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tenderlyrenjun · 3 years

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time out: the prequel

↦ summary: here it is, the beginning - not of your rivalry but of your fucking relationship (pun intended)

↦↦ includes: excessive use of commas, yelling (?), slight rich kid au, car sex/safe sex (!): dick sucking, fingering, little bit of a praise kink, and penetration; it’s kind of a soft fic, like tender

↦ hockey co-captain/architecture major!jeno x figure skater/bio major!reader

11,6k words (i am so sorry) | preview one, preview two | main part

if you are under 18 and you interact with this fic at all, I will block and report you

a/n: i think that this is going to be my last attempt at posting fics. if it doesn’t work out, if people don’t comment or don’t like this one, i really don’t know what else i can do except stop.

Hockey practice, tonight, ended on a pretty low note – for the entire team, yeah, but none more than their zealous co-captain, Lee Jeno, who left the locker rooms deaf to any worried remarks. ‘Are you okay?’ followed him pointlessly, because everyone already knew how he felt going into the rink.

If Jeno’s demeanor did not make it evident, Renjun, who accompanied Yangyang after a figure skating competition, gave a repeating throat slicing gesture, signaling not to test the guy’s patience. Captain Lee 2.0 (nicknamed per birth order) already had a rough week: physics exam Tuesday afternoon, a huge digital technology project due Wednesday morning, a series of advanced geometry proofs to study for next week’s pop quiz, etc. But he stayed up, regardless, chained to a desk in his apartment, ordering Postmates everyday because he had no time to cook, wanting solely to focus on understanding and creating new plays for the season, possibly more than his maths class (but his parents don’t see his grades, so it’s fine). It’s just … This is his first full season as captain (or co-captain as people will not let him forget), after having been asked by Mark during last school year’s bye week. And to commemorate the promotion, he really, really wants to break the team’s losing streak. It has been going on for a few years, since the last official playmaker joined the NHL in North America. You know, good for him, hope he’s happy and healthy, Jeno guessed, shrugging begrudgingly, but there has been no obvious starting point to rebuild the same success in the team’s current lineup. Playmakers do not just drop into existence! People work insanely hard for that position – which is what Jeno tries to do. Not that it is particularly working out at the moment.

The playmaker is fast, super-fast, like Quicksilver fast, but Sungchan, their tallest player, can lap him twice in less than a minute. The playmaker keeps his eye out for openings on the ice, usually scoring more assists than goals, but Mark, his other half and co-captain, when he is on the ice, not in line, stands and observes during the game before making any moves, which typically lead into assists anyways – Mark actually got an award in high school, twice, for most assists in the league, and this season looks like he may be on track for the same thing. The only thing Jeno has in common with any playmaker is the forward position, the most advantageous position to score, at least, more than defence or goalie. Although, Haechan pulled a Hextall during one of the initiation practices, and the memory will keep him in the goalie spot, assuming that he can recreate it in an actual game. But, despite all the reverence, each player still has areas to improve upon. Jeno does not want to be in a position where all the “good” players are benched, or where, God forbid, someone gets too injured and the entire team has to forfeit a win because Jeno did not invest time into every. single. member.

For this exact reason, Yangyang, their newest member, lacking any real prior skill (also a weak link at the moment), was assigned 6AM solo drill practices. Okay, well, not assigned per se – Mark told Jeno that he cannot do that, or film their practices, because he gets a bit … too obsessed. But once Jeno found out that Yangyang started going the extra mile, it felt like a loophole, and he started giving out more guidance, a.k.a. specific drills that he knows would help Yangyang not only get in a good practice but also improve his skill. Jeno can simply pray that someone will eventually become available to practice a one-on-one arch backchecking – he would do it, but he has an 8AM, and the drill would make him skip class. Hockey is important to him, just not as vital as his architecture degree (the main thing he is in college for … although, he cannot blame anyone if they assumed he planned on going pro). Jeno has enough self-control to recognize when not to play – doesn’t mean he likes it though. And unfortunately, Yangyang is not the only … hurdle this year. Haechan, who inherited his number (66) from a graduating senior last year and typically plays defence, has not fared as well as his namesake, or older brother, with the new plays lately. But, considering the irreplicable (but hopefully replicable) goalie shot, Jeno keeps Haechan, on the ice, opposite Winwin – both as goalies, a position that Haechan has not held since little league. And Sungchan, the team’s most recent high school graduate, and former varsity star player, like Mark (!) … Actually, don’t get Jeno started on Sungchan.

The maknae is friends, a dongsaeng to, his mortal enemy.

Alright, hardly a mortal enemy, but Jeno does not consider you one of the friendliest people. You are too argumentative against him, branding your name in a golden calligraphy at the forefront of his hippocampus, drawn like the Illuminated Manuscript. Literally anyone would debate that the two of you are symmetrical, but the last year or two has shown that two sides of the same coin describes your relationship way better – you both obsess over your individual sports (figure skating and ice hockey, respectively), but where Jeno dedicates himself to the rink, you hog it, or, at least, that is how he sees it. You see him exactly as he sees you – passion tainted by frustration, framed as hatred. And it’s not like people haven’t pointed it out the similarities; Jeno believes Renjun’s exact words were, ‘just fuck and get it over with’ (he doesn’t know if Renjun was serious or not). And if he is not mistaken, your coach encouraged you to ‘make nice’. You are the one who cannot get through the irritation, the screaming matches, the – the dry mouth and headaches an-and feeling flushed before, during, or after an argument. And him, too. You always leave, always leave him staring, jaw clenched tightly, eyebrows frozen deeply into his face.

In fact, to really further his perspective (that the problem is you), Jeno was nice, earlier in the day, before practice; he wanted to be nice, to you.

Jeno was heading into practice sooner than the others, as he usually does (Mark arrives early too, a couple minutes after Jeno, to set up the rink and go over practice goals), but this time Sungchan texted him, asking for a ride, delaying Jeno’s typical entrance). Their youngest member generally catches a ride from you, which Jeno absolutely abhors because it means that he has to see you, but Sungchan’s license is still on the way and he does not have a car at the moment (all ice teams use an off-campus rink, the one on Anam, and Jeno seems to schedule practice for the most inconvenient times, a.k.a. all the damn time). But, like, half a minute before Jeno got to Sungchan’s dorm – literally as he turned into the carpark – the giant Bambi dude texted that he had a friend emergency at a different dorm, not even a dorm! An apartment building. The SoHo Apartments, where you live.

How Sungchan got there, Jeno will never know, yet he still went. Jeno still went, despite knowing that there was a near 100% chance of running into you. He wanted to assume that Sungchan was simply being a fiercely loyal friend, hopefully to that one upperclassman in the med school, Jungwoo (Jeno only knows about him because Jaemin mentioned him in passing), but no! Sungchan sauntered out of the building, you on his arm wearing loose black pants and a number 27 jersey – probably one of Sungchan’s backups, which is technically against the rules (!). Players are not allowed to give out their jerseys … during game season. Off season is fine, but not during. It is the only rule Mark agreed to so quickly, solely because it is practical. They are all college students, and only have so much free time, especially with the way Jeno wants to get everyone in shape; therefore, laundry days are limited, meaning that their jerseys are limited.

So, Jeno totally protested! … Silently, of course – biting his lip, taking out his anger via extra tight grip on the steering wheel, just left of the horn, almost sounding the alarm. Like, fucking hell, if his day could get any worse, he thought.

Except, apparently, you got dumped, or stood up, or whatever – he was not particularly paying attention – before heading out to some rare house party around Anam. But, like, see; This is why Jeno cannot stand your personality (overbearing priss): you are still going to that party, braving face, even though something devastating happened. So fucking concerned with public appearances, and for what? People date the wrong person! It happens! Your ego cannot be that ginormous. And come to think of it, he has never even seen you alone. You are always with someone: your coach, another skater; Sungchan; some guy who you probably met on Tinder, etc. He has never even seen you standing awkwardly in line at the on-campus coffee place between classes, staring at your phone just to look busy – not that he does it … often. Sometimes he will carry a playbook or annotate his geometry notes while waiting.

Still, Jeno let it slide (not without an eyeroll thought); he let all of it slide, saying nothing, just to get to practice faster, and get you out of his backseat faster. He glanced at you in the rear-view mirror a couple of times, briefly, during the short trip, just to verify that you are, in fact, upset, or, at least, displaying some human emotion other than the contempt he has become accustomed to over the last two years. And you were, kinda sad. So, if his gazes started to soften, that was between him and God. Although, to really keep up his appearance, he made you walk to the party from the rink, claiming that it is literally a less-than-ten-minute walk and the sun had not even set yet, much to your disdain. Sungchan protested for you, obviously caught in the middle like a child of divorce, but you relented, knowing, along with Jeno, that you cannot really complain because he did give you a ride, when he was in a position to abandon you on the side of the road. You only took, maybe, three steps before Sungchan ran after you, claiming that practice did not start for another half hour at least, once again reversing the roles and leaving Jeno alone.

Honestly, Jeno thinks as he sits in his car, head pressed against the steering wheel, a once-again-empty carpark in front of him, he feels abandoned. Stupid Mark and ending the Cross Fire drills early. Just because “it’s a Saturday night” and “Everyone deserves a time to rest”. Hockey is the rest! That is his stress relief!

Ugh!

Jeno considers going back inside for some solo practices – he could even try the ones that he assigned Yangyang, just to make sure those drills are effective for any skill level, as a precaution, on the off-chance that someone else starts solo practicing as well (the team really needs them; it’s just hard because everyone had different majors and other commitments). But Jeno recently showered and changed into his favorite shirt – the sweater-like one with thick black stripes and white stripes, and skinny black and purple stripes across the white stripes. He paired it with some black joggers and silver accessories, a chain connecting a belt loop to his wallet. The outfit is cozy enough for him to fall asleep in, so he could, alternatively, head home for the evening. But his apartment acts like a revolving door for both him and his roommate, Jaemin, his earliest childhood friend from all the way back in elementary school (along with Haechan, but he lives on-campus still). Jaemin inconveniently joined a study group for the MEET (medicine major entrance exam) though, hence why there is no number 42 (Jaemin’s jersey number) on SNU’s current hockey lineup. He said something about the sport being too time consuming for his major, and he prefers to sleep, if he gets the chance. Unfortunately, Jeno needs his emotional support attachment doll right now – to either vent or to spot him at the gym, the one on-campus is open 24-hours, mostly for the Olympian athletes but they have a healthier sleep schedule, so they use it at normal functioning people hours (a.k.a. daytime). Jeno can only really lean on Jaemin right now, because Renjun (a friend from high school; the latest addition to their friend group) is utterly obsessed with some student in Kun’s class; Mark is eternally busy with a thousand other commitments; going to Sungchan seems like a sort of treason – to what? To whom? Against himself? Jeno cannot answer for certain. And so he bangs his head on the steering wheel center (thank God that he inadvertently had the foresight to not turn on the ignition yet, otherwise the carpark would basically hear one elongated, yet comical, alarm scream). Maybe he just needs to befriend more people, particularly people outside his team and (high school) graduating cohort. Well, he received the foresight to learn about the party on Anam, so he could make friends there, and being semi-popular, he might already know a person or two there (besides you, of course), allowing himself to ease into the setting more gracefully.

Jeno groans again, hitting his head successively on the horn a few times. Jaemin did tell him to go out more. But, Jeno reminds himself, slowly sitting up, tilting his head to the side, he is, technically, outside right now. He just … would not be as alone if he went to the party, a party. Then, he groans again, erecting his spine against the chair, hair thumping on the headrest. He doesn’t even know why he debates himself. People must be meeting up right now – literally anywhere other than a stupid house party! No one even throws house parties! And in a city that, essentially, never sleeps? In Seoul? Yeah, right. Plus, it is the weekend, party time!

Jeno digs through his pants until finding his phone. It feels colder than the ice rink, even the bright, 96%-charged screen cannot warm his hands, or the car. First, he opens Twitter, scrolling through his main account with random follows, but his DMs, mentions, and timeline suggest something else going on. Everyone is either coupled up, depressingly pining, or just staying in. It forces him to close the app without bothering to switch accounts (the other would tell the same story, only unfiltered), a deep sigh erupting from his diaphragm, through his nose. He tries Instagram next, tapping through stories, public and private, like rejections on Tinder – not that he has it. Jeno refuses to download the stupid app, no matter what Mark’s equally stupid intro psych class says (Mark isn’t even a psych major!). But all his friends seem to be eating out, doing karaoke, studying, etc., in small groups. Like, Jeno knows that house parties are usually saved for special occasions: moving into a new place, national holiday celebrations, Chuseok, etc., but it offers more control than, like, some random 1-hour coffee thing. And all the clubbing invites are such a turn off because it sounds so sweaty, and, again, he just took a shower. Ugh, all the people who come to mind are diving into Seoul’s night life. Annoying.

Jeno grumbles something incoherently and does not have the faintest idea what the sound could, should, or would have been. Practice was absolute hell on his voice, yelling over skates scratching new ice chips to the surface and carbon fiber sticks hitting steel posts. He rubs his neck between his thumb and index finger, rolling his head around his shoulders. Yanno, alcohol is in medicine, so, he thinks hesitantly, a bottle of soju will help. (no, it won’t).

Hongjoong’s entire party cheers for Jeno when he walks through the foyer, showing off a bottle of sansachun like the trophy he wants so bad, in one hand, above his head, and a 12-pack box of soju by his thigh in the other hand. Jeno inhales shakily, breath hitching at his thin smile, ego slightly boosted but … disappointing. And after the applause dies down, he tries to find comfort in something familiar, looking for anyone recognizable. But everyone turned around just as quickly as they looked up. Well, everyone except you. Your outfit is different from earlier – a new, black skirt, a short skirt, not covering your legs; a tight, quarter-sleeved crop top; and a pair of maroon Converse, making him realize how much you rely on ice skates to elevate you (and your narcissism). He only spotted you first, in the crowd, because you were part of the scarce few facing him and you rolled your eyes to Yeeun beside you, most likely about him, muttering snidely (as expected of a shrew), but he could not discern it, as you said it into your red solo cup. And since Yeeun is a friend to the both of you, Jeno takes a step to defend himself, his socks slipping on the glazed wooden floor.

Juyeon, a basketball player and fellow winter sports mate, thankfully catches Jeno by the arm.

“Hey, man,” Juyeon waves, slowly releasing. He moves two hands between them, gesturing to take the alcohol into the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Jeno comments, voice low and strained, “again.” He rubs his Adam’s apple into his larynx, for some relief on his vocal cords. The motion generates a yawn, which does release some tension, just not enough, so he gives it one more go, then points at a near by table with bright neon colors. “What is all that for?”

Juyeon glances over his shoulder. Hongjoong, ever the art major, displayed pretty glowsticks, uncracked right now, alongside jelly bracelets and gel pens under a crumpled piece of construction paper too far away for either blind boy to read without their glasses. “Uhh,” he hesitates, then snaps his fingers loudly, a few people (you included) looking around for the source of the sound. You accidentally make eye contact with Jeno and glare at him, to which he rolls his eyes at. He almost returns to Juyeon when he catches sight of the blue bracelet peeking out of your sleeve. “Those,” Juyeon interrupts, “are for some game.” He lifts his wrist up, shifting all the bottles on his waist, to show off his own red bracelet. “You pick a color, and if someone steals it, you gotta do that action. Like, if Gahyeon stole mine, I’d have to give her a kiss.”

“On the lips?” Jeno asks for clarification. The rules seem vague.

Juyeon pauses and tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes a bit. “No, I don’t think so. The party is based on consent.” Then he shakes his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to kissing her, but if I didn’t want to, I guess I’d just kiss her cheek or hand or do a body shot off her stomach again.”

“Again?” Jeno raises an eyebrow.

Juyeon playfully shoves him at the chest, shuffling the bottles as they lose balance on his hip. He almost loses them to the floor, so he moves them into the kitchen while Jeno is still giggling. Then, after Juyeon leaves a lonely hockey player, Jeno walks around to the table with all the stuff on it and reads the note that neither Juyeon nor he could see from six feet away, without their glasses:

Entrance fee: write your name on a slip and place it in a jar! Two names will be called every hour for 7 Minutes in Heaven. The only rule (besides be a decent human being) is don’t fuck in my closet. Thanks.

He scribbles his name in a tiny font, hoping that if he writes illegibly, then Hongjoong would not be able to read it out loud in front of everyone. There are also about a hundred names, give or take a few, so realistically, he has, like, no chance of actually being called, hence why he is more inclined to drop his name in the jar than, say, the Swear Jar that Haechan installed at practice. Still though, he flicks it in before reading the list of acts associated with each jelly bracelet color:

Pick up one jelly bracelet to play!

Red – a kiss

Pink – flashing (a body part)

Yellow – a hug

Green – oral

Blue – spanking

Purple – a hickey

Black – sex

Rules:

Steal someone’s bracelet to “get” their prize.

If you don’t want to give them your prize, then stand on a table and make out with your hand for 30 seconds, make sure the people are watching.

You gotta be clean to play. All rule breakers will be immediately blacklisted from any future activities.

Jeno thumbs at a black jelly braclet, pondering that last sentence.

During second semester freshman year, there was a chlamydia outbreak in one of the dorms. Basically the entire floor got it. So, like, totally fair statement. Especially since Jaemin caught, too, and was majorly pissed about the antibiotics – doxycycline, which he ended up forgetting to take a dose of, twice, and gave him a raging headache right before a stats exam. Probably another reason why Jaemin is taking a break from the dating scene (in addition to the biochem incident). Jeno remembers that he almost mistook one of the pills for mint gum until Jaemin quite literally smacked it out of his hand, then ate it off the floor (five second rule). And maybe he has a thing for spanking because he chooses a blue bracelet as well.

Slowly, Jeno starts adjusting to the party, his fingers no longer twitching at his phone. He puts his hands above his hips, thinking back to what he was going to do before Juyeon explained the party’s general rules. It looks like other people are just talking, scrolling through Tinder, mixing drinks – being casual. Rooms overflow with people leaning on doorframes, trying to relax vertically since all the horizontal places are taken – the couches, the floor pillows, the bedrooms (probably). Jeno scans his eyes further into the living, searching for someone familiar, then he spots you and Yeeun. Well, you first. He noticed that he always does this: sees you before you see him, and it turns into this whole thing.

You roll your eyes after catching him in the act and put a hand on Yeeun’s arm, loudly whispering as Jeno walks over, “I’m going to talk to Noze. The company around her might be more …” you trail off, intentionally looking Jeno up and down while Yeeun stares at you expectantly, oblivious to his presence. “Tolerable. Bye.”

Yeeun waves you goodbye as well, frowning, lines creasing between her eyebrows, until she spots the your object of … affection. “Oh, hey,” she greets him, a quick kiss on the cheek like a cool aunt, as he leans down to meet her. “I didn’t expect to see you here. How’d you even hear about the party?”

Jeno raises an eyebrow, gesturing to half the room. The population so clearly indicates that the party is not so exclusive. “It looks like half the engineering building heard about the party.” He also nods his head at the revolving door leading into the kitchen. But he knows what she means. Jeno is not the type to go out, much less the type to go to parties. He really only attends post-hockey celebrations or the rare team icebreakers that Mark plans; you know, stuff involving the other players. Jaemin occasionally invites him to a bottoms-up with his lab classmates, but Jeno never says yes to that. He doesn’t like the crowds or not knowing everyone. “There’s like a thousand people here.”

“Ha!” Yeeun laughs at his hyperbole, passing her poktanju to him. “No, it’s gotta be 40 to 50 at most, and you can thank Hongjoong’s roommate for that.” Jeno nods, agreeing, sounds like Seonghwa. “No, but!” Yeeun slaps Jeno’s arm.

“Ow!” Jeno steps back, rubbing his bicep. “You didn’t steal my bracelet; you can’t hit me.”

Yeeun rolls her eyes – he is getting that response a lot tonight. First, you in his own fucking car; then Haechan at practice; then Juyeon; and now his best noona (don’t tell his actual sister)? Wow.

“No, not that,” she says, staring him down, knitting her eyebrows at him, wiping her hand on her pants now, mock disgusted. “And gross by the way. You’re like my little brother.” She takes her drink back and downs another shot. “No, I meant that I thought you had practice tonight. You still haven’t told me what the hell you’re doing here.”

“I heard about it,” Jeno reinforces.

“You said that. Who’d you hear it from?”

“In passing,” Jeno shrugs. But Yeeun smacks him again, and harder, splashing her beer a bit on his sleeve. “Okay, okay. I heard it from Sungchan. Alright, damn.”

“The tall kid?”

��Eung,” Jeno confirms, voice low, distracted while he wipes his wrist drier. “Yeah, the new kid, number 27 on the hockey team.”

