exactly what he wanted to get out of it. Nothing more, nothing less.

You consider him under hooded eyelids, gaze sweeping up and down his clothed torso. Well at least he wanted the same thing that’s been haunting your waking thoughts for the past month. You weren’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth that's for sure.

“Sure, I mean you could try, but I doubt that you could even a moan out of me.” You said languidly, setting up another challenge. Now all he had to do was pick up the gauntlet.

Words igniting a fire within him, his lips tipped into a lopsided smirk. You had no idea what you just started and he was more than happy to show you the consequences of your bold actions.

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.”

The room you occupied was situated on the top floor, at the end of a long corridor of empty study rooms exactly like this one. It was highly unlikely that the elderly librarian at the entrance would hear what was about to go down. It was also unlikely any snooping students would come across your study room on the neglected floor.

You fully expected him to pull you into another bruising kiss before fucking you but it seemed that the stupidly hot bastard was just full of surprises today. Instead, he pulled you off the table and turned you to face the chair he had previously occupied. With the hand placed at the nape of your neck, the other moving to your opposite side of your waist, he pushed you down to lie against the cold tabletop. Though definitely not for your benefit, he pushed aside any stray bits of paper out of your way to prevent them from creasing.

You gasp as the pressure he applies onto you forces the breath out of your lungs, pressing you hard against the unforgiving surface. Hands scrabbling for a purchase to help you establish a counter force to push up against him, he bends down and breathes softly into your ear.

“Look at you so pliant for me, I could get used to this.” His smug tone made your blood boil. That bastard was going to milk this situation for all it has and you have no ground to stand on to refute him when you were planning on doing the exact same.

“You know, your nasty attitude destroys that pretty boy stereotype you have going on.” You retort. You weren’t going to take his bullshit laying down – metaphorically speaking.

Fed up with you running your mouth, always talking but never saying anything of substance, he hastily loosens his tie. Without warning, he shoves a bundle of fabric into your mouth, quickly moving his fingers away from teeth that would gladly bite down onto his precious setting tools.

Trying to voice your anger, you squirm in his grasp with muffled nonsensical words leaving your mouth.

Kenjirou marvels at the sight of your stuffed mouth, words finally muted and wide eyes that were angry at his action. If he knew this is all he had to do to get you to shut up for more than two seconds then he’d gladly do it again.

Kenjirou couldn’t help but wonder if your cheeks would also look like that if he’s shoved his dick between your plush pink lips but he saves that thought for another day. After all, he had at least half a year left to put up with your bullshit.

Pressing his hips against your ass, he revels at the feeling of finally having you under him, squirming and all. Deciding not to draw this out anymore than he already has, he smoothly grinds his slowly growing erection into the cleft of your ass obscured by ugly purple plaid.

Unsatisfied with the lack of friction, he flips up your skirt to reveal lacy panties. He thought it was a bit risqué to wear them at school but who was he to complain about the lovely gift.

You gave a muffled shout when he snapped against the waist band against your hip. Tempted, you considered trying to kick him in the shin again somehow in your position. The thought dissolved into nothing as he lightly smacks your ass, causing you to jolt forward more in surprise than in pain.

With the absence of any complaints or irritating whinging, Kenjirou weighed the plump flesh in his hand, grinning to himself when he hears you moan at his curious squeezing. He wondered what other delicious noises you’ll make under him.

Well there was only way to find out.

Winding his hand back, his hand came down with a loud ringing smack, hard enough to leave his hand pleasantly tingling. The pink imprint of his hand on your ass was going to be burned into his mind for a long time, a wave a heat rolling through him and coalescing in his groin.

Again, you jolt forward at the impact, nails scratching at the acrylic lacquer of the tabletop, unable to find purchase. While you could feel the poor skin pulse dully with pain, pure arousal flashed hot and bright within you. If you had ever thought spanking would be something you were into, you’re pretty sure Shirabu was one of the worst people to discover along with, always the one to abuse any situation.

The next time his hand came down on your ass, you mistakenly tensed, causing the pain to shoot through you ten-fold. You wince at the sensation of him hitting the exact same spot over and over again. You were sure the spot would be rouge red by this point, but the pain didn’t take away from the pleasure you derived from his rough treatment.

Mixing things up, Kenjirou bites his lip as he aims a smack right at the apex of your thighs, close enough to your core that the vibrations of the hit ripped a lewd moan from your lips, much louder than the rest. Blood rushing down to his already engorged cock at your noises, he knows that he could easily get addicted to your bent form. You enjoying the spanking was just a fun bonus for him.

“I should’ve guessed you were into spanking. It fits the ‘good school girl’ façade you’ve got going on,” Shirabu hums, throwing the words back into your face. Leaning down, he breathes into your ear, “I could really get used to you like this beneath me. I have such big plans for you.”

Shivering at his low tone, your mind whirled chaotically with half-baked ideas of what exactly he had in plan for you. Honestly, as long as it ended up with his dick inside of you, you don’t care about the rest. You were always opposed to the saying ‘It’s not the destination, it’s all about the journey.’ And this situation was no different to you.

Kenjirou slides your panties over your ass and down your legs, half tempted to chuck them across the room just to see you panicking over locating them after this. On second thought… He shoves the offending piece of lace into his back pocket, as a present for himself putting up with you.

His hands bracket you bottoms of your ass and smooths his thumbs over the soft pink flesh. Kenjirou watching them slightly jiggle in the palms of his hand, admiring the rosy tinge he painted them. Kenjirou firmly decided that the flesh looked much prettier painted pink by the very hand that slammed balls over the side of the net with shocking force.

Fingers gliding over the cheeks and trailing downward, he makes contact with your wet lips. Mildly surprised, he runs a slender finer between them, gathering your juices.

“Look at how wet you are for me. I bet I won't even have to prep you, your greedy hole will probably just suck me in.” He states, rubbing his finger slowly -torturously - over the entrance of your hole.

You whine through your makeshift gag and buck your hips against his fingertips, hoping for them to dip in deeper. The pad of his crooked index finger dipped shallowly into you a few times from your efforts. Kenjirou was greatly amused at your efforts, deciding to hold his fingers in place for you to try and fail to fuck into yourself.

“Look at how desperate you are, it’s honestly pathetic. I expected so much more from you.” He tutted.

The flash of anger fizzled and died before it took root, much too distracted by him inserting his entire index finger in without warning. While you had explored yourself on more than a few occasions, mapping out sensitive flesh with your fingers, the feeling of his much longer and slightly thicker finger inside of you was incredible.

You whimper at the slick feeling of him moving his finger in and out of you, occasionally curling against the spongy tissue, seeking for the bundle of nerves that will make you scream. Slotting in another finger and him twisting them simultaneously had you panting and clenching your eyes at the full feeling from just the two.

Feeling your walls tighten and quiver around his finger as he crooked them a few times, he doubled down to find your erogenous zone before he fucks you. It only took another finger and few moments of scissoring them deep inside of you, indicated by your abrupt gasping jerk.

Licking his lips, he rubs his fingers harshly against the soft area, committing to memory the muffled breathy moans and whimpers that dropped from your panting mouth. Dick twitching, hard and painful within his tight slacks draws him out of his mind. He withdraws his saturated fingers from your sopping hole, briefly abandoning the sensitive spot for now.

Slumping, you simultaneously miss and despise his fingers fucking into you, hating that he found your G-spot quicker than you’d anticipated. The prick was too smart for his own good, the asshole probably knew more about female anatomy and orgasms than you did with biology being his best class.

The rustle of his pants being undone pulls you back to reality. Oh god this is really happening. Your breath picks up, anticipating the next move the bitter setter will make next.

The sensation of something long, hot and rigid, his dick you assumed, rests between your still stinging cheeks. His fingers dip back between your lips and gather more liquid arousal. Kenjirou ignores your groan at the odd feeling, preoccupied with smearing your slick over his dick, taking his sweet time.

One hand on his cock, guiding the tip to sit at your entrance, with the other placed for support on your hip. Tense, you waited for him to just slam on in, not anticipating him to draw out the moment. You hated the way that you squirmed at the thought of his dick being so close but so far away from where you wanted it most.

“You better hold onto the desk. Once I start, I’m not going to stop until I hear you screaming.” He said, smug tone and all ringing loud and clear.

You huff indignantly at his statement, as if to say: ‘Sure, whatever you say, asshole.’

Rolling his eyes, he tightens his grip as he starts to insert himself inside of you. Obviously taking pity on you, he graciously chooses to glide in at a decent pace. The breath was punched out of your lungs as he completely sheathed himself inside you, hot and throbbing. You try not to violently shiver around him because you couldn’t bare the thought of inflating his already unhealthily enlarged ego.

Dropping the niceties, as if there were any with Shirabu involved, he slid out not a moment later and slammed back on in, loving the sound of his skin smacking against yours. Sloppy sounds of your fucking fill the air and frankly you’d be pretty grossed right now if your brain didn’t reside in your pussy that very moment.

Fucking you from behind, Kenjirou grabs a fistful of shiny hair and harshly rips back your head, hot breath cascading over perspiring skin.

“You take me so well, like you were made for me. Maybe I should fuck this hole of yours again sometime.”

In retribution, you clench down as hard as feasibly possible, hoping to knock him off of that high horse of his. The grunt that rings in your ears pacifies your ire, but the unexpected resistance doesn't stop him from trying to fuck up into you even harder.

Pardoning his attitude, you loosen up for him, more so for your own pleasure than his. He doesn’t hesitate to pick up his unforgiving pace, pumping in and out of you like a sex-crazed mad-man. Eyes rolling into your head, you felt the tip of his thick dick kiss the entrance of your cervix, which paired fantastically with the friction his thick cock made against your quivering walls.

Moaning around the tie as he furiously fucks you from behind, you can feel the piece of fabric become saturated with your drool. He seemed to appreciate the sounds you made, hands tightening around your hips and starts to seek out the highly sensitive spot hidden somewhere inside of you.

Every time he slid out, he’d readjust his angle with only the tip still in before slamming back on into, waiting for the moment he found his target. The pain of the table cutting into your stomach is buried underneath the pleasure Kenjirou relentlessly delivered to you.

An idea flashed in Kenjirou’s mind, a cruel one, but not too cruel as revenge for all the shit you’ve put him through. Unknowing of the feral grin on his face, you continued to moan as his dick fills you so perfectly, suddenly jolting when you feel his warm lips against your throat. You let out a squeal and clenched down hard around his length when you feel his teeth bury into the soft skin. Manicured nails scratching small divots into the desk as he sucks the bruise deep into your skin.

You grit your teeth when you feel him release your skin, the spot already feeling sore at the rough treatment. You could tell from the position that it was too high for the uniform’s collar to hide and wearing a scarf in this summer weather was way too suspicious. That motherfucker probably planned that; you silently fume as he smirks against your perspiring flesh.

The worst part though was when all conspiring thoughts of retribution were wiped clean from you mind as your entire nervous system is struck by lightning. You cry out loudly at the sensation, to which Kenjirou huffed under his breath, muttering out a quiet ‘Thank fuck’ that went unacknowledged by you as you tried to recuperate from him hitting your G-spot with the force of a tank.

Kenjirou greedily ate up each cry leaving your lips as he continued to hit the sensitive nerves with deadly precision. The sight of you writhing underneath him was enough payment for the annoyance he’d suffered through at your hands the past month. But it was the feel of your walls clutching at him tightly and your delicious moans that was the true reward for all his patience.

The wet squelching noises of your furious fucking was enough to make you blush, which was hilarious thinking about it. Not even four weeks ago you were ready to jump the table and non-sexually choke him out with your tie – and now he was railing you with his tie as a makeshift gag.

Ah, fate truly was a bitch.

Thrusts becoming frantic, you knew that Kenjirou was nearing his end and you would swear bloody vengeance if he finished and left you high and dry. It turns that promise would be for naught. Shirabu reaches around you with his still slick covered fingers and rubs furiously at your clit, giving it a few good squeezes, rightfully assuming you loved the rough treatment. And that you did, you bucked wildly in his grasp, moans hitting a whole new pitch as you unravel quickly under his dual ministrations.

The arousal that had been sitting hot inside of you, seemed to snap and unleashed upon you an orgasm that had stars sear into your eyelids, eyes clenched tightly as the sensation threatened to drown you in it. What felt like pure electricity coursed through your veins, feeling as if Shirabu’s dick had just sent you to a new dimension, brain liquefying inside of your skull.

Behind you, Kenjirou seizes up as he feels you tighten up considerably around him, delivering him to his peak as well. His pace slows as his hips stutter, unleashing his load within you. Even completely incoherent, you shivered at the feeling of him feeling at you, not able to muster up and ounce of disgust at the feeling. That should’ve been the moment that you knew that you were truly fucked; you were completely wrapped around Shirabu’s long pretty fingers.

Limbs trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, you laid there limply as he pulled out. You felt a bead of sweat drop down your brow as you weakly collect yourself together, drawing yourself up on shaky arms. The sensation of thick globules of Shirabu’s cum slipping out of you was enough of a distraction to brush of the intense stare Shirabu aimed at your leaking hole.

Leaning back, Kenjirou fights down the flush on his cheeks from watching his cum slowly dripping out of you, feeling hot under the collar from both the sight and  from the mind-blowing orgasm. Shuffling back, he cleans himself off with a clean tissue in his shirt pocket before tucking himself back into his boxer briefs and pulling up his pants.

Slumped against the table, you felt like a wreck, both inside and out. Dick rearranging your insides aside, you were happy that Shirabu deigned for you to orgasm instead of leaving you a begging mess, which was a very likely move for the bastard.

Your jaw felt sore from how full your mouth was with his tie crammed in. Pulling out the wet article, you tossed it onto the table in his general direction. Kenjirou looks at the crumpled fabric with disgust. Weirdly, he doesn't complain as he gathers some tissues from his bag to wrap the article in until he can get it cleaned.

Choosing not to question his sudden pacified attitude towards you, you pushed yourself up on weak arms. Kenjirou laughs at your struggle, not at all intimidated by your nasty glare.

“Asshole.” You mumble under your breath.

You make quick work of cleaning yourself up too, feeling weirdly exposed bent over and naked from the waist down whilst a fully clothed Shirabu almost looked bored, acting as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out.

Your skirt slides back into place as you stand upright, shortly followed by more of his load trickling out of you. Pinned underneath his burning stare, you refused to give him an inch and fought back the tremble that threatened to overtake your body at the odd sensation.

“Alright, now sit down. Let’s finish this project before I leave and you have to finish fixing up the format by yourself.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

It seems the bastard wouldn’t even let you properly clean up first before diving back into the assignment.

“Really. Now get your lazy ass up, you’re creasing our data sets.”

Not willing to reveal how flustered you were, you downplay your disgust at the feeling his cum drying on your thighs and stiffly walk over to your chair, trying to spy your panties somewhere on the ground, but ultimately found nothing. You could have sworn that Shirabu smirked at your searching looks, but a second glance showed you his normal bored expression.

Sticking your nose up in the air, you start discussing your plan on how to fix the minor issue of formatting. Shirabu gave lackluster nods at your prodding, clearly wanting nothing more than to leave. You did your best to push through the sensation of the sticky mess drying between your legs, internally fretting as to where your panties may lie. You're pretty sure that you'd perish on the spot if a staff member found them.

Thankfully, it took only half an hour before Shirabu beat a hasty retreat, quickly placing all his stuff neatly into his bag and intent on walking out of the room without another word. The fucker wasn’t even going to say goodbye to you.

Shifting in your seat, you start packing up. Eyes wildly darting around, you didn’t notice him pausing in the open doorway.

Glancing over his shoulder, shooting you a dastardly smirk, Kenjirou savours your infuriated expression before turning away and walking off. Slightly confused, you squint as you try to make out an odd-looking lump in his back pocket. At the sight of familiar lace peeking out of his slacks, your eyes widen in shock and indignant rage.

“That bastard.”

Edit: I fixed an incongruity with a bit in the end scene, sorry to anyone that picked it up!!

Notes: We need more Shirabu content so here I am delivering some extremely self-indulgent content. I made Shirabu a dick but I made reader a bitch towards him and he strikes me as the type to hate stuck up people. Hope you all enjoyed!

[petri808]

Paid By the Heart

Bakudeku, A!Bakugou/O!quirkless Midoriya.  Growing up Midoriya was picked on and bullied, harassed by the other sexes. In desperation he turns to the only Alpha he knows, begging for help. They reach a deal for the little Omega to use the Alpha's scent to keep the other's at bay... but was that really a good idea? Intermingling their scents for years had a consequence that left them only one option.

The life of a quirkless person in their world was a sad one, but couple that with being a small Omega; double whammy. Ever since that fateful doctors visit informing his mother, he’d never have a quirk, Midoriya Izuku was shunned at school, even bullied for being a small, gangly nerd. He was easy pickings and there was nothing he could do about it.

By the time he’d hit middle school, life was a lonely existence for the young man. His solace was in books or chronicling the exploits of his favorite hero All Might. For outside of that little bubble, pain and frustration was the norm. If only he’d been born an Alpha or at least a Beta, maybe then he’d gain a small measure of respect, quirkless or not. But no, the universe decided, he was to be an Omega, the lowest of the ranks. Could things get any worse?

The answer was yes. When he wasn’t being bullied, he was being harassed. Horny teen Alpha’s really were a bane of his existence. This lot didn’t care who or what he was, only interested in the scent he gave off. At least going into heat was still a few years away, because that could lead to bigger problems.

Sometimes things got so bad in school, Midoriya would hide in teachers classes or the nurses room until finally one called his mother about it and she promptly put him on scent inhibitors. He’d been too embarrassed to tell her what was going on. At least now he gained a small reprieve, but that didn’t stop the bullying. What could he do?

Midoriya racked his brain to come up with a solution, including quitting school altogether. Not ideal, no, considering learning was one of the few things he actually did enjoy. That’s when he realized, if only he had someone to protect him. Like a bodyguard. But who would be willing to help a small omega? He didn’t have any real friends that were Alpha’s or at least bigger Omega’s. Though he did know one Alpha…

Nah, Bakugou would never willingly help him. Despite growing up around each other, once he was deemed quirkless, the boy shunned him completely. They were complete opposites in personality; him being shy and Bakugou a bastion of anger.

No one dared to mess with Bakugou Katsuki, least get an explosion to the face.

But desperate times, called for desperate measures and Midoriya was tired of the split lips, black eyes, or torn clothing. He didn’t want to be shoved and messed with anymore and the one Alpha, despite their rocky relationship, who didn’t pick on him physically, was Bakugou. So, one day after school and a particularly egregious fight, Midoriya waited at the foot of the staircase of their apartment building. He lived on one floor and the blonde Alpha lived on another. As he waited, thoughts of what he should say worked their way through this analytical mind.

The man wasn’t going to do this willingly, that was a given. Bakugou’s main focus in life has always been power. To get to the top someday as a hero like their idol All Might. Maybe that’s a potential answer, play to the man’s desire to protect. Frankly, Midoriya wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had an alternative. He’ll pay the man to be his bodyguard. Not that he could afford much, but if it took getting a part time job or something, it beat getting assaulted.

He stands up from the step the moment he smells the Alpha coming. ‘Breathe, Izuku, stay calm…’

“Outta my way nerd!”

Midoriya swallows hard, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. “K-Kacchan, I need to talk to you— ask you a-about something.”

“The answer’s no.” The man starts to push past the smaller male. But Midoriya grabs his arm to stop him. He whips around, grabbing the hand on his arm and throwing it off. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Please, Kacchan!” Midoriya grovels with tears streaming down his cheeks. “I can’t take all the bullying anymore.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes. “Nothing I can help you with nerd, now get out of my way before I do hurt you.”

Midoriya drops to his knees with his head hung down. “Kacchan…” He looks up now with sullen eyes, sad and forlorn. “I-I—will you please protect me?!”

“Argh!!!” Bakugou growls. This stupid Omegas scent was filled with such desperation it was rattling his senses! “Deku what the fuck makes you think I’d help you?!”

His shoulders slump further. “I know you have no incentive to help me. I’m just a worthless quirkless Omega. But I’m desperate Kacchan. I have no one else to turn to and I’m willing to pay with whatever I can afford.”

“I don’t want your money idiot.”

“Please! I’ll do anything!”

Fuck!! No matter how much the little freckle-faced mouse irritated him, he could never lash out except with words. Bakugou knew exactly why the man was so desperate, saw him picked on by the other sexes. The fresh cut above the man’s eye and torn shirt was evidence enough, but laying a hand on Midoriya, he just couldn’t do it. Plus, he believed his mother would kill him.

“Ugh!” He groans and snaps. “Fine! But you are gonna pay somehow. You’ll cover my lunches at school for starters and… I don’t fucking know, but I’ll think of something. So, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Oh, thank you Kacchan!” In his elation, Midoriya jumps onto and hugs the larger male, snuggling his face into the man’s neck.

A flush of heat colors Bakugou’s cheeks. “Oi! Oi!” He peels the man off. “Get the fuck off me nerd!” Too close! Too close! Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Midoriya’s earthy scent pleased his inner Alpha and in his happiness that scent exploded.

“S-Sorry, Sorry!” He bows and takes a step back. “Thank you, you saved my life Kacchan.”

“I still don’t know what the fuck you want.” He crosses his arms. “I ain’t just gonna beat people up for you unless I really need to.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen and he waves his hands, “no, I wouldn’t ask you to! I hope that just being around you, or,” his face heats up, “like your presence and scent on me will deter them. And eventually they’ll just stay away out of fear.”

Unlike a lot of the Alphas their age, Bakugou had no desire to engage in primally driven acts. In fact, those types pissed him off too. Just mindless idiots as far as he was concerned. He wasn’t about to let stupid mating instincts distract him from his goals. “So basically, a fake relationship?” His lack of giving a damn about such trivial matters made it easy for him not to care. “As long as I don’t gotta be affectionate and shit.”

“R-Right!” Just the thought of intimacy made Midoriya bloom red. “Yes, nothing like that. Just the illusion of being your property.”

“Ha! I kinda like the sound of that!” Bakugou finally smiles, though more like an evil smirk. “You’ll be my bitch from now on!”

And so that’s how it was for the next few years. Each morning before school, the Omega would swipe a bit of sweat off the Alpha and rubbed it on himself. With the man’s scent on him, all the other Alphas and bullies stayed clear. They never eluded to any relationship, barely even hung out together, but everyone was too afraid to question it. Midoriya quietly went through the school days and for the first time in a very long time, he could finally relax. Even though his life was still lonely.

Once they finished middle school, Bakugou moved on to the prestigious UA Academy for pro heroes in training, while Deku managed to get into their Support program. Turns out his passion for learning and analytics was a skill he could trade on. Since they’d be at the same school, they could keep up the same rouse. Not that Bakugou seemed to care. Though the trade off for his part of the deal had perks with the Omega still footing any request he made.

Things continued unabated for the first two years of high school and Bakugou didn’t pay attention to the subtle changes taking place. Midoriya still dutifully came for his scent every morning before class. The Omega continued to pay for his services. But he failed to notice a change in the Omega’s scent. Where once the smaller male reeked of sadness, now there were hints of elation. The man smiled brighter and even had a bounce to his step. Midoriya was blossoming in the Support program. He had friends to call his own and Bakugou couldn’t be more thrilled the guy wasn’t trying to hang around him anymore.

It wasn’t until the third year was halfway through when the changes became glaringly noticeable. Midoriya continued to pay, but gathering his scent had grown from sporadic to nonexistent. Perhaps he wasn’t in need of Bakugou’s help anymore? No one was bullying him, on the contrary, the Omega was a top student in his program who’d gained the respect of his peers.

Bakugou corners the man outside one day between the dorm buildings. “Oi, Deku, what’s the deal? You don’t need me anymore?” He refused to admit it bothered him to not be needed.

“What do you mean?”

“You keep paying me, but never come for my scent.”

“Oh… well, you see, now that I’ve found my place here, it’s, um, hurting my reputation that I smell like an Alpha. I still pay because I do appreciate everything you did for me Kaachan.”

“What the fuck? You getting all horny now, looking for action but nobody giving you that kind of attention?”

“What?! N-No!” He waves his hands desperate to wipe the statement away. “That’s not it, I’m not looking for that! I’m even on Heat blockers. It’s just, the Alpha’s they treat me differently. They’ll talk to me like they respect me but always at an arms distance and it’s frustrating. Even after a few months without your scent on me, they still keep a distance.”

It was driving Midoriya crazy! So, he started to question, what will happen when he does want to be courted by an Alpha?! What helped in his youth now backfired and the plans were blowing up in his face. The reputation of Bakugou having staked his claim years ago on the Omega would make finding a partner almost impossible unless he could find a way to distance himself. Who in their right mind would dare touch the Lord of Explosions chosen mate?!

“I hope once we graduate and go our separate ways, people will finally realize we’re not together.” Midoriya was sure that once the blonde settled into pro hero life, he’d start dating as well, and that’ll take the heat of his back.

“Tch, well I’m not a charity case, so stop paying me if you ain’t getting a benefit out of it. Guess that’s it.” Bakugou’s turns his back to the man and starts walking away. He tips two fingers, “see ya around nerd!”

Huh? Well that went easier than he’d expected it to. All this time avoiding the conversation only for Bakugou to have no real reaction. Guess this really was just a business transaction for the Alpha. Midoriya shrugs, so be it, and continues on his way.

Unfortunately, things weren’t all that it appeared to be for the Alpha. After walking away from the Omega, a dull pain centered in his chest making it a little hard to breathe. But not wanting to show weakness, Bakugou ignored it and continued to strut back to his dorm room. Perhaps he’d overexerted himself again in the gym.

It’s a pain that started a couple of months ago that came and went, that he equated as simply working too hard. His muscles are still adjusting to the heavy schoolwork on top of the skirmishes the students got pulled into. That had to be the answer, for what else could it be? But after a week of the pain not letting up, Bakugou finally relented and consulted the nurse.

“Well,” the nurse, Recovery Girl sits back on her stool. “Don’t know what to tell ya, cause they ain’t nothin physically wrong with you that I can find. But if you think it’s muscle related, ease up on your workouts and take magnesium supplements.”

“The fuck you sayin old hag?! I can’t stop exercising. My quirk demands a topnotch body!”

She shrugs her shoulders, used to the hotheaded Alpha by now. “Then just learn to live with the pain. It’s not uncommon from pro heroes to suffer from pain, especially those with strong quirks like you have. You’re kinda young, but with how hard you push yourself, it’s inevitable.”

“Argh!” Bakugou storms out of the room. Fucking useless old bat! Two months away from graduation and being told he’s already developing, what, an old person’s problem?! “Fucking hell!” This is bullshit!

He flies it out of the room so quickly, that when he rounds a corner in the hallway, runs smack into a body. “Get the fuck outta my way!!”

“Kacchan?! Oh my god, sorry I didn’t see you coming!”

The world stops cold. “Deku…” suddenly the pain in his chest lessens as the calming scent of the concerned Omega wraps around his body. Bakugou’s eyes flash wide. “Oh, fuck no!” Quick like a bolt of lightning, the Alpha races away leaving the shocked and confused Omega standing there alone calling after him. Bakugou grits his teeth as he beelines it back to his dorm room. ‘It’s just a coincidence!’

“What was that all about?” Midoriya mumbles under his breath. It was the first time he’s seen the Alpha look, scared? No way, the Omega dismisses the notion. Bakugou wasn’t afraid of anything. He must have just been surprised to see him.

He continues on to the lab where he’s close to finishing a new project. The Alpha, Shouto Todoroki, requested a better cooling material for his suit. The pro needed something that insulated the cold from his quirk for a longer lasting effect. That way Hellfire would also be more sustainable.

It was a major nod to the Omega considering the man was up and up against Bakugou in terms of power. Currently, they were the top two pro students and Alpha’s of UA. Plus, Todoroki was not only cute but the complete opposite of Bakugou in personality. He was always kind to the Omega. Not that anything was going on between them! But the minor attention was exactly what triggered him to back away from his old friend.

From that moment in the hallway on, every time Midoriya came into contact with Bakugou, the Alpha turned heel and avoided any interactions. He couldn’t lie that it didn’t hurt just a little. They’d never been the closest friends, but it was as if the blonde was angry with him and that bothered him because he couldn’t understand why? But he also wasn’t gutsy enough to question the man either. Did turning down his scent hurt Bakugou’s pride or ego? Frankly, that would not be surprising.

The day of their graduation was a whirlwind of activity. The stadium packed just like the Sport event; even a similar turn out. Family and friends were there to celebrate, pro’s and companies were there to recruit. First the Support class, then the General studies, and lastly the Heroes courses all went up and received their diplomas. After the ceremony, the students were sent to designated spots to meet with their families and friends first. From there they could venture around to see other people.

“Thanks mom,” Midoriya hugs the crying woman for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

“I’m just so proud of you son!”