“Oh,” Yeeun says slowly, eyes wide, sipping her drink deeply. “But he’s not,” she hesitates, stuttering, “your dongsaeng, right?” They come to the same conclusion – that he shares yet another person with the one he hates most.

“No,” Jeno answers, “but he – Sungchan – is on my team,” he reinforces. And suddenly, he needs that medicinal shot of alcohol to treat his recurring symptoms in the form of a headache now. “So, I heard it from him. Whatever.” He looks above Yeeun’s head, which is not hard to do with the, like, 15-centimeter difference. “Where did Juyeon put the alcohol?”

Yeeun absentmindedly points to the left, her own drink in hand. “I think Hongjoong told him to put it on the island in the kitchen. You’ll see it when you get in there.” Jeno watches her wave at a girl with black hair, already knowing that she is about to leave him, but hey, this time, he has something to do: get alcohol. “Go –“ She pushes him toward the drinks. “– find yourself something to drink. I’ll meet up with you again later.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he waves her off, then hugs her and walks off.

Halfway before he even gets to the door, Jeno bumps his shoulder into yours, and yet another drink spills onto his favorite shirt.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” both of you whisper at each other, the anger radiating far enough to briefly turn some heads.

“Let me pass, Lee,” you bite, suddenly closed off in the narrow hallway; people standing against the opposite wall just talking to each other or behind you, waiting for the bathroom or another drink, or the next best thing.

You have the same look in your eyes as when Jeno first met you. It took a few more meetings, after that one, until he was able to name it: contempt, maybe even irritation, or disrespect. However, unlike now, he was unable to discern why he had been so deserving of your precious scorn; all he did was show up to practice! This time though, Jeno concedes that it was partially his fault. He was weaving between couples and trios, trying not to hit anyone on his way to alcohol; he barely had any in his system, to be so wobbly on his feet, like a drunkard, but he walked too close to the drywall and bounced off it, in an attempt to avoid two people making out, then he hit you right in the shoulder, your arm carrying a shot glass filled to the brim (you would get dinged in a chem lab, Jeno thinks, not that he has taken chemistry recently; he mostly listens to all the ways Jaemin kept failing the lab safety quiz). You spilled peach soju on his wrist and the edge of his shirt, forcing him to lift it enough to show off his sharp v-line, his transversus abdominis, that gets cut off by his pants tied above his waist, rather than at his waist – a tease, honestly.

Jeno’s arm jerks backward, responsively, to force some space away from everyone, mostly you, but your watch snagged on the fabric, pinching the draw string tightened around his hips, wrapping you closer the more that Jeno tries to detangle himself. He takes a step to the wall, shoulders alert, feeling for the rough material until he falls against it. Your waist slumps against his as he drags you with him, and you grumble, ugh, holding out a second while people pass behind you, pushing past you away from the kitchen. Jeno presses your hips down, your feet coming to the ground, his hands resting more on your butt than your lower back, almost like a trap. The hallway is too narrow for this many people, Jeno thinks, wishing that Hongjoong had the sense to either limit how many students could attend or limit Seonghwa’s invites. Although, he probably would not have been able to attend had any of those two events occurred. And his hands tighten with the thought, locking you between his arms. He can feel you stare at him, blocking out the crowd that he watches equally intently.

Once the hallway is empty (or, at least, emptier), you put a hand on Jeno’s pelvis, where your wrist is stuck, and another on his chest, then pump your arm to break free. It fails, the first time, so you use the momentum to crash on his body again and push yourself off. The loud sound creates an asymptotic barrier. On one side, you sigh a heavy relief, touching your bare wrist. On the other, Jeno pats himself down, touching his front muscles down to his belt, where your hands previously were. He almost mirrored your sigh, but then, he found a silicone bracelet, broken, in his shirt folds. It was easy to find, the red color contrasting against his stripes. He is surprised to find it at all, honestly, thumbing it against his long fingers. You did not push him that hard, certainly not enough to give him, of all people, your bracelet. And it looks like he mistook your color, too; this one, even in the poorly illuminated hallway, is red, a kiss. Would you even give him that so easily?

Jeno looks up at you, from his hands, dangling the thin material delicately, and half-smirks, hoping that he won’t falter. “Looks like you owe me something.”

You roll your eyes. One more time, Jeno thinks, and your face will get stuck like that; you might even go blind. “Kiss my ass.”

“And here I thought you wanted to leave,” Jeno retorts. You suck in a breath, thinning your lips, releasing all the tension through your toes, tapping your heel-less shoes into the ground. He exhales oppositely, exaggeratingly, tone sharp. “You had the privilege of feeling my hands on your body for the last minute, and you still want more?” He whistles lowly and says, “Damn,” appreciatively.

“Just give me back my bracelet, ass.”

“And,” Jeno ignores your interjection, “if anyone knows about privilege, it’s you.”

“Ha-ha,” you assert blatantly, fists and arms tense at your sides, coming lower than your skirt. “At least I’m not a Daechi-dong, dong head,” you spit back. And he crinkles his nose at your attempt to call him a dick. “You’re the one who is barely captain because of nepotism. Or did you make everyone forget with your military drills?”

“Oh really?” Jeno nods his heads sarcastically. “Imagine being a top skater,” he taunts back, “because your coach gets paid to elevate you!”

“At least I am a top skater,” you seethe, purposefully quieting your voice as people start looking away. Your hiss comes out as if telling him to shut up, which he, obviously, takes offence to.

“I would never have guessed,” Jeno scoffs, continuing with a powerful voice. “Sounds like a lie. God knows you’ve never even been on the fucking ice.”

“Because you steal it every fucking day!” You point a finger at him. “What’s it like to constantly work toward playmaker and fail every time?”

“Funny, coming from someone who recently got demoted.”

You slap him.

Jeno stares at you incredulously, jaw clenched. His mouth feels sticky, dry, tongue weighing heavy and raw, and his throat feels hoarse all over again, more agitated now as his neck heats up, just from looking at you. And his voice had already been sore from practice, barely letting out few phrases to his friends. But with you, he becomes compelled to say everything. He opens his mouth to verbally strike back.

“Jeno!”

Hongjoong’s voice rings loud and clear at the end of the hallway. Everyone rotates toward the announcement. At the sight of the host squinting to better read the tiny handwriting, Jeno suddenly remembers the game he entered: 7 Minutes in Heaven. His body stiffens, straightening against the wall, stomach sucking in to pull further from you, though your hand comes to his forearm, dizzily, your body having been alarmed by the declaration.

Then, Hongjoong calls your name, too.

“Fuck,” you and Jeno whisper.

Hongjoong pushes Jeno into the closet first, followed by Chaeyoung pushing you, into Jeno’s arms. As soon as the door closes, you shove him against the opposite wall and tug the pull chain light switch on. Jeno blinks at the yellow glow, rubbing his eyes as a result of the brightness change. He looks around first, completely neglecting you so that the time goes faster. None of the clothes, he notices, belong to any party goer, because they are neatly hung, organized from red to indigo, beige fabrics on the end; who ever shed their jacket did so in Hongjoong’s equally tidy bedroom. Aside from the jackets, there is really nothing else, maybe a few boxes underneath an empty shelf, but naught to distract him from how hot the inside of this closet is.

Jeno looks you up and down again, eyes glossing over the outfit he already inspected so he stays on your face. You spun the moment you fell inside, looking away from him, jawline prominent as your lips tightened, frowning. “Nothing to say without an audience?” he asks bitterly, then laughs dryly.

“What more is there to say?” you comeback, quietly, defeated. He wonders if you mean it rhetorically, because … “You got the last word.” He meets your eye, leaning further on his right side. “This time.”

Jeno stands on his two feet, challenging you to a staring competition now, straight on. It is hard not to see every emotion written on your face; the lighting is not on your side. Something in your voice, too, has him on edge, like you have more to say. He opens his mouth to speak again, but you beat him to it, inhaling sharply and talking slowly:

“And you’re the one who likes the attention.”

“Yeah?” he scoffs. Ridiculous. “You were a soloist, –” He collaborates, to this day. “– and now you’re malicious to anyone and everyone, just because you have to work on a team.”

“Why do you think that happened in the first place?! I’m not the one who hogged the rink so much that none of the other skating teams could practice!” You put your hand on your mouth, trying to physically calm yourself down. The next words out of your mouth come in a whisper, “I’m not the one who started shouting during a party. Couldn’t keep the hatred in, even for a second?”

Jeno takes a step toward you, an instinctive comforting move that he would do for his friends without a thought. The closet seemed so much smaller on the outside and so cold where he stands. How are you still six feet away? Does anger heat up your side? Would anything change if he treads nearer? Jeno tests the waters, adding another step toward you – one foot down, four to go. And you take note of him; he is being too obvious, but you say nothing. Jeno cannot read you very well while you are far away, so when he finally reaches you, when he leans over you, all intimidation vacant from his eyes, you narrow your gaze, less like a glare, he thinks, more … curious, scrutinizing. Anyone outside might have thought that you offended him, or, maybe even, vice versa, especially as he presses you against the wall, your head slowly knocking into the wall. His hand comes to your waist again, and you stutter a breath, making him falter as well, his hand slipping on your ass.

“Can I kiss you?” Jeno asks, though he breathes heatedly, quietly.

Your eyes stumble to his nose, and next his lips, taking in the downward bent – his gaze has never left your eyes though, permanently glued to how you perceive, anticipating your answer, because, after all, he did possess your red bracelet.

“For a,” you start, then gradually speed up, “Daechi-dong, you sure are slow.” You bring him in for a kiss, swiping his pink bottom lip to undermine his stature. His jaw drops open and his knees weaken, allowing you to push him against the wall, pressing your tongue on the center of his, saliva tasting void of alcohol. You put an arm on the wall, caging him into the closet, like an anime love interest. “This changes nothing, by the way,” you inform him, as he cradles your hips. “I’m still me, even if I’m kissing you.”

“Obviously.” Jeno rolls his eyes. He rolls your head against the wall, knotting the crown of your hair in the process, reversing your positions. Your eye lids wilt as he leans in, tilting his head to the side for deeper access, and your fists loosen, sneaking around his belt loops, bringing his body closer. The atmosphere brings an alcoholic blush across his nose, definitely not the way you turn his hips, as if trying to guide his head, lips, and tongue. He retreats just a little bit, ultimately coming back after he finds another unexplored part in your mouth. Everything is all mouth – you never smack your lips on his; he never closes his lips over yours; there is no pecking. Jeno senses the corners of your mouth, stopping his body from moving while you tongue circles on his tip. You pull back after a few swirls, starting to drool – Jeno can feel it, so he nibbles on your bottom lip, gnawing the top half lightly, getting rougher and rougher the more you enable him. Until he stops. “I’m still pissed off though,” he lets you know, reverting to your conversation.

“Obviously,” you repeat, equally mad.

The pressure builds up in Jeno’s cheekbones the more time passes without your face attached to his, and he takes the moment to soften at your features, asking them why you are so heated at the sight of him. When he finds no answer, he implores your mouth, pecking pillowy lips on yours, jerking your head like a joystick. His lips drag you to the tips of your toes, bringing your pelvis against his; his long fingers outline the sides of your face, sketching around your ears; his thumb drags along your cheek to your jawline, tilting your face as he opens his mouth, preparing to suction on your mouth.

Knock, knock, knock.

Jeno feels your torso tense and your hands come to his pectoral muscles again. You push him away and pull your limbs back to your body, shutting down with a low strike on the wall. It definitely sounds like you slapped him again.

“If you two are hate fucking in my closet, I’m kicking you out,” Hongjoong says from behind the door.

“As if,” Jeno croaks, voice still low and hoarse because he has not drunk water in the two hours since practice ended. He dives through the crowd, emerging first.

All eyes are on him, and he knows that they think you two sat in silence, simmering angrily. He likely looks angry too, face warm and red, the vein in his neck throbbing, chin jutted out as he looks for someone else, a real friend. They might think you offended him with the way you just stand in the closet (he didn’t hear you walk away), yet no one says anything. He can only imagine what they think – your baby hairs float off your face; your lips caught in your mouth, trying to hide the bruising; eyes darting from him to them to your hands. Jeno shakes his head. He has to get out of here.

But you chase him – everyone thinking that it is to apologize.

You catch Jeno outside, in front of his deep red car, and tug on his arm.

“Why are you leaving?”

Jeno shrugs you off and opens the car door, leaning between it and the rest of the car, standing tall. It barricades you from him. “Because I know how you are.” You tilt your head to the side. He wonders if you know how easy to read your face is. “You are so caught up in appearances. Why would I ruin that over some stupid game?”

You nod slowly, absorbing his explanation, eyes darting around his silhouette, trying to focus on everything behind him. He even glances back but sees nothing, just rows of cars lining up the sidewalk. Not a single person leaving the party right now either, probably because house parties are so rare; movies and books make them seem like common occurrences, so people want to cling to them before they go away. But Jeno is not always right. And another group of people exit the party, walking down hill to their car, laughing loudly enough to alert you two. You shove Jeno in the driver’s seat, hovering above him as he adjusts to the leather chair.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” he asks, rubbing behind his neck.

You yank the lever that forces the seat toward the back and sit on your knees, between his legs, looking at him through your eyelashes. “There were people outside,” you say as if it were obvious, lifting your hands into the air then smacking them back on your bare thighs.

“You –“ Jeno begins incredulously, tightly. “You cannot be serious.”

“You’re the one who said that I care so much about appearances! So what if it’s true?”

The lights turn off in his car, and instantaneously, the atmosphere reminisces Hongjoong’s closet. Jeno searches for your face, relying on a streetlight to see, not wanting to feel around for you. He puts a hand over the door, searching for the handle, but he catches his pretty wrist in the moonlight, sans blue bracelet. Jeno brings his arm between you two, closer to his chest though, inspecting the nakedness. Where the hell did his bracelet go? Surely, if someone stole it at the party, he would’ve heard something. Everyone is practically preening for the chance to steal a bracelet. He pats his chest down again, hoping that he could find it the same way that he found yours – in the folds of his shirt. But you, who gathered where his thoughts were, felt along the ground and found it by his foot. Jeno stares at how you hold it up curiously.

“What?” he exclaims sarcastically. “Are you going to slap me again?”

You laugh dryly but your voice trails distantly. “I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”

“As expected.” Jeno rolls his eyes, ultimately returning to your face, just to see the nosy expression take over again. “You don’t really know anything about me.”

“Bullshit,” you counter, rising on your knees. You loose balance easily, trying not to step on his toes, literally, and he catches you, again, by the hands this time, putting them on his thighs. He swears that a thankful smile cracks your façade, but it disappears in the same second. Your hands are the only reminders that you are arguing with him, pushing hard and hot into his muscles, like a terrible massage. He cracks for a second, whimpering in pain, and you alleviate it a little bit, only ghosting your touch on his pants, no longer leaning. “I know so fucking much about you, Lee.”

“Oh yeah?” he taunts. “What’s my first name?”

You crawl over him, placing a hand on the chair, under his thigh, moving the other behind his shoulder to hover on of him. He watches you, only able to move his chin with you, lips following yours. You lean down to his ear, hiding your face, making him doubt, a little bit, that you are the real person whispering, “Jeno”. He creeps his hands on the edge of your skirt, yanking it lightly as a signal to bring you forward, which you do, staring deeply in his eyes. “I know that you started hockey after all your friends, so now you stay later than them on the rink.” You trail your lower hand up his thigh, under his top sweatshirt, haunting around his defined muscles. “I know that you did your freshman honors thesis on hockey pucks and friction.” Jeno grabs your waist harder at the innuendo, accidentally pulling you into straddling his leg, and you yelp, falling into his chest. You straighten up quickly, trying to find a position comfortable enough to look at him, to tease him. In the midst of it all, you confess, “I know that you are more than hockey, and you’re infuriatingly good at other things, like –“

Jeno swallows a groan.

“– math and drawing.” You smirk. “Did I say something to make you mad?” you ask, faux-innocently. “Did you know I could do that?” You lean into his ear, twirling a strand of hair behind his ear. “Do you even know anything about me?” Jeno nods; of course, he does – no one spends all the energy he has on this … this rivalry, to come out with nothing. You lean away, slowly, dropping back on your knees, on the floor, and rub the inside of his manspread thighs. “Can you tell me one thing? I gave you three.”

“I know that –“ Jeno swallows, not sure if he wants to tell about an intimate moment he once witnessed, but you look at him with expectant eyes crinkling with innocence, even if that innocence might be hidden behind sensuality. “– during competition season, in the quietest moments between performances, you disobey your expensive coach’s direct orders –“ He throws the nepotism back in your face, alleviating the familiarity that neither of you should be sharing. “– and sit in an empty rink, eating a strawberry McFlurry.” The silence after is deafening, bringing back that ringing sound he heard after practice in place of his teammates, so he adds, “I don’t know what you think about,” but he can guess. It is probably the same thing that he thinks about before games – less about the plays, about the potential for losing, more about being on the ice, how fun everything is, despite the misery that comes from losing.

Jeno locks eyes with you, wondering if he finally found a common ground. Your hands, and eyes, responsively drop to his ankles, fiddling the hems. He starts to consider … that he went too far … again, and he exhales, collapsing further into the cold leather chair, scooting away from you. It’s not like he has Jaemin’s boy-next-door-charm, or Renjun’s suavity; and he is certainly not as approachable as Yangyang. He can never get it just right, find that perfect balance. You always fly off the handle with him, and he has the hardest time even talking to you. Nothing he says is ever the correct thing.

“Can I kiss you?”

Oh. Maybe being vulnerable was a good thing, though his body is still humming as if angry.

“Ye-yeah,” Jeno answers, after a second, his voice rasping moreover. He goes to you, angling his whole chest, but you stop him, a hand just to the right of his heart, almost like missing the point completely, which he does, in this case, tilting his head to the side, a frown settling in.

“Not on the lips.”

Jeno examines your face, searching, first, for malice, last for answers. You have a tint of rivalry glowing across your cheeks, obscured by mischief.

“Hold this.” You hand him the edge of his shirt, and he accepts, wordlessly, bunching it high enough to show off all his abs – a smart choice, given the way you pause to admire each defined muscle band.

Jeno twists his wrist, during the quiet, readjusting the material, but as he does, it rubs on his hardening nipples – which are not the only thing hardening. You travel your hand up his chest, starting from the top half of his v-line, ending under his nipples, under his shirt. His knee spasms, motioning for you to start whatever you were going to do, hoping that you might put your mouth south. But you take your opposite hand and cradle his face, making him look up at you, his eyes seeming wider – innocent, less resentful than you are known to see, no taunts or mean names on his tongue. Although, another breathless statement about God might hang in there. You scratch your nails along his cheek, simultaneously leaning down on the other side of his face, to his ear.

“Not right there,” you instruct, then move the frayed end into his mouth, the rest of the shirt gathering under his pecs like a bra. You trail down his neck to his hand, where he holds his two shirts, then unwind his tight grip. He lets the material unravel, mouth parting smally with it too, just like you want. You draw his bottom lip open and hang the shirt on his teeth. He nods consensually biting into the material, expecting you to actually tease his muscles this time, but you only guide his mouth to a close.

Then your icy fingers curl under his belt line, and he whines.

“Why – hnng,” Jeno starts, finishing with a tremble, silenced.

That is when he understands: you want to gag him. Not completely, to the point where he is void of response, but enough to prevent him from saying anything completely; though, he could reject you right now, at any point, if he didn’t want your touch. Jeno stares at you, on your knees, fingers paused from sliding his pants all the way off. Neither of you have ever made this much eye contact, and he … he just wants to keep watching you. Have you always been this passionate?

“Keep that there for me, okay?” you ask, implicitly talking about consent over the boundary you are about to cross.

Jeno nods smally, not wanting to drop his shirt or wet it so disgustingly.

You tease a finger through his underwear, where his cock would normally peek from, using the space to prod him out the waistband. He nudges you, needily, trapping your palm between the tops of his thighs, all the muscles there pulsing faster than his currently erratic heart. You give him an impatient look, wagging your head, tsk, tsk. It makes him curl his chin to his chest, sheepish, like he did something wrong, and he shakes his hair, too, curtaining his blushed face behind his long, black bangs. Jeno feels you gently pull him out of his headspace, figuratively and literally. You strip his bottoms all the way to his ankles, careful not to touch his dick, even though he wants you to, so badly. When you straighten your back up, brushing your tits on his knees, resting them perkily above him, you stare at his dick, just for a moment, head tilted to the side. He almost ruins it, tongue poking his clothes away to ask if you want to stop, but you kiss the underside of his penis head – only once, waiting for his reaction, and he gives it to you, of course. The weightless smack from your lips tickles, and he wonders if you actually did it. Then you do it again, and again, and again. Kisses turn into flicks, all on the underside, building up more saliva as you curl the dorsal side, flicking it easily.

Hnng. You are a figure skater, Jeno remembers. Being graceful is in the definition. It is why your insults always have such a clean cut and give him an opening to respond. He usually gets the last word. But this is a different kind of graceful, where you are gentle with him – asking for consent, touching him delicately, making sure that he is okay every step of the way.

When you are ready, you slowly creep your lips over his cock head and retreat, backing off along with the heat from your mouth. Jeno can feel his dick follow you in anticipating, trembling the longer you study him, and he moans brokenly: please. It comes out incoherent and muffled. You relax your jaw lowly, letting your tongue slide outside your lips to cover your bottom row of teeth as you swallow a portion of the top. His cock bounces in your mouth, slapping around your small mouth. He clenches his fist by his thighs, not knowing where to put them. You circle your index finger and thumb halfway down his shaft, jacking him off along one of the veins that come above his balls. He wonders if you want him to give you a facial, especially after you come up, rubbing it long your innocent looking cheek, but a hand comes above his balls, stopping him from cumming. And he groans, throwing his head back again. Maybe you’ll suck the cum out of him, like a well-blended smoothie through a straw.

Jeno drops his shirt out of his mouth, covering his abs once again. The groan reverses onto your throat – he guesses that you don’t like the cover. You muffle the whine with his dick in your mouth again, the sound constricting all the way around him. Jeno grabs a hold of your throat, nicely, feeling how your esophagus adjusts for him.

“Oh, God, oh fuck,” he whispers, abs tightening shakily. He gains some control after you begin a steady bobbing, using your salvatory ducts to prevent from gagging. You curve your tongue at the back of your throat, feeding his dick against it. The feel is no different from deep throating, if Jeno is being honest, but your tongue is much more pillowy and your cheeks suck in air, pulling them tightly over your teeth, giving him a vacuum suction that reminisces a really good fleshlight and would need a lot of practice to get as right as you do. “Is that what those practices are?” he asks you. “A chance to practice for my dick?”

Jeno cups your cheek and pulls his dick out of your throat, like giving you a chance to answer. But before you can, he taps his cock on your tongue again, just the tip, rasping the underside of his head on your reflexively curled tongue, which appears half-prepared to answer his question, half-prepared to get throat fucked.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he drags out. His hand comes into your hair, scratching along your temple to tuck those pretty little strands behind your ears; his thumbs briefly emerge through the top, then hide, again, in the tangled ponytail. You perform faster, ruining his illusion of control, and he clutches your hair tighter, holding you in place to stop from cumming. He pants through his nose, and you give him a short rest until bringing both your hands along his exposed cock, twisting them in opposite directions while your tongue remains steady under his twitching tip. “Ah,” he pleads, trying not to come. He sits up fully, knees almost going with him, had it not been for your strong chest, and you pull off, panting equally hard. And, fuck, your tits are sexy.

You stand up as much as you can in the cramped space, spine rubbing up the headlining as you put one foot forward then straddle him with the other leg. Jeno helps you adjust, bringing your cushiony thighs closer into his chest, just right under his pecs. He looks up at you, and you stop fidgeting, putting your hands on his shoulders for balance, teetering on your knees until you finally fall into him, your hair covering the both of you. You crane your neck down blowing on his earlobe first, then inside his ear. He grabs you harder, supporting your ass as you hold his throat in place, marking the area between his clavicle and right ear.

“Do you have a condom?” you whisper, slowly bending down, tracing the outline of your underwear with his tip – repeating the gesture over and over again, several times, until he answers.

Jeno’s head bobs – nods, yes – on your shoulder, but you mistake it for pleasure, grabbing him by the chin again, so he looks into your eyes and swallows. “Yeah,” he verbalizes, “in the glove compartment.”

You pull away from his chest, and he instinctively stabilizes your waist, possibly obsessed with it. Jeno accidentally grabs you too roughly, he thinks, situating you over his really big tip. You brace yourself on the center console, moaning loudly. Your tits push into the leather so difficulty that they nearly pop out of your bra, which would not be too difficult. Jeno can see your strap falling down your upper arm. You shallowly bounce on him through your underwear. It feels so good, so wet, so disappointing because he wants to fill you up already. While he grinds his ass into the chair, flopping his cock over your clothed pussy, you reach over the passenger’s seat, which seems to be two metres away now, your arm reaching shakily. And finally, you pull out a condom, turning the golden wrapper around in the shallow light to find the front.

“A large?” you read, treating it like a question. You come back to him, sitting on his sculpted v-line, grinding your ass languidly into his cock standing tall behind you. “An extra large?” you squint at the foil, then raise a suspicious eyebrow.

Jeno pulls your thighs up to his chest and plucks the condom from your greedy little hands.

“You’ll need it,” he answers, tone implicitly asking you to trust him.

He tears the foil open and fingers around for the right side. It is difficult in the poorly illuminated street. So, he is thankful when you take over, repossessing the condom. You climb over his cock, sticking your ass out again, to get in a better position. Your hands are so pretty.

“Pinch the tip,” Jeno instructs breathily. “Yeah, fuck, like that.” He watches you catch his restless dick and fit the ring over his tip. You grab him hard, fingers not quite reaching all the way around. He isn’t sure if that is because his dick is so big or if your wrist is too loose. None of it matters, though, when you take both hands and roll the condom all the way down, not stopping until his voice is back to cracking, pushing out those ah, ah, ahs again. Jeno pulls you up again, forcing you to brace on his pecs. Both of you start stripping now. Jeno takes off your long-sleeve and tugs your tits out of your bra cups, leaving them supported by the push-up wire. He is tempted to suck them, staring at them, stunned; hands sculpting your sides, then jiggling your tits until your nipples harden more than his dick. You take your turn after he has his fun but before he mouths them. His shirts come off easier and you ignore his muscles, immediately rubbing your nipples over his. He wonders if you have ever been touched like this, touched here, but the thought is fleeting as you take off your panties, throwing the soaked material on his shirts. You situate on his thigh, muting any arguments that might arise, rubbing the newly naked skin together.

Jeno lets you grind on his thigh a few times, feeling the way your clit twists and turns. He flexes his muscles, all of them – his abs under your hands, his leg under your pussy, his arms under your body. Your grinds turn into bounces, so Jeno catches your ass, prying your legs open again, on either side of his hips. He pinches the inside of your thighs, fingers loosing their adhesion from all your self-lubrication, then pushes his index finger inside – his long, muscular finger with clean, polished nails. His thumb swipes back and forth on your clit, replacing his thigh to stimulate you. And you falter, shuddering, legs shaking a little bit next to his cock. You rest your head on his shoulder, giving him access to yours. He opens his mouth along your collarbone, suctioning the lightest hickeys then getting rid of them with forceful laps from his floppy wet tongue.

“You like that?” Jeno whispers as he pushes in two extra fingers. First, curls all three upward, cupping your clit with his palm, and you start grinding on it, waiting for more movement, but still needing to adjust to the drastic change in size. When you relax, sitting on his hand, Jeno flexes his hand back and forth, desperately manhandling your body to and from his. You stay still above him, arms tightening around his shoulders, muscles shaking; you try to respond yes, but he doesn’t hear it, trying a new tactic. “Does that feel good?” he asks. His fingers start moving in different directions, scissoring a whole new stretch. They scrape a new, high-pitched ah, aah, ah out your throat, the sound only elongating when his thumb stops swiping your clit to rub circles on it as trying to clamp his entire hand through your pussy. “Fuck, you sound so good. You’re doing so well.” Jeno grazes his teeth on your shoulder, tipping you over the edge, and you grip his dick harder, for some anchor on reality. Both of you moan, throwing your heads together, almost kissing. Your lips are so intimate with his, breathing hot air over his closed mouth. Jeno nudges you, brushing the tip of his nose on yours. “Are you ready?”

“Fuck,” you whisper, possibly wondering how the hell he can be so considerate. You lick a stripe on his cheek, at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not glass,” you reassure him, although sounding irritated. “You can’t be that big,” you answer, “Like, there is no way that I need to get prepped by so many fing –“

Jeno pulls out his fingers and slams his dick up your pussy in the same second. The both of you swear simultaneously, and your breath, specifically, becomes more winded, becomes faster, becomes shaky. Jeno didn’t consider that he might need to adjust, his cock throbbing as if trying to stretch your circumference even wider.

“You – You were saying?” he stutters, then throws his head back on the headrest.

You teeter on your knees, outside his thighs, slowly and shallowly bouncing on him. He pushes the tops of your thighs until you rest on the cold steering wheel, turning it as you gain more momentum to ride his dick. You lead with your hips, swaying forward and back into his pelvis.

“Now I know where the ego comes from,” you bite – and literallybite his neck.

“I deserve it,” he retorts, pressing his feet into the ground, then slamming his hips into you a few times. The new adjustment displays your tits so beautifully, chest raised and propping out, so he leans down, suctioning sucking your warm skin from shoulder to areola. Your back locks on the steering wheel, changing the angle at which his cock hits your G-spot, and you moan loudly. In response, Jeno puts his thumb in your mouth, squashing your tongue, saliva pooling so quickly that you immediately close around it. You slump forward, grabbing at his veiny arm, fumbling around until one hand clamps on his wrist and the other over a vein. “You’re too loud,” he whispers, until you swirl your hips in small figure eights. His hand relaxes and he groans, throatily – to which you cover.

“Who’s being loud now?” you taunt. “Guess I’m that good, huh?”

Jeno cannot disagree. You feel so good, and tight, and warm. His hand drops between your bodies, allowing you to come back up again, then back down, then back up, and down, and up, and down, and up. You massage at a vein behind his ear with two fingers and suck on one of his nipples, occasionally biting the edges of his areola then licking bite mark healed. When you reach a hand underneath his, toying between your clit and the parts of his cock that become exposed, he gathers that you are trying to make him cum first.

“Why are you still competing with me?” he bites angrily. Jeno takes away your fingers and plays with your clit himself, tugging it through the lubrication. He massages it with big circles, going around your pussy lips, the bundle of nerves at the top of your clit, spreading the wetness everywhere. “Fuck, I’m stuffing you so full, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” you agree without thought, all words choking in your exposed throat as he blows your back out. “’m suh ‘ucking ‘ull,” you whimper, though the syllables break into petty gasps that he can barely string together. “Ah,” you whine sharply, squeezing your eyes shut until they pulse at an opposite rate to your vaginal walls. Then, Jeno finds another angle, moving his ass against the cold console (he yelps at it, hips driving upward, away from the box, and his cock buries itself in your guts), and your eyes pop open, along with your jaw. Every new pound coaches a sob off your lips.

Jeno, still utterly obsessed with your waist, digs his thumbs into the front of your pelvis, his long fingers massaging your ass as you come forward to match his thrusts. You fall forward again, hands bracing on the shoulders of the chair behind him, tits right in his face. Jeno pants heavily, breath lost with each release, but he still chooses to kiss you.

Well, your tits. He mouths at the skin around your nipples, kneading his lips into the plushy flesh as his abs lock and your thighs tighten.

“Oh, oh, oooh,” Jeno cries, his hips stuttering as your pussy clenches get smaller, firmer.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you whisper, “c’mon. Right there, Lee.” He pushes particularly hard, as if breaching another barrier. “Ah, Jeno.”

His name brings him back to attention, staring at the tension in your face. You stutter your hips, and he tries to still his, letting you build up to an orgasm. You manhandle his cock, jerking it around inside your body. Your glossy muscles start constricting tighter and tighter, no longer throbbing, as if your pussy tries to drink his entire cock. Jeno belts an arm above your ass and clamps a hand on your waist, getting you in a stationary position. He settles his feet firm, stable, into the ground, preparing himself this time, this last time, then he palpitates into you, his hips grinding into your clit a few seconds after every thrust to really get deep. You claw on his muscular shoulder, fingers digging hard, all the tension going straight to the ends of your body and up your pussy with his cock. He feels you sucking him in and holds his thick dick there, swirling it all around – one, two, three.

“Fuck,” you whine, high pitched, croaking tiredly. Your walls scrape and then beat out a samba all over his cock, throbbing with your orgasm.

Jeno returns half a second later when his tip catches on a particular tug and he empties into the condom, possibly elongating his member. You whimper weakly at the stimulation, but hold him securely, preventing him from pulling out just yet. He lets you lay on him, like that, for minutes, maybe hours, arms circling his neck. Jeno thinks, wow, thisfeels nice – better than hugs from his friends and surprisingly, even better than those team huddles after a good practice.

But his arms are stuck, frozen at his sides while fatigue takes you over. Jeno gives it another second, then his fingers twitch, suddenly gaining the momentum, again, to return your embrace. You, on the other hand, have different thoughts, and pull away, patting him on the chest, relieving yourself of him.

Jeno thinks that the worst kind of time travel is this one, where you two are on opposite schedules. He just needs a break from it.

A time out.

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h2bakugou · 3 years

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Hi! Can I please request some headcanons for Izuku, Katsuki, Shouto, and Denki with an s/o who doesn’t like getting into arguments and will always try to avoid getting into one with their boyfriends either by compromising and/or just throwing in the towel and just admitting that whatever their boyfriend said is right and it’s because they didn’t have a great home life growing up and want to avoid becoming like their parents and the boys finding out and their reaction to that? Thanks!

a/n: hiya!! of course hun! i did a similar argument hc a while ago, but this one is vastly different in a few ways!! thank you for the request love!!

headcanon: them reacting to their s/o’s refusal to argue with them

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, some angst, one mention of sky high, endeavor is trying™

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

izuku midoriya

»»————-　★　————-««

Surprisingly enough, there are a good number of times you’ve had an argument arise with Deku.

Not the ones where you playfully tease him about not sitting with you on the long trips you took as a class to places.

But the ones where you’d find him training for hours on end with no text or call to let you know that he’d be running late for a date, or a study session.

The ones where he’s so caught up in everything else that he doesn’t really make time to focus on your relationship.

Which wouldn’t be that big of a deal, had he just told you upfront that he was busy. But with the promise of always finding a way to make time for you, you were beginning to feel like maybe there was someone else, or maybe he didn’t really like you, like you thought he did.

But even when you were upset or angry, and Deku cornered you to talk about it, you’d shut him out and tell him it was fine, and that it really wasn’t his fault. It was yours for being so devoted to a relationship during such a serious time.

But Deku knew it was more than that.

Every time you seemed upset, or angry, or frustrated by something that seemed like something he’d done or may have had a part in, you always shut him down, telling him you’d get over it like an adult, and handle it.

“You don’t have to handle everything by yourself, let’s just talk about it, why are you feeling like this? You can talk to me, you know I’ll listen.” Deku’s comforting arms wrapped around you, preventing you from leaving this time around.

He’d spent maybe a few too many hours trying to learn some new moves and forgot that he was supposed to text you after the first hour to check up on you and your studies.

And when he finally came back after a shower, he realized you’d sent him a few texts asking if he was okay and if he was going to be done training soon.

“It’s fine, Izu’. I have some work I have to finish-”

“It’s not fine. I upset you, I’m sorry. But please talk to me. Why are you always trying to dismiss what actually happened?” Deku tried to capture gaze, only to find your lashes sprinkled with tears as you gave a shaky breath.

“I just don’t want us to end up like my parents. All they did was fight and argue.” You’d never really told anyone about that. Let alone anyone you’d been in a relationship with.

In that moment, all Izuku could do was hold you closer, laying his head in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry. I should take your feelings into account when I make promises to you. I apologize for not keeping those promises.” Deku pulled back and looked into your eyes.

“And please don’t be afraid to talk to me. I know that’s scary to think about, but if I make you upset, just talk to me, we don’t have to scream or fight, we can have a civilized conversation together about something, and if you feel like we can’t, we can always have our friends help if you’re comfortable with that.” Izuku smiled softly, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe your tears away.

You pushed a small smile onto your lips, resting your face back on his chest as he held you close.

“I’m sorry too.” You apologized.

“Don’t be, it’s okay. Why don’t we watch a funny movie and relax? I can make us some popcorn!” Izuku was ready with some cheesy hero movie on hand, probably one about some superhero high school with a magical flying bus and a protagonist whose parents were the top heroes, a plot you’d begun to see more and more often these days with the progression of hero society.

“Sounds like a plan.” You giggled.

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Bakugou argues with you because you won’t argue with him-

On a serious note, most of your ‘arguments’ start because he feels like you don’t trust him enough to talk to him about your feelings.

If you are upset with him for something, or if you feel an argument coming on, you’ll dismiss yourself, your feelings, say he’s right, and just back down.

And we all know Bakugou will not go down without a fight example a, the sports festival.

He gets defensive, if not a little more agitated when you don’t tell him what’s going on. Not that he’s entitled to know how you’re feeling constantly, but because if he’s going to be in a relationship, he wants communication between the two of you.

If there’s something you can’t communicate to each other, then it doesn’t need to happen or there’s a problem somewhere.

Which is why when you say that it’s nothing, or that you aren’t upset when he knows that that’s utter fucking bullshit, he gets angry.

He won’t take his anger out on you, he’s not that kind of asshole.

Even though he hates the assholes, he sometimes drops little clues to Kirishima or Sero.

But overall, he just wants to talk it out with you. He wants to understand what’s going on, why you’re feeling the way you are, what-if there’s anything-he can do differently to help you feel better or to prevent this feeling from happening again.

It all crumbles apart when Bakugou said he’d help you with some math homework that you’d be struggling on.

Only for him to be four hours late because he was sitting in detention for sparking a fight with some shit-talking smartass from a support class.

That night you had struggled to answer the problems on your homework, only to bomb the pop quiz on the same subject the next day. It was a mess, and you were upset.

Your grades of course were not Bakugou’s responsibility, but his responsibility was to at least give you a heads-up that the study session would’ve been moved, or cancelled.

Instead you stayed up way to late trying to understand problems that weren’t making any sense, and now your grade was sitting in a hole.

So you were upset.

But when Bakugou questioned why you were so quiet around him, you just shrugged your shoulders.

“What gives? You not talkin’ to me or something?” Bakugou wasn’t exactly sure why you were mad at him until you packed up your things at the common room table, your low grade on the pop quiz and homework proving why you were in a bad mood.

And then Bakugou realized that was the homework he said he’d help you with.

“Shit, that was due Tuesday wasn’t it.” Bakugou grumbled.

“Yeah.” You mumbled.

“Hey what’s wrong with you? Did I do somethin’? Why you fuckin’ ignoring me and shit?” Bakugou’s fowl language was something you were used to. He wasn’t angry, he was confused, though his vocabulary could’ve fooled you.

“It’s nothing, you didn’t do anything, I’ve got to study to get this grade up, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You pushed on without another word, trying to escape back to your dorm.

At the mention of the word study, Bakugou then remembered the promised study session.

“Hey wait! I was supposed to help you do that shit, let’s go work on-”

“It’s fine, I got it. Go do whatever you want.” You didn’t look at him.

“No, now cut the bullshit let’s go study.” Bakugou tugged you up toward his dorm.

Inside you stood holding your things, your emotions beginning to bubble over as you watched him look for his bag, a stray bandage over his cheek from the punch the kid had thrown at him. Just staring at it made you upset.

“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, your voice wavering.

“What? Do what?” Bakugou responded.

“I just wanted you to help me and...you-” You stopped yourself, realizing it was selfish to think it was Bakugou’s job to help you exceed in class. Shaking your head you held your things tightly and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well-”

“Bullshit, what the fuck is goin’ on with you? You’re upset, I know you are, what’s the problem?” Bakugou stopped you from leaving, almost forcing you to sit on his bed and explain why you were so distant.

“No- it’s not fair to you, I can’t do this, I can’t argue with you over something so stupid, I don’t want to end up like my fucking parents.” You were crying at this point, tears flooding from your eyes as you dropped your things, your books scattering across his bed as you fell into his arms.

“Are you talking about the fight? You have to communicate with me if you want me to help you. Can you at least tell me what you’re feeling?” Bakugou wanted to help, but with no information, there was little he could do.

“I was just so frustrated, because I was looking forward to studying, and then I found out you were in that stupid fight and I felt like I was all alone, like you’d deserted me and so I just tried to do it on my own and I messed up, and I felt like it was all your fault. I know it’s not. Had I just talked to you we could’ve studied and I would’ve done fine.” You broke down, sobbing into his warm embrace.

“I’m sorry. Just call me out on my bullshit, okay? It’s not right that you gotta’ be affected by my own stupid actions.” Bakugou tugged you back from him to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Why don’t we try and do a few practice problems to help you better understand the material?” Bakugou offered, stroking his thumb over your cheeks to wipe your tears.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

After some silence of Bakugou helping you work through the problems, you thanked him silently with a long hug, just resting your head on his chest. He didn’t ask any questions about the comment you’d made, he knew it was probably a sensitive topic.