A tap on his shoulder cuts into the tender moment. “Forgive me for intruding Mrs. Midoriya. My father would like to meet your son.”

The pair’s eyes widen as the Number One hero stood in front of them. He was such an imposing figure!

“N-Nice to meet you Mr. Endeavor!” Midoriya bows.

“My son tells me you were able to create a better suit for him.”

Midoriya looks to his friend then back to the man. “Yes, sir I did.”

“Good. Perhaps you’ll be very useful in the future.” Endeavor nods his head and simply walks away without another word.

“D-Did he just?!”

“My father would like me to bring you by the agency next week for an interview.”

“Oh, wow really?!”

“Yes,” Todoroki chuckles.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss things,” Mrs. Midoriya cuts in. “It was nice to meet you Todoroki.”

After the goodbyes, the two men continue discussing the interview. Things like what he should bring, how he should dress, and what time to arrive. Midoriya had assumed Endeavor contracted out support work, but it turns out they have in-house staff.

“There is one last thing I would like to discuss.” The Alpha takes hold of the Omegas hand. “You see I’ve grown quite fond of you,” he leans down, sniffing at the scent gland of the smaller males neck. “Your scent…” his voice grows soft like a purr, “I wish to court you properly Midoriya Izuku.”

“W-What?”

“WHAT!?!!”

The feral growl behind him causes Midoriya to flinch. Before he can register just what the hell was going on, he was pushed back and a second Alpha stood between him and Todoroki.

“K-Kacchan?!” He grabs the man’s arm. “Kacchan what are you doing?!”

But the larger male simply grabs hold of him and pushes him back again, all while staring down the other Alpha.

“This mouse is taken,” Bakugou growls low and narrows his eyes, challenging Todoroki.

Todoroki glares back unflinching. “You don’t care about him, only took his money for protection. That doesn’t make him yours Katsuki.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

“You don’t,” the man grins. “Three years I watched from a distance. How he’d sneak into the dorms in the morning, pay for your lunch in the cafeteria, and for what? We could smell you on him yet not once did you two ever hang out with each other.”

“S-So what! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about him! I took the protector role to fucking protect him!”

Todoroki scoffs, “I bided my time and once the daily visits ended, I started making my move. Not once did you ever stop us because you ran away from him! Stupid fool, how dare you decide to claim him now!”

Bakugou lowers his head just slightly, fists clench, and tiny explosions going off in his palms. “Fucking icyhot bastard. You don’t know what I’m feeling. Think I don’t know I fucked up when I shoulda faced the music sooner.” He stares straight up. “But I do know now, Deku’s mine! Hear me?! Mine!! And I am not fucking giving up my mate to you or any other bastard!”

The blonde pulls Midoriya forward, hands gripped to his arms. “Tell him Deku! Tell him you’re mine!”

“But am I? You’ve never shown any interest in me before Kacchan. Todoroki has helped me so much and now because of him, I’ll be interviewing for Endeavors support staff. Yes, your scent protected me from bullies, but I thought it was always just a business transaction.”

“N-no!” Bakugou staggers back clutching to his chest as the pain swiftly doubles. This can’t be happening! “You can’t pick him over me Deku!” The sting of rejection was worse than a villain breaking every bone in his body. He cries out and drops to the ground in a fetal position as the pain rips through his chest and knocks the wind out of him. “Fuck it hurts!” It was too excruciating, so much so, his body was slipping out of consciousness in response.

“Kacchan?!” Midoriya falls to his knees too and grabs the man, shaking him. “Kacchan, what’s wrong with you?!” He felt helpless as the man’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Wow Katsuki… you really do love Midoriya.”

The Omega looks up at Todoroki. “How do you know that?!”

Todoroki points at Bakugou. “If an Alpha covets an Omega but is rebuffed, they are stricken with illness. It only happens when we truly love someone.”

“S-So if I turn you down, you’ll get sick too?!” Why is this whole love stuff so cruel?! This was not what he’d expected to happen! Tears gather in his eyes. “That wasn’t part of the plan. I-I just wanted to know what he really thought about me.”

“Fret not,” Todoroki smiles at him. “You’re cute, but I’m not in love with you. But now that you have your answer, my role is done. I’ll see you at the interview next week,” he winks and walks away to find his girlfriend.

“O-Okay, thank you Todoroki!” Midoriya turns back to the comatose man by his side and continues shaking him. “Kacchan! Please wake up! I’m here! I’m not going anywhere! Just wake up!”

A small crowd gathered around them, but he didn’t care, too concerned with Bakugou’s condition. Had he known an Alpha could suffer like this, he never would have attempted this little rouse. Todoroki was the one who suggested it, but neither of them could have known the blonde had fallen so deeply in love.

With the help of Bakugou’s teacher, Shota Aizawa and another staff member who came on the scene, they take the unconscious Alpha to the infirmary. They place him on one of the beds where Recover Girl checks him over. The man was out cold, but his vitals were steady.

Midoriya takes a seat by the bedside, clutching to his friends hand. It’s been an hour since they’d arrived and according to the nurse, it was now a waiting game. “Please,” the Omega squeezes the Alpha’s hand, “come back to me Kacchan…” He closes his eyes to rest them, laying his head against the man’s arm. He was so emotionally exhausted from the ordeal of the day, but he’s not moving until the man wakes up. Six years and never once he allowed himself to hope, until now.

“Mmmm,” Midoriya stirs at the feeling of fingers treading softly through his hair. “That feels so nice,” he purrs to the familiar scent of burnt sugar he’d come to know so well. It wrapped around, calming, calling the Omega out of his dream.  

Wait! Burnt sugar?! He pops up immediately, “Kacchan?!” Scrambling onto the bed and swaddling the Alpha. “I was so worried,” Midoriya buries his face in the man’s neck. “Why didn’t you just tell me?!” He sniffles.

Bakugou wraps his arms around the man, leaning his head against his and relishing in the contented tones exuding from the Omega’s scent. “I’m up now, so stop crying Deku.” He sighs, “and I didn’t tell you cause I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Yes,” he lifts Midoriya’s face, fixing his eyes in a stare, “I am. All because I didn’t want to admit I was weak for you.”

“So, you really mean it? That you want me to be your mate even though I’m quirkless?”

“Did I fucking stutter? But guess what Deku?”

“What?”

The Alpha kisses him roughly, nipping his lip before pulling away, “I’m claiming my final payment.”

“Oh!” Midoriya giggles, “what’s the payment?”

“You.”

~~~XX~~~

Just because they finally figured things out, didn’t mean either of them wanted to rush into a relationship. It was simply satisfying to know they wanted to be with each other. And for that reason, Midoriya continued to use heat blockers as a birth control, just like he’d done for the last several years.

The Omega respected the fact Bakugou focused on having a good career in the pro hero world. His ambitions to reach the top given a whole new incentive in order to provide for a family one day. But the Alpha was proud of his betrothed’s advances as well. After high school, the up and coming Support technician proved his worth for the Endeavor agency while he himself worked as a side kick to the head man himself.

Bakugou dreamed of one day owning his own agency, but until then, he pushed himself hard under the constant tutelage of the number one hero. They were both paid well at their jobs, and continued to maintain separate homes… for now. The blondes excuse being he would court Midoriya properly this time around.

Except when it came to sex. That part of their relationship was consummated two nights after graduation. In a protected knotting, they marked each other and staked their claims for all to see. Bakugou  had been pleasantly surprised to find the shy, docile man was quite rambunctious in bed. But contrary to popular belief, it was closer to a vanilla encounter.

Both of them had been too excited and also nervous being a first time for either of them. Having been Midoriya’s protector for so long, the Alpha was almost terrified of hurting the smaller Omega and it took gentle coaxing to allay those fears. But in the end they’d been left satisfied and fully affirmed in their decision to spend the rest of their lives together.

Once the workload kicked in, any free time they had were spent together at one or the others apartment. Bakugou would take Midoriya out on dates, to dinners, movies, or anywhere the man fancied though it was rarely a lavish affair. The Omega preferred the quieter moments such as lounging on the couch and cuddling during a movie.

This went on for two years as the Alpha slowly built up a savings. He knew it would be several years before he could buy a bigger house, but soon enough he was ready to afford a 2 bedroom apartment in a nice area of town. So, he made up an excuse to stay with Midoriya while he moved into the new place, furnished, and prepared it to accept a mate.

“Perfect!” The blonde stands with his hands on his hips admiring his handiwork. Everything his Omega will need was purchased and set up in what will be their new nest. He’d spared no expense on a top of the line, plush, memory foam bedding. Extra blankets, pillows, you name it, Bakugou bought it. And last but not least, he scented all the fabrics with his musk. All that remained was surprising Midoriya.

He timed the reveal for the last week of the month, explaining his apartment was ready again and he wanted Midoriya to see the changes.

“Where are we going? This isn’t the direction of your place.”

“It’s the direction to my new place.”

“Kacchan, you moved apartments without telling me?”

He kisses the back of the Omegas hand, “well a surprise isn’t a surprise if I told you about it.”

When the elevator opens, Bakugou leads him to one of the apartments. He opens the door and gestures for the man to enter. “Welcome to your new home Izuku.”

“Huh? My, but I have an apartment…” the Omega gasps when he turns and finds his Alpha on one knee. “K-Kacchan,” his hands fly up in shock and face lights up.

“It’s time to officially cash in my payment chip,” the blonde grins, holding up a ring. “Izuku Midoriya, will you be my life mate?”

Moisture instantly builds in the Omegas eyes, “yes! Yes!” His hands shaky as the Alpha slips the ring onto his finger.

Bakugou gets to his feet and kisses the man slow and steady. He takes Midoriya’s hand. “There’s one thing I really wanna show you, then we’ll go pack up your apartment.”

“Oh my goodness!” The omega squeals at the site of his beautiful new nest and throws himself onto his Alpha, hugging and kissing the man. “Kacchan, you spoil me!”

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he smiles back. “Test it out.”

Midoriya dives onto the bed and bundles the blankets to his nose. It smelled like Bakugou! He closes his eyes with a moan, taking it all in and burying his face into the fabric. The Alpha laughs at how childlike his mate was behaving, but that was Midoriya for you. Just a ray of sunshine who wore his emotions on his sleeve.

While the Omega relishes in his new surroundings, Bakugou just stands back in admiration. To the outside world the pro Alpha hero was a temperamental hothead who took shit from no one. But those in the know, knew Midoriya had him wrapped around his finger.

The Omega never took advantage or made it feel like an obligation. Bakugou just came to realize he could be himself with the man. No keeping secrets or holding back. Their long history delving back almost two decades meant Midoriya knew him well and he Midoriya. This little mouse could calm him down without his Omega pheromones. But boy does those scents drive him wild too!

Just picturing his freckle faced cherub cuddled in his arms with a child between them sent a delectable shiver racing straight to his groin. Bakugou chuckles in his head, probably why the man was smart enough to stay on the birth control, because he knew without it they’d have already started a family before they were ready.

“Join me— Kacchan!” Hands reach out, beckoning him to the bed.

The Alpha grins and plops down close, pulling the Omega to him. He kisses Midoriya’s forehead. “I take it you’re happy?”

“Of course!” The man nestles deeper into his Alphas arms, resting his head against his chest. “But I’d be happy anywhere as long as I have you with me.”

Bakugou relishes in the euphoric scent his mate was giving off. It made his inner Alpha preen with pride. “Never in my life have I wanted a family more than I do in this moment. And I don’t care if they have quirks, are quirkless, as long as they’re healthy, and they’re ours.”

“Mmm, our own family…” child Midoriya’s dreams could never have predicted the life he ended up with. “Sometimes I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Did I ever tell you thank you for pulling that stunt at graduation?”

Midoriya sits up, hesitant, his scent immediately registering anxiety. “No.” Why is he bringing that up now?

But Bakugou counters with calming Alpha pheromones as he pulls his mate back into his arms. “I still can’t stand the smug bastard, but I’m glad icyhot helped you help me get outta my own head or I wouldn’t have this life.”

“You had me so panicked Kacchan! I thought I’d killed you or something.”

“Pfft, I’m tougher then that.” He kisses Midoriya’s forehead, sweeping his thumb lovingly over and caressing the Omega’s cheek with a grin, “but I think in the end I really got the better part of the deal.”

[sliceofsky]

introducing : cary o’hare

〔 scott foley, 49, cis male, he/him ) cary o'hare was seen listening to “ just haven’t met you yet ” by michael buble. cary is the town’s weatherman and known to be bubbly & insecure

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚜

full name ~ cary michael o’hare birthday ~ OCTOBER / 15TH / 1971 job status ~ employed as a weatherman at the local news station relationship status ~ (currently) single orientation ~ gay (closeted)

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚘

tws for : strained family relationships , homophobia , discussion of sex

cary o’hare was the first born child of the upper-middle class o’hare family, named after his mother’s favorite movie star. it was one of the rare concessions at the o’hare patriarch gave to his mother, and he’d never let her forget about it.

from a young age, cary was the picture of raw charisma. grocery store trips took forever, with his mother being halted at every aisle by enchanted older women who wanted to catch a glimpse of the adorable baby cary. his cuteness almost made up for how busy his mom was at all hours of the day, especially when his younger sister became cary’s irish twin, born a little over 9 months after cary was.

his younger sister becomes the bane of his existence as soon as they’re both conscious enough to get on each other’s nerves. they’re close enough in age that the competition is always there, fueled by the teachers, friends, and extracurriculars that they share. they found their niches soon enough: cary was good at sports, while his sister was good at dancing (which elementary-age cary would vehemently insist was the exact OPPOSITE of a sport). their father would go to cary’s games, but not his sister’s recitals, a fact that he accepted without much thought. 

cary’s world, until middle school, was very small. the only people on his mind were him, his family, and his ever-shifting cast of close friends. there wasn’t much room in that world for insecurity or introspection, not when his biggest issue was the occasional fight he and his sister would get into over who’s turn it was on the remote. this all changed when cary was introduced to a fact about himself that made the world so much scarier: people were talking shit about him behind his back. it was the little things, of course- a comment about how stacy from english told someone who told someone who told someone that she thought he was short, or hearing a rumor about himself filter through the grapevine. it was startling, and cary reacted in kind, putting much more thought into his everything. he began to think about the way he dressed, and the way he smiled, and the way that when he answered questions in class, people would remember whether he got them wrong or right. 

suddenly, nothing was more important than his image. he wanted to smell nice, but not too nice, or else his dad would make some mean spirited quip about his son being fruity. he also needed to date girls, but not too many girls, or else they’d think he was a jerk. it was a careful, obsessive balance that he kept, one that dictated everything about the way he acted. 

against all odds, his mission was successful. he was generally well-liked. he had middling grades, and he wasn’t especially happy, but things were working. even the fact that his parents still picked his closest friends based on whether or not mr. o’hare liked their parents couldn’t break his stride. only one thing could truly break his stride, and that was the events of sleepaway camp, the summer before his sophomore year of high school.

sleepaway camp was fun. too fun. he was fast friends with jonah, who lived in a town four hours away from cary’s. over their three week stay at camp timber lake, cary and jonah ended up doing everything together. they shared secrets, snuck out of the cabin late at night to explore the woods, and on one memorable instance, went skinny dipping in the lake. near the end of their time at camp, things changed, suddenly and without warning- cary would blame the full moon. if you interrogated him, he’d insist that the only reason he kissed jonah was because the moon was full, it was the last night of camp, and they were alone in the woods in the dead of the night. he’d also insist that he didn’t mean anything by it, and that it didn’t mean he was gay. the truth, however? temporary insanity didn’t push cary to kiss jonah, and it wasn’t the reason that jonah pushed cary away with a horrified look on his face. much to cary’s relief, neither of them ever spoke about it. it became a secret just as soon as it became a memory, one that cary would agonize over for years after the fact.

cary walked into his sophomore year of high school with this secret heavy on his chest, paired with a desperate need to distract himself from it. he loaded his plate with all kinds of new activities, but the first one (aside from his regular slate of sports) to catch his fascination was learning to drive. he liked driving. he liked being the friend who knew how to do it, and he liked having jovial conversations with his dad about different types of vintage cars. he was the first of his friends to learn how to drive, and he used it to his social advantage. 

3 girlfriends, 2 state championships, and 1 prom king crown later, cary was a senior in high school, choosing between two football scholarships while desperately trying not to think about the gay thing. he would ask his parents for advice, if not for the fact that his dad would kick him out for even considering “the homosexual lifestyle” while his mom would tell him to “not think about it and move on”. he picks his college based on a coin flip, and keeps his mouth shut.

college is a new beast for cary, who’s suddenly thrust into a whole new world. the only time he’d lived somewhere other than the o’hare house (lovingly referred to as the o’house) was at sleepaway camp, but uni? that was a sleepaway camp where there were no rules. his major was undecided, and his time was mostly spent juggling gen eds, the football team, and the rowdy parties that he was invited to. 

the thing that made him decide his major, funnily enough, was a pregnancy scare. he’d hooked up with a cheerleader, more because she was a cheerleader while he was a football player than for any other reason, and three weeks later, she called him in tears, talking about a late period. on the drive to the doctor’s office to check, they got to talking about how they landed in this position. she admitted that she slept with him because he “reminded her of a weatherman”, and his career path was set. once his former hookup was given the clean bill of “not pregnant”, cary felt free to go along his way, rocking every public speaking class and doing pretty-okay on his meteorology courses, his road in life officially planned.

cary didn’t realize that he was capital g Gay until he actually had sex with a man. the process itself was undignified, beginning with eye contact across a dance floor and ending in a stranger’s bed. he was in a strange city, telling all of his friends that he was sick in the hotel while they were out at a bachelor party. he was paranoid at the gay bar, until he let himself get swept up in the music, and consequently, the spirit of lighthearted experimentation. even if when it happened, he’d already graduated from college, it still counted, right? either way, the end product was the same: him, in a stranger’s bed, trying to catch his breath. the guy’s name was paul, and the sex was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. it was electricity, and nerves, and magnetism, and cary was left without a doubt over the fact that he was exactly what he feared.

the years after that encounter moved in a predictable pattern, a cycle that he couldn’t break. first, he’d find some success in his career. then, he’d find a nice girl and try to make it work. then, the relationship would crash and burn. finally, he’d break again, and allow himself a weekend of gay debauchery. sometimes the cycle would take a few weeks to complete, and other times it would take a few years. this cycle filled up years, and then it filled up two decades, until he was 42 years old and truly exhausted. 

his parents wanted him to get married. more than anything, they wanted him to get married. it was one of the few things his mom and his dad agreed on, and in a way, they bonded over it. the whispers about why the local weatherman was a perennial bachelor certainly didn’t help his nerves, neither did the scores of posts from his high school and college friends announcing marriages and pregnancies. 

the big break from his cycle came in the form of hazel robson, a fellow member of a book club that he joined (he wasn’t super into reading, but the flow of a book club was deeply calming to him). their relationship blossomed over the book club pick of “love in the time of cholera”, following an especially insightful note from hazel. he asked her out to coffee, wanting to learn more about her opinion. their initial coffee date was legendary, their conversation lasting through two cups of coffee and an extended walk in the park. cary loved seeing the world through hazel’s eyes- she talked about literature with such a vivid intelligence that it was practically contagious. cary left that first date invigorated, like he was scores more intelligent just from having been in her vicinity. 

cary couldn’t put into words exactly why it worked so well with hazel, even though he didn’t like her that way. he knew, logically, that he was gay, and that he’d never wake up and love hazel the way she deserved to be loved. emotionally, however? he still kind of hoped that that day would come. their relationship continued to progress, without the dramatic endings that he’d gotten used to. what they had wasn’t going down in flames like his attempts at romance before- it was working. when he proposed, it was at the coffee shop where they had their first date, and he refused to let his guilt show on his face. 

things were exactly how his parents wanted it: he was married to a lovely woman, his career was booming, and the for-fun football team that he was a part of kept him in shape. it should’ve been perfect, but cary couldn’t help but feel restless. incomplete. not even his pre-game catchphrase (”my name is cary o’hare, and we are gonna win this thing fair and square!”) could keep that itch of the unfulfilled at bay. it only got worse when he met the living embodiment of everything he couldn’t have: liam lexington.

his father joked that a wandering eye was a normal part of being a married man, but cary suspected that his dad didn’t mean it like this. liam was bold, attractive, and shameless- cary couldn’t quite tell if he wanted to be him or be with him. he decided on the former, after some meaningful eye contact/hand on knee action at an applebee’s post-game celebration. it escalated into a torrid affair, one that he pointedly refused to talk about with liam or anyone else. 

it all fell apart on his 46th birthday. hazel walked into their house, ready to deliver his birthday surprise, only to walk in on liam delivering his birthday surprise. first there was the yelling, then there was the crying, until finally there were divorce papers. right after they both signed, there was a long stretch of silence, standing across from each other. then, cary broke the silence. “you know, hazel, i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but i think one day, you and i are going to laugh about this. i know it’ll be far off in the future, and you hate me right now, but… one day, maybe when we’re old, we’ll be sitting on a porch, and we’ll be laughing about what happened.”

the official party line for the cause of the divorce was the question of kids, leaving cary right back at the start. he was a childless divorcee, and no longer his dad’s favorite. he’s gotten back into the routine of being single and publicly straight, something helped by his now-ex wife moving away. now that she’s back in town, and cary is finding less and less reasons to stay in the closet? it’s about to be a wild year for cary o’hare. 

[artificialqueens]

Gimme Love, 3/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Hey, guys! I hope yall are enjoying this fic so far! Throw me a like please if you do. TW for this chapter: Grief // Homophobia

2003 High School. The bane of my existence. Just as I thought elementary and middle school were terrible, High School really was something else. From my childhood therapy sessions, I learned to conceal my anger, avoid freakouts, and channel my emotions into other things. It was good for me, yeah. But it also made me a more reserved person. Things still made me angry, the other kids at school being a primary key to that. But I never defended myself. Ever. Of course, Jujubee always had my back. Only in later years did I learn to appreciate the times she'd yell at the other kids, telling them to fuck off and whatnot. But back then, I wished she hadn't. It only drew more negative attention. All I wanted was to get through those tough years. I would come home a lot, look at pictures of myself as a child. And I'd be so mad because only then did I see that I wasn't an ugly kid. I was adorable. But, God clearly had favourites 'cause puberty did not do me any favours. If only I had grown up in a more modern time when no one gave a shit about looks. When people were outspoken about the cruelty that came with shaming someone for their looks. When people were more aware of the psychological damage that could do. Again, God had favourites. From years of my eyesight getting worse and needing a new pair of glasses every time I went to the eye doctor, I had thick-rimmed frames that made me look straight out of the 70s. And the lenses made my eyes look huge. I looked like Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys. My hair was bigger but full of split ends due to lack of giving a shit about it. I begged Mom to let me bleach it blonde. She always straight up refused. I had braces for a whole year which, yeah, many people had braces, but one time while answering a question in class, I drooled. And no one let me hear the end of it. And makeup wasn't something I really fucked with. I tried it once, safe and sound in my own bedroom, and it looked woeful. Instead of working to get better, I accepted defeat in that I would always be ugly. "I'm serious, girl. The foundation was so bad. And it was too dark." I ranted to Jujubee as we headed to the bus stop. I was trying to smoke my cigarette as fast as I could before getting there. Mom never knew, and what she didn't know couldn't kill her. Of course, I didn't just go into the store and buy them myself. Instead, I took one a day from my Grandpa's supply. "Girl, you gotta test it first." She pointed out, adjusting her bag straps. "Juju, I got the lightest colour they had. I don't fucking get it. Every other girl in the school uses it. Maybelline shouldn't sell this shit." "You just need to find a different brand." She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me closer, "OK, don't tell my Mom, but I tried some of her MAC shit the other day, and my skin looked fucking flawless." She let me go, took my cigarette from me, taking a toke herself. "Well, how am I supposed to get my hands on that?" I took the cig back. "I don't see any MAC stores around here." "Oh, yeah? Well, you know what your Other World self would do?" Jujubee's brow raised, a sweet grin appearing on her mischievous face. "She would say fuck school, hop on the next bus to Cleveland and go straight to the MAC store." Blowing out some smoke, I looked at her, "Well, Other World you wouldn't be encouraging that sort of behaviour." "No, she wouldn't 'cause she'd be the first on the bus." Jujubee countered. "And she'd start the sing-song." "Yeah, well other world me would out-sing you 'cause she's a star. She's a fucking diva, bitch. Mariah Carey has nothing on her." We were too caught up in our fantasy world; we almost missed the vehicle driving past us. Only when we saw the cackling faces of the boys at the back of the bus did realisation take over. We were going to miss the bus. "Fuck." I uttered, watching the guys still flipping us off as they moved further and further away. To make matters worse, a car pulled up beside us. And of fucking course, it was Trevor Preston, the Captain of the football team. His two sidekicks were in the

back seat, Logan and Noah. "Aw, look, guys. The geeks just missed the bus." Trevor fake whined. In these situations, I just shut down. I thought it was for the best at the time, but fuck, if I could go back and punch that guy. "You know what? Why don't you mind your own fucking business, Trevor?" Jujubee squinted her eyes at him. “Wow, little fiesty, Juju.” He continued, "How about this? We all say sorry, and we can both ride with us to school." 'Hell fucking no.' I thought. "Oh yeah? And what's the catch?" Jujubee raised a brow. "You let me feel your tits," Trevor smirked, his two cronies snickered. "Ah, there it is. I thought that was what your pea-sized brain would come up with." Jujubee nodded her head. "So, hey, Brianna," Trevor shifted his attention, "You're awfully quiet. Don't I at least get a hello?" I was still frozen, feeling my anxiety brewing within. "Dude, don't be so sensitive. You know, if she opens her mouth, she'll just drool all over herself." Logan added, the three axe wounds beginning to snicker again. I felt like I should have at least opened my mouth to prove them wrong, or maybe spit on Trevor's car. But still, I just stood there. "Trevor, if you don't fuck off right now, I'm gonna key your car." Jujubee threatened. "Juju." I tried to stop her. "Wouldn't even have the chance, sweetheart. Either of you bitches come near my car; you'll never walk the halls again." How gentleman-like, threatening two girls. Funny how our safety was the price to pay for a car. Oh, men. "Keep that in mind," Trevor concluded before driving away with dumb and dumber. "You didn't have to do that." I looked at Jujubee. "I'm sorry they're such assholes." She replied, taking my hand in hers. I shook it off, however. "No, I mean, I wish you wouldn't do that." Jujubee crossed her brows, "what? So I'm supposed to sit there and just take it? No fucking way." "I know. But," I paused, "they kinda scare me. You know?" "Brie, there's nothing more pathetic than a man sweating over the safety of his ride." She retook my hand, "Don't be afraid of a cunt like him." "I mean, I can try not to. But I can't make any promises." I shrugged. "Anyway, what's the plan? How are we supposed to get there on time?" Jujubee was silent for a moment before replying with, "my Mom?" Her Mom did end up giving us a ride, much to my dismay. I would have preferred to take the day off. Or better yet, to just fucking drop out altogether. But Jujubee was always there to reassure me - I adored that bitch. I would have fucking taken a bullet for her. I would like to say that it wasn't just Jujubee and me, that we had a group of more friends. But these guys, I never really counted them as friends. A year prior, we both decided to try and improve our social lives by joining a club. The only one that would accept us was the chess club. Every other member was a guy, and they were nerds. Not that Jujubee and I minded. However, the problem was that they only let us in because...well, do I even need to explain? "So, Brianna," Jimmy decided to approach me at the end of one session, licking his hand and sweeping his hair from his face. "Because I beat you twice today, what do I get?" "...Excuse me?" "My prize. What do I get??" He put an arm around my shoulders. I was puzzled, "Uh, you can have my chicken nuggets at lunch." His grin was beginning to disappear. "Oh, I was thinking of something else. A kiss, maybe?" I felt bad for doing it, but my fight or flight response told me to just run from the room. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but these guys were just on another level of thirst. And it wasn't just me who they flirted with. Jujubee had informed me of a time Arnold convinced her to make out with him. She was all for it until she realised how awful of a kisser he was. And as the boys became more desperate, we decided that we were better off alone. Again, I was so grateful for Jujubee. I was surprised she stuck around, considering she had seen me at my worst when we were still so young. How the fuck had she not developed

issues of her own? Jujubee was the number one reason I even found the strength to just get up in the morning, drag my ass to school, and do my work - Well, aside from wanting to get good grades so I could go to a good college. The second reason? Blair. Unlike me, she was thriving. Our lives were totally cliche - me being the kid who grew up to be the nerd who only speaks when it's to answer a question. And Blair, growing up to be the head cheerleader. And I was still very much in love with her. What a fucking cliche. I avoided Blair at all costs for several reasons;

differing social circles (in my case, lack of),

her boyfriend, who was the Captain of the soccer team and wasn't shy about giving me and Jujubee grief,

her friends,

and, of course, my massive crush on her.

So, why was Blair the second reason as to why I dragged myself to school? Her smile. That was enough. As much as I tried to avoid her, the world decided to do a big "fuck you" on me and sometimes put us into situations together. And every time, I'd be internally freaking out. The worst was when we were both 16. It was that time of the year when the school would invite someone to subject us to the most humiliating moment of our lives. How the fuck were you supposed to put a condom on a banana without bursting out laughing? How the fuck were you supposed to sit there and keep a straight face when the educator used words like 'flaps'? We filed into the class, Jujubee and me taking seats at the back of the room. We knew this was going to be hilarious, so best to avoid the attention of the teacher. "Juju, I know you are dying to make jokes during this, but I'm begging you. Please don't." I spoke quietly to her as other students filed in. "But you know I'm going to, right?" Jujubee smirked, putting her bag on the ground. "No. We wanna keep a low profile. If we laugh, we draw attention, and then we risk being singled out. You know? We'll be at the front of the class demonstrating whatever this bitch asks us." Obviously, I was referring to putting condoms on bananas and the like. Juju, however, raised a brow, "I wouldn't mind that, babe. Don't worry. We won't need to take our clothes off." I stared at her for a few seconds, unable to think of how to respond to that. Jujubee winked, and I forced myself to look away. "That's not what I meant." Blair strolled in with Denali and Rosé, already I could feel my stomach knotting. They went to sit together somewhere in the middle. "Ugh, nope. I don't think so, ladies." Ah, Miss Jaida Hall, if only I could have warned you not to say what you were about to say. Somehow Blair and the two others knew she was speaking to them. She continued, "This is an important class, and I'm not gonna have you all laughing and snickering during it." She had a point. The three girls usually whispered to each other in class, giggling about all sorts of shit. It was never anything malicious about the lesson or teachers, just inside jokes with each other, pretty harmless stuff. But it pissed the teachers off so much. "You can't be serious, right?" Denali replied, clearly scandalised. "Very serious, actually." Ms Hall nodded, "Denali, sit with Brian. Rosé, with Gigi. Blair, with Brianna." I grabbed Jujubee by the wrist, the pressure making her squeak. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. Blair was not rolling her eyes as she made her way to the back towards me. This was not fucking happening. As instructed, Jujubee stood up and let Blair sit down, moving to sit somewhere else. I was alone with the one person I tried my hardest to avoid. She slouched down in her chair, arms folded like she was already over it. I wanted so badly to ask if she was OK. But I couldn't bring myself to. And as the lights turned off and the sex-ed lady pressed play on the video player, I wished I had said something. As the way too enthusiastic narrator explained step by step the act of sexual intercourse, I tried hiding the blush on my face with my hair. I tried so hard to focus on what I was being taught. The truth was, I was still a virgin, as were many of the others in the room, I'm sure. But unlike them, I had no idea how sex worked. It wasn't something I ever gave time to think about. I felt a tapping on my hand. My body tensed as I glanced to the side. Blair was looking at the screen, then at me, then her fingers brushed against my hand. I stared back, unsure of what was happening but also knowing full well what she was doing. She leaned closer and pressed her lips on mine. … OK, that's not what happened. Life wasn't a movie. This was the beginning of the fantasies. Was I ashamed because I was thinking about Blair like that? Or was I ashamed that I enjoyed thinking of Blair like that? "This is ridiculous," Blair whispered. Was I supposed to say something back? "What do you mean?" I

whispered back. "Do they actually think we're that dumb? We all know how sex works. We don't need this stupid class." Blair rolled her eyes. I almost told her that I belonged to the small percentage that didn't know. But I stopped myself. I couldn't bear her knowing that information. Instead, I went with the awkward, "haha. Yeaaahhhh…" For the rest of the film, we sat in silence. Still trying to focus on the screen. Not the absolute stunner sitting next to me. And as if by magic, the video ended. I wanted to say I was relieved, but I couldn't lie; what I learned from the film left me nauseous. He puts his hoo-ha in her what, now?? "Well, that was really cool and hip, right?" The educator enthused. I cringed internally. No woman wearing a crucifix necklace and ankle-length skirt has the right to use words like 'cool' and 'hip'. "I know it's probably all so confusing. So that's why I'm here to answer any of your questions, dudes and dudettes." Already, one of the boys put a hand up. "Go ahead, homie." "What about the other hole?" He said with a straight face before his friends started laughing. He laughed back as he fired one of them. "You know. The back door?" Ms Hall shot him the 'look'. He was toast. The sex educator fixed her hair quite uncomfortable, "Well, there's a reason that is an out hole, young man. I warn all of you, do not go down that road. You will get aids and die. Now, does anybody else have a question?" The educator rambled, fixing her hair awkwardly. I heard the rustling of clothes beside me, and glancing around, Blair had her hand straight up in the air. "Yes, sweetheart?" Sex Ed lady pointed to her. "OK, so this is interesting and all, but I was just wondering, what about non-heterosexual sex?" Her brows knit for a moment. I looked around at her now. The breath caught in my throat. "I'm sorry?" Sex Ed lady asked. "You know. Man on man. Girl on girl. What about all of that?" Blair raised a brow. "I mean, you gotta know there's more than just heterosexual people out there. Maybe some even in this room right now." "Blair." Ms Hall began. "Because, if you disagree, then that's ridiculous. Oh, and if you think aids is some kind of death sentence, then you seriously need to educate yourself." Sex ed lady looked appalled, her Christian beliefs quite clearly threatened. "That's it. Get out." Ms Hall stood up. Blair huffed, pushing her seat back, lifted her bag and left the room, Ms Hall following behind. "OK. So, any other questions? Reasonable questions only, please." Jujubee was looking over her shoulder at me now, sharing the same expression I did. Thank God for lunch next period. Jujubee and I were hiding at the back of the school, in an alley between the building itself and the old workshops. The perfect hiding place for a smoke and to freak the fuck out about specific events. "Juju, she knows. She knows I'm a lesbian. She knows I like her." I paced. "I'm moving. That's it." I stopped. "But why would she speak up for me of all people? It doesn't make sense." My eyes widened. "Unless she's also a lesbian. I mean, that makes sense, right?" Jujubee had been sitting on the wall, patiently listening to my manic ramblings. The first few minutes, she was just as astounded. But the more I theorised, rambling on and on, she was over it. "I highly doubt that considering the boyfriend." "Then she must know. Why else would she say it? I highly doubt there are other gays in that class. Speaking of which, I had no idea lesbians could have sex like; how does that work. I'm gonna look into that somehow. But getting back to the point, if she did know, why would she speak out for me of all people?" My ramblings were non-stop. I tried my best to avoid Blair for the rest of the day, not that I could, considering we were both in the same last period. Blair's outburst was the talk of the school. I wasn't sure if it was a positive response or not. The only thing I did know was Trevor was pissed. "Brie, look." Jujubee tapped me. I turned from my locker and looked where everyone else seemed to be

looking. Just down the corridor, Trevor was standing over Blair, their conversation clearly heated. People were shamelessly moving closer, Jujubee following in their path. "Juju, don't," I whispered. But she didn't listen. I went after her as if it would stop her. "Trevor, this isn't that big of a deal," Blair said. "Not a big deal? Blair, do you know what the guys are saying? They think you're gonna dump me for a girl. Do you know how humiliating that is?" Trevor held a hand to his chest "And what if I did?" Blair challenged. The few people standing around cooed with excitement. "Oh, please. Don't get all cocky now that you have an audience." Trevor pointed. But Blair took a step closer to him. "What, 'cause you know you're the one who looks like an idiot? Maybe if you weren't so insecure, you'd know I would never do that to you." "Don't call me an idiot." Trevor lowered his tone, choosing purposely to ignore her reassurance. "Fine. But don't criticise me for a valid question I asked in a class you weren't even a part of. It's none of your business, no one's business for that matter." Blair bit back. "I can do what I want, Blair." "OK. Whatever." Blair brushed past him. Trevor quickly spun around, grabbing her arm. "No, we're not done having this conversation." My stomach twisted. "Let go of my arm, Trevor." Blair tugged, her voice cracking. Trevor did as was told now that the air was thick with tension, "We are not done talking," he stressed. Blair took a step back, "Yeah, we are, actually," and she turned to walk away. "If you walk away right now, we're finished." Trevor threatened. It was as if time was at a standstill, waiting for her reaction. But at the same time, it felt as though time was counting down. Like we were in a competition show. The contestant has to decide before time runs out, while the audience yells, 'DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!' No one was shouting, but you could feel everyone's excitement. Blair's lip curled upwards. "OK. Fine by me." And, finally, she walked off. The people were cooing with excitement again. "Shut up!" Trevor shouted. I grabbed Jujubee by the shoulder and ushered her back. Trevor kicked his locker, the thud echoing through the halls. That was the last straw. Knowing Trevor, he'd take his anger out on us. It was time to flee the scene. It was all Jujubee wanted to talk about for the rest of the day. Now I knew how she felt during my smoke break. But I couldn't blame her. The scene played in my head over and over again, leading to so many questions. Was there more to this breakup? Did he grab Blair like that all the time? What would happen now? Would she find a new guy? A girl, maybe? I came to the conclusion that Blair and Trevor's breakup was neither good nor bad. Bad because, as I said before, now he had more pent up anger from the humiliation of being so publicly dumped. Therefore, Jujubee and I would most likely be subject to more harassment. Good, because maybe Blair did like girls. Maybe there was still some little chance for us to be together. But if we were going to be together, there was one issue; I still had no fucking idea how lesbian sex worked. Cut to later that night, I'm in my room, sitting in front of my computer. I needed to distract myself from my thoughts of the breakup. While the scratchy dial-up tones emitted the machine, I psyched myself up. Even though I knew sex was normal to learn about at that age, it was still daunting. With shaky hands, I searched 'lesbian sex'. And fuck was it a mistake. What I wanted was educational articles, guides, etc. And what I got was porn. I watched all but a few minutes, all the painfully bad acting scenes that took place before the main event. Upon hearing the first moan, I clicked out as fast as I could. Looking behind me, Piggie was just playing with a stuffed animal on my bed. "You saw that, right?" He looked at me with perked ears. I still felt judged, so I opened my bedroom door and let him out. I needed to be exact. 'How do lesbians have sex?' And Brianna Caldwell was never the