But he’d be there when you were ready to talk about it.

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Todoroki doesn’t really like to argue, not like full on yelling and screaming at least.

If he’s having an argument, he’ll try his best to be civil about it, but sometimes he can get a little heated and possibly raise his voice.

He’s always been fairly outspoken, having to usually bide by someone else’s rules that he barely thinks for himself, but as of late, he’s doing himself a favor and being his own person, living by his own rules, and sometimes that means bucking up against others when they’re incorrect.

But when it comes to you, he can’t really see himself arguing with you, at least over little things.

However, he des find it rather upsetting that you didn’t mention you’d ran into his dad a couple days ago.

You’d just been out shopping and happened to bump into the pro and you said your hello’s, conversed for a few second about school before both continuing on with your day.

You didn’t think it was all that important, and for the most part you’d kind of forgotten about the entire incident.

You’d met Shoto’s father a few times before, which is why he recognized you as his son’s significant other.

So when Enji just so happened to mention the little meeting at a ‘family lunch’ on the weekend, Shoto was a bit surprised, and a bit concerned about the run-in.

Considering the first time Shoto introduced you to his father as his significant other, Enji was a bit opposed to the idea of his son having a relationship, but eventually he grew fond of you, thinking that it might be a good idea for his son to have something normal like a relationship, and go on dates, and live like a teenager.

Worried that he might’ve said something rude, Shoto brought it up in his room after eating lunch.

“Why didn’t you mention running into my father?” Shoto asked bluntly as he sat on his bed, watching as you straightened out your sweater.

“I didn’t really remember it when I came back to the dorms, it was quick, just said hi and talked about school for a few seconds before we went our separate ways.”

“If it happens again just tell me, I don’t know what he’s thinking, just because he says he’s okay with us together doesn’t mean that’s what he really wants.” Shoto was almost dismissive of the fact that his father had actually just seen his son’s s/o in public, stopped to say hi and then get back to his busy day.

“It wasn’t anything like that, he seemed fine. He was busy, if he was upset it was probably just because he’d had a long day.” You lowered your voice, bowing your head before speaking again.

“I should’ve told you, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” You were on the offense now, leaving your old statement in the past.

“What? Be mad at you? I’m not mad, I’m just concerned.” Shoto stood up and walked over to you, quickly noticing how emotional you’d become.

“Hey did I say something wrong? Please don’t dry, what’s going on, talk to me.” Shoto lifted your chin only to see your eyelashes coated in tears.

“I’m sorry! You’re right I should’ve told you-”

“Hey, hey, shhh.” Shoto hugged you, his warm arms wrapping around you as he held you close.

“You don’t have to side with me, if he was nice I believe you. Are you alright?” He asked pulling away to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I just-I didn’t want us to argue or fight like my parents and I just didn’t want you to be mad-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad, and we don’t have to argue, we’re just talking, we’re not arguing, okay? It’s okay.” Shoto comforted you, allowing his hands to rub your back.

“I’m sorry.” You cried softly as he led you back to his bed to sit.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay to feel differently than me, it doesn’t mean I’m mad or upset at you. I’m here to listen when you need me to, please don’t feel afraid to talk to me.”

Lifting your head to look at Sho, you pushed a small smile onto your lips.

“Your hand is cold.” You nudged his right arm, his hand touching your skin under the hem of your shirt as he held you close to him.

“Sorry.” He smiled, wiggling his fingers to tickle you.

“Hey! They’re cold!” You laughed through your tears, trying to get away from his icy fingers.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You pressed a small kiss to the back of his right hand, his cool skin resting against your lips.

»»————-　★　————-««

denki kaminari

»»————-　★　————-««

Kaminari doesn’t argue- at least not with you.

He’ll accuse Kirishima of cheating on some first-person shooter game, or yell curses at Sero for blue-shelling him in Mario Kart.

But he’s never really argued with you about anything.

That doesn’t mean you’ve never had opposing views. Most of the time, Kaminari just listens and tried to understand how you feel.

But more recently, as you progress through school, he’s been doing weird things.

Training longer, forgetting to text you-and he always texts you.

It hurts your heart when you see him smiling and goofing around with Kirishima when today was your movie-night.

You’re not angry at him, you don’t own him for the day, he’s allowed to do other things, but you feel upset. You feel like he doesn’t care about your feelings.

So you head up to your room early, not even bothering to say goodbye to him.

Only about thirty minutes go by when he’s knocking on your door asking for you, asking if you’re feeling okay and why you went back to your room so early.

“I’m fine.” You lie, your expression was more than telling of that factor. You had a pout on your lips, your brows weren’t up and happy, and your eyes didn’t sparkle at the sight of your handsome boyfriend.

“You’re not! What’s goin’ on shawty?” Kaminari always uses humor to make you feel better, that’s just what he’s good at. He can be serious too, but he likes putting a smile on your face before he gets all serious.

“It’s nothing, you were having fun with Kirishima, I don’t want to interrupt.” And without meaning to, you’ve spilled exactly why you were feeling so upset.

Kaminari stares at you with his wide golden eyes, shaking his head as he practically tackles you through your dorm-room door frame into a hug.

Wrapping his arms around you he hugs you close and smiles.

“I didn’t ignore you! Kirishima just talks a lot.” Kaminari is quick to assume you were slightly jealous.

“I-I, no no you’re fine! Go have fun!”

“No. I’m staying with you.” Kaminari’s voice is a bit rougher this time, forcing the fact that he was going to spend time with you now.

After speaking he realized you’re crying. He quickly starts panicking, wondering if his stern ‘Bakugou’ voice scared you.

“Hey, hey! Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He’s rubbing your arms and trying to wipe your tears away as they flow from your eyes.

“I didn’t want us to argue-I was just feeling weird and left-out and I-I’m sorry for being so jealous over something so little and stupid, please don’t be mad at me, I don’t want to fight and bicker like my parents do.” You don’t realize Kaminari’s expression softening at the mention of your fear, becoming like your parents.

“I’d never yell or argue with you over something like that. It’s okay to feel jealous or hurt, just talk to me about it okay? I can’t help you if I don’t know how to. We can converse like this about things, it doesn’t have to escalate.” Kaminari is soothing surprisingly. His touch is gentle even though it wanders.

Holding your hands is a nice feeling, and he enjoys holding them. Rubbing his thumb over your knuckles relaxes you as you lean in to rest your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I love you.” Kaminari kisses the top of your head and hugs you tightly.

“How about you pick out the movie this time! If it’s scary, you get the pleasure of cuddling into me!” Kaminari wiggles his brows.

“You were the one terrified to turn the lights off last time.” You giggle, lifting your head to wipe your eyes.

“I don’t remember that at all.” Kaminari teases, walking over to your bed to get comfy while you looked for a movie to watch.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

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claudeng80 · 2 years

Text

Reversal (Theater AU)

Sequel to Subversion (https://archiveofourown.org/works/9339926/chapters/47289931)

Kiki spares no expense for the cast party. Barely have the house lights gone out behind the last of the (admittedly sparse) audience before the smell of roasted meat starts to overtake the paint-and-sweat funk of backstage. Kiki throws open the loading dock doors to present a tent with a full barbeque pit and a very promising number of coolers.

“I’m not so sure anybody liked it,” Zen’s voice says just behind him, by the metallic echo just now passing the door, and Obi hops down into the loading ramp. He’s not waiting for anyone to catch up. First in line for meat is always a good thing.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s had a very good sandwich - it would not have occurred to him to put fancy cheese on top of barbeque like that, but it sure worked out - and is happily topping it off with a bag of chips. He’s surrounded by people he knows far too well, but none of them are trying to talk to him, which is good enough.

Right on cue, the top of Shirayuki’s head pops out of the crowd. She’s standing on her tiptoes, else he wouldn’t be able to see her, and he doesn’t need to know any more than that to understand what she’s about.

His excellent reflexes may not be good for much on a daily basis - not exactly a success skill in college - but they do mean he’s out of sight before her eyes sweep across his location. For once, he isn’t ready to see her, when he knows he’s just kissed her for the last time.

There should never have been a first, but it’s been a couple of weeks now of regular rehearsals where no stage kiss passes muster with the tyrant, where he’s had to press his lips against Shirayuki’s nearly every day and pretend to be someone he’s not. He’s entitled to a few quiet minutes of solitary sulking.

The stage door is heavy, but it’s unlocked.

The empty theater is dark, the pyramids and cubes of the set casting long shadows in the glow of the house lights. Obi scoots one of the shorter cubes off its tape marks until it bumps against a taller one. It made an incomprehensible set, but it’s just the right height for a pretty comfortable chair, so long as Shiira isn’t around to shoo him off.

There are no answers in the dangling ropes and darkened lights overhead. He’s forgotten plenty of things in his life. He forgot his lines often enough, for sure. He’s already forgotten all the vocabulary he’s supposed to have studied for Tuesday’s French quiz. With enough effort, he’ll figure out how to forget how it feels to kiss her.

The stage door rattles, and Obi slouches down behind the cube. Sneakers squeak on concrete, and the house lights shut off with a snap. The timer has been a source of jokes for as long as Kiki’s had the theatre booked- it’s gone off in the middle of Zen’s soliloquy, the moment Shikito drew his sword, and more than once just as Obi’s leaned in to kiss Shirayuki. He should have known it would strand him in the dark again.

But if he doesn’t want to be found, this can work in his favor. His current location is too obvious - even in the light of the exit signs it’s going to be clear enough that he’s moved things - so he drops to a crouch, then soundlessly glides to another box. This one’s tall enough he can stand up straight, pressing himself into the shadows. It’s ridiculous, what he’s doing, hiding like this. Perhaps he’s a coward, he’s certainly a mess, and there’s no way out of this that he’s willing to take. He can’t hear footsteps anymore, so when the sigh tries to escape from his lips, he lets it.

A hand slams into the box beside him, a body trapping him in place- “Found you!” There’s laughter in her voice and she smells of barbeque and her and even so his reflexes have his arm around her and his foot pivoting forward for a throw before he can drag his unwilling body to a stop.

“Miss!” He flings himself backward, tearing his hands free of her and fetching up against the cube with a dull boom. It shifts behind him, but holds him up.

She, illogically, doesn’t pull away. She leans in, her hand settling once more against the cube, and with the way he’s half-crouched, it rests right by his shoulder. He doesn’t know why she’s ignoring the fact he almost just threw her- she must know that sneaking up on people is rude and an all-around bad idea. “Something’s bothering you,” she says, and all these weeks of Kiki’s tutoring have paid off. There’s no room in her tone for questions or evasions.

It’s certainly the truth, but it’s not like he can admit to it. “Just wanted a bit of quiet.”

“Do you need me to go?” He doesn’t want her to. He’s weak when she’s close, so selfish to want her always there. He never used to let people in like this, but perhaps that’s her secret. He never let her in- she just inserted herself into his life, in the friendliest and most polite fashion, and now he can’t imagine it without her. He can’t say yes, not when she’s right there. He shakes his head, hair catching against the cube surface.

“Good,” she says, low and relieved. He thinks he’ll tease her about why she’s hiding too, but every word explodes into static as she captures his lips with her own and presses her body against his.

This is where he kissed her, he thinks wildly. Against this wall, day after day, practice after practice. He knows the way she breathes, the sounds she makes that aren’t for him, the way her lips shift against his, so precise. But this time she’s not passive for the stage, a princess surprised by a villain. He’s never been kissed against a wall like this, never felt wanted this way. He closes his eyes and relaxes, letting her take what she wants. It’s all what he wants as well.

“Oh!” She pulls back. He can still feel the heat of her body, but he’s no longer trapped- slowly he straightens his legs, regaining his distance. If she’s going to declare this a mistake, at least he’ll have that much room to prove how good an actor he can be. “That’s not what I meant to-”

He’s not that good. He swallows down any word he could speak, any sound that could betray his feelings, but his eyes sting and there’s a lead weight on his chest.

And then there’s a hand there, five gentle fingers resting against his skin. “I mean that’s not what I meant to start with. J’aime t’embrasser, Obi,” she murmurs.

Hope and confusion spear his heart , a tug of war that leaves him gasping. “You know that’s not fair, miss.” Her lips curve once more; he’s sure he’s earned it, he should probably know what she’s saying but she knows perfectly well she’s the only reason he’s passing French class.

“Is that so? Sounds like you need another study session.” Her voice is both arch and full of promise, and it’s a good thing he didn’t know all along that she could sound like this. “Maybe Friday? On a date?”

Fifteen minutes ago he would have said he couldn’t possibly be any more into her than he already was. But he leans in once more, watching her eyes light up just before he shuts his own and presses his lips to hers, and he’s never been so pleased to be wrong, on so many counts.

#obiyukibingo22 #fanfic #theater au #take this away I give up

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hockeylvr59 · 3 years

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The Perfect Match Part 2 || Taylor and Cale Makar

Summary: When Taylor Makar meets Elizabeth “Leizel” Estroff he quickly discovers how compatible she is with his older brother Cale. Despite his parents early protestation to leave well enough alone, Taylor makes it his mission to set Cale up with his perfect match.

Authors Note: Been working on this part off and on for about a month now so yay I’m finally getting it out. Pretty happy with this one though we’re getting into all the BS Taylor is facing at UMass right now which is not a side plot I had anticipated but one that has to be included. FC Claim: Kirrilee Berger. Let me know what you think.