same. My mind was opened that night. This was no mistake. This was a surprise. I couldn't look away from the computer screen, no matter how slow the Internet connection was. All of this information was all too much but not enough at the same time. And it made me feel less nauseated than I felt after watching that stupid video in class. And I built up the courage to go back to that porn site. And I watched every damn second. Then I watched another one. And another. And just one more 'cause why the fuck not? My bedroom door opened. "Brianna, I'm ordering - -" "Get out," I shouted, closing the site down like my life depended on it. But she stood there for a few seconds, eyes wide and hand still on the door frame. "Honey, are you - -" "Mom, oh my god. Can you just - -" I couldn't even form a proper sentence. She gave an apologetic look and closed the door. But she remained on the other side. "I just wanted you to know that I'm ordering pizza for Grandpa and me. Do you want some?" My forehead was in my hand now. "Yes." "What kind?" "Just…" I wanted to shout, "Pepperoni." And with that, she left. But that wasn't the end of it. When the food arrived, I waited a few minutes before going downstairs to grab a few slices. Grandpa was in the living room watching an old rerun of The A-Team. But she was there, in the kitchen, as if she was waiting for me. "Honey, look. I know you're getting to that age where you're curious about certain things and - -" "Mom, no. Please, don't do this." I whined. "I know. I know. I just wanted to let you know that this is natural, and…" she continued to deliver the same talk we all got in class. My eyes were wide, face red with humiliation. -_-_-_- 2020 I picked up a slice of pepperoni pizza, instantly reminded of the traumatic event. OK, maybe that was too strong of a word to use. But of course, you are going to dread the thought of that time your parent talked to you about sex. I walked into the living room, pizza slice in hand, trying not to dwell on the memory. "So, Brianna. Any update on the love life?" Tamisha asked. I loved that bitch; being one of Mom's closest friends, she was present for most of my life. But she always had a tendency to ask questions I wasn't up for answering. I took a bite from my pizza and answered with a full mouth, "dry." "Girl, you're almost 40." She continued. I was ready to challenge her because I was actually just 33 when Mom took her turn to speak. "Yeah, get yourself a man and make me a Grandma already." She wasn't serious. She knew I hated these types of talks, but that didn't stop her from encouraging the others. The funny thing about the time she caught me watching porn, she never clocked it was girl on girl. Of all the years I've been on this planet, I hadn't given her a clue that I was a lesbian. Would I ever tell her? I didn't see the point. From previous failed relationships and being too busy with my job, I wouldn't end up with someone anyway. But of course, I'd make an exception for a certain someone. Monét poured the first round of shots. I already knew I'd hate myself the next day. I wasn't drunk already. Just sort of buzzed. But that changed within an hour. I was hammered. Mom, Monét and all her friends were singing all the old songs in the living room. I was out in the kitchen, trying to drink 8 glasses of water. I only managed 3. Piggie ran in and put his paws up on my knee. "There he is. My baby. My fucking son." I slid down to the ground and let him sit in my lap. "How is your night going?" Just great, Brianna! Anyway, how about that Blair girl, huh? Piggie's non-existent voice said. "Oh yeah," my eyes narrowed. I unlocked my phone and opened up Facebook. And I bravely searched up her name. I say bravely because it does take some balls to go and stalk your crushes social media accounts. All it took to fuck everything up was the slip of a finger, and before you know it, you've liked a post or sent a friend request. "Let's do some digging, Piggie." I cuddled him. Immediately, she was the top result, with Jujubee

being the only mutual friend. "Yeah, girl. Infiltration." I commented as I clicked into her profile. And then her profile picture. "Holy shit." She hadn't aged. She still looked as young and radiant as she did back in high school. "What do you think, Piggie?" I showed him the screen. He glanced at it before tucking his head under his arms. The enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes. I looked at her info. 'Single'. Promising. Scrolling down to her timeline, I noticed she didn't post a lot. Fair enough. Facebook was becoming a dead site in recent years. There were just your average Facebook posts, sharing giveaway posts, a post from an old lady saying, 'Blair, this is Granny. Could you go to Walmart and get me some applesauce? Love granny xx', a shared post from a guy called George Miller. And my finger stopped scrolling upon seeing Blair holding a baby. "Oh God, we've encountered our first obstacle, Piggie," I whined. I clicked into the comments. That George Miller guy commented, 'congrats, Blair!' She replied, 'thank you, but she's my cousin's lol'. "Thank you, Jesus." I put my phone down for a moment to put my hand up to the good lord. I scrolled some more, seeing many inspirational quotes, a link to Adore You by Harry Styles. And a picture of her. With that George Miller guy. With his arms around her. Pressing a kiss to her temple. I could feel my heart sink the more I studied it. Yeah, I knew Blair and I were never meant to be anyway. But it was still upsetting. Relax. They could be friends. Yeah, that's right. Friends hold each other and act all affectionate, right?? I cuddle with Jujubee sometimes. That doesn't mean anything. Right? I needed evidence, just anything, to make it not true. I scrolled some more. There was a video, she was sitting on her sofa, with a girl playing the guitar sitting on the other end. "I've been running races on empty, Pour it up 'cause my cup so empty. Gotta make time for the real me. I've been running, I've been running on empty." And my nerves were settled again. I had only heard Blair sing a few times. She and her friends would pretend they were famous singers in early elementary years, and she'd always be the best. Then another time was in high school, at the winter talent show. I specifically remember it being A moment like this by Kelly Clarkson. It was unreal. 'Jujubee 💋💅🏽 is typing…' I clicked into Snapchat before she even had a chance to type the whole message. "Do you remember Jujubee?" I asked Piggie. Again, he was silent. 'I hope you're having fun, babe ❤ lv u'. "Thanks," was all I could manage to type. A shadow cast over me. I looked up to see Monét join me on the ground. "Hey, girl." She greeted me. "Hi, Aunt Monét." I smiled. Piggie hopped off my lap and onto hers. "Aunt Monét? Honey, you haven't called me that since middle school." She smiled. I returned the smile, only mine probably looking goofy. "I'm just wasted." "I noticed. No more shots for you anyway." She noted, taking a drink from her own bottle. "Anyway, how's the project?" "We got fucking Ed Sheeran involved." I then cursed myself internally for bringing it up. "I heard. Your Mom was telling me. Ugh, girl, why him? Why not someone like…" she paused to think, "like Beyonce. Or Lady Gaga." "OK, man-hater." I quipped, reaching over to pet Piggie. "Not true. Not all men are bad." Monét pointed out. "Speaking of which, when are you getting yourself one?" I could have given her the usual 'I don't have time for men's talk. But the alcohol said no. "Monét, I like girls." And I felt no shame in saying it. A moment of silence fell between us before she asked, "for real?" "Yeah." I nodded. "Does anyone else know?" "Yeah. Juju. And Piggie probably." I replied, leaving one more name out for the sole purpose I didn't want to get into that. "And Mom?" "Nope." She nodded. "I guess this is one of these aunty-niece confidentiality things?" "Uh-huh." I smiled. Bless Aunt Monét. "Well, no matter who you live, we still love you." She laughed for a moment before taking another drink. I knew

she was right. Maybe coming out to Mom wasn't such a bad idea. "You know what, Brianna?" She paused, "Grandpa would be so proud of you, right?" My smile slowly began to drop. Fuck, the touchy subject. "Oh, I...thanks." I thought the change in my mood was hard to miss, but Monét clearly had. "You and I ain't ever talked about him since...you know." "OK," I said quietly, feeling like my chest was a fist, beginning to clench tighter and tighter. "And sometimes, it's just good to look back on - -" "I gotta go." I quickly stood up, feeling the dark fog already come over me. I rushed from the room, my aunty calling my name and apologising. I avoided going into the living room, rushing up the stairs and racing for the bathroom. As soon as the door was locked, I let myself crumble, my face hidden beneath shaking hands, a cry clogged in my throat just begging to belt out. Mom would definitely hear it. I wasn't going to ruin her day. Absolutely not. Tags: rpdr fanfiction // s10 // as5 // miz cracker // jujubee // blair st clair // blair x cracker // denali foxx // rose // fluff // coming of age // hurt/comfort // lesbian au // highschool au // grinder // tw grief // tw homophobia [Cover image here] AN: Hey, guys! I hope yall are enjoying this fic so far! Throw me a like please if you do. TW for this chapter: Grief // Homophobia [read more] 2003 High School. The bane of my existence. Just as I thought elementary and middle school were terrible, High School really was something else. From my childhood therapy sessions, I learned to conceal my anger, avoid freakouts, and channel my emotions into other things. It was good for me, yeah. But it also made me a more reserved person. Things still made me angry, the other kids at school being a primary key to that. But I never defended myself. Ever. Of course, Jujubee always had my back. Only in later years did I learn to appreciate the times she'd yell at the other kids, telling them to fuck off and whatnot. But back then, I wished she hadn't. It only drew more negative attention. All I wanted was to get through those tough years. I would come home a lot, look at pictures of myself as a child. And I'd be so mad because only then did I see that I wasn't an ugly kid. I was adorable. But, God clearly had favourites 'cause puberty did not do me any favours. If only I had grown up in a more modern time when no one gave a shit about looks. When people were outspoken about the cruelty that came with shaming someone for their looks. When people were more aware of the psychological damage that could do. Again, God had favourites. From years of my eyesight getting worse and needing a new pair of glasses every time I went to the eye doctor, I had thick-rimmed frames that made me look straight out of the 70s. And the lenses made my eyes look huge. I looked like Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys. My hair was bigger but full of split ends due to lack of giving a shit about it. I begged Mom to let me bleach it blonde. She always straight up refused. I had braces for a whole year which, yeah, many people had braces, but one time while answering a question in class, I drooled. And no one let me hear the end of it. And makeup wasn't something I really fucked with. I tried it once, safe and sound in my own bedroom, and it looked woeful. Instead of working to get better, I accepted defeat in that I would always be ugly. "I'm serious, girl. The foundation was so bad. And it was too dark." I ranted to Jujubee as we headed to the bus stop. I was trying to smoke my cigarette as fast as I could before getting there. Mom never knew, and what she didn't know couldn't kill her. Of course, I didn't just go into the store and buy them myself. Instead, I took one a day from my Grandpa's supply. "Girl, you gotta test it first." She pointed out, adjusting her bag straps. "Juju, I got the lightest colour they had. I don't fucking get it. Every other girl in the school uses it. Maybelline shouldn't sell this shit." "You just need to find a different brand." She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me

closer, "OK, don't tell my Mom, but I tried some of her MAC shit the other day, and my skin looked fucking flawless." She let me go, took my cigarette from me, taking a toke herself. "Well, how am I supposed to get my hands on that?" I took the cig back. "I don't see any MAC stores around here." "Oh, yeah? Well, you know what your Other World self would do?" Jujubee's brow raised, a sweet grin appearing on her mischievous face. "She would say fuck school, hop on the next bus to Cleveland and go straight to the MAC store." Blowing out some smoke, I looked at her, "Well, Other World you wouldn't be encouraging that sort of behaviour." "No, she wouldn't 'cause she'd be the first on the bus." Jujubee countered. "And she'd start the sing-song." "Yeah, well other world me would out-sing you 'cause she's a star. She's a fucking diva, bitch. Mariah Carey has nothing on her." We were too caught up in our fantasy world; we almost missed the vehicle driving past us. Only when we saw the cackling faces of the boys at the back of the bus did realisation take over. We were going to miss the bus. "Fuck." I uttered, watching the guys still flipping us off as they moved further and further away. To make matters worse, a car pulled up beside us. And of fucking course, it was Trevor Preston, the Captain of the football team. His two sidekicks were in the back seat, Logan and Noah. "Aw, look, guys. The geeks just missed the bus." Trevor fake whined. In these situations, I just shut down. I thought it was for the best at the time, but fuck, if I could go back and punch that guy. "You know what? Why don't you mind your own fucking business, Trevor?" Jujubee squinted her eyes at him. “Wow, little fiesty, Juju.” He continued, "How about this? We all say sorry, and we can both ride with us to school." 'Hell fucking no.' I thought. "Oh yeah? And what's the catch?" Jujubee raised a brow. "You let me feel your tits," Trevor smirked, his two cronies snickered. "Ah, there it is. I thought that was what your pea-sized brain would come up with." Jujubee nodded her head. "So, hey, Brianna," Trevor shifted his attention, "You're awfully quiet. Don't I at least get a hello?" I was still frozen, feeling my anxiety brewing within. "Dude, don't be so sensitive. You know, if she opens her mouth, she'll just drool all over herself." Logan added, the three axe wounds beginning to snicker again. I felt like I should have at least opened my mouth to prove them wrong, or maybe spit on Trevor's car. But still, I just stood there. "Trevor, if you don't fuck off right now, I'm gonna key your car." Jujubee threatened. "Juju." I tried to stop her. "Wouldn't even have the chance, sweetheart. Either of you bitches come near my car; you'll never walk the halls again." How gentleman-like, threatening two girls. Funny how our safety was the price to pay for a car. Oh, men. "Keep that in mind," Trevor concluded before driving away with dumb and dumber. "You didn't have to do that." I looked at Jujubee. "I'm sorry they're such assholes." She replied, taking my hand in hers. I shook it off, however. "No, I mean, I wish you wouldn't do that." Jujubee crossed her brows, "what? So I'm supposed to sit there and just take it? No fucking way." "I know. But," I paused, "they kinda scare me. You know?" "Brie, there's nothing more pathetic than a man sweating over the safety of his ride." She retook my hand, "Don't be afraid of a cunt like him." "I mean, I can try not to. But I can't make any promises." I shrugged. "Anyway, what's the plan? How are we supposed to get there on time?" Jujubee was silent for a moment before replying with, "my Mom?" Her Mom did end up giving us a ride, much to my dismay. I would have preferred to take the day off. Or better yet, to just fucking drop out altogether. But Jujubee was always there to reassure me - I adored that bitch. I would have fucking taken a bullet for her. I would like to say that it wasn't just Jujubee and me, that we had a group of more friends. But these guys, I never really counted them as

friends. A year prior, we both decided to try and improve our social lives by joining a club. The only one that would accept us was the chess club. Every other member was a guy, and they were nerds. Not that Jujubee and I minded. However, the problem was that they only let us in because...well, do I even need to explain? "So, Brianna," Jimmy decided to approach me at the end of one session, licking his hand and sweeping his hair from his face. "Because I beat you twice today, what do I get?" "...Excuse me?" "My prize. What do I get??" He put an arm around my shoulders. I was puzzled, "Uh, you can have my chicken nuggets at lunch." His grin was beginning to disappear. "Oh, I was thinking of something else. A kiss, maybe?" I felt bad for doing it, but my fight or flight response told me to just run from the room. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but these guys were just on another level of thirst. And it wasn't just me who they flirted with. Jujubee had informed me of a time Arnold convinced her to make out with him. She was all for it until she realised how awful of a kisser he was. And as the boys became more desperate, we decided that we were better off alone. Again, I was so grateful for Jujubee. I was surprised she stuck around, considering she had seen me at my worst when we were still so young. How the fuck had she not developed issues of her own? Jujubee was the number one reason I even found the strength to just get up in the morning, drag my ass to school, and do my work - Well, aside from wanting to get good grades so I could go to a good college. The second reason? Blair. Unlike me, she was thriving. Our lives were totally cliche - me being the kid who grew up to be the nerd who only speaks when it's to answer a question. And Blair, growing up to be the head cheerleader. And I was still very much in love with her. What a fucking cliche. I avoided Blair at all costs for several reasons;

differing social circles (in my case, lack of),

her boyfriend, who was the Captain of the soccer team and wasn't shy about giving me and Jujubee grief,

her friends,

and, of course, my massive crush on her.

So, why was Blair the second reason as to why I dragged myself to school? Her smile. That was enough. As much as I tried to avoid her, the world decided to do a big "fuck you" on me and sometimes put us into situations together. And every time, I'd be internally freaking out. The worst was when we were both 16. It was that time of the year when the school would invite someone to subject us to the most humiliating moment of our lives. How the fuck were you supposed to put a condom on a banana without bursting out laughing? How the fuck were you supposed to sit there and keep a straight face when the educator used words like 'flaps'? We filed into the class, Jujubee and me taking seats at the back of the room. We knew this was going to be hilarious, so best to avoid the attention of the teacher. "Juju, I know you are dying to make jokes during this, but I'm begging you. Please don't." I spoke quietly to her as other students filed in. "But you know I'm going to, right?" Jujubee smirked, putting her bag on the ground. "No. We wanna keep a low profile. If we laugh, we draw attention, and then we risk being singled out. You know? We'll be at the front of the class demonstrating whatever this bitch asks us." Obviously, I was referring to putting condoms on bananas and the like. Juju, however, raised a brow, "I wouldn't mind that, babe. Don't worry. We won't need to take our clothes off." I stared at her for a few seconds, unable to think of how to respond to that. Jujubee winked, and I forced myself to look away. "That's not what I meant." Blair strolled in with Denali and Rosé, already I could feel my stomach knotting. They went to sit together somewhere in the middle. "Ugh, nope. I don't think so, ladies." Ah, Miss Jaida Hall, if only I could have warned you not to say what you were about to say. Somehow Blair and the two others knew she was speaking to them. She continued, "This is an important class, and I'm not gonna have you all laughing and snickering during it." She had a point. The three girls usually whispered to each other in class, giggling about all sorts of shit. It was never anything malicious about the lesson or teachers, just inside jokes with each other, pretty harmless stuff. But it pissed the teachers off so much. "You can't be serious, right?" Denali replied, clearly scandalised. "Very serious, actually." Ms Hall nodded, "Denali, sit with Brian. Rosé, with Gigi. Blair, with Brianna." I grabbed Jujubee by the wrist, the pressure making her squeak. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. Blair was not rolling her eyes as she made her way to the back towards me. This was not fucking happening. As instructed, Jujubee stood up and let Blair sit down, moving to sit somewhere else. I was alone with the one person I tried my hardest to avoid. She slouched down in her chair, arms folded like she was already over it. I wanted so badly to ask if she was OK. But I couldn't bring myself to. And as the lights turned off and the sex-ed lady pressed play on the video player, I wished I had said something. As the way too enthusiastic narrator explained step by step the act of sexual intercourse, I tried hiding the blush on my face with my hair. I tried so hard to focus on what I was being taught. The truth was, I was still a virgin, as were many of the others in the room, I'm sure. But unlike them, I had no idea how sex worked. It wasn't something I ever gave time to think about. I felt a tapping on my hand. My body tensed as I glanced to the side. Blair was looking at the screen, then at me, then her fingers brushed against my hand. I stared back, unsure of what was happening but also knowing full well what she was doing. She leaned closer and pressed her lips on mine. … OK, that's not what happened. Life wasn't a movie. This was the beginning of the fantasies. Was I ashamed because I was thinking about Blair like that? Or was I ashamed that I enjoyed thinking of Blair like that? "This is ridiculous," Blair whispered. Was I supposed to say something back? "What do you mean?" I

whispered back. "Do they actually think we're that dumb? We all know how sex works. We don't need this stupid class." Blair rolled her eyes. I almost told her that I belonged to the small percentage that didn't know. But I stopped myself. I couldn't bear her knowing that information. Instead, I went with the awkward, "haha. Yeaaahhhh…" For the rest of the film, we sat in silence. Still trying to focus on the screen. Not the absolute stunner sitting next to me. And as if by magic, the video ended. I wanted to say I was relieved, but I couldn't lie; what I learned from the film left me nauseous. He puts his hoo-ha in her what, now?? "Well, that was really cool and hip, right?" The educator enthused. I cringed internally. No woman wearing a crucifix necklace and ankle-length skirt has the right to use words like 'cool' and 'hip'. "I know it's probably all so confusing. So that's why I'm here to answer any of your questions, dudes and dudettes." Already, one of the boys put a hand up. "Go ahead, homie." "What about the other hole?" He said with a straight face before his friends started laughing. He laughed back as he fired one of them. "You know. The back door?" Ms Hall shot him the 'look'. He was toast. The sex educator fixed her hair quite uncomfortable, "Well, there's a reason that is an out hole, young man. I warn all of you, do not go down that road. You will get aids and die. Now, does anybody else have a question?" The educator rambled, fixing her hair awkwardly. I heard the rustling of clothes beside me, and glancing around, Blair had her hand straight up in the air. "Yes, sweetheart?" Sex Ed lady pointed to her. "OK, so this is interesting and all, but I was just wondering, what about non-heterosexual sex?" Her brows knit for a moment. I looked around at her now. The breath caught in my throat. "I'm sorry?" Sex Ed lady asked. "You know. Man on man. Girl on girl. What about all of that?" Blair raised a brow. "I mean, you gotta know there's more than just heterosexual people out there. Maybe some even in this room right now." "Blair." Ms Hall began. "Because, if you disagree, then that's ridiculous. Oh, and if you think aids is some kind of death sentence, then you seriously need to educate yourself." Sex ed lady looked appalled, her Christian beliefs quite clearly threatened. "That's it. Get out." Ms Hall stood up. Blair huffed, pushing her seat back, lifted her bag and left the room, Ms Hall following behind. "OK. So, any other questions? Reasonable questions only, please." Jujubee was looking over her shoulder at me now, sharing the same expression I did. Thank God for lunch next period. Jujubee and I were hiding at the back of the school, in an alley between the building itself and the old workshops. The perfect hiding place for a smoke and to freak the fuck out about specific events. "Juju, she knows. She knows I'm a lesbian. She knows I like her." I paced. "I'm moving. That's it." I stopped. "But why would she speak up for me of all people? It doesn't make sense." My eyes widened. "Unless she's also a lesbian. I mean, that makes sense, right?" Jujubee had been sitting on the wall, patiently listening to my manic ramblings. The first few minutes, she was just as astounded. But the more I theorised, rambling on and on, she was over it. "I highly doubt that considering the boyfriend." "Then she must know. Why else would she say it? I highly doubt there are other gays in that class. Speaking of which, I had no idea lesbians could have sex like; how does that work. I'm gonna look into that somehow. But getting back to the point, if she did know, why would she speak out for me of all people?" My ramblings were non-stop. I tried my best to avoid Blair for the rest of the day, not that I could, considering we were both in the same last period. Blair's outburst was the talk of the school. I wasn't sure if it was a positive response or not. The only thing I did know was Trevor was pissed. "Brie, look." Jujubee tapped me. I turned from my locker and looked where everyone else seemed to be

looking. Just down the corridor, Trevor was standing over Blair, their conversation clearly heated. People were shamelessly moving closer, Jujubee following in their path. "Juju, don't," I whispered. But she didn't listen. I went after her as if it would stop her. "Trevor, this isn't that big of a deal," Blair said. "Not a big deal? Blair, do you know what the guys are saying? They think you're gonna dump me for a girl. Do you know how humiliating that is?" Trevor held a hand to his chest "And what if I did?" Blair challenged. The few people standing around cooed with excitement. "Oh, please. Don't get all cocky now that you have an audience." Trevor pointed. But Blair took a step closer to him. "What, 'cause you know you're the one who looks like an idiot? Maybe if you weren't so insecure, you'd know I would never do that to you." "Don't call me an idiot." Trevor lowered his tone, choosing purposely to ignore her reassurance. "Fine. But don't criticise me for a valid question I asked in a class you weren't even a part of. It's none of your business, no one's business for that matter." Blair bit back. "I can do what I want, Blair." "OK. Whatever." Blair brushed past him. Trevor quickly spun around, grabbing her arm. "No, we're not done having this conversation." My stomach twisted. "Let go of my arm, Trevor." Blair tugged, her voice cracking. Trevor did as was told now that the air was thick with tension, "We are not done talking," he stressed. Blair took a step back, "Yeah, we are, actually," and she turned to walk away. "If you walk away right now, we're finished." Trevor threatened. It was as if time was at a standstill, waiting for her reaction. But at the same time, it felt as though time was counting down. Like we were in a competition show. The contestant has to decide before time runs out, while the audience yells, 'DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!' No one was shouting, but you could feel everyone's excitement. Blair's lip curled upwards. "OK. Fine by me." And, finally, she walked off. The people were cooing with excitement again. "Shut up!" Trevor shouted. I grabbed Jujubee by the shoulder and ushered her back. Trevor kicked his locker, the thud echoing through the halls. That was the last straw. Knowing Trevor, he'd take his anger out on us. It was time to flee the scene. It was all Jujubee wanted to talk about for the rest of the day. Now I knew how she felt during my smoke break. But I couldn't blame her. The scene played in my head over and over again, leading to so many questions. Was there more to this breakup? Did he grab Blair like that all the time? What would happen now? Would she find a new guy? A girl, maybe? I came to the conclusion that Blair and Trevor's breakup was neither good nor bad. Bad because, as I said before, now he had more pent up anger from the humiliation of being so publicly dumped. Therefore, Jujubee and I would most likely be subject to more harassment. Good, because maybe Blair did like girls. Maybe there was still some little chance for us to be together. But if we were going to be together, there was one issue; I still had no fucking idea how lesbian sex worked. Cut to later that night, I'm in my room, sitting in front of my computer. I needed to distract myself from my thoughts of the breakup. While the scratchy dial-up tones emitted the machine, I psyched myself up. Even though I knew sex was normal to learn about at that age, it was still daunting. With shaky hands, I searched 'lesbian sex'. And fuck was it a mistake. What I wanted was educational articles, guides, etc. And what I got was porn. I watched all but a few minutes, all the painfully bad acting scenes that took place before the main event. Upon hearing the first moan, I clicked out as fast as I could. Looking behind me, Piggie was just playing with a stuffed animal on my bed. "You saw that, right?" He looked at me with perked ears. I still felt judged, so I opened my bedroom door and let him out. I needed to be exact. 'How do lesbians have sex?' And Brianna Caldwell was never the

same. My mind was opened that night. This was no mistake. This was a surprise. I couldn't look away from the computer screen, no matter how slow the Internet connection was. All of this information was all too much but not enough at the same time. And it made me feel less nauseated than I felt after watching that stupid video in class. And I built up the courage to go back to that porn site. And I watched every damn second. Then I watched another one. And another. And just one more 'cause why the fuck not? My bedroom door opened. "Brianna, I'm ordering - -" "Get out," I shouted, closing the site down like my life depended on it. But she stood there for a few seconds, eyes wide and hand still on the door frame. "Honey, are you - -" "Mom, oh my god. Can you just - -" I couldn't even form a proper sentence. She gave an apologetic look and closed the door. But she remained on the other side. "I just wanted you to know that I'm ordering pizza for Grandpa and me. Do you want some?" My forehead was in my hand now. "Yes." "What kind?" "Just…" I wanted to shout, "Pepperoni." And with that, she left. But that wasn't the end of it. When the food arrived, I waited a few minutes before going downstairs to grab a few slices. Grandpa was in the living room watching an old rerun of The A-Team. But she was there, in the kitchen, as if she was waiting for me. "Honey, look. I know you're getting to that age where you're curious about certain things and - -" "Mom, no. Please, don't do this." I whined. "I know. I know. I just wanted to let you know that this is natural, and…" she continued to deliver the same talk we all got in class. My eyes were wide, face red with humiliation. -_-_-_- 2020 I picked up a slice of pepperoni pizza, instantly reminded of the traumatic event. OK, maybe that was too strong of a word to use. But of course, you are going to dread the thought of that time your parent talked to you about sex. I walked into the living room, pizza slice in hand, trying not to dwell on the memory. "So, Brianna. Any update on the love life?" Tamisha asked. I loved that bitch; being one of Mom's closest friends, she was present for most of my life. But she always had a tendency to ask questions I wasn't up for answering. I took a bite from my pizza and answered with a full mouth, "dry." "Girl, you're almost 40." She continued. I was ready to challenge her because I was actually just 33 when Mom took her turn to speak. "Yeah, get yourself a man and make me a Grandma already." She wasn't serious. She knew I hated these types of talks, but that didn't stop her from encouraging the others. The funny thing about the time she caught me watching porn, she never clocked it was girl on girl. Of all the years I've been on this planet, I hadn't given her a clue that I was a lesbian. Would I ever tell her? I didn't see the point. From previous failed relationships and being too busy with my job, I wouldn't end up with someone anyway. But of course, I'd make an exception for a certain someone. Monét poured the first round of shots. I already knew I'd hate myself the next day. I wasn't drunk already. Just sort of buzzed. But that changed within an hour. I was hammered. Mom, Monét and all her friends were singing all the old songs in the living room. I was out in the kitchen, trying to drink 8 glasses of water. I only managed 3. Piggie ran in and put his paws up on my knee. "There he is. My baby. My fucking son." I slid down to the ground and let him sit in my lap. "How is your night going?" Just great, Brianna! Anyway, how about that Blair girl, huh? Piggie's non-existent voice said. "Oh yeah," my eyes narrowed. I unlocked my phone and opened up Facebook. And I bravely searched up her name. I say bravely because it does take some balls to go and stalk your crushes social media accounts. All it took to fuck everything up was the slip of a finger, and before you know it, you've liked a post or sent a friend request. "Let's do some digging, Piggie." I cuddled him. Immediately, she was the top result, with Jujubee

being the only mutual friend. "Yeah, girl. Infiltration." I commented as I clicked into her profile. And then her profile picture. "Holy shit." She hadn't aged. She still looked as young and radiant as she did back in high school. "What do you think, Piggie?" I showed him the screen. He glanced at it before tucking his head under his arms. The enthusiasm. I rolled my eyes. I looked at her info. 'Single'. Promising. Scrolling down to her timeline, I noticed she didn't post a lot. Fair enough. Facebook was becoming a dead site in recent years. There were just your average Facebook posts, sharing giveaway posts, a post from an old lady saying, 'Blair, this is Granny. Could you go to Walmart and get me some applesauce? Love granny xx', a shared post from a guy called George Miller. And my finger stopped scrolling upon seeing Blair holding a baby. "Oh God, we've encountered our first obstacle, Piggie," I whined. I clicked into the comments. That George Miller guy commented, 'congrats, Blair!' She replied, 'thank you, but she's my cousin's lol'. "Thank you, Jesus." I put my phone down for a moment to put my hand up to the good lord. I scrolled some more, seeing many inspirational quotes, a link to Adore You by Harry Styles. And a picture of her. With that George Miller guy. With his arms around her. Pressing a kiss to her temple. I could feel my heart sink the more I studied it. Yeah, I knew Blair and I were never meant to be anyway. But it was still upsetting. Relax. They could be friends. Yeah, that's right. Friends hold each other and act all affectionate, right?? I cuddle with Jujubee sometimes. That doesn't mean anything. Right? I needed evidence, just anything, to make it not true. I scrolled some more. There was a video, she was sitting on her sofa, with a girl playing the guitar sitting on the other end. "I've been running races on empty, Pour it up 'cause my cup so empty. Gotta make time for the real me. I've been running, I've been running on empty." And my nerves were settled again. I had only heard Blair sing a few times. She and her friends would pretend they were famous singers in early elementary years, and she'd always be the best. Then another time was in high school, at the winter talent show. I specifically remember it being A moment like this by Kelly Clarkson. It was unreal. 'Jujubee 💋💅🏽 is typing…' I clicked into Snapchat before she even had a chance to type the whole message. "Do you remember Jujubee?" I asked Piggie. Again, he was silent. 'I hope you're having fun, babe ❤ lv u'. "Thanks," was all I could manage to type. A shadow cast over me. I looked up to see Monét join me on the ground. "Hey, girl." She greeted me. "Hi, Aunt Monét." I smiled. Piggie hopped off my lap and onto hers. "Aunt Monét? Honey, you haven't called me that since middle school." She smiled. I returned the smile, only mine probably looking goofy. "I'm just wasted." "I noticed. No more shots for you anyway." She noted, taking a drink from her own bottle. "Anyway, how's the project?" "We got fucking Ed Sheeran involved." I then cursed myself internally for bringing it up. "I heard. Your Mom was telling me. Ugh, girl, why him? Why not someone like…" she paused to think, "like Beyonce. Or Lady Gaga." "OK, man-hater." I quipped, reaching over to pet Piggie. "Not true. Not all men are bad." Monét pointed out. "Speaking of which, when are you getting yourself one?" I could have given her the usual 'I don't have time for men's talk. But the alcohol said no. "Monét, I like girls." And I felt no shame in saying it. A moment of silence fell between us before she asked, "for real?" "Yeah." I nodded. "Does anyone else know?" "Yeah. Juju. And Piggie probably." I replied, leaving one more name out for the sole purpose I didn't want to get into that. "And Mom?" "Nope." She nodded. "I guess this is one of these aunty-niece confidentiality things?" "Uh-huh." I smiled. Bless Aunt Monét. "Well, no matter who you live, we still love you." She laughed for a moment before taking another drink. I knew

she was right. Maybe coming out to Mom wasn't such a bad idea. "You know what, Brianna?" She paused, "Grandpa would be so proud of you, right?" My smile slowly began to drop. Fuck, the touchy subject. "Oh, I...thanks." I thought the change in my mood was hard to miss, but Monét clearly had. "You and I ain't ever talked about him since...you know." "OK," I said quietly, feeling like my chest was a fist, beginning to clench tighter and tighter. "And sometimes, it's just good to look back on - -" "I gotta go." I quickly stood up, feeling the dark fog already come over me. I rushed from the room, my aunty calling my name and apologising. I avoided going into the living room, rushing up the stairs and racing for the bathroom. As soon as the door was locked, I let myself crumble, my face hidden beneath shaking hands, a cry clogged in my throat just begging to belt out. Mom would definitely hear it. I wasn't going to ruin her day. Absolutely not.

[the-black-birb]

2. Early Years

pairing: Ennoshita Chikara x Reader

masterlist

synopsis: The neighborhood boy upgrades from stranger to friend.

With little to keep you amused inside your house and the threat of autumn breezing through all too soon, you had made a habit of sitting outside on your porch, lemonade in hand. Often, you’d sit with a game or a sketchbook to keep yourself busy, but you always found yourself drifting off.