Warnings: some swearing // Word Count: 3,298

~~~~~~~~~~

It turned out that Thompson did have a few spots that were good for studying and Liezel immediately made them her go-to between classes. It was no more than a week after they met in the coffee shop when she looked up to see Taylor studying just a few feet away from her. Eventually meeting eyes, they exchanged smiles but neither broke the peace in the room just focusing back on their own books.

From then on, every Tuesday and Thursday during her two hour break, Liezel found herself sitting beside Taylor as they poured over their respective books. The second day, Liezel felt a light tap against her shin and when she looked up Taylor had a sheepish look on his face. Popping her earbuds out so that she could hear him, she motioned for him to go ahead.

“Any chance you could maybe explain this to me?” He asked, offering her a printout of powerpoint slides. “I know my professor talked about it but he moved so fast and I still don’t understand.”

Looking over the slide, Liezel nodded. It wasn’t a concept she was super familiar with because it had been a few years since she took intro to psych, but she would certainly try and help explain it to him.

“What do you understand about it and what are you struggling to get?” She questioned, trying to see where the gaps in his understanding were exactly. As Taylor explained what he thought it meant, Liezel listened closely. For the most part he did get it, there was just a small tweak in his logic that was probably creating the hold up. Assuring him that he had the majority of it, she explained back to him his interpretation and what that interpretation was missing. After just a minute, a smile spread across Taylor’s face and he nodded.

“Okay yeah. Yeah that makes way more sense.” He agreed, visibly musing over it in his mind for a moment. “So that means that…” As he trailed off into how one theory connected with another, Liezel found herself smiling back and nodding because it was clear that now he was getting it and on a more elevated level than just memorizing what he’d been told.

“Yep. You’ve got it.” She agreed, handing the paper back to him for him to slide away in his binder.

“Thanks.” Taylor grinned. Liezel shook off the gratitude because it was really no problem but Taylor continued. “Seriously, thanks. I probably would have been stuck up on that for the rest of the day.”

“I’m happy to help. You would have figured it out though, I’m sure of that.” She complimented, already seeing that Taylor was smart. His cheeks just pinkened in response and he moved to reorganize some of his notes, jotting down the connections she had just helped him make. Popping her earbuds back in, Liezel returned to her own article, trying to make sense of it.

____________

It was just after dinner that Sunday when Liezel’s phone went off as she cleaned up her tiny kitchen. Forgetting all about it, she moved to get a shower and settle into comfy clothes and by the time she actually looked at her phone half an hour had passed.

Unknown number: Hey. This is uh Taylor Makar. Jerry gave me your number. I don’t want to be a bother but I have a psych quiz tomorrow and I’m not feeling so great about it, any chance I could run some things by you?

Cursing softly to herself, Liezel quickly grabbed her phone and typed back a response.

Liezel: Shoot, sorry I left my phone while cleaning up and forgot all about even checking to see if it was important.

Liezel: Yeah of course, we can do it over the phone or in person, what’s best for you?

Taylor: Not a problem. Um...I’m not great at over the phone. I tried to get Cale’s help but well...it wasn’t much help. So in person?

Liezel: Yeah that’s fine. I can come to you, we can meet at the library, or you can come to me...your choice.

Taylor: It wouldn’t be weird if I came there?

Liezel: Why would it be?

Taylor: I don’t know. Nevermind, I’ll come there if that works. You’re off campus?

Liezel: Yeah it’s like a fifteen minute walk, probably closer to ten for you though.

Taylor: Why would it be shorter for me?

Liezel: Uh….legs. As in you’re all leg. Your stride is probably double mine. Actually I know it is because I had to speed walk while you looked like it was the most leisurely walk you’ve ever taken.

Taylor: 🤔

Taylor: Send me your address.

Shooting off her address, Liezel moved to throw on other clothing that was more appropriate than the pajamas she’d slipped into after her shower. With only a few minutes before Taylor arrived, she moved to tidy up her place a little, not that it was dirty in the first place. Hearing her phone ring, she moved quickly to check it this time only to find that it was a facetime request from Katie. Knowing if she answered she would never get her cousin off the phone, she denied the call and moved to toss the empty water bottle from her coffee table into the recycling bin only to return to a string of texts.

Katie: EXCUSE ME

Katie: THAT WAS

Katie: FUCKING RUDE

Katie: IGNORING MY CALL

Liezel: Can’t talk right now.

Liezel: And if I answer the call I know I’ll never get you off the phone.

Katie: Why the hell can’t you talk?

Katie: Got a hot date or something?

Liezel: Taylor is on his way over for help prepping for his psych quiz.

Katie: Wait...you and Taylor like hang out now?

Katie: This is a thing?

Liezel: We study in the same lounge during class gaps tuesday/thursday and he needs psych help. And even if we were to become friends it’s not a big deal.

Katie: Yeah, uh huh...you sure he doesn’t have a thing for you?

Liezel: God. No. You’re insufferable. Not everything in life is about that.

Liezel: I gotta go, we can talk soon.

****

As soon as Liezel had texted him back, Taylor had thrown his book, notes, and computer into his backpack and slid on shoes to head over to her apartment. He was more than a little anxious about this quiz tomorrow and just needed to make sure that he had wrapped his head around all of the information. As he walked his phone buzzed and Cale’s message popped up on his screen.

Cale: Any progress with the studying? I finished with dinner so I can try and help again if you want.

Pausing because texting and walking was not exactly the smartest thing, Taylor typed out a response.

Taylor: Not really, but I’m going to meet up with someone who can help.

Cale: One of the athletic tutors?

Taylor: nah, Liezel.

Cale: Wait. Who’s Liezel? Have you mentioned him/her before?

Taylor: Yeah. Maybe you should pay more attention.

Cale: Taylor…

Leaving his brother on read, Taylor pulled back open his maps app to guide his walk to Liezel’s apartment. Taylor had mentioned Liezel to Cale basically every time he saw her. Maybe it wasn’t in so many words but he was definitely feeding little bits of information here and there trying to catch his brother’s attention. The more time he spent with Liezel the more he anticipated introducing her to Cale and the I told you so's that would follow.

Finding her building Taylor pressed the button to be buzzed inside and then made his way over to the elevator. It wasn’t long before he was outside her door and when she answered he sent her a grateful smile before entering as directed. Kicking his shoes off as a courtesy, he looked around her small apartment taking it in. It was a small studio but bits and pieces of her personality radiated throughout the decor even with just a quick glance.

“Thanks again for being willing to help.” Taylor murmured, adjusting his bag as he slid his free hand nervously into his pocket.

“Stop saying thank you. It’s not a problem.” Liezel insisted motioning for him to follow her inside and over to her couch. “I don’t have a whole lot of space so hopefully this will work.” She explained, sitting down and tucking her leg under her.

“This is perfect. Thanks.” Taylor agreed, sitting down on the other side of the couch before setting his bag onto the floor to pull out his things as a giggle spilled from Liezel’s throat. His brows furrowed as he looked over at her to see her smiling and shaking her head. “What?” He mumbled softly, an edge of confusion and hurt in his voice.

“Nothing.” Liezel insisted. “You’re just...so Canadian.” She explained. “So damn polite.” Taylor’s cheeks turned a shade pinker and he opened his mouth to apologize again, only to be cut off by Liezel sliding closer.

“So...what’s this quiz on and how can I help?” She asked. Showing her the study sheet for the quiz, Taylor asked if she could maybe help quiz him on the included concepts. Just like that, they got to work and within half an hour to forty five minutes, Taylor was feeling more confident of his knowledge of the material and the stress induced weight slowly lifted itself off his chest.

“You don’t know how much this helped.” Taylor stated as he finally moved to pack his books away. “Somehow the way you describe things just makes way more sense than the way my professor teaches it.”

“You just need to have a little more faith in yourself, Taylor. You knew all the material.” Liezel insisted. “But I’m glad that talking through it helps you feel more comfortable with it. You’re going to kick this quiz’s butt tomorrow, I have no doubt.” Feeling slightly sheepish from the praise, Taylor rubbed at the back of his neck and murmured thanks all over again.

“Would you stop it?!” Liezel giggled, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch to toss at Taylor’s hunched over form. “You are legitimately the worst.” Deflecting the pillow Taylor watched as it bounced back to hit Liezel in the face and immediately his face paled.

“I’m so…” He started only to be cut off by the howl of laughter that ripped from Liezel’s small figure. “Don’t you dare.” She gasped out between shaky breaths. Watching her as she attempted to hurl another pillow in his direction, Taylor started laughing as well until both were struggling to catch their breaths.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll try not to say the thing so much.” Taylor finally relented. “I just can’t help it because…”

“Because your mama raised your right.” Liezel finished his sentence for him. “I hope she knows what a good job she did with you.” Liezel mused softly. Taylor’s eyes turned soft as he thought about his mom and he nodded softly.

“I think she does.” He agreed. Thinking about how he hadn’t talked to his mom in a few days, Taylor ran his fingers through his hair. “But uh, I should probably head back to my dorm, it’s been a few days since I’ve talked to her and I should probably give her a call. I’ll make sure to let her know.”

“Sure thing.” Liezel nodded, moving to walk him out. “If you ever need help studying, the door is always open. Just not literally because there are some weirdos out there. Just, you know, text first.”

Chuckling softly as they made their way to the door, Taylor slid his shoes on and then paused, reading Liezel’s body language before leaning down to wrap her in a quick hug.

“I won’t say it but uh...you know.” Taylor left as a manner of parting as he headed out back to campus.

With as crazy as things were about to get with hockey, he was definitely glad to have someone like Liezel in his life even if his plan never came to fruition.

__________

It was game day. Liezel may not pay much attention to UMass sports but it was hard to remain clueless on this occasion. Between Katie’s text about being nervous for Jerry, the numerous emails in her inbox about the banner raising, and the new responsibility she felt to pay a little more attention for Taylor’s sake, Liezel was well aware of the big event happening at the Mullins Center later that evening.

She didn’t expect to hear from Taylor on a game day, not sure what his routine would look like or if he was even going to be in the lineup, so when her phone buzzed with a text around 10:30am she was surprised to see his name on her screen.

Taylor: This may be random but are you busy tonight?

Liezel wasn’t sure exactly how to play this. Did she feign ignorance? She didn’t want to bring up the game before he did but she had a feeling that this was about that in some fashion. Deciding to keep it short she typed back a reply.

Liezel: Nope. Why?

Taylor: Would you maybe want to come to the game tonight?

Taylor: No pressure, it’s okay if that’s not your scene.

Liezel wasn’t shocked that she had guessed the line of conversation accurately. And it didn’t matter that Liezel had only known Taylor for a short time, she could practically feel the anxiety in his written words. Something was up. Yet it wasn’t her place to press. If he wanted to talk, she’d do what she could to let him know that she was willing to listen, and in the meantime she would just be there to support him in whatever manner he needed.

Liezel: Yeah. I’ll be there. Just need to get a ticket.

Taylor: I’ll bring you one this afternoon.

Taylor: Thanks.

Liezel: Of course Taylor.

There was no response after that from Taylor and Liezel just moved to do some laundry and spend a few more hours studying. Around 3 o’clock, there was a knock on her door and when she moved to look out the peephole she saw Taylor standing there, his body language tense.

“Hey.” She greeted as she opened the door to the nervous twenty year old.

“Brought your ticket.” He murmured softly in reply, pulling a hand out of his pocket to reveal a small envelope.

“Awesome, thanks.” Liezel grinned, still trying to read him. “My first college hockey game. Couldn’t be a better reason to go.” She lightly prodded trying to subtly get something out of him.

“Yeah, the banner raising should be cool. Everyone is excited for that.” Taylor mumbled.

“Eh…” Liezel murmured. “Not the reason I was talking about…” That statement seemed to grab Taylor’s attention and he looked up at her, eyes surprised. Before he could question her, Liezel reached out to tug Taylor inside gently, away from any prying eyes in the hallway.

“You know I’m going because of you not the banner right?” She questioned rhetorically. “I could care less about the championship. I’m going because you’re my friend and you asked me if I would.”

All of a sudden, Taylor’s body language deflated and he stuttered in his movements for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and taking a deep breath that she felt with her entire body. Hugging him back, Liezel sighed softly and gently rubbed his back.

“You want to talk about it?” She questioned, continuing to hold him until he chose to let go.

“ ‘m Nervous.” He murmured against her head. It seemed like it was so much more than just first game jitters and Liezel eventually urged him to come sit on the couch so that he could get whatever he was feeling off his chest.

“I’m in tonight.” He started. “But not tomorrow and I don’t know...I’m not sure how many games I’m going to get.” Nodding along, Liezel just continued to rub his back as he hunched over his knees on her couch.

“You’re going to work your tail off. I know that, you know that. If your coach doesn’t see that then it’s his problem not yours.” She murmured hoping that was reassuring. Taylor’s glance at her suggested it wasn’t but she just shrugged at him in apology, reaching to squeeze his hand.

“You know this is a safe space for you right?” She whispered softly. “You don’t have to ever talk about hockey here at all if you don’t want to. Or you can rant about shit. I’m never going to judge you for anything you say to me.”

“I know.” Taylor sighed, leaning into her touch a little bit. “You’re awesome, you know that.” He breathed, looking at her sideways with a softer expression.

“I appreciate you coming more than you know.” He eventually confessed. “I’m not going to have anyone else there so it means the world to me that I’ll have at least one person in the stands.”

“I’ll be your personal cheerleader anytime you need one.” Liezel assured him, teasingly ruffling his hair a little bit.

Suddenly remembering something, Liezel jumped up from the couch and moved over to the little closet she had near the kitchen. When she returned it was with a six pack of Gatorade in hand.

“Picked this up for you when I was at the store.” She stated, handing it over to him. When Taylor’s expression showed confusion she flopped back onto the couch. “Your distaste for powerade is hard to ignore.” She joked. “And since that’s all you can get on campus I thought this might help.”

The hug that Taylor pulled her into this time was just as hard but yet it felt different all the same and she felt the shift in his energy as it surrounded her. There was still a tenseness there but it had lessened and now some excitement was starting to ooze into its place.

“So you’re gonna go kick some butt tonight, right?” She asked and when Taylor nodded, she couldn’t help but beam at him.

_______

Though the team didn’t kick any butt, Liezel was proud of Taylor and the way that he played. He had numerous opportunities and his linemates hadn’t really given him any help throughout the game.

In no rush to leave, Liezel stayed in her seat as the masses filed out of the Mullins Center and she shot Taylor a text.

Liezel: Let me know when you’re leaving the arena.

While she waited around a half-hour for his response, she made her way outside. When the text finally came she couldn’t help but laugh.

Taylor: Getting out now, why what’s up?

Liezel: What entrance?

Taylor’s response gave a confused answer and Liezel quickly made her way in that direction. By the time she reached the doors, Taylor was coming through them with a few teammates and when she called his name he looked up. Quickly moving toward him, Liezel pulled him into a hug. Taylor responded and lifted her off her feet for a minute before setting her back down.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

“Can’t a girl give her friend a hug and tell him how proud of him she is?” She questioned with a smirk. Taylor’s cheeks were already pink but even though it was dark out, Liezel could see them darken just a bit more.

“Yeah. I guess she can.” Taylor agreed, thinking for a moment that even if he didn’t manage to set her up with Cale, he wanted to keep her in his life somehow.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #taylor makar #taylor makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #cavalanche #042

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lilliagradiewrites · 4 years

Text

go get her, kid. (peter parker)

Summary: Peter Parker is hopelessly in love with Tony Starks’ teenage daughter, and Stark encourages him to shoot his shot.

WC: 7.4k (holy shit)

Warnings: Bad language, , really nothing else. A lot of cute peter and a painful amount fluff. A tiny bit of angst too.

A/N: I found myself watching Tom Holland interview clips today and I just couldn’t help myself. Here we are: my first peter parker/ spiderman one shot! I have some Harry and Jj pieces in the works, so keep eyes out for that!

LET’S DO IT!!!

--------

Peter found himself in this position far too often. Staring at you shamelessly while you worked away at whatever was on your desk, usually a school assignment or some tech project. His crush had been going on for quite some time, but it was getting more and more difficult to hide.

You and Peter had been best friends ever since your dad first recruited him. Something clicked between the two of you, causing an instant friendship. As time went on, you grew closer and closer to the superhero, and he quickly became your best friend. You began surrounding yourself with his friends without even realizing it, becoming close with Ned and MJ almost instantly. They were great people, and you loved being around them, but something about Peter was just different. Your energies matched perfectly for some reason. He got your humour, liked the same things as you, plus he was a great conversationalist and an even better listener. Some of your favorite memories were made with Peter.

Despite knowing practically everything about the boy, you were completely oblivious about his huge crush on you. Ned was the only person who truly knew, though many other people had their suspicions. The Avengers had an idea about it, considering you were what he talked about 90 percent of the time. MJ could tell because of the way he looked at you. When he looked your way, his pupils enlarged, his cheeks went pink, and the look on his face was entirely lovey-dovey. It was so obvious just in the way he gazed at you when you spoke.

He was looking at you in that way now, though you weren’t aware. He was meant to be studying (it was the whole reason he came over to your house, or at least that’s the reason he told you), but he couldn’t bring himself to care about chemistry homework when you looked so damn beautiful. Your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail keeping it away from your face as you worked. Your hands flew across the keyboard on your laptop, typing out something Peter probably wouldn’t understand. He was smart, sure, but you were intelligent in a different way. You were insightful and observant, you got things other people couldn’t begin to process. Your brain understood things in a different capacity than most. Peter assumes you got this trait from your father, who was the exact same way.

“What’re you typing? Something for school?”

You nodded, your attention not wavering from the laptop screen. “Yeah, an assignment for AP Lit.”

“Oh, that one project you told me about? With the essay and the powerpoint?”

You nodded again. “Mhm.”

Peter furrowed his brows, moving off your bed to come stand near you at your desk in an attempt to get a better look at what you were working so eagerly on. “I thought that project wasn’t due for another month.

“It’s not. I had an idea for the essay, and I figured if I get started early, I have more time to edit and perfect it.”

“You’re such a perfectionist.” Peter says with a light chuckle, looking at the state of your desk. It was both chaotic and organized at the same time. Pens, highlighters, pieces of paper, a book with annotations scribbled in the margins, notebooks with neat class notes printed inside of them in your pretty handwriting. They were all scattered about the surface, but Peter knew you well enough to know that there was always a method to your madness. As you observed longer, he realized that all of the items were in different sections on your desk, based on categories and subjects. He smiled lightly, realizing that this messy but technically neat surface was probably a very accurate representation of what goes on in your mind.

You finished the paragraph you were typing with a flourish, a satisfied smile resting on your lips. “There. I have a basic outline done for the essay portion. Obviously, I’ll have to go back and add a little more and elaborate on the points, but the basics are there.”

Peter glanced up at your laptop screen. His eyes were met with a never ending sea of typed out words. He smiled; this was so you. Your ‘outline’ is another student's essay doubled.

“You’re gonna write more than that?”

You looked back at him, and he saw your face for the first time during the encounter. His cheeks went slightly pink at the sight of you, and he prayed that you didn’t notice.

You didn’t, or perhaps you just didn’t say anything. You continued on with the conversation without skipping a beat, and relief washed over Peter because of this.

“Of course I am.” You stated with furrowed brows, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This is so boring and basic, and has no detail whatsoever. Anybody who reads the summary of the book online could write this. I want my teacher to know that I thoroughly read and understood the novel, you know? I don’t want to submit some surface-level shit, I want to really pick apart the undertones of and the meaning behind the story.”

Peter nods, pretending to understand what you meant. He’d barely been paying attention to the words you were saying, too encapsulated with your beautiful eyes to do so. You turned back around towards your work, causing your best friend to snap out of his trance-like state.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’m bored.”

You had now picked up a pencil and a highlighter, working on the chemistry notes he was supposed to be taking. “Don’t you have work to do, Pete?”

“...No.”

You paused your writing to gaze at him skeptically.

“So you did your book report for english?”

“Yes.”

“Your worksheets for pre-calc?”

“Mhm.”

“You read the assigned chapters for Pschycology and finished the quiz you had to take on them?”

A nod was your only answer.

“What about chem? We have notes, essay questions, assigned reading, and a formulas worksheet due next tuesday. Have you done all of that?”

Peter hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I have.” It was a clear lie. “Can we watch a movie now?”

“There’s no way you did all of that. Go finish your work, and then we can watch a movie.”

A groan escapes Peters lips as he turns, resting against your desk. “But that’ll take forever. Your dad kicks me out at 11:00. We’ll never have time to watch one.” He whines.

You smile slightly, unable to fight it. Not replying to your friend, you spin around in your chair, raising your voice slightly, “FRIDAY, connect to dad please.”, the command directed to nowhere in particular.

“Connecting to Mr. Stark.” The familiar robotic voice echoes throughout your room.

“What’s up, Y/N/N?”

“Hey, Dad? Can Peter stay a bit later tonight?”

“Why?” Your dad’s voice replies through a hidden speaker, his tone almost accusatory.

“Because he wants to watch a movie but I won’t let him until we’re done with homework. We won’t have enough time to finish the movie if he leaves at normal curfew? Pleeeaseee, Dad?”

You can hear your father sigh. “Fine, but only because it’s not a school night and I’m feeling generous. He’s gotta be gone by one though, no exceptions.”

Both of you smiled widely, and you erupted in cheers. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Kid, be ready for training at eight. A later curfew doesn’t mean an exception from your early morning saturday sessions.” The statement was directed at Peter, who nodded, despite your father not being able to see him.

“Got it, Mr. Stark.”

“FRIDAY, disconnect.” You heard Tony’s voice from the other side.

“Disconnected.” The sound of the AI confirming the command filled your room, and the space fell into a brief silence once again.

You spun in your chair, turning to face Peter with a smug smile on your face. “There, now we can get our work done, and watch a movie. Satisfied?”

Peter nodded, giving a roll of his eyes and heading back over to his workspace on your bed, plopping down and continuing his assignments.

An hour and half later, Peter gave a heavy sigh, finally closing his textbook with a smile. “All done!” he announced proudly.

“With everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

You closed your notebook you’d been working in, standing up. “Great. I’ve been done for half an hour, I’ve been working on future assignments while I waited for you to finish up. Ready to watch that movie?”

Peter nodded excitedly. He loved watching movies with you, because you always cuddled up close to him on your bed while you watched. Peter loved being in close proximity to you, even though it made him a little nervous.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asked, beginning to clear his things off your bed.

“I don’t know. We can discuss while we go make popcorn.”

Peter’s eyes lit up; he loved popcorn.

“Okay!” He tossed the rest of his things in his school bag, zipping it up quickly and dropping it in the corner of your room. “Lets go!”

You chuckled at his childlike behavior, following him out of your bedroom door towards your kitchen. The entire journey down the stairs, down the hall, and to the kitchen was filled with Peter going on and on about movies he wanted to see.

You grabbed the microwave popcorn from the pantry, unwrapping it and tossing it in, starting up the machine.

You continued to listen to Peter as soft popping sounds filled your kitchen.

“Oh, you guys have Disney plus, right? What if we watched that new star wars show thingy? The mandalorian?”

You smiled at this statement. Though you didn’t see the boy in any way but a friend (at least that’s what you told yourself), you found Peter’s Star Wars obsession very cute.

“I mean, I would watch that, but I don’t think I’d understand it.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve never seen the movies.”

You watched in amusement as Peter’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock. “You’ve NEVER seen the Star Wars movies? Are you kidding me, Y/N?”

You laughed at his reaction, moving to fetch the fully popped popcorn from the microwave and transfer it into a bowl. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve been meaning to watch them forever, but I guess I never got around to it.”

“I can’t believe this!” Peter exclaims in disbelief. “We’ve been friends for a year and a half now, and you’ve never seen the Star Wars movies? This is insane! I talk about them so much… did you just never understand what I was talking about?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Nope, I never have. I kinda just let you talk about it, because I planned on watching the movies. I figured I’d understand what you meant when I watched them.”

“Holy shit… we’re watching the first one tonight, Y/N. No arguments, we’re doing it.”

You grabbed the now prepared bowl of popcorn, smiling at your friend. “Alright, let’s do it.”

You headed back up the stairs, the sound of your footsteps accompanied with the sound of Peter murmuring in disbelief as you made your way to your room.

Once the two of you arrived at your destination, you closed the door, placing the bowl of popcorn on your still cluttered desk.

Peter climbed into your bed, while you rummaged through your drawers in search of comfy clothes. “I’m gonna change into pj’s before we start, i want to be comfy.”

Peter nodded. “FRIDAY, put Star Wars: The Phantom Menace on Y/N’s TV.” He spoke out in a slightly raised voice. The movie appeared on your screen, waiting to be started as you changed.

A few moments later, you emerged from your bathroom, now wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a slightly oversized t-shirt.

“Y/N, this is about to change your li-” Peter’s voice trailed off as he looked at you. The oversized shirt you were wearing… was his.

He choked on the piece of popcorn he’d been eating. “I-is that my shirt?”

You looked down on what you were wearing, realizing that it was, in fact, Peter's. “Oh shit. Yeah, sorry. You left it at the lab once, dad gave it to me to give to you, and I guess it just got mixed in with my clothes. I’ll wash it and give it back.

Peter shook his head, coughing again. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it. It looks better on you anyway.” his cheeks went pink as he realized what had just left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say the last part.

Your cheeks went even pinker at the compliment, which you couldn’t deny made your stomach flutter a little bit. “Okay, thanks.” You smiled at your friend, climbing into the bed beside him. You cuddled in close to him, probably closer than need be, but Peter didn’t seem to mind.

“FRIDAY, start the movie.”

---

A few hours later, the credits were rolling, and Peter was red in the face. You had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, and had moved even closer to him in your slumber. You were now full-on cuddling the boy, and he had no idea what to do. Your leg was moved over his, your head lay on his chest. One arm thrown around his waist. He liked having you this close, but his stomach was in a constant state of butterflies, and he was worried that the sound of his heart beating loudly in his chest would wake you.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it must’ve been close to one, because a knock sounded from the other side of your bedroom door.

Without waiting for an answer, Tony entered the room. “Alright, kids, it’s almost curfew, time to wrap it up…”

His eyes landed on you and Peter, cuddled up in your bed.

“Kid, what the hell is going on here?”

“Mr. Stark! Um, Y/N fell asleep while we were watching the movie and she kinda… I don’t know.. Ended up like this? Nothing’s going on, I swear, it’s just… I didn’t want to wake her up…”

Peter’s face was the color of a tomato at this point. Stark still had his suspicions about the boy’s intentions, but had a feeling that Peter was telling the truth. “Alright, then. You’d better get your ass home and get some sleep. Like I said, you don’t get a free pass from training because you were cuddling with my daughter till one am.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “No, Mr. Stark, I- We weren’t… I Wasn’t…”

Stark chuckled at the boy’s flustered state. “I’m screwing with you, Kid. Now get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you at 8 AM sharp at the compound”

Peter nodded frantically. “Yes, sir. 8 AM. Got it.”

Tony turned and left without another word, leaving Peter slightly panicked. Did Mr. Stark think that something was going on between him and Y/N? Would he be mad if there was? Peter didn’t know what to think, but he knew that he should probably leave before Tony decided to come back.

Peter climbed carefully out from underneath Y/N, setting her head gently on her pillow. He tried his very best not to wake her as he moved out of the bed.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Love you lots.” Peter whispered to his ‘best friend’, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. With that, he slid your window open, climbing out of it and swinging his way home.

Peter was completely oblivious to the fact that Tony had been standing quietly outside your door when Peter said his goodbyes, and Tony saw the entire encounter. The ‘goodnight’, the ‘i love you’, the sweet forehead kiss.

Tony had his suspicions, but that night it was confirmed: his newest recruit had it bad for his daughter.

Strangely, Tony didn’t find himself terribly angry over it.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of your alarm blaring frustratingly loud. You groaned at the noise, picking up your phone to turn it off. The time on your phone screen read 7:00 AM. Groaning again, you pulled yourself reluctantly out of bed. As much as you hated getting up out of bed, you knew you had to if you ever wanted to complete your training. Your father had promised you that you’d get a spot on his team if you trained hard enough, and you were extremely determined. It had been your dream for years to become an Avenger, so you had been training your ass off for months to earn your spot.

This is how all of your Saturdays had begun for many weeks. An alarm going off at seven in the morning, waking you up to get ready for training at eight. It was a normal routine for you at this point, but for some reason the early wake up never got easier.

You moved about your regular morning routine, heading straight for your bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Once your basic hygiene was done, you brushed through your hair, changed into some clothes (your training uniform was at the compound), grabbed your phone, and headed downstairs.

You made a beeline for the kitchen, where your father was already making his morning coffee. When he noticed your presence, he gave you a tired smile.

“Morning, Y/N/N. Sleep well?”

Still half asleep, you gave an exhausted nod. “I shouldn’t have stayed up that late last night. I’ll yell at Peter when I see him. He always manages to convince me to let him stay late.”

For some reason, your father gave a light chuckle at your words. “I bet he does, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrowed at his statement. Something about his tone of voice didn’t sit right with you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, making your way over to fix yourself a cup of coffee.

Your father smiled smugly at you, passing over the coffee pot and a mug. “Nothing, honey. Be ready in fifteen.”

Still suspicious, your eyes followed him as he placed his coffee mug in the sink and moved from the room. Why was he acting like this? Did Peter do something last night? You remembered falling asleep halfway through the movie, not being able to make it through the whole thing. Had something happened while you were sleeping?

Deciding not to let it bother you, you pushed the interaction from your mind, focusing solely on fixing your coffee. You were barely functional without it, and you knew you needed to be fully aware for training. You had to prove to your father that you could keep up with the Avengers, and that you’d be a useful asset to their team.

You downed the coffee quickly, knowing you had only a few minutes left to get ready. When your father gave you a time warning, he always meant it. And, you knew all too well, he would leave you behind if you were going to make him late.

He’d done it twice before.

Once you had finished chugging the remnants of your coffee, you placed the mug neatly in the sink, right beside where your father had left his. The drink had been an instant pick-me-up, and you automatically felt more awake. You found yourself getting more and more excited for the day ahead of you. Though waking up early on saturday mornings was a pain in the ass, you did enjoy training. You got to exercise, learn about cool technology, and screw around with your best friend. What wasn’t there to like?

Now that your best friend had crossed your mind, you pulled out your phone to text him. You sent him a message every morning, or he sent one to you. It was just a thing the two of you did. Over the past year the two of you had been close, it became some sort of routine.

Y/N/N: morning spidey. u awake?

Within moments, he was typing out a reply. He always answered your messages quickly.

Spidey: yes i am :) ready for training? I’m gonna kick ur ass in sprints today

You chuckled lightly at his response. You and Peter had always been insanely competitive towards each other, and it really jumped out during training. Unfortunately for you, Peter usually won the challenges. You always blamed it on the fact that he had more experience and super strength; he blamed it on the fact that ‘you suck’ and ‘he’s just that awesome’.

Y/N/N: u can try, but idk how that will work out. I’ve beaten u in all of the other sprints for weeks.

Spidey: doesn’t matter. I’m showing out today

Spidey: bring ur a-game, irongirl.

You smiled at the message.

Y/N/N: always do, spiderboy

He started typing back immediately, and you knew exactly why. He called you irongirl to screw with you, so you had begun calling him spiderboy to get on his nerves. It worked every time.

Spidey: Y/N!!! It’s spiderman!!!

Y/N/N: spiderboy!!! It’s nova!!!

Spidey: ugh. Ur impossible.

You grinned widely. Your playful banter with Peter has always been one of your favorite parts of the friendship.

Y/N/N: but u love me anyways :)))) see u soon

Spidey: u better be glad i do. see u soon

You reread the texts, unable to fight the smile on your face. Everytime you interact with Peter, you remember how much you truly love him. Being an avenger, and the daughter of one of the smartest and most famous men on the planet, wasn’t easy. Peter was the only one who had a taste of the madness that was your life. Having him around was having a sense of normalcy, and so were incredibly grateful for him.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your voice being called from the front door of your house.

“Y/N! Time to leave!” Without hesitation, you locked your phone, slipping it into the pocket of your sweatpants.

You hurried towards the front door, not wanting to be left behind again. When you arrived, your father was already standing there, holding the door open. You gave him a smile and a quick thank you for holding the door, then made your way out. The driver was already waiting patiently in front of your house. This was one of your dad’s six drivers.

“Morning, Bernard.” You say kindly to the driver, climbing into the back seat of the range rover. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Y/N. How are you?” The older man replied. You really liked Bernard, he was one of your favorite drivers. He was an older man, in his mid seventies, and you found him to be the sweetest person in the universe. Sometimes, he’d bring you your favorite candy when he used to pick you up from school, and he was always so considerate and kind.

“I’m good. Tired, but good.”

The man smiled at your reply. By this point, your dad had finished locking up the front door of the house, and he climbed in the backseat beside you.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” Bernard said professionally to his new passenger, and your dad nodded as a reply.

“Morning, bernard.”

The conversation ended there between the two men. Your father wasn’t a very social person with people he didn’t know, and Bernard was aware of this fact. He mostly talked to you when you were in the car, and Tony went on his phone and did Lord knows what.

“How is Dorothy doing? Is she feeling better?” You asked the man as he began pulling out of your driveway. Dorothy was Bernard’s wife, and she’d gotten sick the week prior. Given her age, Bernard was very worried about her.

Bernard smiled at your question. “Much, much better. They released her from the hospital yesterday, she’s back home and doing great. Thanks for asking.”

“Of course!” You grinned back. “Did you ever find out what she had?”

“Pneumonia, just a very bad case of it.”

You nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m glad she’s better! I was worried when you first told me.”

The conversation continued, talking about anything and everything as you drove to the compound. He told you about his wife, his four kids and what they’re doing. His granddaughter had a baby a few days before, and he was extremely excited about it.

After a 20 minute drive, you pulled up to the building you knew so well. Bernard went to the normal procedure of getting through the front gates, and then pulled up to the front of the compound.

“Well, here we are.” Bernard announced, parking the vehicle. You and your father began climbing out of the backseat.

“Thank you, bernard. Tell your granddaughter I said congratulations!”

He wished you a kind goodbye, and then you were gone, leaving the car and heading towards the compound.

When you walked into the main section of the building, you spotted your best friend in the kitchen. You had to admit, he looked incredible, standing near an open window in the early morning light. He was already dressed in his sleek, black training uniform. It was tight against his body, showing off his muscled body. Sometimes, you forget how beautiful Peter is.

“You’re staring…” A singsong voice came in your ear. You whipped your head towards the voice to see your father walking away from you, smirking. You stood there, feeling slightly confused. Had you really been staring at Peter?

At times, you forget that Peter is only your best friend. The two of you act like an old married sometimes. You spend all of your time together, and you know each other so well.

Strange feelings you couldn’t understand had crept up on you before, especially recently. You couldn’t deny Peter was attractive, and he was a great person, too. How could you not love him? The issue is, you found yourself loving him in a different way than before…

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. You couldn’t be thinking about this right now, it’s not the place or time. Peter was standing right in front of you, and you needed to be focused for training.

You could process your feelings and emotions at a later time.

You began walking up to Peter, who was leaning up against the counter holding a cup of coffee.

“Morning, loser.” You said teasingly, greeting your friend. His head snapped in your direction, and he smiled when his eyes found you. (You thought you could see his cheeks go pink, too, but you forced yourself to ignore it.)

“Hey! How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” You replied, leaning against the counter beside him. “I didn’t even notice that you left last night, I was really out. Did my Dad come in and tell you to leave?”

The pink in Peter’s cheeks darkened at your statement. Of course, this was the perfect time for your father to reenter the room. “Yeah, I did. He seemed very comfortable, but I kicked him out at one.”

Peter and your father were making direct eye contact. Your dad had that stupid smirk on his face, and peter was bright red.

You looked between the two of them, not knowing what to think. Before, you were just suspicious, but now it was confirmed: something happened last night between the two of them, and you were determined to find out what.

Hours later, you’re completely exhausted from training. You worked your ass off, and had successfully beat Peter in sprints.

“That’s right! You lost! How amazing is spiderboy now?”

Peter rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Whatever, Y/N. I let you win.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did not! I won because I’m better!”

Peter just smiled at you. You took a swig of the water bottle in your hands, turning around to look at your friend as you did.

The sight you were met with was very sweet. Peter stood there, smiling at you with a look you could only describe as adoration. You looked back at him, a small grin resting on your face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The brunette boy says cheekily.

“Why are YOU looking at ME like that, Parker?”

You took a step closer to him, his eyes widening slightly at your movement. He said nothing in response to your question (though it felt more like an accusation), and you smiled again.”Got nothing to say?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Parker!” You jumped what felt like 20 feet in the air at the sound of Natasha’s voice, breaking up the little moment between you and Peter.

You stepped back away from him, and you couldn’t help but notice the sadness flash across his face before he turned to the other woman in the room.

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Tony needs your help in the lab. I believe his exact words were ‘he needs to be here in five or I’ll kill him.’ A few minutes have already passed, I��d start running if I were you.”

Peter’s eyes widened for the second time. “Oh, shit, okay. Thanks, Nat.” He turned his head quickly in your direction. “I’ll meet you in your room when I’m done, okay?”

You nodded with a smile. Peter planted a quick kiss on your forehead before jetting off in the direction of the lounge.

Grinning to yourself, you turned towards the sink, your back facing Natasha. You begin cleaning out your now empty water bottle, thinking over the previous interaction with Peter. You loved when he kissed your forehead.

“So, how long have you liked him?” You were so deep in thought, Natasha’s voice made you jump once again. When you’d fully processed her words, your cheeks went pink.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you like him.”

“Like who?” Play dumb. That’ll throw her off your trail… right?

“Peter! Come on, you’re caught. Just admit it, Y/n, you’re making things harder on yourself.”

Finally, you sighed. Drying your hands on a towel, you turned reluctantly back towards Nathasha. “Is it really that obvious?”

The woman broke out into a grin at your words. “Of course it is! You two are hopelessly in love with each other. It’s almost hard to watch.”

Your cheeks went pink at her statement. “With each other? Oh, no. You mean I’m hopelessly in love with him. It’s not mutual. I’m just his best friend.”

Nat rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on! ‘Just his best friend’ my ass. He loves you, Y/N. He’s even more obvious than you are.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I promise you’re wrong.”

She looked at you pointedly. “I was right about you, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but…” Your voice trailed off. You couldn’t argue with that. Nat grinned smugly at your reaction.

“That’s what I thought. Please confess to him when he meets you in your room later. It’s painful to watch, I can’t do it any longer.” And with that, Natasha was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Was it really thought obvious? Could everyone tell how you felt about peter? You could hardly even tell how you felt about him; the line between best friend and crush had been blurred for so long. If everyone could tell that you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, you would be incredibly embarrassed.

Even worse… what if Peter could tell that your in love with him?

You shook your head, as if clearing your thoughts. No. You couldn’t think like that. Of course he didn’t know; he would’ve said something.

Right?

Sighing, you walked off towards your room to take a shower, pretending you weren’t going to think of him while you were in there.

---

While Natasha was exposing your feelings, you were completely oblivious to the fact that Tony was doing the same thing to Peter in the lab.

When the boy walked in, Peter fully expected that he was being called for one of three reasons.

One: Tony had a new mission for Peter.

Two: Tony needed help with an experiment.

Or, three (the scariest option): Tony wanted to scold him for (albeit unintentionally) cuddling with his daughter the night before.

Peter could only be described as apprehensive as he walked carefully into the lab, where Tony was hunched over a table, working on something that Peter couldn’t see.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter spoke nervously, a timid way of letting Tony know of his presence. “Nat said you needed me. Is that true, or was she just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, no, I called for you.” Tony replied. He made a few last touches on whatever he was working on, then turned around towards peter. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Okay, option two is eliminated. Now, the question at hand is: will it be option one or three?

“Oh, okay. What about?” Peter said casually (or at least, that's how he hoped it came across.)

Tony gave a pointed look to the boy before speaking again. “My daughter.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly.

Shit, shit, shit.

Option three it is.

“Is this about last night sir? I swear I can explain-” Peter was quickly speaking.

But, before he could finish, Tony was cutting him off.

“This isn’t about last night, kid. I mean, it kind of is, but not really.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

Unknown option number four?

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I saw what happened before you left last night. The forehead kiss, the ‘I love you,’ all of it.”

Peter was bright red in seconds. “Oh…”

“Do you love my daughter, Peter?”

The boy’s cheeks somehow managed to go a darker shade of pink.

“I-I uh.. O-of course I do, she’s, uh, she’s my best friend.” Peter stammered out.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I mean, Peter.” The man says, his tone borderline accusatory. “Do you love her, love her?”

Silence. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he opted for nothing at all.

“I already know the answer, Peter, so you might as well just come out and say it.”

Peter pondered his next move. If he played his cards wrong, this conversation could end in him losing his life. Tony Stark was not one to be messed with, especially when it comes to Y/N.

On the other hand, Tony Stark was not one to be lied to, either.

Peter sighed, accepting his fate. “How did you know?”

Much to Peter’s surprise, Tony gave a small smile. “I see the way you look at her, kid. I’ve looked at many girls like that in my day. That enamoured look. You're in love with my daughter, and I have some questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yes, questions, kid. Keep up.”

Peter nodded. “Alright.”

“How long?” Tony asked.

“How long…?” Peter didn’t understand what Tony was aking.

“How long have you been in love with Y/N! How long have you known?”

Peter looked away, breaking eye contact momentarily out of nerves.

When did he begin loving you? Now that he’s truly thinking about it, he can’t really remember.

Maybe it was the first mission that the two of you did together, back when you still known as irongirl. It was a bank robbery, an easy task that Tony had given for your very first mission.

Maybe it was that one time when you dragged him out of bed at 6 AM so that you could show him your favorite coffee shop.

Perhaps it was when you took that faithful mission to Asgard, when you gained your powers accidentally, earning your new title as Nova.

Or, it could be the time that you and him stayed up late binge watching a show he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you that night. You looked so beautiful that night, getting excited as something cool happened in the show. Your hair was tied back, wearing an oversized shirt, your face makeup free. He couldn’t help but smile as you laughed, and didn’t think he’d ever heard a more beautiful sound in the world.

Yeah, he thinks it was that night.

“Um… about ten months ago, I think? That’s when I realized, but I think I’ve loved her for longer. I just forced myself not to acknowledge it, I guess.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “I get that. What is it about her?”

Another question the boy had to think about.

“There’s a lot of things, I think. Like how excited she gets when she talks about things she’s passionate about. Oh, and the way she laughs when something’s funny in a movie or a show or something. And the way she sends me memes or videos that she thinks are funny. They’re usually not very funny, but of course I think it’s hilarious just because she sent it to me. And she always listens to me when I talk, even if I’m talking about something stupid and boring like science stuff I think is interesting. She talks back to me like she cares what I’m saying, and I know she probably doesn’t, but she acts like she does, and that’s enough. She always drags me out to go on adventures, or, at least, that’s what she calls them. Usually it’s just going to get coffee or try out some new restaurant she heard about but it’s still fun. She’s just so amazing, and I think she makes me the best version of myself.”

The rant ended, and for a moment, Peter forgot that Tony was even in the room.

“Damn. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m impressed, kid. To be honest, I expected some shallow answer like ‘she looks hot in her suit’ or something like that.”

“No, sir. Of course, she’s beautiful, but Y/N is just so much more than that.”

Tony gave another sweet smile to the boy in front of him.

“She likes you, too, you know.”

Peter’s head snapped toward Tony again.

What the hell did he just say?

“What?”

“Y/N. She likes you.”

“No way. She just sees me as her best friend. I’m probably like a brother to her. She doesn’t like me like that.”

“But she does, kid. I know my daughter better than I know myself. She is head over heels for you, spidey. Which is why you should tell her how you feel.”

“Tell her how I feel? Why would I do that?”

“Because she likes you, too, and then you two will be stupid kids in love.”

“Are you serious?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Peter paused for a moment. “I thought you’d kill me when you found out I liked your daughter, not convince me to go talk to her about it.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. I brought you in here with the intention of killing you, or just telling you to stay away from my daughter. But after you went on that little rant about why you loved her, I just couldn’t tell you to keep away from her. You really love her, kid, I can tell. So go talk to her.”

“You’re sure you won’t be mad if I ask her out?”

Tony shook his head and smiled.

“Go get her, kid.”