Lately, you’d stop seating yourself on the steps outside your house, where rogue volleyballs would often land, and instead found yourself on top of the trashcan where you could swing your legs freely. You had definitely not sat there because it gave you an easy view over the fence, into the yard of your neighbors. Certainly, your concerns were completely separate from the boy who always stopped by your yard to pick up the volleyballs that flew your way. You hadn’t noticed the way he always asked how your day was, or made sure no matter where the volleyball flew it did not hit you. No, you hadn’t noticed at all.

Yet summer was nearing its end and though you’d been opposed to it at the start, you found yourself wishing you could spend just one more day outside, watching the neighborhood boys play carelessly and listen to their harmless chatter. The solitude you’d felt at the beginning, missing your old friends and school, was soon replaced by the nerves of going to a new school. A new environment, new people, and new challenges. You shivered at the thought of it. Not to mention, the time you’d spent gazing mindlessly at your prince charming would now be spent inside with a notebook in front of you.

You were not pleased, to say the least.

The setting sun and the familiar creak of your mother’s car pulling into the driveway reminded you of the days end, startling you to get off the trash can and instead find you way inside. You huffed, realizing that not a single volleyball had landed in your yard today. The neighborhood boys were getting better, but at what cost?

Still, the arrival of your parents brought new concerns to your mind. Your mother had told you earlier today about some surprise guests, but had opted not to tell you who, to your despair (you see, you’d never been patient enough to like surprises). But to a bored child guests meant an excuse to fuss over your appearance and if dinner was starting soon, you had limited time to put yourself together.

Rushing to your room, you were quick to put a brush to your hair and dress yourself. You had no idea who your special visitors were, but you were certain by the end of the night they’d know who you were. So, you wore your favorite shirt (the one with the cute yokai from the cartoon you watched) and your bright purple shorts that always made you stand out (a few years later, they’d be the bane of your existence. Whenever you looked at them in photos you’d cringe, wondering why your mother let you wear them. But right now, they made your confidence skyrocket and that was all that mattered). Finally, with the daffodil pin your father had gotten you from the carnival pulling your hair back, you were ready for the night. With the confidence of a gymnast getting to their floor, you strut out of your room to greet whichever strangers dared enter your house.

And immediately, you shrunk back into your shell.

Because standing in front of you was quite possibly the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. In your doorway was a woman, average in all sense of the word, and next to her stood the boy whom you’d spent the majority of your summer watching.

Even with all the yelling from his yard, you’d never quite ascertained what his name was and each time he’d come over to retrieve his volleyball you were all too scared to ask. But there was no doubt that the young boy, just a bit taller than you with neat black hair, was the same one you’d been observing.

Face hot, you made your way over to your mother who had been waving you down for… well, you weren’t sure how long. With trained nervousness, your grabby hands wrapped around her legs wear you stood behind her, staring wearily at your so-called guests.

“[F/N],” she laughed, tugging you out from behind her. She’d never been fond of your shy habits. “C’mon, greet our friends!” You weren’t sure what qualifications they met to become your friends, but you were certain your mother would never give up so you found yourself bowing your head and mumbling a timid “welcome,” and letting your head hang to the ground.

Stepping into your view of the ground were two unfamiliar feet in a pair of beat up sneakers. You raised your eyes to see the familiar smiling face of the neighbor boy. While every atom in your body screamed at you to avert your eyes and find your way to your mother’s side once again, his charming smile seemed to overload all of your senses.

“I’m Chikara,” he grinned. “I see you when I play volleyball sometimes.” Oh, you knew he saw you.

“Chi…ka…ra?” you tried out his name on your lips, handling it delicately. For so long you’d waited to know who he was, this all felt too easy. But his name sounded so right on your lips, you didn’t dare question it for a moment.

“I’m [F/N],” you replied shyly and before you could add anything, his hand was firmly in yours. He had a determined look on his face, like he’d been waiting for this chance to show off his skills. His whole face wound up like he was super focused and suddenly you found yourself laughing at him. You stopped, wondering if he’d be offended, but he just started chuckling with you.

With that, your nerves disappeared.

Dinner was relatively easy as your parents covered all the talking for you. Occasionally, your parents would bring up an interest of yours, like the sketches you made or the games you played, and you’d answer with a “yes” or another sort of agreement, but you were left mostly to your own devices. Chikara said across from you, sandwiched between his parents, and although neither of you had much of a chance to talk, he’d make faces across the table at you everyone in awhile to make you laugh. It was comfortable.

Before they could leave, both your parents went into another room to discuss something secret. Your grumbled. Although the company was pleasant, surprises really were no fun.

The silence between you two sat heavy. From the night you’d assessed that Chikara was, without a doubt, delightful to be around. He was funny and had a cute smile and was overall a ball of sunshine. But that didn’t mean he was easy to be around. When he was here, all your words got flustered and mixed up and you felt your stomach doing backflips. So when your parents were gone, you found yourself unable to do much but sit and fiddle with your thumbs.

“I like your shirt,” was his comment that finally broke the ice. Your head shot up, excited to talk about your favorite show.

“Oh yeah?” you asked. “Do you watch it to?” You were bouncing with energy, hoping you’d found someone to indulge in your fun with. Instead you were meant by a sheepish chuckle.

“No, I just thought it looked cute.” Suddenly, your face felt warm. “What channel is it on?” Oh. Soon, you were off talking a mile a minute about the cartoon. It aired every night, the perfect way for you to end your summer evenings, and so you’d watched it religiously. Even with your suddenly fast paced speech, Chikara nodded calmly, following along with you. He was a wonderful listener, you deduced. Another lovely trait to add to the list.

Before you could finish explaining to him why the character on your shirt was the best, your parents were back in the room.

“Now, now, [F/N], let’s calm down,” your father pestered you into a seat where you could all talk freely. Your mothers eyes shone with an excitement you thought was a bit concerning, but you couldn’t ignore the proud look on Chikara’s mother’s face next to her.

A hush fell on the living room as it became clear your mother had something important to share with the group (or rather, with you and Chikara). “We’ve decided,” she announced. “Since [F/N] is unfamiliar with the town and school, Chikara should walk her to school for a bit!”

Your parents cheered together, trying to act like this was a huge moment or turning point. You didn’t really understand why because Chikara was, at this point, just another kid and it was not as if you were spending your whole life with him. Quietly you tried to ignore the excitement rising in your chest and the thought that even if it was not the rest of your life, all of your mornings for the next few years was still a fairly significant chunk of time to spend all with one person.

Next to you, Chikara seemed unfazed by the preposition. Whether his mother had told him in advance or he had the intuition to guess what tonight was about, you were never really sure of. But he had no hesitation in turning to you with a now familiar smile and reaching out to shake your hand once again. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around a lot more, neighbor!”

His hand was warm.

To say the two of you saw each other more was likely an overstatement compared to the time you spend observing him from your lawn. But now instead of being separated by a fence, you were walking side by side and actually talking to one another.

Chikara was, as you had decided early, a delight to be around. As he’d been in school one year more than you, he taught you about all sorts of things in school, like how to get to lunch early by taking a shortcut and how to ask questions so teachers like you. It felt like most of your walks were really him talking at you. As much as you found comfort in his presence, you still had plenty of walls that made you weary of getting too talkative.

On occasion, though, he’d find one topic that made you start rambling nonstop. Sometimes it was a show you’d seen on TV or an assignment you had in school, but somehow you always missed the affection in his eyes when you went on your long tangents. You never managed to see the way all his features softened as he let himself take pleasure in simply listening to you.

Even now when you had certainly walked the route to school enough times to know the way with your eyes closed, he chose to join you. You’d never complain, of course. It was far easier to walk together every morning than to break routine and his presence always made you feel lighter. But these past few days he’d noticed your steps seemed to drag and your energy faltered. As he talked to you, there were less topics that made your eyes shine and sentences spilling out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Chikara asked on the way home, clearly noticing the shift in your behavior. You’d always been fairly simple minded so he was certain if something was bothering you, he could fix it immediately.

You mumbled over your words, not willing to admit to what had been on your mind. Chikara shrugged. “If you’re gonna act like a ghost I guess I could walk on my own…” he teased, pacing ahead of you.

“Wait!” you called out, immediately realizing you’d been lured. Chikara looked at you with a quietly condescending smile that read I knew that would work. You huffed.

“They’ve been teaching us to read…” you explained quietly. “It’s hard.” You weren’t used to failing grades, but you also weren’t used to kanji.

The expression on Chikara’s face wasn’t one you were really familiar with. His bottom lip jutted out like he was deep in thought, but his eyebrows remained relax. His silence gave you a moment to appreciate all his features, which you greatly enjoyed to do.

“I’ll tutor you,” he decided, without giving you time to agree. Soon, he was walking at a brisk pace towards your houses.

“Huh? Wait up!” you hurried towards him. “What’s the rush?” He’d never been one to argue with the pace you set, so you weren’t sure why he was speed walking out of the blue.

“You want to get better fast, right?” was his deadpan answer.

Your mother was more than happen to have Chikara over. Quickly she was making some refreshing lemonade to quench your mind while the two of you worked. Regardless of his own work, Chikara was fully focused on helping you read better.

Despite his kind disposition, when he came over to work with you he was more like a dictator.

After your initial surprise wore off, it started to make sense. He was a model student who got flawlessly good grades, but it wasn’t until now that you realized why. Even at such a young age, he had a bounty of ways to study and focus that had you improving at a lightening fast rate. Learning comes from repetition; he’d drilled into you. Find words wherever you go.

Your study dates (as your ecstatic mother had taken to calling them) became fairly routine in addition to your walks together. Even though your grades had improved, there were still plenty of uphill battles and Chikara, one year your senior, was the perfect person to help you through them.

Still, you wanted to make your understanding more fluid and frequent. You stayed up at night, restless to improve, and found yourself looking around for solutions.

There wasn’t much you did without Chikara staring down your shoulder, but you wanted to prove you could learn without him, too. Letting your mind wander, you stared out your room window trying to pull a plan out of thin air. You stared up at the night sky and all the stars. Find words in constellation? No, that wouldn’t work. Maybe you could find a book to read? But that was frustrating, and it took so much time. Instead, your eyes found the house next to yours and the lights still on from the room that mimicked the position of yours. Suddenly, a plan emerged.

You scavenged your room for an old sketch pad and a dark black marker. On the page in front of you, you wrote a simple message.

Hello. Speak to me?

You found yourself at the window again, opening it this time. Your eyes searched your room for something disposable, yet useful. Grabbing a spare toy from an old happy meal, you chucked the hard-plastic dragon out to hit the window next to you. You tried to stifle your laugh so as not to alert your parents that you were, in fact, still awake.

To your delight, the curtains opened and a familiar, slightly sleepy, Chikara looked out. You proudly held out the sketchpad for him to read, hoping he’d pick up on your strategy.

A proud look shone in his eyes as he walked away from the window. With baited breath you waited for his arrival, hoping he’d come back to indulge you. Never one to disappoint, he soon entered you field of view again with a whiteboard and marker.

Hello. Trying to study?

You grinned proudly at him, rushing to write your response.

Yes. Help me for a bit?

Although your vocabulary was still fairly limited in terms of what you could read on paper, you found yourself talking deep into the night.

A few mornings later, your father pointed out the growing bags underneath your eyes.

With words constantly surrounding you, reading comprehension was soon the least of your worries. Still, you and Chikara kept up your routine of talking through the window even long after he’d stopped coming over for you “study dates” and you hadn’t had a single day that you arrived at school without him beside your side.

Although you’d quickly learned to ignore the butterflies roaring in your gut whenever Chikara smiled and the way you always grew warmer around him, you never stopped appreciating Chikara’s presence next to you. While you grew tumultuously, he was always your rock and anchor to pull you back down to Earth. Sometimes, you’d look at the boy next to you and wonder how you let him remain a stranger. Now, you could not even begin to imagine life without him.

Until, you were forced to.

Taglist: @yogurtkink @scrooodles @heccingdead @unhappyraspberry @desi-studys @fait-de-fleurs @adoring-obi-wan @ryuujisblog @hqkeiji @babiekeiji

[thejollyroger-writer]

Heart and Soul - Part 2

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument – though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry’s mother, Emma Swan.

READ PART ONE: ao3 // tumblr // // PART TWO ON AO3

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary -- you know, the things I do best, apparently.

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet – though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi​) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it.

Thanks to @csconcertseries​ and @clockadile​, who gave me a reason to finish this story! It feels really good to actually finish something that I’ve been working on in the midst of the chaos of the world right now, so even though the event was a month ago, I’m still super thankful for the opportunity. 

-- -- --

Waking up to a message from Tink Greene on an October Thursday morning is one of the last things he expected, not having spoken to her besides the friendly neighborhood hellos since he broke off their dalliance the previous spring. 

The contents of the message are even more of a surprise: 

I've been hearing Henry Swan play in one of the practice rooms, and I think he would make a great addition to our student showcase for the Winter concert. He told me you've been teaching him, which explains a lot. Do you think you and he could work together on something by the beginning of December for him to play? 

Of course, the first thing he wants to do is share the news with Emma. He should probably shower first. And maybe actually answer Tink. 

I think that’s a grand idea. Henry has shown more growth than some of my adult students. Could you get me a song in the next week or so? 

Her response comes rather quickly, given the original message was from two hours before, but he imagines there’s not much for the elementary music teacher to do all day. I’m thinking either First Noel or Hark the Herald Angels. It depends on which the recorder students are better at. He also may play it with a beginner violin student, Violet, who’s doing exceptionally well. I think he knows her. 

He wonders if this is the same Violet from his soccer team, the one the boy has brought up a few times in conversation — but Tink doesn’t need to know that. Hell, he probably shouldn’t even know that, though he’s thankful that Henry trusts him enough to update him on his life during their lessons or some of the nights Killian finds himself staying for dinner. 

But he still needs a response. Thanks again for those recorder students, by the way. I turned down a whole dozen of them within the first two weeks of school, the infernal instrument. 

When Tink only responds with a few emojis — he tosses his phone back on the bed and pulls himself up, wondering if he is too late to meet Emma for her morning run. 

So he texts her. Because that’s something they’re doing now, after her inviting him to some of Henry’s games and his joining them for dinner most nights after Henry’s lessons. It wouldn’t even be the first time she has allowed him to join her on her morning run, invited him into her place of safety and security. 

(He would like to think of himself as a relatively fit human, but even he will admit that three miles, Emma’s regular distance, is a little much for him to start with, though he has been working on it more and more.) 

Is it too late for me to join in on the day’s physical activities?  

Even he is surprised by the pounding of his heart in his chest as he rummages through his drawers to try to find his athletic shorts, waiting for her answer, hoping for a positive. 

The soft ding of her response almost causes him to jump out of his skin. Just getting ready to go, actually. I’ll meet you outside? 

Perfect, is all he needs to say, splashing some cold water in his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even realize the strong grip he has on the edge of the sink until he lets go to reach for his toothbrush. 

“Christ, Killian,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he runs his toothbrush under the water. It’s only a run.

But his nerves don’t disappear. If anything, they only grow exponentially, and by the time he meets her on the sidewalk outside her house, he is almost shaking from the adrenaline. 

Good thing they’re going for a run, exerting this pent-up energy. He may even be able to keep up with her the whole time. 

He spends the first block trying to figure out how to bring up his exciting news. And the second. But when she starts to slow down, asks him how his week has gone, he can’t keep it in any longer. 

“Henry’s music teacher asked me this morning if I thought he should perform in the winter showcase.” 

He can sense her excitement almost immediately, even before she slows to a stop, wiping the smooth sheen of sweat off her forehead with the bottom of her t-shirt before turning to him, the smile on her face making the physical exertion worth it. “And?”

“Of course I agreed. I know I’ve told you before, love, but your son is a very talented musician.” 

She is still for a moment, looking somewhere over his shoulder, before she nods, gesturing for them to continue. “So, what, would it be a solo? Or would he be playing something with you?” 

“Actually, Tink mentioned asking one of the girls in his class to play with him. A violinist, I think.” 

“I wonder if it’s the same girl from his soccer team. He told me they met in orchestra, and I think that’s what she plays.”

“Violet, right? That’s what Tink said”

“Yeah, I think so. He’s got a bit of a crush, if you ask me, but don’t say anything to him about it.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.” 

“That’s so exciting, though. The kid deserves some excitement, with all the shit his dad is putting him through.”

At first, Killian isn’t sure that Emma even meant to say it, if they’re at that point in their friendship where she shares things like this with him. 

“You know he’s trying to move away? Something about his dad giving him a job in the city, a corner highrise apartment, a position as a big shot in his company, when Neal can’t even manage to get his child support in on time every month.” 

Now he really doesn’t know what to say — but she continues anyway. 

“I try not to say anything bad about him around Henry, but my god, he just makes it so fucking difficult.” 

Killian can’t help the chuckle that pushes through his lips. “I would assume my mum would have said the same about my father, if she ever had the chance.” 

A moment too late, he realizes that it’s only the second time he’s mentioned his father, the only other being the first time they really talked when they shared lunch in her kitchen. 

She doesn’t answer. He counts the time ticking away by their footsteps on the pavement, by the pounding of his heart in his chest. 

She says nothing. They go almost a full block, slowing only to make sure they’re safe to cross the street. 

He doesn’t know what he did. He doesn’t know what to do. So he just focuses on the pounding of his shoes against the pavement. Left, right, left, right. 

“Sorry, I…” she says finally, the words going nowhere, but he feels the warmth of her fingers around his wrist, pulling him to a stop. “Can we go get lunch? Maybe that little place on Main Street? I know that’s not our regular route, it’s a little far out of the way, but—” 

“Sure, love,” he says, not even needing to hear the rest of what she’s trying to say. Whatever it is, he will give her the time she needs to tell him — but there are more appropriate places for these sorts of conversations than on the sidewalk. 

She asks the waitress for a table in the back, further away from the door and the line of regulars sitting at the bar, spending what feels like hours looking over the menu before the waitress returns with their drinks and to take their order. All she orders is a bowl of soup, Killian strangely in the mood for one of their salads, but the silence between them only returns when the waitress leaves their table. 

Killian doesn’t mind, really. She decided that she wanted to tell him something, unlock some of the secrets of her past, which is more than he could have asked for. 

“I was, uh, found outside an orphanage when I was just a few days old.” 

Okay, it’s certainly not what he expected. It’s far more personal than he expected — but she’s telling him, and that’s the important part. 

“I have no idea who my parents are, anything about my family, only that they wanted to name me Emma.” 

Pausing, she takes a deep breath. A sip of her water. Her eyes don’t leave the spot on the table that they’re glued to. 

He doesn’t mind. 

“I was in and out of fosters for most of my childhood, and that’s how I met David. His mother was my last-ditch effort when I was seventeen, and if she didn’t work, I was going to be on my own. But, thankfully, she was an angel on this earth, and I spent a good few years with her, even after I aged out and as I went to college. I still think that’s why I kept coming back to Storybrooke, because it was the only place that felt like home, especially after everything that happened with Neal, except now he wants to leave Henry even more, move hours away to the city and see his own son even less than he does now.” 

Still, Killian stays silent. If he’s honest with himself, he really doesn’t know what to say in the first place, and he gets the feeling that there aren’t very many people who just let Emma talk. 

He will gladly be the one as often as she gives him the opportunity. 

“Does Henry know that he’s trying to leave yet?” 

She scoffs, looking up at him for a moment. Just a moment. 

“I told him he had to be the one to tell Henry, to answer all of his questions. That he wasn’t allowed to just up and leave. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to do it anyway.” 

“I know it might not be want you want to hear, love, but sometimes it’s better for the parent to just up and leave if that’s what they need to do. He’ll still have to get you child support, no matter where he is.” 

“Are you speaking from experience?” 

He doesn’t even know how to read her voice. She doesn’t sound upset, per say, but there’s definitely something much deeper than just curiosity. 

“It’s just what my mother used to say, that we’d probably be better off without him than with him. But I can only hope that Neal is nowhere near the terror that Brennan Jones was.” 

She nods, the very corner of her lips ticking up for just a moment. Says nothing. 

And then it hits him: “Though, I suppose having a terrible dad around is something compared to having no one, no matter how much you may wish he wasn’t there.” 

“Jackpot,” she mumbles. “But as hard as it is to admit, Neal really isn’t a terrible person. He can even be a good dad, when he tries to be, and Henry really looks up to him, which I don’t think he realizes. I just don’t understand how he can choose a job over his own son.” 

“Granted, I don’t have the pleasure of offspring yet, but I would like to believe that I would feel the same as you do.” 

Finally, she smiles. Actually makes eye contact with him. Warms his heart a few degrees. Just as the waitress brings their food. 

Henry practically perfects the song — The First Noel — before Thanksgiving break, a whole three weeks before the concert. Killian even reaches out to Violet’s parents to offer to have them practice together in his studio instead of after hours at the school — or at either of their houses, which is a move that both Emma and Violet’s parents appreciate. 

(Plus, with Henry taking the lead on their rehearsals, it gives him more time to sit in the corner of the studio, talking with Emma.) 

They’ve built up a fine friendship since the first day of school, adding more weekly dinners as a trio, with Killian even joining Emma’s gym to work out with her with the weather getting colder. 

Killian would even go so far as to say Emma and her lad have become a regular part of her life, though he still didn’t expect the day when she asked him out, sitting across the table from her brother and next to her at the Thanksgiving dinner table. 

(What was different about this time? He had been to dinners with them, had spent time alone with Emma, but there was something about this that was different. He would be willing to bet it was the setting, the pressure of the situation.) 

“So, Henry, your mom told me about your solo in the winter concert!” Mary Margaret says excitedly, trying to find a subject that Henry can take part in, since most of Emma and David’s conversation has centered around work. 

Killian turns to the boy, seated at the far end of the table, just in time to watch his face light up in a smile. “Technically, it’s a duet, me and this one girl in my class, Violet —” 

“The one from your soccer team? With the purple streaks in her hair?” David asks, the rest of the table watching Henry’s face turn bright red. 

"Oh!" Mary Margaret practically squeals, which makes every eye at the table turn towards her, which Killian is sure Henry is thankful for — until she continues. “Do you have a crush on her?” 

Henry sighs, his eyes falling back to his plate as his cheeks continue to turn as red as his shirt. Instead of answering Mary Margaret’s question, he says, “You know, I never understood why that’s what they call it.” His voice is small, incredibly embarrassed, as he swirls his fork around his pile of mashed potatoes. “Why is it a crush?” 

Emma laughs, gently setting her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, you don’t have to embarrass him,” she jokes. 

“Well, then,” David says, setting his fork down on his plate so he can cross his arms across his chest. “Should we talk about your little crush instead?” 

“David!” both Mary Margaret and Emma say at the same time, and Killian can’t keep the heat from rushing to his face. 

Why are you embarrassed, you idiot? he asks himself, trying his best to keep his thoughts off his face. They’re not even talking about you. 

Unless… they are. 

He almost doesn’t allow himself to even think it. Because it’s insane to even assume it. 

And then Emma rolls her eyes. 

Looks at him. 

Pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth. 

Blushes deeper. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

He tries to act like he missed her look, turns his attention down to his plate of food, but he’s sure it doesn’t work. 

“Why can we bring up Henry’s and embarrass the poor boy, but I can’t do the same to my sister?” David asks, a wide grin spread across his face. Without even meaning to, Killian’s gaze rises, meeting David’s from across the table. 

David winks. 

Shit. 

“You’re at least going to his concert together, right?” David asks, the same smirk still covering his features. 

“I mean, we hadn’t really discussed it, but—” Emma starts, but Henry cuts her off: 

“You mean, like a date?”

“No,” both Killian and Emma try at the same time, but it doesn’t work. 

Mary Margaret’s poker face falters, turning into a grin that seems to brighten her already-shining aura. David somehow looks even more smug, though Killian wouldn’t have thought it possible. 

And Emma, whose gaze Killian is very purposefully avoiding, is turning redder by the moment. 

He’s sure he is, too. 

(Because he desperately wants it to be a date.) 

The next three weeks pass in a bit of a blur, between the holiday drunks that Emma has to deal with at the station and the last-minute lessons before recitals and concerts. It feels like the blink of an eye between their conversation at Mary Margaret and David’s thanksgiving dinner and Killian knocking on the door of the Swan’s house, making sure his light blue shirt is tucked into his dark jeans as he waits for someone to let him in. The waistcoat may have been a little more than necessary for an elementary school concert, sure, but there was talk before of Neal taking Henry and some of his friends for ice cream, giving Emma and Killian a chance to go out for dinner together. 

Maybe even like a date, he allows himself to think. 

It’s Emma that opens the door, and when he sees the same red dress that he remembers from last year’s concert, he’s glad he decided to go with the waistcoat — he would have been undoubtedly under-dressed without it. 

Because, damn is she perfect, her golden hair falling softly over her shoulders and her lips a shade of red almost as vibrant as her dress. He tries his best to hide it, but his breath gets trapped in his chest.

She smiles. “Hey.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Killian, speak. He clears his throat. “Uh, hi. Is the lad almost ready?” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Henry yells from just out of Killian’s sight, most likely from around the corner in the living room. 

“How are you feeling, Henry?” Killian asks just as he comes around the corner, the bowtie of his suit unbuttoned but otherwise looking incredibly dapper from his gelled-back hair to the tips of his polished dress shoes. 

He shrugs. “A little nervous, I guess, but that’s normal, right?” 

Killian smiles. “Aye. Completely normal. But I know you’re going to be exceptional.” 

At this, Henry smiles, slipping past Killian and out the front door. “Thanks. Now let’s go!” 

 Emma fiddles with her nails when she’s nervous. This is something Killian learns very quickly, sitting beside her in one of the front rows of the auditorium, especially after having noticed it in the car on the way here. It doesn’t distract him, per se; instead, it gives him something to focus on instead of his own nerves, the shaking of his leg, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“He’s going to do great,” Mary Margaret says from the other side of Emma, probably sensing her nervousness the same way. 

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Emma says, never taking her eyes off of the index finger she is focused on. “I just—” she lets out her breath through pursed lips, turning to look over her shoulder to where Neal is sitting at the end of the row behind them. Killian follows her gaze there, only to watch his attention turn from the cell phone in his hand to the watch on his wrist. “He wants to tell Henry tonight, that he’s accepted his father’s job offer. He leaves at the end of the month, but I told him he wasn’t allowed to ruin Henry’s concert by telling him before it. I can’t really even argue with it, he at least listened to what I told him.” 

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret mutters, setting one of her hands on top of Emma’s, which halts her ability to pick at the skin around her index finger. 

“I’ve always been surprised he stuck around this long in the first place,” David— helpfully— adds, arms crossed over his chest. 

Killian can feel the daggers that Mary Margaret shoots at her husband when she turns to him. 

Emma manages to let out a single, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “You’re right, though, David. I never expected him to stay around after we broke up, so the fact that he’s waited this long is a bit of a miracle.” 

“That’s not going to make it any easier for Henry, though,” Mary Margaret comments. 

Emma just shrugs, but when she goes to respond, the house lights quickly dim to black, the spotlight shining on Belle French, the school librarian and interim principal, standing at the podium. In moments, the entire room is hushed. 

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” she says, the gooseneck mic only catching the last few words, the auditorium humming with low feedback. “As you all know, we here in Storybrooke love to do all we can to ensure students have the opportunities to practice the arts they choose, and music is at the core of this. Every year, we are proud to hold this showcase for our elementary students, giving them the opportunity to show off their talents to the community, as well as our elementary band and orchestra groups, who have all been practicing regularly since at least the beginning of the year. To open our concert for tonight, we have the elementary orchestra group, led by our music teacher, Miss Tink Greene.” 

The auditorium fills with applause as the spotlight fades away and the curtains open to reveal a stage full of musicians, smiling out at their families and friends in the audience. When Emma turns her attention to Killian out of the corner of her eye, the smile spread across his face conjures one of her own. He looks so proud, with many of the students on the stage students of his own. 

Halfway through the second song, Mary Margaret leans towards Emma, setting her hand on her arm. “I always forget just how awful elementary orchestra concerts are,” she whispers. 

Emma lets out a light laugh, nodding. “Like, I’m glad Henry found something he enjoys doing, don’t get me wrong, but listening to him play a botched song on a piano and listening to a bunch of them play half-tuned violins are two different worlds.” 

“Swan,” Killian whispers, his eyes never leaving the stage, even as he reaches over to set his hand on her arm. “Shush.” 

Even as she rolls her eyes, Emma can’t help but smile at him. But she also can’t help herself from leaning closer to Mary Margaret and whispering, “Killian wants us to stop talking.” 

He doesn’t even try to hide his sigh, but he doesn’t move to respond to her. 

He leaves his hand on her arm, though. 

Neither of them seem to care. Neither of them make a move. 

The second song comes to an end, and they quickly begin the third — the final song, Emma is relieved to hear. 

They’re followed by a blonde girl in a bright red shirt and black slacks, who plays “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on her cello; a small group of students introduced as the “elementary jazz band” who play a somewhat-recognizable jazzy rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”; and a trio that plays “I Saw Three Ships” in a round on their flute, clarinet, and violin. 

Killian, of course, knows many of them, whispering things like, “Her mother tried to ask me out during one of our lessons,” and “They have the cutest little dog that really likes to lick my legs when they bring it with to pick him up,” when they are introduced. 

(Emma wonders what Killian would say about her if he were whispering to someone else.) 

And then next up is Henry. When the curtain opens, she doesn’t realize that she has changed her grip to holding Killian’s hand in her own — or, at least, one of them moved to hold the hand of the other — until she feels the way he straightens his shoulders, sucks in a breath between his teeth. But when she turns to him, taking her eyes away from her son, getting ready to perform, for just a moment, he meets her eyes. 

Smiles. 

Winks. 

(The bastard.) 

And turns back to the stage. 

She’s glad they’re in a darkened auditorium, because she feels the way her face warms at the realization, hopes that Mary Margaret can’t hear the pounding in her chest that is only silenced when Henry starts to play, Violet playing along with him. 

It’s much better than the sound of the full orchestra, Emma notices almost immediately, or any of the other groups that have played. It at least doesn’t sound like a bunch of screaming, dying animals. 

Just sitting there watching him, she is overwhelmed by a sense of pride, something that washes over her like a wave as his fingers move perfectly across the piano keys. (Sure, it might not be completely perfect, maybe a handful of notes a little off between the two of them, but Emma doesn’t care.) 

Killian turns to her, just slightly, if only because he knows just how bright the smile spread across her face has to be. 

(He’s right.) 

It warms him. It makes his heart pound in his chest, just how happy her happiness makes him. Of course, that’s not the point of taking on dedicated students like Henry, but if one of the perks of being able to share the joy of music with the lad is spending time with (falling absolutely head over heels for) his mother, he will certainly be the last to complain. 

But, in looking over at her, he also happens to glance over her shoulder, where Neal is still sitting at the end of the aisle behind them. 

Not even looking at the stage, his cell phone still in his hand. 

Over the shoulders of Emma and Mary Margaret, David makes eye contact with him, raising one of his eyebrows in question, which Killian only responds to by nodding in Neal’s direction. David turns around, and Killian can tell by the rise and fall of his shoulders that he sighs. When he turns towards Killian again, he rolls his eyes. 

The last group to play is the elementary band, who proves to be much easier on the ears than the orchestra. It’s not very large, just a dozen or so students spread across the three rows of chairs, with three percussionists standing in front of various instruments at the back of the stage. 