-------

Freshly clean and feeling a significant amount better, you sat on your bed scrolling on your phone. Thoughts of Peter had begun to fade (mainly because you forced them out of your mind) and that helped to keep you from stressing about what’s to come.

You had decided to confess how you feel to Peter.

True, this plan could ruin everything. Today could be the day you lost your best friend, and that thought made you want to cry.

But today could also be the day you finally get to kiss the boy you’ve loved forever, and that thought also made you want to cry.

You didn't have much time to think about it further, however, because Peter was knocking on your bedroom door.

“Y/N? It’s me. Can I come in?”

You paused immediately, your heart rating speeding up.

Oh, shit. This is it. This could be the beginning or the end of you and Peter Parker.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. It was now or never.

“Yeah, Petey, come on in.”

The door opened, and the boy you loved so much walked in. His cheeks were pink, you noticed. His cheeks only went pink when he’s nervous. Why was he nervous?

You could tell by his damp hair that he had also showered before coming to your room.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He rushes out.

Oh.

“Same.” is your reply. What else are you meant to say?

“Oh, really? Well, uh, you can go first. I’ll wait.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, you first. You said it first, so it’s only right that you go.”

Peter’s hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it. Another nervous habit of his.

“Can I sit down?”

You nodded. Why was he even asking? Usually he’d just plop down whenever he pleased, no questions asked. This behavior was very out of character for the boy you knew so well.

The boy sat down on the edge of your bed, and then took a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I just have to. I don’t want you to hate me, and I really hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, but…”

Peter paused for a moment, and looked into your eyes. They were brimming with concern, and he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. He broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining, mustered up all the courage he could, and then blurted it out.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for I don’t know how long. I wasn’t planning on telling you, because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it was starting to get physically painful and I just- I can’t hide it anymore. I love you and I’m sorry.”

Peter clenched his eyes shut, unable to look at your face. He waited (very anxiously) for a reaction, but it never came. Eventually, he opened his eyes, gaining the burst of bravery it took to look at you.

Your jaw was dropped, the expression on your face unreadable.

Oh, no. No no no no no. He’d fucked up. He fucked everything up and now you were never going to speak to him again. He’d lost you. Damn you, Tony Stark.

“Y/N…” He began his apology solemnly. “I’m-”

But he never got to finish his sentence.

Because you were pouncing on him before he had the chance to.

You were on him within seconds, kissing him with so much intensity that he fell back on the bed. He was taken aback for a moment, but quickly kissed you back.

For a moment, the two of you just lay there, wrapped in one another, kissing like there was no tomorrow.

A kiss that made up for all the ones both of you had longed to have in the months before.

You pulled away gently, looking into Peter’s eyes.

“I have loved you for so fucking long, Peter. I was going to tell you that I loved you today.”

“Are you serious?”

You laughed lightly. “Of course I’m serious, you dumbass.”

“Hey!” Peter feigned offense.

You pecked his lips. “You’re a cute dumbass, though.” And then you were kissing him again, and it’s all you could’ve asked for.

----

After a while, the two of you had finally tired each other out, and now you sat cuddled against each other on your bed. No movie or show was playing; it was just you and Peter, listening to each other’s breathing and the sound of your heartbeats.

You looked up at the beautiful boy you were cuddling with, only to find he was already looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out, Parker?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his cheeks went red (for the millionth time that day.)

“Oh, yeah, I- I just thought- nevermind, uh- Y/N, will-”

“Yes, of course I’ll be your girlfriend, Petey.” You cut him off, saving him a few extra minutes of nervous stammering.

He smiled sheepishly at you, then leaned down to bring you into a kiss.

You cuddled back down into his chest, smiling warmly.

You can confidently say that right now, in this moment, you are the happiest you’ve ever been.

#peter parker #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu

315 notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 4 years

Note

hi!! i rly liked your first writing it was so cute and you described jisung so well too! can i request a friends to lovers with han? kinda slow burn like they're really good friends but jisung gets jealous of her close friend and reader secretly likes him too but she doesnt wanna ruin the things between them so... one day they get into a fight and they end up making out😳 bc shes like "wtf we're friends" smut is ok but just a make out would be fine too the details r up to u💗

why yes you can! Thank you for requesting hehe you are my first ask ever ♡ I hope that you like it, here’s some best friend ‘sungie for ya :)

all yours | reader x jisung |

Paring: self-insert, female reader x han jisung

Genre: fluff ‘n a lil bit of smut & angst

Tags: student!reader, bestfriend!jisung, lab partner!felix (haha), friends to lovers, mutual pining, best friend au, college au, jealousy, slow-ish burn, mentions of exams, some yelling, reader is secretly whipped for jisung (and jisung for the reader), explicit language, marking, that good good makin’ out

Word count: 2.4k

“Hey!”

The little ball of paper that you had crinkled up bounced off Jisung’s arm with a soft pat.

“What happened to studying together? You said that you were gonna quiz me.”

Jisung’s eyes popped up from his phone screen looking a little bewildered. “Sorry, I just...got a little distracted.

“Distracted? Looking at what?”

“Oh, nothing.” He placed his phone down, clicking it off.

“Is “nothing” code for some girl’s Instagram?” You dished him out a teasing smirk. “I think you forget that I know you better than you know yourself sometimes.”

Jisung shuffled the papers in front of him pretending like he had something to do. “Psh. I was not.”

“--Does she go to school here?”

“I told you, I said no.” He furrowed his brow trying to look as serious as possible, but that was nearly impossible for someone as naturally adorable as him. “Why are you drilling me? Aren’t you supposed to be doing some work right now?”

“~So are you~” You teasingly sang back to him, giving him a kick under the table just for good measure.

Jisung threw your balled up paper ball back to you. “Let’s just get back to what we were doing so we can leave. I don’t wanna end up like him.”

He nodded over to the end of your table where a student had fallen asleep mid-chapter. His nose twitched and he snorted a little bit. You knew exactly what Jisung meant, you didn’t want to be at the library at 11pm on a Tuesday either; it was your better judgement that told you.

“Can we get food after this?” Jisung asked after approximately five minutes of “working.”

“Sounds good to me.” You quipped, barely allowing your eyes to leave your computer screen. You found that you always had to try you best to let him not distract you. He was really good at that.

You slid a stack of index cards in front of him. “Ask me these? I’m having a hard time getting the Latin names down...if you’re not busy?”

“Nope!” He piped, and shoved his notebook away.

“Okay!” He said with determination and a little bounce. He fixed his oversized hoodie before starting, looking adorably lost in the fabric.

He asked you the first question, but it barely met your ears. There you were, getting distracted by him again.

screw you Han Jisung, you thought to yourself.

☆。*。☆。

“I just don’t understand how you make sense of all that crap, I could never be a science major like you are.”

“--And I could never understand production like you do.”

“And this is why we work.” Jisung grinned with smiling eyes while he opened the library door for you. “I’m starving, I can’t stop thinking about--”

“--Y/n??” A voice called from behind the two of you.

The two of you whipped your heads back to see a loveable looking blonde and freckled boy bounding to catch up with you. It was Felix, your lab partner from zoology. The two of you were nothing more than classroom friends, but his friendly kindness was always something that brightened up your terrible 9 am lab.

“Felix!” You beamed, holding the door so it wouldn’t close on him. “Are you here studying for the exam as well?”

“Oh yeah, I just...my brain couldn’t take it any more,” He sarcastically mimed his head pains, “I just need to get some sleep now.”

“I just don’t get how they expect us to know all of those phyla like its nothing.”

“I know right?’ He chuckled.

Next to you, Jisung silently poked at the elevator button to go down.

“Is it alright if I head down with you guys?”

“Of course!” You motioned him in.

Once the doors had closed, the three of you found a different corner of the small box to plant yourselves in.

“shit-sorry, Felix, I didn’t introduce you, this is Jisung.”

“Hi!” Felix shone, and Jisung gave him a curt nod back.

Felix waved to two of you goodbye, leaving you in the nighttime snow. You noticed that as Felix walked away he had a little bounce to his step; and you couldn’t help but crack a little smile.

“Our usual?” Jisung asked you with a little edge to his voice.

You linked your arm around his, letting out a little shrill sound when the fabric of your two coat sleeves met. “Sounds good to me!” You nuzzled up into him while both of your bodies’ heat intermingled.

The two of you walked on under the streetlights which illuminated the falling flakes in streams of light. You never loosened your grip, as had become your habit lately when the two of you walked around. Jisung never seemed to mind; the two of you had been mistaken for a couple more than enough times thanks to it. When it did happen, it didn’t phase you at all. Being close to Jisung was like second nature to you.

The whole walk over Jisung never uttered a word, which was uncharacteristic of his usual boisterous self.

“Is everything okay?”

He sniffled, “Yeah, I think I just got kinda tired out of nowhere.”

“Ah.” You mouthed, and squeezed his arm a little harder.

After a moment’s silence, he somberly announced, “If you’re in the same class as him, maybe you should study with him.”

“Huh.” You tsked. “Yeah, I mean I never thought about that before...I guess that could do me some good.”

You looked slightly up to him: a product of him being slightly taller than you. His brown eyes remained stoic, and you couldn’t figure out why. You hated it when he wouldn’t tell you what was wrong, but he was also stubborn at letting up.

“But thank you for helping me tonight! You know that I reeealy appreciate it.” You turned your tone as cutesy as you could--Jisung hated it, but you knew that it could bring a smile to his face.

His gaze softened a bit. “Anytime. You’d do the same for me.”

☆。*。☆。

Jisung rested his head on your shoulder on the bus ride home with his phone weakly held in his hand. One more bump in the road and you knew that it would go flying so you carefully took it into your own lap where it would be safe. You wouldn’t dare moving an inch because you had a feeling that he had closed his eyes. Time had slipped past 1am, and you had to keep fighting yawns yourself. The bus driver had been blasting the heat, so it wasn’t hard at all for you to feel cozy.

You glanced down at his open hand in his lap. It looked exactly like he was beckoning for you to scoop it up in your own. You wondered what what happen if you did. What would he think of it? Would he think anything of it? You had held hands before, but every time you had it had been under purely platonic pretenses. If you just grabbed it now, what would the pretenses be then? The two of you cozied up on a bus: that was something that couples did.

You shut your eyes closed tightly and tried your best to banish all the thoughts clouding your head.

Jisung’s hand twitched, looking even more inviting.

screw you Han Jisung.

☆。*。☆。

[7:14pm]

jisung: you want to come over? Changbin is cooking and i don’t wanna eat whatever he’s making alone

[7:31pm]

me: sorry, I’m studying with Felix at the library, I think that we are gonna be here late. It’s all the Latin, I’m drowning in the Latin, Sung.

I’m sorry.

see you Friday once I’m out of this hell?

[7:34pm]

jisung: see you friday.

☆。*。☆。

You pounded on the door to Jisung’s apartment with your phone in hand, the white screen showing you the number that you had worked so hard for.

“Open the door!” You called giddily. “Jisung! I know that you’re in here, we need to celebrate! ~I can treat youuu~”

Just as you were about to knock again, the door swung open, revealing a wet haired Jisung in his grey sweats and tee. His brown strands of hair were scattered around his head while he rubbed at them with a towel.

“Shit! Can’t I shower?” He jested.

It took all your will power not to ogle him more. He looked devastatingly handsome, but you swallowed down how utterly flustered he had made you.

You cleared your throat, “Uh...sorry...” then remembered your phone in your hand. “I got a 96! Can you believe it! I’m even surprised too, when I was taking the test I just got so nervous...”

“All that studying paid off huh?” He cockily rose an eyebrow. “You can go ahead and thank me now, without my help...” He shrugged with a grin.

You invited yourself in and threw your bag down at the door like you usually did.

“Thank youuu” You sung. “Oh! And studying with Felix really paid off too.” You took off your shoes, thinking of how nice it had been to finally study with someone who knew your class topics. Not that Jisung wasn’t helpful, but you and Felix were on the same page. “He knew it all way more than I did, so he was super helpful. I forgot to text him--”

Jisung closed the door behind you with a slam that made you jump. He moved away from you, not meeting your eyes. The air around the two of you suddenly became thick with something that did not feel as excited as you just were.

“...do you wanna maybe watch a movie?” You moved closer. “Or we could get some deliv--”

“--Why even bother coming over here?” Jisung suddenly huffed.

“What?”

Jisung’s words flew out of his mouth sharply, “If he was so helpful? What are you doing here, huh?”

“Jisung, I don’t understand...” Your heartbeat quickened in your chest and you felt anxiety swell there as well. Jisung never spoke to you like this. He never sounded like this.

He growled out a little sound in frustration. “I-I just...can’t believe you--”

“--Me? Jisung, what did I do?” You threw your arms up, genuinely confused.

He ran his fingertips over his temples and let out a deep exhale. “Y/n, don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your temper started to become seething and you felt your ears get hot. “Tell me Jisung. Tell me what I did. And while you’re at it, what has been up with you these past few days? Being short with me, and distant, yeah-I’ve noticed...what are you doing??”

Jisung heaved breaths in and out of his chest, then ran a hand through his hair. He still couldn’t meet your eyes.

For a moment, a flash of panic surged in your head, making your heart ache with an unexpected pain. You truly didn’t know what he had meant, and if you had made a mistake, you knew it could mean loosing him. God, that was the last thing in the world you wanted. It always was.

“If I did something wrong tell me because clearly I don’t know!!” You yelled back at him, straining your throat.

He walked up to you, then grabbed your shoulders with a firm grip. Finally, you saw his eyes, brown and soft, holding a type of pain that you hadn’t seen in him before.

screw you, Han Jisung.

“Jisung, I--”

You were shoved by the shoulders in milliseconds to the door behind you, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of you. You gasped in your surprise, but your mouth was immediately shut by Jisung ramming his lips into yours. His hands needily took your face into his palms with his mouth blazing with hunger for you.

It took you a moment to realize what had just happened and steady yourself after being so startled. His lips were so soft and warm, your brain had a hard time recognizing that he was really doing this. His haste made no indication of stopping so you let yourself do what you had wanted to do for years: you kissed him back with everything that you had.

As soon as you did so, he let out little desperate moans between your lips in response. You let your arms wrap around his back and he fell into them just right. Naturally you took one of your hands to the back of his head and tangled up your fingers in his hair. God, it all felt so good. Jisung snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you into him with force, crashing your hips together.

The two of you clumsily made your way to the couch where he threw you down and crawled over top of you just as fast. He moved to your neck then traversed around your skin, sending shivers all through your body. Your hands eagerly found his back where you dug into him, wanting to be impossibly close. To your side, he carefully took your hand in his, weaving all of your fingers together.

Jisung pressed down into you and began to suck at your neck without holding himself back. It was such an intense feeling that couldn’t help but moan out something you didn’t know you could. You felt his mouth turn into a grin on your skin while he continued. It stung a little when he removed his lips, but he gently kissed each mark as if he was soothing it once he was done. He stopped to admire the little array of purple bruises he had made.

“I want you all to myself.” Jisung’s voice was hoarse, but still honey-covered in desire.

“What are we doing?” You asked him in breathless disbelief.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He whispered, and appeared to calm his breaths. “I don’t care.”

"You don’t?”

“Why should I?” He cocked his head and used his free hand to caress your face.

“--That this could change things between us?”

“You don’t want it too?” He looked a little confused.

You felt a warmth rush to your cheeks. “--No! I do, I do...trust me.”

“Then can I kiss you some more?” Jisung grinned down at you as loving as he always had, but this time it meant something slightly different.

“...please.”

He lowered back onto you, connecting your lips once more. Jisung’s tongue languidly smoothed onto yours and you already felt intoxicated by the feeling. You tightened your fingers around his.

I’ve always been yours.

535 notes · View notes

shireness-says · 4 years

Text

The Set-Up Scam

Summary: They’ve always been friends first and foremost - Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - until suddenly, they’re something a little more too. But with a $600 betting pool on the line about when they’ll actually get together - well, maybe there’s incentive to keep the good news a secret. ~5.5k. Rated T for language. Also on Ao3.

~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas, @nevertothethird! I was delighted to be your pair for @cssecretsanta2020. It’s been wonderful chatting with you, and I look forward to a full stalking. ;)

You said you liked secret dating, friends to lovers, and characters being forced to work together - so I, like a fool, tried to include all three. I hope you like the result!

Special thanks, as always, to my beta, @snidgetsafan - the greatest treasure under any tree.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They’re friends, first and foremost. Best friends, really - Killian and Emma, Emma and Killian. Partners in crime and two peas in a pod and every other cliché there is (and Killian would definitely know all of them). It’s been that way since the very beginning, when Killian let her peek at his attendance quiz answers in that awful intro to astronomy class in college. Their relationship had grown from there: late nights in the library and each others’ dorm rooms, studying or watching movies or chatting, all the way through graduation and eventually grad school. They get each other in a way that usually doesn’t happen for Emma, both coming from rough backgrounds and determined to make the world a better place because of it. Hell, they even work together now at Misthaven County Middle School - Killian as an English teacher, and Emma as a guidance counselor.

And all that time, it’s been strictly platonic.

It’s not like Emma hasn’t looked. He’s an objectively good looking man, and smart and sweet and funny. But he’d been in some “it’s complicated” situation with a grad student when they’d met, and then Emma was in that weird period where she and Graham gave it a shot, and by the time they were both available… well, by that time, they’d been Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A collective, a pair, absolutely entwined every way but romantically. He’d become her person, and it wasn’t worth risking that. There was no guarantee a romantic relationship would work out, anyways - or that Killian felt the attraction too.

The thing, though, is that they’re Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. Always together, always in each other’s stories, two birds of a feather. People constantly think that they’re together - or should be.

Emma doesn’t really mind, most of the time. She and Killian usually think it’s pretty funny, trading stories back and forth on his or her couch. Where it gets annoying is when each and every one of their friends are determined they should be dating. It’s been years of meaningful looks and hints about “so why aren’t you seeing anyone, Emma?” - but the last straw is the stupid, stupid bet.

“I just don’ unnerstand why you and Killian aren’t a couple!” slurs Mary Margaret, assistant principal and friend, at her yearly end-of-summer bash. “You’re ovviously in loooooooooove.”

“Sure we are, Mary Margaret,” Emma placates.

“But why haven’t you yet?” she demands. “You made me lose the pool!”

That draws Emma up short. “I’m sorry, what?”

The little pixie-haired brunette frowns. “Don’t you know? We’ve had a betting pool going for ages about when you’d get together this year. I thought for sure it’d be the Fourth of July.”

It’s a good guess, actually - Ruby throws a famously boozy bash every year at her grandmother’s diner, conveniently situated right below the inn. It’d make sense for them to get drunk and take things upstairs - except for the fact that none of this is rooted in sense in any way, shape, or form.

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Mary Margaret frowns sorrowfully, staring down into her plastic cup full of god-knows-what. It doesn’t last long, though, as she perks right back up. “But they let me make a new guess! I’ve got my money on the Friday after your birthday.”

“How much money are we talking here?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s like a compulsion, one she doesn’t like or understand.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars.” At least that’s what she thinks Mary Margaret says; the slurring gets particularly bad on the f-sounds. It’s an astounding sum. Truly stupid.

Kind of tempting.

“And everyone bet that it would happen this year?” she makes sure to clarify.

“Yup!” Mary Margaret pops the p-sound and then giggles to herself about the noise.

“Then I’m putting fifty dollars on it not happening this year. That Killian and I won’t get together.”

———

She means it at the time, too. Because yeah, there’s sometimes that niggling little what if?, but they’ve known each other for eight years. Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. It’s not going to happen - honestly she’s not even sure she would want it to.

Until.

It’s not the Friday after her birthday, when they’re all going to hit the bar, but it’s the night before her birthday - a Tuesday. Killian comes over to grade vocab quizzes and eat greasy pizza, and stays to drink beer and watch stupid baking shows with her on the couch. Honestly, in so many ways, it’s a night like any other: two friends, just enjoying each other’s company.

Until.

Maybe it’s the beers. Maybe something’s been building for longer than she ever thought. Maybe it’s just that they’re both feeling good and, well, it is her birthday. But Killian kisses her - or she kisses Killian - they kiss each other and it’s like something slots into place. Like of course this was going to happen - they were just waiting for the perfect moment. It makes sense, in a way that Emma hasn’t let herself think about; he’s the person she trusts most, the best man she knows, probably the most important person in her life. Her best friend - and, probably, something more.

“That was…” he gasps, some indeterminable amount of time later. Somehow, he’s wound up on top of her on the couch - not that she’s complaining.

“Only the beginning,” Emma completes, smirking in a way she definitely picked up from him.

Now that this has started, she has no intention of stopping.

———

“Ok, don’t kill me - or, like, run away immediately - but I need a favor. A huge one,” Emma says much later, both of them naked and sated beneath her sheets.

Killian laughs beside her, peering up from the pillows with a smile. “After that, darling, I’m predisposed to give you just about anything you want.”

“And I’ll give it to you again,” she quips back, mostly to make him keep laughing. It works. “But seriously. Did you know that everyone’s got a bet going on us?”

That pops his head up. “I’m sorry, a bet? I… What? Who?”

“Seems like pretty much everyone. Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Belle… I could go on and on. A six hundred dollar pool on when we get together.”

“Typical,” Killian mutters - though Emma catches a fond note in his tone. “Who’s the lucky winner, then?”

“Ok, this is where the favor comes in.” Hopefully this isn’t a breaking point for him; Emma would hate to have this taste of them, only to have it ripped away from her. “See, Mary Margaret told me about this when she got trashed at the back to school party, and I’d had a few too and was all hopped up on righteous fury or whatever, and I kind of… put fifty dollars in the pot that we wouldn’t get together this year at all.”

Killian stares at her for a moment, and Emma’s frankly scared that he’s going to get out of bed and go - but instead, he bursts into a near-hysterical cackle. “So you want to keep this a secret until the new year, so you can win the pot?”

Emma grins, knowing she must look like the cat that ate the canary (or however that weird-ass saying goes - again, English is Killian’s thing). “Exactly. We could spend it on a weekend getaway or something.”

“I’m in, then. Under the radar.”

“It’s just two months and change,” Emma says. “It’ll speed by. How hard can it be?”

———

Turns out - their friends are determined to make it as hard as possible. Even if they don’t know it.

Things are fine, at first. In fact, nothing really changes: Emma and Killian still show up at each others’ doors most nights, and Killian comes to hang out and grade papers in her office during his free periods most days. It’s just that their evenings are now filled with kisses and touches, and those afternoons in her office with all kinds of promises of things to come. It’s thrilling, in a way, to put on the front of normality for everyone else while only they know the truth. It’s nice, too, to be able to get their feet underneath them in this relationship without so many prying eyes watching them figure it all out.