And then, after the first song, out come the recorders. 

It appears Emma spoke (thought?) too soon, trying her best not to wince through their rendition of “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas,” thankfully aided by some of the other band members to make it somewhat less terrible — but by a very small margin. 

(Killian, however, does not have the same self-control, and every scrunch of his face is paired with the tightening of his hand, which still happens to be wrapped around Emma’s — though neither of them are complaining.) 

The first words out of Neal’s mouth, while everyone else praises his performance, are, “You ready to get out of here, kid?” 

The question is met with a glare from the rest of the group, all except Henry who just looks confused. 

“Aren’t we taking some of my friends? We have to wait for them.” 

Neal sighs, looking at his watch. “Well, can you rally them together? I have to be up early tomorrow so I don’t want to be out too late.” 

“If you want us to, David and I would be willing to take Henry instead,” Mary Margaret says, her grip on David’s hand tightening to stop him from reacting. 

Henry doesn’t answer, just turns his attention up at Neal, as if waiting to see how he responds. 

He grinds his teeth together. “No, of course I’ll take him, I just — it’s been a long week and I’m a little exhausted.” 

“I’m gonna go find Avery and Violet,” Henry says, obviously a little let down by Neal’s response, before walking away from the group — and, now that he’s gone, Emma allows herself to finally respond to him. 

“I can’t believe you!” 

Neal just rolls his eyes. Killian feels his jaw tighten, and David crosses his arms across his chest. 

“God, Emma, just stop overreacting. You all knew this was going to happen someday, even Henry.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to tell him today. He just had his first performance, his first solo, and all he wants from you is for you to be proud of him, not to hear that you’re moving away.” 

“Listen, you told me I had to wait until after the concert. The concert is over.” 

“You know damn well this isn’t what I meant!” Emma moves to lunge towards him, but Killian catches her arm, holding her back. 

“Not here, love,” he whispers. For a moment, Emma’s eyes are wide with anger, but when they meet his, they soften, and she nods. 

Neal scoffs. “You want to call me out for being inappropriate, yet here you are, dating Henry’s music teacher.” 

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes. 

We’re not dating. Killian feels the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back — this is neither the time nor the place, and besides—

“That’s none of your damn business, first of all,” Emma bites. "I will kiss and date and sleep with whoever the hell I want to, you have no say in it anymore." 

"You slept with him?!" 

"Again, it's none of your business whether I did or not, Neal. That's the point. God, I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now. Just make sure Henry gets to soccer practice on time tomorrow, please.”

“Now you’re going to tell me how to be his dad? Like I haven’t been doing it for ten years?” 

Killian has a feeling that if his hand weren’t still wrapped around Emma’s wrist, she would have lunged again. 

“Come on, Emma, let’s go,” David says, stepping between them. “He’s not worth it,” he whispers. 

Still, Emma doesn’t move. 

Killian tugs on her hand. “Come on, love.” 

She takes a breath, apparent by the rise and fall of her shoulders, before she nods, finally turning back to face him. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

They find Henry in the music room behind the auditorium, gathering his belongings. “Hey, kid,” Emma calls, walking towards him. “We’re gonna head out, okay?” 

He whips around, stopping in the middle of his conversation with Avery. “Okay!” He rushes across the music room to wrap his arms around Emma’s middle. “Thanks again for coming!” 

“Of course we came, lad,” Killian says, mussing his hair with a smile. 

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mary Margaret chirps from behind them. 

“But you have fun with your dad, alright?” Emma says. “Want me to take your dress shoes home?” 

“I don’t want to stay at dad’s tonight, I want to come home with you.” 

“Henry, come on, we talked about this already. Your dad asked for you to stay there tonight even though it’s not his night, and you have practice in the morning anyway. Please?” 

Suddenly, his eyes light up. “Why? Are you two going on a date?” 

David scoffs. Mary Margaret laughs, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Killian is useless against the drop of his jaw. But it’s Emma’s answer that Henry laughs at: “What? No, come on, we’re—we’re—” she stutters. 

Henry puts his hands on his hips, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Killian recognizes the look immediately; he’s gotten the exact look from Emma before, on quite a few occasions. 

“I can assure you, lad, I’m just taking your mother home.” 

This time, it’s David who laughs, just a single bark — but it’s all Killian needs to really hear what he has just said, and he quickly feels as heat rises to the tips of his ears. 

But Henry doesn’t hear it that way, thankfully, and instead flashes a large smile at them. “Then you can just take me home, too.” 

“Henry, please,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. Henry’s smile disappears, and he nods even as his gaze falls to the ground. 

“Okay, mom.” 

He goes to turn away from them, but Emma reaches out to put her arm on his shoulder. “Hey,” she whispers, waiting for him to look back up at her before she smiles. ‘C’mere,” she whispers, leaning down as she holds her arms out to him. 

Henry complies, even managing to crack a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow after practice, alright?”

“You’ll pick me up?” 

“Sure. I’ll be there.” 

“Thanks, mom.” 

After quickly hugging Mary Margaret and high-fiving David and Killian, the four of them make their way out of the building to their cars. 

“So, are you guys going on a date?” The question practically explodes out of Mary Margaret, and David is useless against the smile that spreads across his face. 

“No,” Emma says, but Killian takes a chance and shrugs. 

“What do you say, Swan? Want to get something to eat?”

No one looks more surprised by this turn of events than Emma herself. Killian’s glad they’re out from under the harsh phosphorescence of the school lights so the redness of his face is (hopefully) less obvious. 

David’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Do I have to give you guys the talk?” 

Killian doesn’t know how to respond, truthfully; instead, Emma hits his arm with the back of her hand. “Oh my god, David.” 

Mary Margaret giggles — honest-to-God giggles. 

“We’re leaving now,” Emma says, and Killian certainly doesn’t argue. 

“So, do you want to eat, or not?” Killian asks, finally breaking the silence in the car as they pull out of the parking lot. 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Emma mumbles, failing to hide the way she fiddles with her nails. “Wherever you want to go.” 

He smiles. “I know just the place.” 

Much to Emma’s surprise, he takes them home. To his house, more specifically, though for a moment she fears that he will drop her off at her front door and disappear forever. Instead, he holds open his front door for her, as nervous as she is. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, helping her shrug out of her coat, which he then drapes over the back of a dining room chair. “Water? Wine? I probably have some whiskey somewhere around here, if you’re looking for something harder.” 

Emma smiles, finding his obvious nerves charming. “Wine would be great.” 

He hums, pulling a bottle of white out of the fridge. Of course, with the way his nerves have been acting up, he’s surprised he hasn’t already started rambling, so he’s not surprised when he opens his mouth and is unable to stop words from falling from his lips. “Liam always told me that the best way to impress a lady is to cook for her, but I was probably not supposed to divulge that information on a first date.” He hands her the glass of wine, then pours one for himself. “I was half-hoping this is where we ended up, you know. That’s why I prepared a little bit, why I thawed this piece of salmon and made sure I had what I needed for my mother’s favorite pasta recipe.” Quickly, he turns to face her, unable to stop his hand from scratching the spot behind his ear. “I hope that’s okay, now that I’m thinking about it, I never even asked—” 

Emma holds her hand out, resting it against his hand on the counter. “Killian,” she says softly, and between that and her smile, he snaps his mouth shut. “Whatever you have planned, I’m sure it will be perfect.” 

He wants to dive across the kitchen counter and kiss her right there, the salmon be damned. But that’s not what he does, holding himself back. Instead, he just smiles at her. 

“You have too much faith in me, love,” he says, forcing himself to move to begin readying dinner. 

“Maybe I’ve just gotten to know you enough to be sure that I can trust you.” 

God, I love this woman, he thinks to himself, only allowing himself to pause for a moment as the realization hits him, knowing that more will draw her attention for sure. And if he called her out, asked what he was thinking about, he’s not sure he would be able to stop himself from telling her. 

Because it’s true, he realizes — there’s no use hiding from it anymore. It’s true that he has fallen absolutely in love with Emma Swan, and there’s no going back now. 

But the silence of the kitchen — of the whole house — gets to him before the oven is even preheated, and he has to find something to talk about before he absolutely loses his mind. 

“Your lad did a great job tonight, you know,” he says, daring to glance at her over his shoulder, if only to catch the smile that he knows is on her face. 

“Well, he had an incredible teacher,” she says. 

“That may be true, love, but he had real talent when he started.” 

“Which really is a surprise.” Emma tells him, not for the first time. “I know neither Neal or I have any musical ability, or Neal’s dad. Mary Margaret used to play the flute, but she’s not actually family, and probably hasn’t picked one up since college.” 

“I know you never knew them, but maybe it’s from one of your parents.” This time, when he glances over his shoulder, she has her thumbnail between her front teeth, so he adds, “Or maybe it’s just him. It’s not unheard of.” 

She attempts to smile, but it doesn’t stick. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he turns back to the counter, adding the last few sprigs of rosemary to the pan with the salmon before sticking it in the oven. 

“That’ll take a little while longer than the pasta, so I’m going to wait a bit before I start that,” he starts, but when he turns back to her, she’s gone. 

Shit. 

“Okay,” she calls from the living room, which slows the terrified pounding of his heart almost immediately. Even after months of friendship with Emma Swan, he still somehow thought she would have walked out on him. 

“So we, uh, have a little bit of time,” he says, finding his own glass of wine before following her voice into the living room. Much to his surprise, she’s sitting on the piano bench, her long, thin fingers moving gently across the keys, but not making a sound. 

“You know,” she says, turning towards him as he fills the space between them. “I do know how to play one thing on the piano.” With a shy smile, she moves over on the bench to give him room to sit with her, patting it gently when he doesn’t move to join her. 

But he’s useless against her, and can fight it no longer, so he does, trying to focus on something other than the warmth of her leg pressed against his. “Oh yeah? What is that?” 

He's afraid to hear the answer, knows what she's about to play down deep in his soul, but he still cringes when he hears the first few notes: “Heart and Soul.” 

"Anything but that, love. Literally anything."

“I don’t know about you, Killian Jones,” Emma says, letting him slip her jacket back over her arms before he leads her to the door. “But I don’t think I’ve ever had a better first date.” Even in the low light of the entryway, Killian knows that Emma can see the blush rising to his cheeks. “And I know I said it before, but that pasta was incredible. Really, one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Well, thank you, Swan,” he says, ducking his head to avoid her bright eyes. “I’m glad you think so. Both about the pasta and the date.” 

“I may even let you walk me home.” 

He’s at a loss for words — and even questions his own ability to speak when she follows up by running her tongue across her bottom lip. 

“It would be my pleasure.” 

“You’re a true gentleman, Killian Jones.” 

“Always.” He even feels brave enough to wink at her, holding open the front door to let her through. 

Their walk across the street is silent, save the light chuckle Killian allows when Emma threads her arm through his. 

“This is my stop,” she says, turning to face him on her front porch. But instead of moving to open the door, she reaches out to take one of his hands in hers. Then the other. 

“Yeah, I should, uh, let you get home,” he says, realizing that it is, in fact, the very last thing he wants to do. 

She looks up at him, her green eyes bright in the front lights. “Yeah,” she whispers, barely audible. Swipes her tongue across her bottom lip again. And then leans forward, letting go of one of his hands only to wrap hers around his neck, and presses her lips against his. It’s soft, it’s gentle, it’s — 

Perfect. Everything he imagined kissing Emma Swan would be. 

And that’s why he loses himself in it, in her, for just a moment, living for the swipe of her tongue against his, before backing away. She takes a deep breath before opening her eyes, a soft smile spread across her lips. 

“I don’t usually do this on a first date, love,” he whispers, leaning closer to her so he can rest his forehead against hers. 

“Me neither,” she says back, her smile growing. “So take me out again tomorrow night and we can do it again.” 

“Deal.” 

She kisses him again, a single peck on the lips, and turns away.

tags: @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @wellhellotragic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @teamhook​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @superchocovian​ @carpedzem​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @lfh1226-linda​ @singersdd @tiganasummertree​ @alexannam16​ @therealstartraveller776​ @spartanguard​ @jennjenn615​ @pepperspotts​

[livnonstop]

[ CAMILA MENDES | 27 | WOMAN ] OLIVIA DE SOUSA is working at NEW BANGS? you’d think SHE would have it together by now but SHE can be SARCASTIC and GUARDED, which counters how EMPATHETIC and HUMOROUS SHE is. i think SHE wanted to be a FAMOUS ACTRESS when SHE were/was younger, so i don’t know what happened.

name: olivia marisol de sousa nicknames: oli ( although she hates this one to pieces ) liv ( preferred ) birthdate: october 13 age: twenty-seven (27) place of birth: scottsdale arizona family: mother ( marissa de sousa [nee: pereira], father ( tomas de sousa, satan little brother (FIRST NAME DE SOUSA), little sister (FIRST NAME DE SOUSA) gender: cis-female ; she/her pronouns height: 5′2″ ( but in heels she’s a decent 5′5.5″ to 5′6″ ) sexual orientation: bisexual romantic orientation: biromantic diagnoses: high functioning anxiety zodiac: capricorn with insanely too many sag placements in her chart social class: kind of broke? but i mean, getting by. current location: minneapolis occupation: hair stylist

languages spoken.

english, portugese, spanish (conversational and a bit further), italian (conversational), french (a combined possible three sentences thanks to school)

wins / losses.

(+) caring, loyal, empathetic, good listener, humorous, great with advice, kind, loves to laugh, tells decent dad jokes. (-) sarcastic, flirtatious, guarded, doesn’t always speak about her problems or emotions, too giving in a sense, sometimes self deprecating, pessimistic.

fun facts.

- licensed cosmetologist but the bane of her existence has got to be doing highlights because simply, foils bore her and its so many!!!! - fell asleep during her SATs. still got a score of 2140. - in this cruel world of Backstreet Boys vs *NSYNC, she listens to both but is the future Mrs. Timberlake. - wants to live like Lisa Turtle or Kelly Kapowski, but is kind of too broke to do so. - has a small stature but will eat you out of a house and home

bio.

There's only so much a girl like Olivia talks about, or maybe in her case, only so much she doesn't want to talk about.

LIFE BEFORE SCOTTSDALE

Born in Cincinnati, OH to two Brazilian-American parents, the oldest of three kids, Olivia Marisol De Sousa was bought into the world in the dead middle of fall, October 13th. Her big wide eyes instantly made her a daddy's girl. Dad, Tomas De Sousa, was a construction worker while mom, Marissa De Sousa, worked at a hotel as a manager. The two met while in high school and kind of hated each other to the ends of the earth before finding love with each other as they became older adults. Olivia was the result of make up sex after a huge fight. Still, the parents loved her like no other, because she was the reason they worked harder to keep the family together. Two years later, Olivia's little brother was bought into the world, which made Olivia cry.

She wasn't the sole child that were to get all the attention from her parents anymore.

The sibling rivalry was heavy in the first seven years of Olivia's life, she had to one up her little brother, Jeremy, in every way possible. Just when she thought she had the competition won, her little sister was conceived and was due any time now. Olivia and her little brother, once sworn sibling enemies (yeah okay, drastic much Liv?) became allies. It was short lived once all the kids lived together harmoniously.

They had no other choice but to since life was about to change.

Olivia was twelve when she heard her mother scream at her father. "Maybe if you learned how to keep you dick in your pants and out of other whores' vaginas, you wouldn't have gotten caught and try to blame me for you being the piece of shit you re right now!" The screaming went on forever it felt, followed by a slam of the door and huffing. On one side, she heard her mother sobbing, the other she heard her father's footsteps pace around the house. Olivia couldn't do much, her younger siblings were crying and her being the responsible sister had to protect them because over the course of time, family became important.

Olivia also decided to take out her iPad she had gotten the year before and go incognito to google everything she heard from her parents. It led her to a discovery of naked figures, moaning, pleasure. How could her father be yelled at if it looked like it was such a good thing? Then she realized he wasn't doing this with mom, but with other women. That's when her heart broke for her mother even more.

At age thirteen, Olivia wasn't like the other girls in her class. She wore glasses because her eyesight was shit, baggy clothes because she still hadn't developed. Her hair was a frizzy mess, god she was a mess. Still, she craved to be touched like the girls she often watched at night with headphones on. Other girls in her class had been kissed, guys she hung around boasted about touching boobs and getting hard and she wished she had a guy to compliment about her. Still, the self-proclaimed ugly duckling didn't realize the best and the worst was about to come.

That summer, when she finally got boobs, her parents filed for divorce. Tomas was seeing some girl and Marissa was planning to move with the kids far, far away.

LIFE IN SCOTTSDALE

Marissa, Olivia and her younger siblings all moved to Scottsdale, AZ in August of 1985. The family started over on the west coast which bothered the children more than Marissa. Marissa easily found a job at another hotel as a manager and made more money than when they were in Ohio. That's when Olivia decided to make changes to herself.

Once the young girl started high school, her whole outlook on life and how she looked changed. She started wearing makeup and better fitting clothes, her feet always in heeled shoes for added height, glasses no longer a thing for her since she wore contact lenses. Olivia De Sousa from Ohio didn't exist in this world, oh no. Once people began to comment on how pretty her skin was or how amazing her hair looked, things and who she used to be didn't exist.

Her first boyfriend was also her first hookup, named Darren Price. She was fifteen and he just turned seventeen. They were short lived, which didn't bother Liv at all. She was young, she was beautiful. This was just the tip of iceberg for her; the world is her oyster and she was a pretty shiny pearl.

That same year she dated a girl named Irene, who was the really pretty girl (almost as pretty as she was if you asked Olivia) and it was her first time with a female. It certainly wouldn't be the last in her lifetime. The two girls were a whirlwind of fun and secret hookups in places they should definitely have been arrested in but again, short lived.

When Olivia became a junior in high school, the beautiful Brazilian found herself in a taboo relationship; she was hooking up with her history teacher, Mr. Garland. He was a rather young teacher, one with a wandering eye on the girl toward the back of his class with a pen resting on her lips, bedroom eyes and always showing a bit more skin to make him think of it all in the shower when he got home. Mr. Garland was also married, which made everything even more taboo. Still, Olivia thrived off the relationship, the sex was great, he was smart, she was intelligent and hot. It was a Lifetime movie waiting to happen. The affair went on until Olivia graduated from high school.

Because high school things need to be left behind in just that, high school.

Olivia found herself repeating the same old habits once she entered college. The young girl began attending University of Nevada in Reno the summer of 1991 studying Film and Drama when she met Professor Alexander. Again, old habits die hard. Olivia found herself in another illicit affair with a teacher of hers. Unlike her affair with Mr. Garland, Olivia quickly grew bored and ended the affair after a semester and a half. After graduating with a degree, she decided to take up cosmetology and move to Minneapolis. Of all places.

After that, she's mainly just having a bunch of flings, one night stands, short unimportant relationships and focused on her job.

[crystalpistol]

(A/N: DISCLAIMER, course language, violence and moderate sexual themes.)

Every time you saw his stupid, ugly horse face you wanted to fucking punch it. His annoying, nasally voice made you want to rip his voice box out. His weird, lanky limbs made you want to trip him. Basically, Patrick couldn’t do a single thing without it getting under your skin.

And he knew it.

You leaned against a wall by the back of the school with Henry, sharing a fag together. You chatted softly, looking around the corner for teachers or students every so often, it was going pretty well - a good smoke break.

Then Patrick had to show up and ruin it with his uninvited entrance. You could fucking sense him from a mile away and for whatever reason, he was always no longer than that. Patrick Hockstetter was the bane of your god damn existence.

He smirked his stupid crooked smirk the moment he rounded the corner and caught the two of you sharing a cigarette. “Hey, Hockstetter. Skippin’ class?” Henry inquired, not bothering to look at his friend. He was busy watching cars pass in the streets.

“Chem is for faggots.” Patrick shrugged and snagged the fag from Henry’s parted lips. The two shared some macho moment before Henry decided to let it slip, his tense shoulders slacking.

“I gotta get back,” Bowers side-eyed you, gauging your reaction. Everyone knew never to leave Patrick and Y/N alone together, that’d be asking for a fucking storm. You contemplated joining him but looked to Patrick again, or more so at your cigarette in his mouth. You’d barely had any time to actually smoke.

“I’ll just chill here ‘til next period.” You decided, making an internal decision to ignore Patrick the moment Henry left, but why mention that? Henry nodded slowly, brows low on his face. “Meet you guys at Vic’s locker after class.”

You and Patrick watched Henry turn the corner and disappear with a scrappy text book in his hand and immediately began regretting your decision the moment Patrick’s eyes turned back to you.

“So,” he began, “you and Bowers, huh?” Oh my god, shut the fuck up. “Fuckin’ what?” You snapped, that 'internal decision’ gone in a flash.

Patrick stepped closer, leaning his elbow against the brick wall, placing your cigarette to his slimy lips again. You reached forward and slapped it clean from his face and stepped on it aggressively. “I don’t remember saying you could smoke my darts.”

Patrick’s face dropped and his hand instantly shot up to wrap around your throat, then your world started to spin. You were on the ground in a second with a cigarette butt to your face, Patrick crushing your body with his.

The creep didn’t even say anything, just inched it closer and closer until he heard a whimper.

“You’re all talk.” He took a handful of your hair and rubbed your face into the concrete. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy.”

You felt glass shards against your face and let out a horrible shriek, “Get offa me, you rodent!”

Patrick made the mistake of pulling your head from the ground to take a look at his handiwork and that was all you needed. You pushed yourself up off the ground - with Patrick still on your back.

He was tall, but he was fuckin’ skinny and you were counting on that. Once standing upright, you felt the doubled weight pulling you backward and you just went with the flow, slamming Patrick into the wall behind you both.

Patrick groaned and his grip in your hair tightened, yanking your head violently. Without thinking, you reached around and grabbed him hard, squeezing with as much force as possible and hoping for the best. It worked. Patrick damn near cried and threw you off of him with a strength you didn’t know he had.

“What the fuck!” He clutched his crotch and moaned, face twisted into a horrible grimace. “You fucking broke my dick!”

You wiped your lip and noted the crimson on the back of your hand. You were bleeding. “Fuck you.”

Patrick panted, head bowed as he cautiously massaged his damaged goods. “Fuck you, Y/N.”

You grabbed your backpack and made a break for it but it didn’t take five seconds for Patrick to start his pursuit. You could hear the hard slam of his boots against concrete. Fuck, fuck - you looked back just in time to see Patrick lunge at you.

The wind was knocked clean out of you the second he tackled you and so, you couldn’t even scream. Another spin of colours and you were on the ground again, but this time, completely pinned. It took a moment for your vision to adjust and when it did, you kind of wished it hadn’t.

Patrick’s hair was a mess and his eyes were wide with rage, his upper lip curled into a snarl but quivered uncontrollably, just like the rest of him. You struggled but it didn’t last, Patrick pressed himself flush against you and you cringed at the smell of his breath.

The fear was starting to really set in and for the first time in ages, Patrick was about to really, really fucking hurt you. He let go of you with his left hand, but only to bring it down on your face.

Your ears began to ring and your head hit the ground again, but Patrick didn’t let up. He punched you and then grabbed the front of your shirt, sitting up and pulling you with him. He straddled you and reeled back, only to quickly change his mind at the last second and punch you in the gut.

You coughed and tensed, pain overwhelming. Patrick didn’t give you any time to recover, but in a sick, twisted way, changed his tactic. His blood-covered fist flattened out and Patrick grinned before the back of his hand struck your cheek.

The sting was it for you and you started to cry. Your fingers wrapped around his arm weakly in a vain attempt to resist the assault, every move felt heavy and burdensome. After a few more slaps, your face felt numb and you began to protest less.

Patrick decided that was the time to switch things up and give the other side of your face a thrashing. By the end of it, you were a bloody, red mess on the ground. Blood stained your face and plain white tee, your jeans were torn at the knees and somehow you were missing a shoe.

Patrick dropped you but didn’t stand up, instead he decided to watch you for a minute. He watched your chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths. Your arms were above your head right where he’d left them and then there was your face.

The teen was thrilled, teeth gritting at the sight of you. Your nose was bloody but definitely not broken, your bottom lip was busted open and your face was already starting to bruise. He’d done a fucking number on you.

Then, an idea crept into Patrick’s mind, an idea that would never have been given the spotlight any other day.

You felt Patrick’s hand slide behind your head and you braced for another blow, pain shooting across your face when you flinched weakly. You didn’t really question why Patrick cupped your head rather than grab your hair but when your eyes opened slowly to investigate you knew something was off.

Patrick pulled you in close and pushed his face into your hair, taking a long whiff. He was smelling you.

“Sto-op..” His spindly fingers brushed stray locks away and you shivered at the tickle, and then his hand slipped from the back of your head to your neck and then he did the unfathomable.

“Patrick!” Adrenaline kicked in and your eyes shot wide open, completely aware now. “Stop it!”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god. Patrick’s tongue traced the blood that had travelled from your face and down your neck and despite yourself, you moaned.

Patrick hummed, grinding down on you and pressing his teeth against your flesh.

“You stop it.” He finally responded, his free hand taking one of yours and guiding it up the front of his undershirt. “Stop it, Y/N. Please. I’m a virgin.” He mocked, voice trembling.

You were getting whiplash from Patrick’s complete 180, he was fucking mental. He beat the living shit out of you and now he wanted to get with you? This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t be.

You’d mouthed off countless times to Patrick over the years and always paid the price, but not once had Patrick ever, ever done anything like this. You didn’t even know the psycho was capable of intimacy at all. But was that even what this was?

It was twisted, but when your fingers traced a dip in Patrick’s hip and goosebumps erupted across his pale skin, you appreciated how soft it was. A single finger dipped beneath his belt and the band of his jeans and your entire being heated at the reaction fed to you.

Patrick’s eyes instantly closed and his lips parted, tongue darting in and out of his mouth like a reptile. He dropped your head in pursuit of his buckle, lips on you again. You were beginning to enjoy things so much, you didn’t realise how fast the pace was going until Patrick was tearing his belt off and tossing it aside.

The next few moments are what sobered you up completely. Patrick popped the button of his jeans and exposed himself to you, tall and proud.

Nuh-uh. Nope. No.

You sat up and Patrick smiled, misunderstanding your intention completely, and began to slowly circle his hips. “Even with brain damage, I’m not gonna fuckin’ touch your needle dick, Hockstetter.”

The raven-haired teen laughed and you turned away, briefly catching a glimpse of him again. “I mean, I think you should..”

Every single emotion or sensation that didn’t align with the rage you felt then was eradicated from the front of your mind and you clenched your jaw painfully tight. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Patrick pulled a face at you, “I’d like you better.”

[donteattheappleshook]

AU Prompt: Emma pushed Killian away when he confessed his feelings to her. He’s finally returned home, a bit broken by the world. Will she finally have the guts to tell him what she always regretted not saying? (Can be smutty or not)

Sorry this took a few weeks but here it is! Thank you for my first ever prompt! I don’t know if this is what you wanted but this is what it turned into... nearly 10000 words of friends to lovers angst.

You can read it on Ao3

Send me your prompts!

Emma met Killian Jones when she was seventeen years old and she hadn’t liked him one bit. From the moment he’d first said hello to her she’d read him as a cocky, smooth talking broody type who probably liked to win over girls with his accent and his Edward Cullen like aloofness. She had not been a fan. She’d let him know too, on multiple occasions. 

She’d spent most of her time avoiding him for the first month of the semester and she was doing a pretty good job of it actually. That is, until she got detention. For being late. How unfair was that? It wasn’t her fault that Ruth’s car wouldn’t start in the morning and so she and David had had to walk to school. David got away with it, he always did. He was sweet and friendly and he could charm teachers like it was nobody’s business. 

Emma had scowled and defended her innocence and had ended up with detention. She loved the guy, really. Ever since he and Ruth had taken her in a year ago she was nothing but grateful for their kindness and love. She’d even started referring to him as her brother. She just hated how much better he was at being a person than she was sometimes. 

That was the second time she met Killian Jones. She was shocked to find him there. Despite her first impression she had managed to discover that he was, at his core, a nerd. He may dress like the love interest in a teen movie but he spent most of his time in the library or sitting under trees reading or doing homework. He even wore glasses sometimes, these big, awful square things that took over half his face. So what was he doing in detention?

“Afternoon, Swan,” he said when she walked in. He was immediately shushed by the teacher who had gotten the unfortunate role of supervising them. “I’m just being friendly,” she heard him mutter under his breath. 

They were the only two in there today. They had to stay for an hour after school. She guessed the punishment for being late to class was being late to dinner. They were told to sit silently and to either do homework or read. Emma figured she might as well try to get through some of her English homework. She was crap at it and it was the one subject that David couldn’t help her with. She’d rather do it here then at home. 

She started working through the questions for Act 1. Why the hell did they still study Shakespeare? The guy was dead four hundred years now. Give it up already - let him rest in peace. She was working on the third question - guessing the answer to the third question was more like it - when she heard a small cough beside her. She looked up to find Killian leaning over in his seat, his own homework in front of him.

“That’s the wrong answer,” he said quietly and she raised a brow at him.

“What?”

“Your answer, Mercutio isn’t Romeo’s cousin. Benvolio is. Mercutio is just his friend.” Her eyes widened in surprise. He wasn’t being condescending or self-righteous. He was just… letting her know. Trying to help her, she realised. He looked nervous as he glanced at her and then back at his book. 

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“I’m in your English class,” he said, looking down, ears turning red. Right. And she was a jerk. She felt bad, he looked a little dejected and it was her fault. She hadn’t seen him hanging around with many people, he was usually alone. Like her. She wondered then, a bit sadly, if maybe he wasn’t alone because he wanted to be. Maybe he was alone because he didn’t have anyone - like her. 

“Thanks,” she said with a smile and he gave her a small one in return. “Um, do you know who the hell Tybalt is?” 

His smile widened and he nodded as he leaned over to help her. The teacher told them to knock it off but he insisted that they were trying to help each other complete the same homework. He even argued that it was more character building than just sitting in silence. He was damn lucky that he seemed to have some of that same charm that David had when it came to teachers. The teacher waved them away, letting them continue to work together. 

She finished her homework a lot faster than she would have without him. And she understood the story a little better than she had coming in to detention. She was reminded then that that was where they were and as she looked at Killian, with his red ears and his shy smile and hunched shoulders and his dumb glasses, she had to ask. 

“What did you do to get in here?” His smile faltered just a tad. He scratched behind his ear nervously. 

“I, um, I punched Eric.”

“You what?” she demanded, loud enough that the teacher glared. Of all the things she’d expected - that was not one of them. 

“He was picking on Belle. He threw her book in the snow and made fun of her for liking to read - I mean, who the hell makes fun of someone for reading?” 

Emma felt her lips curling up a bit at his incredulous tone. “What, is Belle your girlfriend or something,” she teased. He frowned at her, looking confused.

“No,” he said. “She’s with that strange Scottish exchange student who’s name I can’t pronounce. But she’s a person and she’s sweet and Eric is an asshole and well, Belle is only about yea big,” he said, bringing his thumb and index finger close together. “I couldn’t do nothing,” he insisted. Emma laughed. 

Two things changed that day. One, Emma understood Shakespeare for the first (and last) time in her life. And two, she decided to make Killian Jones her friend. 

They were inseparable after that. At school  they spent almost all of their time together. In class they sat next to each other, they chatted in the halls between bells, they ate lunch together, and Killian ate dinner at their house regularly. Emma learned fairly quickly that his own home wasn’t a place he liked to be when he could avoid it. 

His mother had died when he was young and his father had raised him and his brother for a few years but finally decided that he couldn’t handle raising his sons on his own so when Killian’s brother went off to university, he had sent him to live with his aunt Cora in Boston. She was, in Killian’s own words, not a very nice woman. 

It was then that Emma realised how similar she and Killian were. They’d both been abandoned and left behind by the people who were supposed to care about them more than anyone. His father had sent him away. Her parents had abandoned her by the side of the road. Both their parents had chosen to give them up. And so she invited him for dinner, because Ruth and David were the best thing that had ever happened to her and she thought he could use a little bit of the Nolans in his life. 

He and David got along like a house on fire. She was surprised considering how David was such a jock, and Killian revealed dorkier and dorkier interests with every day that she knew him. But they were similar, she could see that, in their friendliness and openness and their humor. Killian told her that David reminded him of his brother and that made him miss him less. 

David also quickly became the bane of her existence, insisting that she and Killian were secretly in love with each other and getting on her case to just admit it already so that they could get married and have lots of babies like they both clearly wanted. Emma usually punched him for that. 

She and Killian were friends. That was all. She’d had few real friends in her life and she wasn’t going to screw this one up by developing feelings for him. No matter how cute he looked when his hair fell onto his forehead despite his best efforts to push it back. No matter how much he made her laugh or how much she enjoyed when they watched a movie late on the weekend and he let her fall asleep with her head in his lap. No matter how she thought he looked kind of hot when he got mad every time she beat him at Scrabble - which was all the time. They were friends. 

Emma had tried love once. She was sixteen, just when Ruth and David had first taken her in. There had been a guy. He had been in one of her group homes a while back, before he aged out and they had stayed in touch. They’d reunited when they found themselves both in the same city. 

He was older but she didn’t think that mattered. What was five years when they’d lived so many of the same experiences? Ruth hadn’t approved of the situation but she’d stayed mostly quiet about it - their relationship not strong enough for her to impose her views yet. 

She’d thought Neal was the love of her life. But then, she’d had a pregnancy scare and he’d run away faster than a bat outta hell. She’d never heard from him since. She hadn’t been pregnant, thank god. She was not ready to be a mother. But to see how little she meant to him, how despite all his pretty words and promises he had left her so easily the second he was faced with her being in his life forever… it had hurt. It had destroyed her, really. So she figured love wasn’t really worth it in the end. 

She’d met Killian less than a year later and at first she’d hated him because that easy charisma and confidence and air of a damaged soul had reminded her so strongly of Neal that she’d headed for the hills. But after she’d gotten to know him she realised how different they were, and so she did love him - not in that way, maybe in that way- but in the way she loved David. She trusted him and liked being around him. 

He was her friend - even if she had had that weird dream about him one time… several times… too many times. It wasn’t her fault that she thought about him when she woke up and before she went to sleep. He was usually texting her at that time - what else could she think about? They were friends. He was her best friend and he had been for nearly a year when everything changed. 

“I um, I got in,” he told her when they were sitting at the kitchen table one weekend near the end of their senior year. They’d decided to open their letters together. Emma had applied to a few colleges nearby and the local community college. She had her sights set on becoming a police officer or a social worker. She wasn’t sure which yet. Killian wanted to be an English professor. He’d told her so one of the first days they’d hung out. She’d called him a nerd but gave him credit for at least finding a way to make money off of it. 

“Got in where?” she asked. She’d missed which envelope he’d opened. He had a lot - they were all the big envelopes too. 

“Oxford,” he said, his eyes wide in disbelief and amazement. 

“Holy shit, Killian!” she shouted, standing up and throwing her arms around him, nearly knocking him right off his chair. “That’s amazing! Isn’t that where your brother studies? That’s an amazing school! Oh my god, professor Jones here you come!” 

She was beaming, so proud of him, so happy for him. She knew this was his dream school. But there was something off. He didn’t look as thrilled as she expected him to. Maybe it was just shock but she thought he could at least smile about it. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, nudging his shoulder. “I thought this was what you wanted?” 

“It is - sort of. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s in England,” he said and for the first time since he’d opened that letter it hit her. Oh. Oh. That meant… that meant he’d be leaving. Moving hundreds of miles away. 

“I don’t have to go there,” he said, giving her an awkward, embarrassed smile. “I got into Harvard too.” 

“You what?” she practically screamed. She punched his arm. “You weren’t supposed to open letters without me!” 

“It was Harvard, Emma,” he deadpanned and she couldn’t really be mad at him. She wouldn’t have been able to wait either. 

“Where do you want to go?” she asked and he looked at her hesitantly. She tried not to think about the way her heart was racing in her chest. Or about how blue his eyes were. Or about how she might not get to see them every day if he went to Oxford. 

“I don’t know,” he started and she knew he was lying. 

“Yes you do.” He looked away, not meeting her eye. “Killian, I know you hate it here,” he opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. “I know you like me and David and Belle and some of the others but… I know you miss home. I know you miss your brother. I also know it’s the better program because you’ve told me so. Multiple times.” She held her breath for a moment, surprised at how much it hurt to encourage him to follow his dream. “Oxford is everything you’ve ever wanted.” 

“Not everything,” he said and she tried to meet his eye. He wouldn’t look at her. 

“What do you mean? What’s missing.” 

“You,” he answered, finally looking at her and her breath caught in her throat. Not just at his words, but at the way he was looking at her, like he’d been holding something back a long time and now the floodgates had opened and it was rushing out, plain on his face. “Oxford doesn’t have you,” he said. 

“If I stay here,” he continued, “we could go to school in the same city. We could keep hanging out between classes and on the weekends - we could even get a flat together!” he said a little excitedly and Emma’s chest hurt because she wanted all of those things, so badly. But she couldn’t have them. She couldn’t let him choose her over his future. They were friends. They were seventeen. He would regret it and resent her for the rest of his life. 

“But Oxford is your dream, everything you said you wanted,” she reminded him. “Oxford is where your family is, your brother and your old friends.” Her argument sounded weak to her own ears. 

“Maybe I have other dreams, other things I want more,” he said, looking at her that way again. It scared her. 

“What dreams,” she asked, barely whispering. 

“Emma,” he said, taking her hand and her heart started racing. “Emma you have to know, there’s no way you couldn’t. The whole school knows, your brother knows.” Her breath was coming quickly now, all of her senses on high alert and her blood rushing in her ears as he leaned in.

He pressed his lips to hers, tentatively, nervously, but with a passion that Killian always had for anything he did, anything he cared about. She shouldn’t let him kiss her, she thought. She couldn’t. She couldn’t because she wanted him to and if she wanted that then she had to admit to everything she wanted, to how much she wanted him. 

Of course she knew. She’d always known and… he knew too. But this was his life. His future. She couldn't let him throw it away for her. She loved him, regardless of which way, and so she had to let him go. So she did let him kiss her, for a moment, let her lips slide over his own, let herself enjoy how natural it felt, how right it felt - because she knew she’d never get to again. She pulled away first. 

“Killian -” she started and he must have heard it in her voice because he raised his hand, cupped her cheek.

“No,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. His words were frantic, desperate, like he was trying to hold on to something he knew was slipping away. “I love you, Emma. Ask me not to go. Ask me to stay.” 

She couldn’t. She couldn’t ask him that. It was selfish and she couldn’t let him give up his dreams for her. She wasn’t worth it. She knew he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t let her convince him to leave just like that. She’d have to hurt him - for his own sake. And it would hurt her just as much. 

“I can’t,” she said and she felt his hand tighten slightly in her hair. She pulled back. “Killian. Don’t stay for me. Whatever it is you feel for me… I don’t,” she lied. “I’m sorry. But you can’t stay in Boston for me. Not if you’re staying because you hope something will happen because… it’s never going to happen.”

She felt him tense. His hand still in her hair, her hand still clasped in his. Then he pulled back all at once, looked down, and then back at her. He was hurt, but there was guilt there too. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Emma, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine.”

“Will you still be my friend?” he asked. “Even after…”

“Yes,” she promised. 

“You really want me to go?” he asked. She nodded, hoped he didn’t see the tears she was struggling to hold off. 

“Yeah. I really want you to go,” she said. 

When Killian went home that night, earlier than usual, Emma let herself cry. 

Killian left in the summer. Their goodbye was awkward, as had most of their interactions been since his confession. They’d tried not to make it awkward, to go back to how they’d been but now he had this huge vulnerability hanging between them and she had this huge lie hanging between them. It tore at the fabric that made them what they were, that made their friendship what it had been. It stained it. 

“Keep in touch,” she said as she hugged him outside his aunt’s house, the cab waiting behind them. 

“Aye,” he promised. He got in the cab and David’s arm was around her suddenly. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Fine,” she lied again. She was getting good at it. 

***

They were still sort of friends, for the first year they kept in touch - really made an effort. Killian told her about the residence and the people he had met and his professors and Emma told him about her forensics courses. She’d decided on becoming a police officer - but she wanted to be a detective. David was in the same program. It was nice to do it with someone else. 

But slowly, unavoidably, life got in the way. The phone calls were few and farther between, he didn’t have the money to go to Boston for Thanksgiving and she didn’t have the money to go to England for Christmas. Plans were broken, texts went unanswered, new friends were made, new interests developed and slowly, they drifted. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just one of those sad, unavoidable realities of life. Only, he and David still talked, still texted and emailed and spoke on the phone. So maybe it wasn’t so unavoidable. Maybe they’d both needed it. 

She still had him on Facebook, still checked in on his profile despite the years that passed, trying to stay aware of the things that were happening in his life. She learned about his brother’s death from David. She sent him a card with her condolences but she didn’t go to the funeral. It had been three years since he left, two since they’d spoken. He probably wouldn’t have wanted her there anyway. He hadn’t come down for David and Mary Margaret’s wedding a year later, despite having known both of them since high school. He’d had exams and had sent his apologies and a gift by mail. 

She saw online that he was in a long-term relationship, someone called Milah, a pretty dark haired woman who looked a few years older than him, a professor at his school she discovered after a little bit of snooping. He was with her for two years during which Emma was accosted with pictures of the two of them, until finally, one day they just stopped. She wondered what had happened there. 

She smiled when she learned that he got his PhD. He’d posted a picture of himself with a beer in one hand and his diploma in the other. He’d captioned it ‘that’s DOCTOR Killian Jones to you’. She hit the like button. He changed his job status to ‘employed’ at one of the smaller nearby colleges shortly after and she was proud of him. He’d done it. He’d gotten everything he wanted. It had taken ten years, but he was exactly who he’d hoped to be. 

So was she. She had made detective a few years ago, alongside David. They were even allowed to be partners since technically they weren’t related. She was happy, she had a job she loved, a nice apartment that was all her own, good friends, family… but she still checked his Facebook. She still spent evenings sometimes with a glass of wine looking up the boy who had told her he loved her when she was seventeen. 

She and David were sitting in their patrol car, staking out a coffee shop of all places that they’d been told their perp liked to use to make his drops, when he told her Killian was moving back. 

“What?” she demanded, her voice practically squeaking. 

“He got a job at Harvard,” David said dismissively, as though he hadn’t just turned her world upside down. “He’s got a one year teaching contract. I guess they liked the idea of a Brit teaching British lit,” he smirked a little at his own joke. 

Emma was reeling. She wasn’t prepared for this. She didn’t know how to handle the guy that she’d loved in high school and then stalked on Facebook for ten years suddenly coming back into her life. 

“You okay?” David asked, looking at her strangely. 

“Fine,” she said quickly and he rolled his eyes, not buying it. 

“Whatever,” he said, picking his battles. “We’re having a party at our house to welcome him home,” he told her. “You should come.” Emma forgot sometimes that David and Killian were still friends, even after all these years. He and Mary Margaret had even taken the time to visit him when they’d gone to Europe for their anniversary last year.

“Maybe,” she said dismissively. 

“He still asks about you, you know,” David said after a moment. Emma stayed silent, pretending to look through her binoculars at the front door of the cafe. Pretending her heart wasn’t racing in her chest at the idea of seeing the man whose heart she’d broken a decade ago. 

She’d debated not going to the party. Had walked to her front door and back into her kitchen a few times, had hesitated at her car, but she’d finally told herself to snap out of it. It had been ten years ago. They’d been teenagers. He was surely over it by now and she should be too. So she went. 

She hadn’t been prepared. She thought she was but when she walked in and saw him standing with David and Mary Margaret, smiling at something one of them was saying… it was brutal. It was brutal because he was different. She’d expected him to be different of course, but not like this. 

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked sadder and older. He held himself more confidently than he had in high school, but something about it told her it was a facade. Maybe she just knew him, she thought. But she didn’t anymore, did she, she was reminded. Her heart stopped when he looked over, met her eyes. He smiled a little but it wasn’t the easy smile she’d loved so much. He raised his bottle at her and she gave an awkward wave. 

“Long time no see, stranger,” he said later, coming up behind her to say hello and honestly scaring the absolute shit out of her.

“Jesus, Killian,” she said, hand to her chest. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on a cop like that?”

He smiled, that teasing smile she remembered. “I think I could take David if we’re honest.” She laughed. “I heard you made detective,” he said. “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks. I hear you’re finally Professor Jones.”

“Aye. It seems we both got what we wanted in the end,” he said and there was a bit of sadness in the way he said it, the kind that she could tell was unintentional. 

“So,” she started awkwardly when the silence dragged on. “How have you been?”

“Good, good,” he said. “You?” This was brutal. They continued the small talk for a while. She missed how easy things used to be between them. She missed all the stupid, fun things they did when they were kids and they didn’t have all this baggage hanging between them. 

“You know what I miss?” she said out loud and he raised a brow at her. 

“No, Swan, what do you miss?” 

“I miss when we used to steal Ruth’s whiskey and climb up onto the roof and drink it there,” she smiled, remembering how many long, slightly drunken conversations they’d had as kids on the roof of Ruth’s house. 

Killian smiled, fondly and then a little mischievously. He leaned in a little and Emma couldn’t help but notice the way his face had changed. His jaw was sharper, some of the roundness of his cheeks having faded with age, and he’d grown into his nose. He was sporting a short beard now too, something he’d always wanted to complete his professor look but hadn’t been able to grow. He dressed better too, no more jeans and band tshirts. Now he wore… well, jeans and a tshirt but nicer ones with a jacket and boots instead of converse. It was pretty unfair, Emma thought, that he'd gotten better looking with age. He’d been good-looking enough to begin with. 

“I think I spy a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen there,” he hinted and Emma smirked. 

“This place does have a roof,” she said, matching his tone. 

“I’ll get the bottle, you distract Dave,” he said, winking - well, trying to. He’d never mastered that one and it made her smile a bit to see that some things hadn’t changed. 

They successfully managed to steal the bottle and hurry their way up to the guest room that Emma knew had a window they could walk out onto the roof from. They sat there, knees pulled up, passing the bottle between them as they looked out at the slowly darkening sky. Emma let the liquor warm her, let it make her a little looser, a little braver. 

“How are you really, Killian?” she asked eventually. He sighed, reaching for the bottle and taking a sip. 

“Tired,” he said. “It’s been a rough few years.” 

“I saw, about your brother,” she said. “I’m sorry.” 

He nodded. “Thank you. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“There was a woman too,” she said, not quick enough to catch the words before they slipped out. He raised an eyebrow at her teasingly.

“Been stalking my facebook, have you, Swan?”

She shrugged, deciding to be honest. “Only a little.” He looked surprised at her confession, a small smile breaking out on his face. 

“Aye, there was a woman,” he said and she wanted to roll her eyes at the fact that he sounded like some old dandy poet, lamenting over a lost love. “Milah. She went back to her husband.” Emma’s eyes shot up to her hairline. Husband? Wow. That was not what she’d expected. “There was a child involved,” he said, not turning to see her surprised look. “It was for the best.” 

He didn’t sound like he totally believed what he said, but he sounded like he’d made peace with it. Emma felt for him. His life had continued on the way it had been when they met. He’d lost more people, been left behind by more people he cared about, loved. She’d managed to avoid that. But she hadn’t let herself love anyone new. Not since him. 

“And what about you?” he asked, turning to hand her back the bottle. “What great loves have you lived and lost? Or is there a great love now?” he asked with a cheeky smile. She laughed.

“Nah, not for me,” she said. “My love affairs usually only last until the next morning.” He huffed out a laugh as she took another drink from the bottle. 

“Ah, you’ll find it someday,” he said. “One day there will be a man that you can’t dream of living without and that one will last a long time.”

“Two nights?” she joked and he laughed again. His laugh was the same, she thought with a small smile. 

“Aye, two nights.” 

They sat in silence for a while, continuing to share the bottle and Emma decided to blame that for what she said next. “I’ve missed you,” she told him and he turned his head to face her, away from the stars they’d been gazing up at. 

“I’ve missed you too, Swan,” he told her. He lay back, stretched his arm out and she took the invitation, snuggled up next to him like they had when they were teenagers watching scary movies and she lay her head on his shoulder. 

They stayed out there for another hour before David came to find them, scolding Killian for sneaking out of his own party. But he smiled at them as they climbed back through the window and Emma knew he was happy they’d found their way back to each other - that they were finding their way back to the friendship she’d once valued more than anything.

The next night, Emma invited him out for a drink with her and some of her friends from college. He’d made a comment about going out two nights in a row and she’d mocked him for being an old man - ‘I’m sorry, has it been ten years or fifty since we last saw each other?’ - and he agreed to join her. 

Emma was surprised, tough not really, at how well he fit in with her friends. They all loved him, loved his stories from teaching and the fact that he had dirt on Emma from before any of them knew her. He and Will and Robin hit it off immediately and she figured it was probably a brit thing. They spent over an hour talking about soccer. 

He fit in well here. Emma tried not to think about the fact that he fit so well into her life. Or about how much she liked that he fit there, how much she’d missed having him there. She also, really tried to ignore the way that his shirt clung to his biceps. He hadn’t had those in high school. It was difficult when Ruby seemed so intent on pointing it out. Ruby was being herself, pretending to be more salacious than she really was for a laugh, making comments about how she could just spread him on a cracker, when she looked at Emma and her face changed. 

“Oh,” she said and Emma didn’t like the knowing tone of her voice.

“What?” Emma asked, realising that her arms were crossed over her chest. She let them fall, tried to strike a more casual pose. 

“I didn’t realise… you like him,” she said with a sly smile. Emma scoffed.

“We’re friends,” she said flatly. 

“Mhm,” Ruby smirked. “You don’t look at me like that,” she pointed out. “Or Will, or Robin, or even Graham.” 

“Shut up,” Emma said, crossing her arms again as Killian looked over and she accidentally, automatically smiled at him. Ruby only laughed. 

They were friends. They’d only just started being friends again. She wasn’t going to ruin it now. She’d been the one to ensure that they would always, only be friends. ‘It’s never going to happen’, she’d told him. She’d made her bed. Now she had to lie in it - alone. 

She still couldn’t help wondering though if he still kissed the same way. She’d only kissed him once but she’d had yet to have another that lived up to it. And he’d been a teenager then, she was pretty sure she was the second girl he’d ever kissed. She wondered what it would be like now. 

She pushed the thought away. She’d thrown that possibility out the window a long time ago. She’d done it for his own good. And look who he was now, a professor, he had a goddamn PhD. He’d gotten everything he wanted. So why did he look so sad most of the time? Why was she so sad most of the time? She hadn’t noticed that she was before - it had only been since he came back and she had become aware of the gaping hole where something had been missing from her life. 

Having him back helped a bit. Like a bandaid over an open wound. She just hoped that the awkwardness would fade and they would find their way back to the friendship she had mourned for so long, had never really gotten over. She hoped he would let her earn it back. She looked at him laughing at something Robin said and she realised that regardless of time, her life was a little better with him in it. 

The awkwardness did fade. It wasn’t instant and it wasn’t necessarily easy - there was a lot between them, a lot of years and disappointments and broken trust, but soon, they found their way back to what they’d had as kids. It wasn’t long before they were spending evenings in each other's apartments, curling up on the couch and watching bad movies. She found herself smiling a lot throughout the day when he would text her a funny message or a stupid meme.

He was there for Christmas, only the second they’d gotten to celebrate together. They’d both spent the night at David and Mary Margaret’s and Emma had only been disappointed for a second that there were two guest rooms. She’d been looking forward to staying up late talking with him and laughing… and flirting. She’d noticed that there had been a bit more flirting, more than there used to be. On second thought, having to share a bed might not have been a good thing. Not if she wanted to keep him as a friend. She bought him a tweed jacket with leather patches on the shoulders that year. It was meant to be a joke but he’d worn it every day for a month. 

He was there for New Years and Emma felt her heart skip a beat when he kissed her at midnight. It was a small thing, a peck on the lips, barely a second, and he’d smiled at her in a way that made her feel that she shouldn’t read into it - no matter how much she wanted to. It was just a European thing, she insisted, weird boundaries. 

There had been a moment, once, when they’d been sitting on her couch in her apartment, watching another terrible movie. Nothing had happened, nothing specifically, but suddenly she found herself looking at him and he was watching her too, something heavy hanging in the air between them. 

Their hands were close and he moved his little finger, brushed it over hers and it made her breath stop. It was ridiculous, considering her legs were thrown over his and they were already sitting so close, but her breath stopped anyway. It was the way he was looking at her, the uncertainty and the affection and just a tiny bit of longing - there was no other word for it. She recognized it because she’d felt it every day since he’d come home - every day since he’d left ten years ago. 

His fingers had continued, collecting more of hers and slowly intertwining them. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. She was pretty sure that he would for a moment. He held their hands up between them, looked at them and then at her, pulled her a little closer. And then a loud noise had come from the TV and he’d jumped, dropping her hands and scratching at his ear. They didn’t bring it up again. 

He was there for St Patty’s Day and Easter and the Fourth of July and birthdays, and before she knew it a year had passed. Well, nearly a year, eleven months to be exact. She knew that because it was August and he was complaining about having to go back to teaching the ‘little entitled shit’s’ as he called them. 

“Weren't you one of those students a few years ago?” she reminded him, flicking at his ear as she walked around him into her kitchen to grab them a snack. He was sitting on her sofa a few feet away. Her apartment was small, but it was cozy.

“I was a little shit,” he allowed, batting at her hand. “But I was never entitled. It’s the entiledness that really gets to me.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” she taunted, as she put the popcorn in the microwave and turned it on. 

He turned, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and looking over his shoulder at her. “You really want to question an English Literature professor?” 

“Being a professor doesn’t mean you get to make up words,” she told him. “Besides, I still beat you in Scrabble so I’m pretty sure I’m the expert.” 

He scoffed, hopping over the back of the couch and joining her in the kitchen. “Scrabble is a game of luck, nothing more,” he told her. “You can’t make words if you don’t get the right letters.” 

“Sounds like something a loser would say,” she shrugged. He looked at her in shock and Emma saw the glint in his eye a second before he moved. “Don’t,” she tried to warn him but he was too fast. He grabbed her and the idiot started tickling her, actually tickling her like he was seven years old. 

“Admit I have a superior mastery of the English language,” he demanded. She shrieked as she laughed, her sides burning, cursing him. He had her trapped against his body, his arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her back to his chest.

“Never!” she saw her opportunity and she took it. She grabbed his arm and spun him around, managed to pin him against the fridge, her arm braced against his chest, holding one of his wrists, she held the other down at his side. 

“Woah,” he said, eyes wide. 

“I keep telling you not to mess with cops,” she pointed out. 

“That was kind of hot,” he admitted, looking more impressed than turned on really. But that was enough for Emma to realise that she had him pushed up against the fridge, her whole body pressed to his. She could feel her face warming, could feel all of her skin warming where she touched his. Oh. She saw it in his eyes when he noticed too. 

She let him go, moved to step back but he caught her, putting his hand on her lower back and pulling her back in. Her heart rate picked up as he pressed her against him, that look in his eyes he’d had that night on her couch back again. He licked his bottom lip and Emma’s eyes darted down to it immediately. 

She saw the way his expression changed a little when she did, curiosity there as he cocked his head, looking her over. He seemed unable to settle on a single part of her face until he stopped at her lips. His own parted, his chin tilting slightly, drawing closer and she couldn’t think of anything except the heat of him against her and her heart running a marathon in her chest. She could feel his breath on her face and that he looked so damn handsome and she just really, really wanted him to kiss her. 

The microwave beeped and Emma cursed the shitty timing that seemed to keep ripping them apart anytime she was given the smallest bit of hope that there could be something more, that they could be something more. Because that was what she wanted. She’d stopped denying it that night on her couch. 

She wanted Killian. She loved Killian. She had since she was seventeen years old. She’d thought it would go away, had almost believed it had at one point. But then he’d come back into her life and that part of her that had been on mute, on pause but never truly gone had reared its head, made sure she knew that she was still, completely and hopelessly in love with the boy she’d met in detention. 

Killian released her, cleared his throat and she stepped back. She held back her sigh, her disappointment. She couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not after all they went through, not now that they were back to who they’d been. She’d turned him down ten years ago. She’d broken his heart. To tell him now that she loved him, that she’d always loved him... She feared his reaction, feared his rejection. 

“I have to tell you something.” He said to her back. She was pouring popcorn into a bowl. 

“If it’s that you don’t want Milkduds in your popcorn you’re shit outta luck,” she said, trying to lighten the heavy mood between them. 

“No, well, yes, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” She turned around, recognizing the serious tone of his voice. She leaned back against the counter, waiting for him to say whatever he needed to say. “I’ve been offered a job,” he told her. 

“Killian that’s amazing!” she started but he stopped her. 

“It’s at Oxford.” She felt her heart drop into her stomach. No. Not again. She’d only just gotten him back. “A former professor of mine, Nemo, he pulled some strings when one of the faculty announced her retirement. He says the job is mine if I can get there for the fall semester.” 

It took Emma a moment to speak, trying to process what he was saying, trying to cope with the way it was ripping out her heart. “What about Harvard?” she asked, a little hopefully. 

He scratched that spot behind his ear like he always did when he was nervous. “That position is still up in the air. They’re still reviewing my candidacy.” 

She didn’t say anything, not for a long time. She couldn’t think of what to say. She felt like she was seventeen again, having the exact same conversation they’d had then. Please don’t go, she wanted to beg. Don’t leave. Stay here with me. Be with me. Choose me. But he’d chosen her once before. He’d chosen her and she’d practically thrown it back in his face. 

“It’s a pretty great opportunity,” he continued. “Rare too. It usually takes years to get a position like that.” She could hear him speaking, was aware that he was talking to her, but she couldn’t hear him over the thoughts that were rolling around in her head. She couldn’t lose him again. Not like last time. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. 

“The English program there is renowned and-”

“Don’t go.” 

He froze. “What?” 

Shit. Shit, she’d said it out loud. He was looking at her with disbelief and shock and maybe a tiny bit of hope, but maybe she’d imagined that. Well, it was too late now to take it back. 

“Don’t go,” she repeated, stronger this time. She watched the emotions playing over his face, so many that she couldn’t track all of them. But the last one was anger, a desperate kind. 

“What do you mean don’t go?” he reeled on her. “How - How can you ask me that? After all these years?” 

“I know,” she said, hanging her head. “I’m sorry but I just,” she took a deep breath. “I let you leave once and it was the worst mistake I ever made. I was in love with you and when you left I lost you and... Don’t go.” His eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping. If this moment hadn’t been so serious it would have been almost comical.

“You were in love with me?” he demanded, disbelief clear in his voice. He stepped forward. “Why didn’t you tell me that ten years ago? Why did you push me away?” His voice cracked a little. “I was in love with you, Emma. I’d have done anything for you and you - You broke my heart.” 

“I know,” she could feel tears burning her eyes. “I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought that if you stayed you’d resent me, that you’d hate me eventually. I wanted you to get everything you wanted.”

“You were what I wanted!” he practically shouted at her. She flinched a little. “I wanted to be with you but you turned me down. And then you cut me out of your life.”

“I didn’t-”

“You did, Emma. You stopped answering my calls, my texts, my emails. You didn’t come to the funeral…” She hung her head again. “And now, now we’re finally speaking again, finally back in each other’s lives, finally friends again and now you say you loved me? Now you ask me to stay?”

“Are you not anymore?” she asked and he looked at her in confusion. “In love with me," she clarified. She shouldn’t be asking him. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer. Just because her feelings hadn’t changed in ten years didn’t mean his wouldn’t. He tensed, stood up straighter.

“Are you?” he demanded. 

Emma bit her lip. She was. She was as in love with him now as she was at seventeen but it was different now. She was an adult, she understood the difference between love and infatuation, knew how they were different. Her love had grown from missing him for a decade, had grown more from being with him this last year. It was all consuming, all she thought about. All she wanted was him, if he turned her down now… she didn’t know if she’d recover. 

“Emma, how can you ask me to stay if you can’t even tell me how you feel? What are you asking me to stay for?” She didn’t have an answer. She just stared at her feet. He waited for a while, and she heard as his breath slowed and became a heavy sigh. “I should go,” he said, walking back over to the couch to grab his jacket. 

He was at the door when the panic seized her. The dread and the fear that he was leaving, that he was walking out of her life again, that it was her fault again, that she would surely lose him for good this time, overwhelmed her, reared its head and took over. What are you asking me to stay for? he’d asked. He hadn’t answered her question, hadn’t told her he didn’t love her. He’d just wanted a reason. She’d give him a reason if it meant he would stay. He’d been the one to put his heart on the line last time. Now it was her turn.

“Don’t go,” she said again and he stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t go. Don’t leave the apartment. Don’t go back to England. Don’t leave again. Please,” she begged.

He didn’t turn around but she heard him speak. “Why not?” 

“Because I love you,” she nearly shouted at him. “Okay? I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen and I thought I could get over it but I can’t. I lost you once and I can’t lose you again so please,” she paused, a small sob leaving her. He turned around finally, walked back over to where she still stood against the counter. 

“Please just don’t go,” she said again, quieter this time. “I should have said it then but I’m saying it now. I’m being selfish and asking you to pass on your amazing opportunity. I’m asking you to choose me and be with me instead.”

He took her chin between his thumb and his finger dragged her gaze up from where it had been staring at her feet, met her eyes and her heart jumped at the softness there, the anger from earlier gone. “I’ll stay,” he said and she thought her knees would give out with the force of the relief, the hope hitting her all at once.

“What about your job?” she said hesitantly. Shut up, Emma. You got what you wanted. But she still cared - about his success and his dreams, even as she asked him to give them up.

“Fuck my job,” he said before his hand moved to her cheek and he slid his mouth over hers. Emma wanted to cry as she felt his lips move over her own. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, slanting his mouth over hers and she opened beneath him, let him explore her with lips and tongue, and his hands on her body. 

Her hands came up around his neck, tangling in his hair and dragging him closer, pressing herself against him until here was no room left between them at all. He backed her against the counter and she didn’t care even as she felt the hard ridge digging into her back. He groaned when she rolled her hips against the hard ridge digging into her belly. 

“Wait, wait,” he said, breath heavy and ragged as he pulled his lips away from hers.

“What?” she asked, suddenly nervous. That had been the best moment in her entire life and now she feared it would come crashing down, that he’d changed his mind. 

“I forgot to tell you that I love you too,” he said, sounding panicked. She looked at him in disbelief and in that moment he was exactly the boy she’d fallen in love with, awkward and sweet and nervous and just so stupid for such a smart person. “I love you,” he said. “I have for a decade. It never stopped for me either.” Whatever quip she had planned died on her tongue at the sincerity in his voice and on his face. 

She smiled before pulling his lips back to hers, standing on her tiptoes so that she could kiss him properly, the way she’d wanted to for ten years and hadn’t been able to. He kissed her back just as eagerly, lips and teeth and tongue driving her nearly as mad as his hands, which were everywhere at once, stoking the fire that had been burning inside of her since she’d pinned him against the fridge. 

“You’ve gotten better at this,” she teased when they pulled back a moment to catch their breath. He gave her a truly wicked grin. 

“I’ve gotten better at a great many things,” he promised, and she knew where he was going with it, was definitely on board with his plan… but she couldn’t help herself.

“Not Scrabble…” 

He bent down then, grabbing her around the knees and hoisting her up over his shoulder. She shrieked, laughing as he carried her the short distance to her bedroom, dropping her unceremoniously on the mattress. He was such a sore loser. 

He looked at her for a moment, standing at the edge of the bed before leaning down over her, bracing his hands on either side of her head, and lowering his face to hers so their lips nearly brushed as he spoke.

“Not Scrabble,” he conceded before that smile came back. “But a great many things.” 

[the-starsabove-you]

The Spotlight

Chapter 26 - Her Little Star. 

A/N: Reviews are welcomed! Enjoy!  Marie’s cold glare looked over at Mat and Michelle before huffing “Well?” She said tapping on her foot and suddenly Mat felt like he was in school again, being scolded by the meanest teacher ever.. But Michelle kept her ground and she sighed “I know I haven’t been doing much gig since I’ve been dating Mat, I can explain” She muttered and Marie narrowed her eyes as she allowed herself in and Michelle was lost for words at first before Marie rested her hands on her hips “What the hell Michelle? You always did so many gigs and you were so happy doing them. Now I’ve seen you haven’t done much and even your parents are asking what is going on because they’re seeing pictures of you with that guy” Marie said pointing to Mat before snorting “Don’t even get me started on the stunt you pulled at the red carpet” Michelle sighed “They were literally insulting him on the red carpet and treating him like he’s a nobody!” “Sweetie that’s because he is compared to you.. You think they were going to look at him and go ‘Oh my god it’s that hockey player! Michelle get out of the way!’ If that happened I would have dropped you as my client and would have taken him! He’s handsome enough to be a model” Michelle narrowed her eyes “Now you’re being sarcastic with me” She muttered and Mat was watching with an open mouth as he was surprised that Michelle was standing up to Marie, the older lady was scary.. He thought Michelle and Emily were kidding.  “Does it look like I’m smiling? Literally you’re my star and I told your parents I would look after you but I’m seeing you in the media.. You stormed off at that basketball last night! It had people question what was happening!” “It was because I was angry, not everyone needs to know what I’m doing in my personal life” “Well guess what sweetie, you signed up for this and now you have people following your every move. You’re not doing a good job with keeping your relationship private either” Mat narrowed his eyes “Oh please, you can’t blame her for that” Marie gave him a look and Mat stayed silent as he took a sip of his coffee and she spoke with such a cold voice “If I wanted to know your thoughts, Matthew Barezel, Baezal or whatever the hell your last name is.. I’ll ask you” “Barzal” Mat corrected her quietly but not loud enough for her to hear and she turned to Michelle “I’ve seen and heard so many models go after hockey players  like this boy over and how it didn’t turn out well for them” She said and Michelle let out a breath and shook her head “Mat isn’t like that, he won’t hurt me” She said and Marie gave her a look “Oh trust me.. I’ve done my research on him” Michelle’s eyes widen “What do you mean you researched him?” She said and Mat’s mouth was now hanging open, he didn’t even know what Marie meant. “I’ve looked up this hockey player and looked at the many stories and I’ve come to the conclusion that he is what you young girls like to call men that sleep around.. Fuck boys” Mat groaned and put his head on the table and Michelle looked at Marie “Marie, where did you hear that term from?” Marie looked prideful “I have many young ladies in my office and my own clients.. They don’t think I listen to them because I’m getting older but I do.. I hear everything from my office” She said and Michelle frowned “He’s not going to do anything like that” “I wouldn’t.. I love her too much to do that” Mat standing up from his seat and Marie looked at him and looked mad “When I want you to speak, I’ll let you” She snapped. Marie turned to Michelle “I don’t care if this hockey player is jumping in your bed at the end of the day, I frankly don’t care about him at all. What I care about is my client and the work.. Or the lack of work right now. Marie turned to leave “You better get out of that honeymoon phase sweetheat otherwise it will bite you in the ass.” Marie snorted and she kept her purse close to her “If you excuse me, I’m late to my facial and massage. God knows I need it after chasing all you girls around” Michelle opened her mouth and Marie turned to give her a wave “We’ll be in contact soon, I have gigs for you to attend and some covers for you to do. Until next time, little star.. Be safe” Marie said before walking out of the door and completely ignoring Mat. Michelle closed the door and let out a breath. Mat was silent before speaking “I’m scared shitless of her” He said and Michelle chuckled “She’s always like that.. But she knows what’s best for me and Emily.” She said. Grabbing her coffee and making her way to the sofa, Mat joining her with his coffee “Wait until she finds out Emily is dating Tito, I think she would lose it.. I don’t think Tito would stand a chance against her” Mat laughed and Michelle shook her head “I know, she basically is the very over protective momager” Mat sat there for a moment before speaking “I’m very glad my agent is cool.. Sane” He said and Michelle chuckled and shook her head “Marie is amazing.. She’s been the best, she’s better than my parents at times” Mat was confused and Michelle cleared her throat “Back when I was starting.. It was before Emily became my companion. I was at a gig in which the photographer made me feel uncomfortable and I was already nervous as it is.. Marie was with me because she usually stays with new clients before a companion is found. She saw that I was very uncomfortable. If you thought she was scary, that was nothing compared to when she went after the photographer, I had to drag her out of the studio before the cops were around” Mat was in shock, he didn’t even know that happened to her. He shook his head “That’s crazy.. She may be scary, but she’s good” “I think that’s why my parents like her so much” She said and Mat looked at her “Speaking of your parents, when am I going to meet them?” Michelle frowned and looked down “Trust me, I don’t want you to meet them. I rather you meet my brother” Mat seemed hurt for a moment and Michelle looked up and saw that and she quickly shook her head “It’s not because of you, it’s them. I promised Ty I would bring him down here soon, you can meet him and I can take him to a game” “I can’t wait to meet the little brother” She said and Michelle laughed “Ty was a terror and the bane of my existence when we were young, but I’m glad we got to spend our childhood together” Mat smiled at that and kissed her forehead “So, now that we got the scary part of meeting your agent, wanna spend the day with movies before I go back to practice in the morning?” “Anything with you, loverboy” The two laughed and Mat went to the room to get some blankets and his sweater and Michelle got the movie on. The two relaxed and enjoyed the day off they had together. It was nice to enjoy those moments.

[myforeverforlife]

thinking about you.

For another anon! Chanyeol + Soulmates!au (Mental link) + Enemies to lovers + 1. “Are you sure this is legal?”

Note: (Words in bold and italics like this are character’s thoughts.)

Masterlist

“Y/N, catch!”

You turned around just in time to see the bottle of Gatorade being thrown your way, hands instinctively coming up to catch it. You studied it closely, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“You’re the worst, Nini. Who even likes purple Gatorade?”

Jongin gasped in mock horror, jogging over before taking a seat on the turf beside you. “Don’t knock it till you try it,” he warned.

“I have tried it.” You eyed the Gatorade in his hand — yep, also grape flavored — and sighed. Well, there went your chances of switching with him. “Thanks, but you can have mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You smiled to yourself when Jongin took the bottle happily. “How much longer until our break is over?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Jongin was struggling to get the cap of his drink off, alternating between using his shirt and wiping the sweat off of his hands. “Yixing will come get us when it’s time to head back inside.”

“You know, sometimes I feel bad that he’s our section leader. He’s too nice for his own good.”

“Well then maybe you should help him out by focusing more during band practice.” With a grunt, Jongin finally got his drink open, guzzling down the sugary treat like he had been parched for days.

“Hey, I do focus! Come on, you can’t honestly say that I haven’t been working my ass off.”

Jongin shrugged, taking a break from his Gatorade to give you the side-eye. “You’d do better if you stopped checking out the football team every chance you got.” He nodded towards the other end of the field, the uniformed group of boys talking to each other in small groups.

“Listen, it’s not my fault that the football team is full of attractive guys. Well, except for one.”

“You know, Chanyeol really isn’t that bad — ”

“He brought his ferret to school in second grade and laughed when it pooped in my desk! And, he got mad at me when I told the teacher he was trying to copy off of Jongdae’s test in Chemistry last year.”

“Okay, but still — ”

“No, no ‘buts’ about it. Park Chanyeol has done nothing but be a pain in my ass since we were kids. He hasn’t changed since then, and he never will. I hope one day during one of his games, he falls flat on his face in front of everyone.”

“Ouch.” The new voice had you flinching in surprise, your ponytail a blur as you spun around to see who was talking — although you had a pretty good guess who it was. Sure enough, Park Chanyeol stood there in his uniform, football helmet cradled under his arm. “You know, they say that karma’s a bitch. I wouldn’t want you to be on the receiving end of that,” he said with a smirk.

Rolling your eyes, you stood up, arms crossed over your chest as you stomped past him. “The field’s all yours, Chanyeol. Try not to let your ego take up too much space,” you hissed as you passed.

“Have fun at practice!” he called out after you, voice booming. “Make sure you don’t drop your clarinet, Butterfingers!”

You bit back the retort waiting at the tip of your tongue. Of course he just had to keep bringing up the one mishap you had during a football game, nearly two years ago. It had been your first time performing at a halftime show, and your hands been so shaky that you had dropped your clarinet while performing on the field, right in front of the football teams and the entire crowd. You didn’t talk to him often, but whenever you came face to face with Chanyeol, it always ended up with him teasing you mercilessly.

You were absolutely sure that Chanyeol would never be anything more than a jerk.

You didn’t hate your creative writing class, but since it was your first class of the day, you were often tempted to just close your eyes and take a mini-nap.

Just as you were about to lay your head down on your desk, you could hear Park Chanyeol worry about how to find the derivative of some equation. Sitting upright, you looked around the classroom only to find no trace of Chanyeol anywhere. So why in the hell could you hear him like he was sitting right behind you?

Chanyeol continued to go through the steps of his math equation, driving you crazier with each passing second. You stood up, desk bumping into the seat in front of you. “I need to go to the nurse, I’m not feeling well,” you blurted out.

Your teacher stared at you, caught off guard in the midst of his lecture before nodding towards the door. “Take the hall pass with you.”

And so, with the hall pass lanyard hanging from your neck, you went stomping through the hallways in search of Park Chanyeol. He had moved through a series of equations, and no matter how hard you tried to block his voice out, you could still hear his thoughts.

You weren’t sure which class he was in, but there were only two teachers who taught pre-calculus. Heading down the math hallway, you peeked inside one room, blushing when everyone in the class turned to look at you. Another cursory glance proved that Chanyeol wasn’t in this room. “Sorry,” you mumbled, dashing down the hall to the other class.

This room was rowdier than the last one, students working in groups on the worksheets scattered over their desks. Spotting Chanyeol in the back, you paused in the doorway when he noticed you. “Y/N?”

“Sir, can I borrow Chanyeol for a minute? We’re supposed to collect and put up the flyers for the football game this week.”

Chanyeol’s math teacher brushed this off, not even looking up from his laptop. Chanyeol, on the other hand, remained in his seat, clearly puzzled. “Why is she here?”

“Come on!” you were waving him over, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. The sooner you two got to the bottom of this, the sooner you’d be free of his thoughts — you hoped.

Hesitantly, Chanyeol got up from his seat, weaving between chairs and desks before reaching the door. “What?” he grumbled out.

You grabbed onto his hand, pulling him away from the classroom. Chanyeol’s thoughts were colored with surprise and oddly enough, shyness? You led him to the library, knowing that people wouldn’t spot either one of you from this side of the building. Dropping his hand, you were taken aback to hear how Chanyeol immediately missed having your hand in his. You shook your head to rid the thoughts, trying to focus on why you had dragged him out here.

“This is gonna sound insane, but I can literally hear everything you’re thinking right now. Yes, everything,” you added when he raised an eyebrow in doubt.

Chanyeol laughed skeptically. “Yeah, right. What’s next, you’re gonna tell me you have x-ray vision too? Nice try, Y/N, but I’m not that dumb. Why did you even pull me out of class?” His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting upwards. “Wait, there’s no flyers to collect, huh? Are you sure this is legal, just talking in the hallways like this during class? Ah crap, we’re gonna get detention if we’re caught and — ”

“Listen to me! I don’t know how this happened, but one second I was trying not to fall asleep in creative writing, and the next thing I knew, I could hear you thinking about how to do pre-calc.”

Chanyeol stared at you like you had three eyeballs, backing away slowly. “Okay, I’m gonna say that you need to lay off the coffee and get some more sleep at night.” You could hear the thoughts racing in his head, all about how he was worried and yet curious as to why you were having a decent conversation with him.

“I’m telling the truth, I’ll prove it! Think of something right now.”

One corner of Chanyeol’s lips jumped up as he snorted, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m not doing this.”

“Yes you are! Now, quick!”

He sighed, staring up at the hallway overhang above both of you.

“Pokemon! You’re thinking about getting the new game before Baekhyun does!” you blurted out, no longer caring about sounding crazy.

Chanyeol’s mouth fell open, trying to speak and failing to string together a comprehensive sentence. “You... how... how did you know that?”

“You believe me now?”

“Wait, but how come you only hear me? And why don’t I get to hear your thoughts? This is so unfair!”

You shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m more mature. Oh — I am half a year older than you.”

Chanyeol rolled his eyes with a huff. “Yeah, well whatever it is, it’s already getting on my nerves. Just try to stay out of my head.”

“Uh, I would if I could. Just try to keep your thoughts PG for my sake. God, I really hope that this goes away soon.”

Unluckily for both of you, you were plagued with listening to Chanyeol’s not even for the rest of the day, but for the rest of the week.

“This is fucking torture,” you groaned, lying down on the football field as Jongin shrugged sympathetically. “Do you know many times I’ve wished I could clean out my brain in the past week?”

“We still don’t know why this is happening though,” Jongin thought aloud. “I’ve never heard of this before. Do you think its another soulmate thing?”

You scoffed, rolling over onto your side as the fake grass poked your arms and legs. “If we were soulmates, I’d have a dream about it, not be able to hear his every thought.”

“Well, there’s not much difference. Dreams, hearing thoughts — they both have to do with the mind. Maybe soulmate links just manifest in different ways. Are you sure you don’t want to tell your parents?”

“And end up in the hospital? Nah, I’ll just wait it out and hope for the best. I mean, this is just a really long and weirdly descriptive hallucination, right?”

“Y/N?”

You sighed, sitting up as soon as you recognized the voice. “What is it now, Chanyeol?”

The bane of your existence this past week stared at you blankly, his football bag in one hand and hair sweaty from running. God, you hated to admit it, but he actually did look sort of hot.

Chanyeol’s already large eyes grew bigger, if that was even possible, and he dropped his bag in surprise. “You think I look hot?”

“What the fuck?” you spluttered out, back of your neck heating up in embarrassment. “How do you know that?”

“Y/N, I can hear you. I literally just started hearing your thoughts as I was entering the locker room,” Chanyeol explained slowly, still trying to make himself believe it.

“No fucking way.”

“I’m not kidding.”

You gasped upon hearing his response in your head, hand flying up to your mouth while Jongin stared from you to Chanyeol in confusion. “What, so now you guys can both hear each other?” He didn’t get an answer, seeing as you and Chanyeol were mentally yelling at each other. He rolled his eyes, poking you in the shoulder. “Hey, I want to know what’s happening too.”

“I think you’re right,” Chanyeol spoke up, addressing Jongin. “About the soulmate thing. It’s not common, but there have been people out there like us.”

“Like who?” you countered.

“My aunt and uncle. I didn’t want to say anything at first cause I was worried I’d be wrong, you know since it was only you hearing me. And well,” Chanyeol rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve never really liked me anyways.”

“Because all you did was annoy the hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry, okay! It’s just... you’re cute when you get all mad like that. You’re funny, especially when you get mad at me,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

You were at a loss for words. Park Chanyeol had a crush on you?

“Yes,” he answered your thoughts. God, it would take a while to get used to this. “I... can we talk about this after practice? We can call my aunt and ask her about this too.”

There really was no other choice, since this was the first time you had ever heard about any sort of soulmate link like this. And hard as you might try to deny it, Chanyeol was slowly growing on you. Getting to know him through his thoughts this past week hadn’t been the worst, despite what you had been complaining to Jongin not less than ten minutes ago. He was charming and sweet, something you had never noticed because of the limited view you had of him.

Chanyeol smiled to himself as he could hear you thinking, the tips of his ears turning pink. “So is that a yes?”

You nodded, finding it hard to look him in the eye.

Chanyeol laughed in relief, picking up his football bag and starting to walk backwards, towards the locker room. “I’ll meet you outside the band room!” he called out, before breaking into a run.

From this angle, he looked much like the other football players you had spent hours checking out. You blinked rapidly, unable to look away even as Chanyeol stopped to look over his shoulder. His eyes searched until he found you, smile turning playful and sending shivers down your spine. “I can hear you thinking about how good I look. I mean, how good my butt looks.”

“Just go to practice, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol laughed, able to hear you sulking even in your thoughts even as he ran off, disappearing into the locker room.

“See you later.”

A/N: these drabble requests aren’t even drabbles anymore, I’m enjoying all of these prompts way too much to keep them under 1k lol

[gosh-im-short]

Prejudice Painted in Our Minds  Chapter 1

Summary: Lillian and Calum have always been at odds. The two have never been able to get along and that never doesn’t seem to be changing any time soon. But when they both learn that Calum’s sister and Lillian’s best friend, Melanie, is dating a guy they both don’t approve of, it seems they have something in common after all. 

Warnings: uh nothing so far. a mutual dislike for Kyle and some jabs at the dude 

word count: 3.6k 

a/n: okay first of all i really want to thank Hailey @talkfastromance4​ for helping me with this fic. she’s been letting me just blabber about it for a bit now and im really happy it’s finally coming through yay. i don’t have a face claim set for Lillian (unless me but lets be realistic) or Melanie so hopefully my descriptions don’t suck too bad. and hopefully the pov shifts back sense as well. anyway umm I hope you guys like it and if this flops ah uh we’ll just never speak of it

taglist: @galcalirwin​ @tea4sykes​​ (if you guys wanna read this that is)

  The steady beating of her finger beat down onto the high table as Lillian waited. Melanie was suppose to meet her for lunch, but so far the woman hadn’t arrived yet. She started to chew her lip as she brought out her phone. No notifications yet. So maybe she was on her way? Hopefully she hadn’t forgotten. A slight smile crept up onto Lillian’s face. Melanie had a habit of forgetting that is for sure. 

  But as she took another glance at the cafe’s door, she saw her best friend rushing down the sidewalk outside of the cafe. Lillian’s smile widened as Melanie opened the door making a chiming sound appear and walked in. The eighteen year old, dark skinned and black haired woman looked disheveled with her pale yellow sweater dipping down from her shoulder. She looked over and caught Lillian’s gaze before she walked over to her. Lillian looked slightly up as Melanie came and sat down at the table. 

“Sorry, I’m so late. Traffic was a pain.” Melanie exhaled as she set her skinny forearms down onto the table and rested her chin down on them. 

“It’s fine.” Lillian said with a wave of her hand as she glanced down at her friend. Melanie was on the side of... Well... dramatic. She tended to be over dramatic at times and made life seem like it was suppose to be filmed. Was it a little ridiculous sometimes? Yes. Did Lillian want to throw a table sometimes? Absolutely. But she didn’t. Why? Melanie was her best friend and if that was her best fault, well she couldn’t let that come between them. 

“Did you order yet?” Melanie asked as she rose her honey brown eyes up at her. 

“Oh no not yet.” Lillian said as she glanced at the register. “I wanted to wait for you.” A small smile came onto Melanie’s lips. 

“Well isn’t that sweet?” 

“And also make you pay for your own stuff.” Lillian decided to throw a tease at the woman. 

“Hey.” Melanie said with a grin before she reached out and ruffled Lillian’s brown hair. 

“Hey yourself.” Lillian laugher as she fixed her frizzy hair. And she just got it somewhat perfect too. Sigh. 

“It’s not my fault my parents are stingy about my allowance.” Melanie said with her signature pout. “They usually let Calum get it first.” But at the mention of her adoptive older brother, Lillian’s face fell. If you measured the amount of love that Lillian had for her best friend, then you would be able to equal that to the hate she had for Calum. Oh yes. Calum. Just the thought of his name made Lillian’s nose wrinkle. 

  While Melanie was easily the light of Lillian's life... her step brother was an entirely different subject. He was the bane of her existence to put it simply.  The one that always was in the back of her mind like a fly that was buzzing around her head. And there were times she really, really wanted to slap him. Metaphorically or physically? Both. 

“Ah. I see.” Was all that Lillian said with a slow nod. For some reason Calum always had a bone to pick with her. From the first day she met him, he was always rubbing her the wrong way. And she never did anything to him. He was just... Calum. In every annoying way he was. 

“Lilly, are you listening?” Melanie’s voice rang out into her thoughts. Lillian sat up more. 

“I- no. Sorry I wasn’t.” She apologized with a shy smile as Melanie sighed. 

“Its all right.” Melanie said with a a wave of her hand. “I was just talking nonsense anyway.” 

“Oh well umm... should we order?” Lillian offered with a tilt of her head. Her brown locks dipped down and touched her bicep. 

“Sure.” Melanie said before the two of them stood up and walked towards the cashier. 

  The café was a rather popular place. It was nestled in on a corner in the downtown part of the city. It was Lillian’s favorite place because of classical music and it served frozen coffee. Frozen coffee was far superior to iced coffee in Lillian's opinion. And coffee would always top over those disgusting liquid leaves. Ugh. She chewed on her lip as Melanie ordered a very sugary drink along with a pastry that also had a lot of sugar in it. Melanie was always that type of girl with a loud and unashamed laugh followed with a snort out of her button like nose that just made anything and everything that much funnier. The teachers in their high school had learned very quickly not to let the two of them sit together.    Once Lillian finished ordering her coffee and bagel (with cream cheese of course), she headed back to the table. Melanie was already sitting down and gazing out of the window. Her thin eyebrows were pulled together in a furrow as she stared out. Huh. Lillian sat down in front of her. She was definitely thinking of something. Lillian looked down at her miniature hands. She had discovered a while ago that if Melanie wanted to tell her something that was bothering her, oh she would definitely tell it.    A couple minutes passed in between them in which the calm and understanding quietness existed. Lillian scrolled through her phone to see what posts she was tagged in. Melanie did the same thing while chuckling to herself about something only to shove her phone into Lillian's view to show exactly what was funny (which happened a lot since Melanie laughed at sometimes the most dumbest stuff.) Lillian stayed in her seat with her ankles crossed and her forearms settled on the table until her name was called and she had to rise, mostly awkwardly because of the tall table that she had chosen.    Once seated, she situated her iced coffee and the wrapped bagel down on the table along with her napkins and knife. And just... just when she was about to bite into her cream cheesed bagel- Melanie spoke up  "So I have something to tell you." Melanie said in a sort of rushed manner. Lillian slowly set her bagel down on the wrapper.  "Uh- yeah. Shoot." She said as she gave a glance down at the unbitten bagel. Then she looked at her friend who was chewing on her bottom lip. Uh oh. This something... was going to be something it seemed.  "So uh- it's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while now." Melanie said as she clasped her hands together on the table. "You see.... there's no easy way to say this." She exhaled a laugh as she looked down and away from her. Lillian shifted in her seat uneasily. "I have a boyfriend."    Lillian's eyes went wide as she stared at her best friend. Of all the things... she... she can't be serious about this. Melanie took a chance and glanced up at her friend with an awkward smile on her face.  "Surprise?" "I... umm... wow." Lillian breathed out as she... well. It was definitely a surprise. "How long have you two been together?" "Two weeks now." Melanie answered with now a shy smile. She propped her elbow onto the table and leaned her cheek into her palm. "And he, so far, has been a dream."  "Ah... well uh- wow. This is great." Lillian said as she sat up straighter in her chair. "I'm happy for you." And she was, but... just.... she wished Melanie would have said something about it before now. "But uh..." She cleared her throat awkwardly.  "Why I didn't say anything?" Melanie finished for her. Lillian offered a short nod. "Well.... to put it simply... you wouldn't have approved of him." Lillian titled her head confused.  "What? Why not?"  "Well..." Melanie trailed off and looked to the side.  "Do I know him?" Lillian started to fill in the gaps as she leaned closer to her friend.  "Uh... yes." Melanie was fiddling with the bracelet adoring her wrist now.  "So... who is he?" Lillian asked as she studied her friend. Then... wait. "It's not Dylan right?" Melanie's brown eyes flew open as they snapped back up to her. "Because you promised you would not go back to that cheating son of a-"  "Oh- no." Melanie interrupted as she flapped her hands around like a frightened bird. "It's not Dylan. It... it's Kyle." And at that- Lillian's jaw fell.  "Kyle? The guy who was always high on powerade?" She said as she stared at her best friend in disbelief.  "Yes... but that was in high school! We're in college now." Melanie reminded her with a nod as if that made it completely fine. "Yes- but... he.... he's... Kyle." Lillian stressed out the name of the long haired, Naurto loving... man. It seemed he was more of a child most of the time. And the fact that he just looked like he did crack half of the time as well? Ugh.  "I know." Melanie said with a sigh as she looked back at her. "But he... you just don't know him." Lillian rolled her eyes.  "I know him well enough to know that I just... don't like him." She defended her opinion of the man. Melanie let out a frustrated sigh.  "Yeah, yeah... I know. Which is kinda why I delayed on telling you." Lillian bit on her lip. Then she slowly exhaled.  "I... I can't really stop you from dating him, but I... just..." Her words trailed off as she reached up and moved her hair back. "I don't want you to get hurt again." Melanie reached out and placed her hand on top of hers.  "I know. I know you don't me to get hurt." She told her friend softly. "But I trust him. He's a good guy." Lillian just bit her lip and nodded a few times.  "If you say so." She mused before she was sipping her cold coffee. Melanie was quick to switch the subject to a different one. Lillian mostly listened and nodded as Melanie rattled on with her story. It was usually like this- Melanie speaking and Lillian listening. But Lillian didn't mind, she liked listening to her friend speak. She had a certain way with her soft voice, but loud expressions. Melanie could make even the most boring story full of life like she was Persephone.   Then the two were standing up from the table and sharing their goodbyes. Lillian headed out of the café with the sun glowing down onto brown hair before she disappeared down the sidewalk and out of Melanie's view. Melanie smiled to herself before she turned and headed down the sidewalk herself. The rising heat of the sun warmed her dark skin as she headed back to her apartment. She and Calum shared an apartment together. Calum was currently working during the day so she didn't expect to see him anytime soon.    So it was a sudden surprise when she walked into the apartment to see her older brother lounging on the couch. Calum was clad in sweatpants- as usual- and was spread out on their couch. His attention was on the screen of the tv sported in front of him until his head swerved over to her as she closed the door.  "Hey." He said rather casually as he looked back at the screen.  "Hey. I thought you were working today?" Melanie questioned as she came further into their living room and stood next to the couch.  "Yeah me too, but," a one shoulder shrug paused his words, "I requested a later shift." Melanie nodded a few times.  "Oh okay. Move the leg." She directed her older brother before he did as she said. Calum learned a long time ago that if he didn't move the leg, the leg would be sat on. She sat down next to him as he fixed his position on the couch. Her brown eyes landed on the tv screen as a comedy was playing with it's laugh track appearing. She bit her lip as she stared forward before her eyes drifted back to her brother. Well.... she told one of them. Might as well try to tell the other. "So Calum." She started out while clasping her hands and looking down at them. At the sound of his sister's voice, Calum looked over at her.  "Yeah?" He asked with one of his thick eyebrows raising. What was up with her? "There's something I've been meaning to tell you." He sat up a little bit more and looked over at her. His silence only prompted her to continue. "Uh so uh- I told Lillian this morning about this but-" "Oh so that's where you were. With Lilly." He interrupted her as his eyebrows rose further. Melanie gaze met his with an annoyance sparking in her brown eyes.  "You know she hates that nickname." She stated flatly as Calum fought the desire to smirk. And that was the reason he referred to her as that. "Anyway as I was saying.... uh..." once again that nervous expression was back on her face. "You see... uh.... I have a boyfriend." What.  "You have a what." Calum repeated as he stared at his sister in shock.  "A boyfriend." She repeated as she looked down at her hands. He couldn't believe this.  "Who?" He questioned as he turned to face his sister completely on the couch. Then... oh. Oh no. "It's not Dylan right?" To his surprise, a huff came out of her lips.  "No it is not Dylan. It's Kyle." Calum was sure his eyes were going to bulge out of his head.  "Kyle?" He repeated after her. He couldn't believe this. "The Kyle from high school? The one I'm pretty sure took drugs?" "Oh for the love of- Kyle does not do drugs!" She exclaimed while throwing her hands into the air. "He's a very sweet guy actually and we're dating and I just wanted to let you know." His lips pressed together as he studied her. Her eyes were now directed on the screen firmly. Her hands were clasping around the ends of her sweater.    Slowly a sigh exhaled out of him. Melanie could be very stubborn about some things. Whether that be her opinion or her life choices. And it seemed this was going to be one of those times.  "I... all right. Can I meet the guy?" Again he wanted to add, but decided not to mention the infamous moment of Kyle spilling his drink on his shirt that one time... no. He had not forgotten. Melanie's eyebrows rose and she gave him a quizzical look. "What?" "You... actually want to see him?"  "Yeah... sure. See if he's actually changed." Or if his sister is just believing in the best again. She was silent for a few moments. Then a slow smile came onto your lips.  "Sure. We can all go out to eat tonight, that is... if you can make it there."  "Make it an early dinner around five and sure."    Melanie nodded as he turned his attention back to the tv screen as she pulled out her phone. Maybe it was time to kill two birds with one stone.  __   Lillian checked her reflection in the mirror as she smoothed the fabric of the navy dress over her hips. It was a dark blue that was snug against her waist and was sleeveless as well. There were splotches of glitter across her torso that fortunately didn't dig into her chest. The dress stopped at the base of her knees in a flowing manner while the upper level of it was snug against her body. Over all she thought she looked rather well in it.    She hadn't done much with her makeup except her lashes, brows, and lips and she had pulled her brown hair back into a low bun. For one it drew more attention to the silver jewelry she had on her neck and for the fact that her hair was quite frizzy.   She picked up her purse and her black heels before she was making her way to the door of her apartment. She slipped on her heels and a black coat before she was making her way out. Her apartment wasn't entirely large. It consisted of two medium sized bedrooms, a kitchen that flowed into the living room, a bathroom that connected in between the two bedrooms, and a laundry room right next to the kitchen. Well okay maybe it was a little big. But there were apartments that were bigger.   The sounds of the rushing past cars greeted her ears as she stepped out of the complex and onto the cleaned sidewalk. The click of her heels corresponded with her steps as she walked down the busy street. The cars flew wind at her exposed legs and she hugged her coat closer around her body. The restaurant Melanie wanted her to meet at was only a few minutes away from her apartment since she lived practically in the middle of the city. Lillian had been surprised at Melanie's offer for them to spontaneously have dinner at a quite expensive place hence all her get up. But she had understood once Melanie mentioned the fact that Kyle was going to be there. And she had said she wanted to meet him. So even though she had planned to stay snug in her bed this night, she decided to put on that dress she's been saving for a nice date and get out of her apartment.  __   Calum stepped into the dim lightened restaurant and immediately sought out his sister. She had left a few minutes before him (somehow she had gotten herself ready in record time) and had gone to pick up Kyle it seems. The man didn't have transportation apparently. Some of Calum's building up annoyance disappeared whenever he spotted his sister at a white clothed table in the distance. He walked across the carpeted area until he was standing at the table.    Melanie paused her talking whenever her dark eyes met his and a smile blossomed onto her face. Kyle turned in his seat and met his gaze as well.  "Calum! Long time no see." The toothy grinned man greeted him before he held out a tattoo covered hand to him. Calum mentally grimaced as he glanced down at Kyle's pale hand. It looked... sweaty. But he forced himself to reach down and shake the man's hand.  "Yeah... been a few months." He answered as his dark eyes met the man's bright hazel ones. Kyle's dark hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the back of his head. It made his forehead and nose stand out that much more. Kyle didn't seem to have that much of style still it seemed. He took a seat in front of his sister who had a nervous look on her face. Then... wait. Why was there another setting next to him? He was about to ask before Melanie suddenly stood up. "Lillian! You made it!" Calum froze at his sister's words before he slowly turned.    His dark eyes met Lillian's bright blue ones as she stared straight at him. He swallowed as he took in her open, painted red mouth that hung down as her brows were risen. She was... definitely not expecting him, huh? Well he wasn't expecting her either. He gave a glance at his sister as she sat down before he turned his attention back to Lillian. She was walking towards him now with the sound of the skirt brushing against her bare legs greeting his ears. He swallowed as his eyes drifted downwards before they floated back up to her. The dress was absolutely stunning on her. It complimented her eyes making them an even brighter blue and he had to admit the dress fitted her curves quite well. But the hair... it was too slicked bad. Too kept back. It exposed her neck and collarbones, sure, but he never liked it whenever she had her hair pulled back or up.    She slipped into the seat beside him and for a brief moment her knee bumped into his. Calum swallowed as he faced away from her and back to his sister.  "Kyle, it's nice to see you again." Lillian greeted in that overly too soft and sugarly sweet tone she always used with someone that was younger and less mature then her. Calum almost rolled his eyes.  "Yeah wow. Lillian, you look great! It has been a while, hasn't it?" Kyle commented as a grin was set on his face. Calum picked up a menu and started to browse through it.  "Yeah it sure has. Umm you look great too." She politely said as Calum gave a glance forward. Kyle was wearing a dusty old shirt and probably jeans. Great was very overexaggerated.  "Thanks." Kyle answered back as Calum turned his attention back to the menu. The prices were the first thing that stood out to him as he browsed through. Melanie had certainly taken them all to an expensive place to get to know Kyle. Irony was that Kyle was still... Kyle. Clad in probably a band t-shirt and worn out blue jeans. It looked like he was never going to change. A loud clap suddenly got Calum's attention as his eyes diverted back up. "So? Who's hungry?" Kyle asked as he looked around the table with that same stupid grin plastered on his face. Mentally a groan wanted to come out of Calum's mouth. This was going to be a long dinner.