Just because they don’t know, though, doesn’t mean their friends stop trying. There’s a bet on the line, after all, and their friends have never exactly been ones to step back and let things naturally run their course. Not for those busybodies; not with six hundred dollars and Emma and Killian’s supposed happiness on the line.

(The fact that they’re right - that the two of them really are happiest together - is irrelevant.)

David, of all people, is the first to start meddling.

“Do you guys want to get dinner?” he asks out of the blue one day - calls Emma up on her phone and everything. “You and Killian and me and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

Emma’s antenna raises immediately. “What, like a double date? C’mon, David —”

“No! No,” he says hastily - a little too hastily, Emma thinks. “No, a cousin of mine - Kris, you’ve met him - he’s opening up his own restaurant. Some place with Scandinavian food, I guess?”

“That’s actually a thing?”

“I guess. I don’t know, he studied abroad in Norway in college. Anyways, he could use a little business, support or whatever, so Mary Margaret and I figured we’d bring some extra people along. You know, help him out. And maybe Scandinavian food is good after all.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The line sits silent for a moment, before David breaks. “So… you in?”

And as much as Emma suspects this is all some elaborate set-up - well, it’s supposed to be to help someone else. David’s cousin, who she has in fact met and is really a good guy. And so she reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, I’m in. One of us will have to check with Killian if he’s available —”

“What, he’s not right there with you?”

(He is, his lips kiss-swollen and pulled into a delicious smirk, but that’s not the point and none of David’s business.)

“ — but yeah, I’m down.”

In the week between the call and the dinner, Emma actually finds herself starting to look forward to it. Yeah, it won’t be a real date - not with David and Mary Margaret there - but it’s still a chance to wear a pretty dress that’ll make Killian’s eyes bug a little. She’ll have to pick something he’ll have fun taking off of her later, once they’ve pretended to go back to their own homes.

Emma’s just pulling into the parking lot, however, when her phone rings, David’s name popping up on the screen.

“We’re not going to make it tonight,” he says without preamble, followed by the most fake-ass cough Emma’s ever heard in her life. “We’re sick.”

“Yeah, sick off your own lies,” Emma mutters. “Alright, well, I guess we’ll go another time —”

“Oh no, I insist you guys still have dinner. You and Killian deserve to have a night off!”

“David, c’mon, don’t play dumb —”

He ignores her. “Besides, you’ll be doing me - and Kris - a huge favor. I already told him to charge whatever you guys get to me. Splurge a little, have dessert and a bottle of wine. It’s all on me.”

Killian climbs out of his own car as David pleads his case, cocking his head in confusion at the no doubt frustrated look on Emma’s face. He looks like he wants to kiss it better; Emma wishes he could actually do so.

“Fine,” she caves. “If you’re sure. But I’m running up the bill.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Emma takes particular glee in ending the call. She should have seen this coming. “Looks like David has come down with a possibly fatal cough, so he and Mary Margaret aren’t coming tonight,” she tells Killian, rolling her eyes. No need to resist that particular urge.

He snorts. “Ah, liar-itis. I thought he might be coming down with a case.”

“Complicated by meddler’s cough. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” He dips down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss - another urge they don’t have to resist with none of their friends around to see it. “You look lovely tonight, Swan.”

She smirks back. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” he laughs. “I’m sure you wore that just to torment me through dinner. Now, shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma slips her hand through his offered arm. “Dinner’s on David, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

———

“So, how was dinner?” David asks the next day, his cough mysteriously cleared up.

“Good,” Emma replies, knowing exactly what he’s digging for. “Your cousin’s got a good lingonberry cheesecake. Don’t worry, Killian and I totally ran up the bill. Kris has been well supported. You’re welcome.”

“And?” he demands.

Emma makes sure to play up her confusion. “And… what? It was a great dinner, might even go back if I ever have a date, and then I went home. Honestly, what did you expect to happen, David?”

Even through the phone, she can almost hear him audibly deflate. Something like a sigh, or perhaps the sound of his entire plan collapsing in on itself. Personally, Emma thinks it’s hilarious.

(It’s especially funny when she vividly remembers the way Killian had stripped her out of that dress, can still feel the scratch of his beard on her inner thighs.)

(But again - those are things that David doesn’t need to know.)

———

The set-ups multiply like rabbits, and Emma starts to notice her and Killian being forced into more and more situations together, just the two of them. Fuck only knows why they think these clumsy attempts will work; after all, Emma and Killian held out for 8 years of each other’s company before finally getting together (without anyone’s help, she might add). Still,

Trivia night is a weekly tradition for them all, down at the Rabbit Hole. Some weeks, the turnout is good; sometimes, not so much. They usually meet up at someone’s house and carpool from there because there’s not a ton of parking spots outside the bar, and it’s always worked well - two, maybe three cars instead of a half dozen or more. It’s a good time, and Emma always finds herself looking forward to Thursdays.

Tonight, they’ve met at Robin’s, Killian’s former roommate. It’s a good crowd tonight, too - Robin and his fiance Marian, Mary Margaret with David, Belle the librarian, Ruby and Mulan, even Graham and Lance and Tink. The gang’s all here, probably trying to let loose a bit before holiday obligations set in, and they’re raring to go - all twelve of them.

Emma hopes that it’s not planned - that there just happen to be two cars and then some worth of people here - but it’s more likely planned. Robin probably twisted their arms to come, just for this.

“Emma, would you mind checking the door one more time?” he calls as they congregate in the driveway. “I’m sure I locked it, but I’ve just got that niggling little feeling…”

“Sure, no problem.” And it isn’t - it’s checking the damn door. Except it’s actually winding down his stupidly picturesque front garden path to the front door, and then having to maneuver around the always-unlocked outer glass door to make sure that the real door is locked, and then maneuvering and winding and everything back… and by the time Emma makes it back, everyone’s already piled into Mary Margaret’s station wagon and Robin’s little SUV, even the middle seats everyone usually hates, leaving just the conniving man himself and Killian standing on the asphalt.

“Sorry, looks like the two of you will be riding together,” Robin says, not seeming remotely sorry. “This is convenient anyways! I know how much time you two spend together, if you decide that it’s easier to crash together afterwards… it wouldn’t be a problem for the extra car to stay here overnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be,” Emma grumbles. “I don’t suppose you have any underlying motive here, do you Robin? Say, to the tune of six hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he responds cheerily. “I just really, really want you to know that you can keep your options open. And, you know, other euphemistic things if the urge moves you.”

Asshole.

(Emma does not leave her car at Robin’s overnight - but that doesn’t stop Killian from meeting her at her place afterwards.

“This euphemistic enough for you, love?” he teases as Emma pulls at his shirt, trying to tug the cotton tee over his head.

“How’s this for a euphemism: fuck me.”

“That’s not exactly how that word works, Swan.”

“I could not possibly give fewer shits about semantics than I do right now, Killian, unless it somehow relates to you getting your pants off.”

Somehow, even in the midst of their frantic stripping, he manages to laugh. “As you wish.”

She’s always preferred straight talking anyways.)

———

“Thank god I found you both!” Mary Margaret declares, bursting into Emma’s office a little too dramatically for her tastes. Until now, she and Killian had been having a wonderful lunch together, but that’s obviously a thing of the past now.

“That seems a little extreme for a Friday,” Killian comments mildly as he sets his cafeteria burger back down on the styrofoam tray. Personally, Emma thinks the cafeteria food is disgusting, but Killian’s got a real fondness for the cheeseburgers, and especially the french fries. No one’s perfect, she guesses. “What terrible impending tragedy can Emma or I save you from, Mary Margaret?”

“Kathryn’s father is in the hospital, so she and Fred can’t work their assigned booth at the Winter Carnival tomorrow.” Storybrooke County School District’s charity carnival is a tradition every winter - one Mary Margaret takes very seriously. Something that’s clearly about to come back and bite them all in the ass. “Would you two be able to cover tomorrow? You’d be doing me such a huge favor…”

Killian raises a single eyebrow as he turns to meet Emma’s eye - that eyebrow that always seems like a dare. “My schedule’s clear this weekend. Count me in. What do you say, Swan, think you can find room in your schedule to save Mary Margaret from the tragedy of all tragedies?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he’s putting it on thick, but truth be told, her only plans had been spending the day with Killian. Might as well. “Sure, what the hell,” she says, reaching for another bite of her microwave pizza. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

In retrospect, Emma realizes that Mary Margaret could have done something terrible with this - assigned them to the kissing booth or something. God, she hopes that there’s not a kissing booth at a middle school carnival, but it feels like just the kind of thing she’d pull. Thankfully, they’re set up at the ring toss game. It’s not strenuous in the least; they don’t even have to take money, just paper tickets. Really, the only questionable thing is that they’re crammed right together in the box formed between the booth walls and the counter and the table of bottles behind them. Maybe that’s something that would have bothered her a few weeks ago, back when they were Emma and Killian but not Emma and Killian. Now, it’s just an excuse to get right up in his space and enjoy all those little touches, right under everyone’s nose.

(Maybe, every time they have to duck under the counter to retrieve poorly-thrown rings, Killian takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss while no one else can see. And maybe - just maybe - Emma uses those same opportunities to steal her own kisses right back.)

“Soooooo, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret chirps when she pops up out of nowhere mid-afternoon. It’s like she thinks she’ll find them making out in the middle of the carnival or something. Which… fair. The urge is there. But they’re professionals - and Emma wants that money, dammit. She’s not caving here.

“Just fine, Mare,” Emma replies. “Nothing worth reporting.”

“There’s not? You two are looking awfully cozy in there… nothing to report?”

“Well, you’re the one who set up the booths, so…”

“Aye, just making the best of it,” Killian helpfully adds.

Emma almost feels guilty about the way that Mary Margaret visibly deflates.

“You know this was another ridiculous set-up, right, love?” Killian asks once their friend has walked away. “She probably never even needed our help. It was all a ploy.”

“I see it now,” Emma sighs. “I had just weirdly hoped she’d be above all that bullshit.”

Killian quirks that eyebrow yet again. “Mary Margaret? Infamous meddler? Of course not. It’s cute that you thought that though, darling.”

“Oh, shut up.”

(“Mary Margaret told me to take the weekend off, that they’d over-scheduled,” Kathryn tells Emma later when she tries to ask how the other woman’s father is doing. “Was that not the case?”)

(Fucking figures.)

———

Ruby, frankly, is not a surprise. In fact, if there was one person Emma would figure would be pulling this bullshit, it’s Ruby. The girl’s too competitive for her own damn good - not to mention that mile-wide chaotic streak running through her soul.

“Pucker up!” she crows, thrusting what Emma assumes is a sprig of mistletoe over her and Killian’s heads. They’re at Ruby and Mulan’s place for… some party; it’s probably, maybe holiday themed, but Ruby’s never needed an excuse to throw a party. Anything to get them all drunk and laughing and forgetting about the stresses of the week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma demands. “Ruby, don’t be stupid. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Oh, like we ever did this in college,” Ruby scoffs with that devious twinkle in her eye. “Besides, college shenanigans are a state of mind. And I’m not giving that up. Now c’mon, no weaseling out of this.”

“It is the rules,” Mulan points out, appearing to slip her arm around Ruby’s waist and drop an affectionate - if slightly tipsy - kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you hear that? Smart half says it’s the rules. So go ahead and pucker up and kiss him. And then go make out for a while and maybe bone each other so I can win the pool.”

Killian blushes a little bit at the phrasing - something that’s surprisingly cute on him, knowing how often he usually tosses around the innuendoes and exactly how dirty a mouth he has when they’re alone. Before Emma knows what he’s doing, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, and then another, smacking one for good measure. “Who are we to deny the great, determined Ruby Lucas?” he proclaims grandly. “One kiss: delivered.”

Ruby’s face gets a bit mutinous; it’s the only word for that particular storm cloud, really. “No it isn’t! That’s cheating!”

“Eh. Technically, it was a kiss.” God bless Mulan for being the only one willing to go against Ruby when she’s got a plan; perks of being the girlfriend, Emma supposes.

“And more importantly, Rubes, that’s all you’re going to get from us.” And that’s Emma’s last word on the subject.

(“Happy Christmas, darling,” Killian whispers into her neck later once they’re back at her place, dangling his own sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “How about it? C’mon, give us a kiss.”

Emma is more than happy to comply.)

———

Emma wouldn’t say it’s common for her to get calls from the school librarian, Belle, but it’s not unusual either. So when Belle calls her up in mid-December, shortly before Christmas break, Emma doesn’t think twice about it.

“The new Scholastic catalogs are here,” Belle informs her. “I haven’t started sending them to classrooms yet, but if you want to take a look now…”

“I’ll be right there.” Yes, the catalogs are full of books for middle school students, but Emma still loves those things. They’re chock-full of nostalgia.

“I haven’t even taken them out of the box yet,” Belle explains when Emma meets her at the check-out desk. “They’re all still in the back room. Here, I’ll let you in.”

That should have been Emma’s clue here. Why would a box of new catalogs, just arrived in the mail, already be shoved into the storage closet? But Emma’s too excited about the prospect of those newsprint magazines to think about it. By the time Emma realizes there’s nothing in this little closet but printer paper and old yearbooks… Belle’s already closed and locked the door, trapping Emma inside.

So it’s yet another set up, most likely. It’s a good thing she’s not claustrophobic, at least.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Emma can hear Killian’s voice outside the door.

“How many boxes did you say it was, Belle? I’m happy to help haul, but I’m just wondering if we should get a hand cart to assist.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Belle’s voice responds. “Just a few trips for each of us. Right in here…”

And suddenly, Killian’s in the cramped little closet too, and the door is shut and latched behind them. Gee, what a surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emma comments dryly. Somehow, probably on some kind of ridiculous romantic instinct, Killian’s hands have already found their way to her hips. It’s nice, really, ignoring the circumstances.

His face is adorably confused, looking around the room and back to the door and then to Emma’s own face and all over again. “Did she just lock us in here?”

“Yeah, keep up, Jones,” Emma teases. “I assume another stupid set-up effort.”

That makes the confusion disperse alright, a smirk full of promise creeping across his face instead. “If that’s the case… we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she warns. “There’s a camera in here.”

“So? It’s not like she’s watching the monitors.”

“So, Belle recently started dating Will Scarlet in IT. You want to take the chance she locked us in here, and forgot to have her boyfriend monitor us?”

“Fuck,” Killian swears, dropping his head back in dramatic emphasis. “They’re really going overboard, aren’t they?”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, when Emma and Killian have done nothing but talk and try to find some little extra space in the crowded closet, Belle finally lets them out, just in time for the end of Killian’s free period.

“I’m sure you have no idea how that happened,” he comments, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It’s just the weirdest thing,” Belle agrees.

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

(Emma makes it up to him, several times over, at her place that night, with a take-out pizza to boot.)

———

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally here: New Year’s Eve. As long as they make it to midnight and the new year proper without anyone finding out, this whole ridiculous farce is over, and they can be the couple they’ve technically already been since October. Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - but more than they had been before.

They’d spent Christmas together - not that that was anything unusual. With everyone else going to visit family, the two of them often spend the day together, eating take-out Chinese and watching holiday movies. Killian’s got a brother back in England that he makes sure to call, and some years Liam will fly over, but Killian usually saves his visits for summer vacation, when he can stay in whatever little English hamlet his brother calls home for weeks at a time. There’s always something nice about spending the holidays together, just the two of them, but it was extra special this year. Who knew Emma was the kind of girl who wanted to trade kisses under the Christmas tree between swapping gifts?

(Killian, apparently - but then again, he’s always claimed to know her better than she knows herself.)

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs against her neck, twining his arms about her waist from behind as Emma carefully brushes on mascara. “Few more hours, and then it’s all in the open.”

“Thank god for that, too. After all the PDA we’ve gotten from certain people all these years, I’m looking forward to rubbing it in their faces a bit.”

They carpool to Mary Margaret and David’s, just like they do every year. It’s routine, really; Emma always crashes at Killian’s after the annual New Year’s Eve party so that someone is there to help her with the hangover in the morning. Killian makes better hashbrowns than anyone she knows - even Granny - and they always manage to pull her out of the worst of her misery. He’s good about taking care of her, too, with water and Advil and making sure to shut all the shades as tightly as possible. They even share a bed a lot of years; it’s just that tonight, Emma knows there will be a lot fewer clothes involved.

They drink. They eat. They mingle. Sometimes, they’re together, carefully not touching, and sometimes they drift apart. That’s how this party usually works, after all - and Emma is nothing if not committed to seeing this entire thing through, pretending nothing is different this year, that she and Killian definitely aren’t together. Nothing to see here, folks.

God, she’s so fucking lucky he didn’t cut and run once it became obvious just how much of a competitive lunatic Emma is.

Finally, though, it’s the moment - less than a minute left. Killian is already waiting for her by the patio doors, just like he promised. Emma is only too happy to wind her way over there, grinning when she finally finds herself in front of her boyfriend - about to be secret no longer. Behind them, the assembled drunken crowd loudly counts down the last seconds of the year. They keep their hands determinedly to themselves - just as agreed, so no one can try and claim anything happened before the strike of the new year - but Killian still looks at her with that twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It’s anticipation, and excitement, and a good bit of joy - knowing that soon, this will all be out in the open. No more keeping their hands to themselves.

“You ready for this, love?” he says just loud enough for her to hear as the clock hits ten seconds.

“Hell yeah,” she grins back - because she is. She so is. This has been a long time coming - years in the making, really - and you know what? The whole secrecy may have helped her wrap her head around the whole thing, as well as win her the pot, but she’s ready to take it public. Maybe rub it in everyone’s faces just how happy she is and how she did this on her own schedule. Why the hell not?

Cheers erupt all around them, and Emma’s grin stretches to something that almost hurts her face. Killian looks much the same. “Happy New Year, love,” he says, finally pulling her towards him by the hips. “I think it’ll be our best one yet.”

Fireworks are going on outside, lighting up the snow on the ground, but Emma can’t be bothered to pay attention - not when Killian attacks her lips with purpose, grinning happily into the kiss before she insistently deepens it, slipping her tongue into his mouth to play. It’s just another in a series of kisses, they know - but it’s more than that. It’s a display, in the best way, declaring them them.

Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A pair, a unit, a couple.

“HA!” shrieks someone across the room as their make-out finally gains attention. Emma thinks it might be Ruby - though, at this point, it might be Mary Margaret. Maybe both. It’s definitely Ruby who materializes just as Emma and Killian finally break apart with a laugh. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees - something that seems to short-circuit Ruby’s brain for a moment, if that look on her face is anything to go by. “It really was. And you know what else?”

Ruby shakes her head mutely, that twist of her eyebrows demonstrating that she’s still trying to get her bearings about what the fuck is happening here.

“It’s the new year. That pot is mine.”

“That’s my girl,” Killian whispers in her ear.

Best. New Year’s. Ever.

———

On January 1st of the new year, Emma and Killian - Killian and Emma - they, them, a pair, a unit, a couple take their six hundred dollars in winnings and treat themselves to a goddamn massive lunch at Granny’s. Together. In public. Because they deserve it.

Grilled cheese has never tasted so good to Emma - especially the crumbs off the corners of Killian’s lips.

#csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfiction #my writing #the set-up scam #secret dating #friends to lovers #oh my god and they were ACCOMPLICES #happy holidays everyone!

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/Sakusa Kiyoomi/Miya Osamu

Request: Hi! Do you think you can make headcanons for Oikawa, Sakusa and osamu, with an s/o thats a medical student? 🙏🏻😳

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.9K (~600 a piece)

Notes: I’m v v v sorry for the recent lack of updates! I’m moving back to uni on Tuesday and I didn’t plan accordingly and get fics lined up >.<

Oikawa Tooru

The most supportive bean oml he’s so cute

It’s definitely not easy considering he’s in Argentina, but he does his best to check up on you whenever he can. You have a tendency to over-work yourself while studying, so someone needs to remind you to take a break and get some rest dumbass literally doesn’t take his own advice smh

You should hear him when he’s talking to his team about you. “Oh, you mean Y/N? My DOCTOR s/o? Yeah, that’s right. I’m dating a doctor.” You aren’t even a doctor yet, but he’s going to tell everyone he knows that his s/o is a ✨doctor✨

He can’t really help you study because of the distance, but if you ever need to vent to him about classes or your residency, boy is there. He is listening intently while you spill all the tea! Oikawa likes the drama, what can he say? It’s like his personal soap opera.

Oikawa takes so many screenshots while you video chat. You’re probably going over notes or working on homework and he’s just collecting all the photos.

He’s going to post them on his instagram later, captioning it with something like, “yeah, your s/o may be great, but are they a doctor? lol didn’t think so 😜” and you’ll have to comment “Tooru, I’m not a doctor yet.”

But, Tooru literally does not care. He can’t get over the fact that you’re so?? Smart?? You could be telling him about something you learned in class that day and he’ll be nodding along, like he knows exactly what you’re talking about, but to be honest?

He doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You keep using these big words and he’s just “?????”

Oh, but he learns, because he’s a good boyfriend for sure. He has sticky notes all over his apartment with random medical words that he’s heard you say. It’s low-key just to impress you, but also Oikawa really does care about what you’re talking about and he wants to be able to follow the conversation better.

Boy learns his new vocabulary words in Japanese and Spanish to further impress you and because he knows that you find it really hot when he speaks Spanish.

Brb cackling at the idea of oikawa just spewing a random Spanish diagnosis in your ear during sex because he can’t remember how to say what he wants to tell you

Everytime you reach a milestone in your med school career? He’s bragging so much. You’d think that he was the one who made the dean’s list or that he was the one who finished the classroom section and was moving onto their residency.

He’s honestly just so proud of you and wants to show you off, because you’re just so driven and passionate about everything you do. It’s a big reason why he fell in love with you in the first place.

Peep him cheering the loudest when you finally complete your residency. Stand right there. He wants to take pictures of his s/o looking fine as hell in their white coat with their MD, so he can brag to everyone he meets that his s/o is officially a doctor

The proud smile on his face when you’ve finally done it? Irreplaceable. He’s been your biggest supporter through this whole thing. To him, watching you do this is as amazing as doing it himself.

He’s going to frame your degree and hang it up right by the door of the apartment when you two move in together. Just a gentle reminder that he’s dating a doctor, no big deal.

You could try to tell him that you’re proud of him for following his dreams and making it to the big leagues and he’s just, “yeah, but who graduated medical school 🤗”

AWWW WAIT

If you open up your own practice one day ;-; this baby is just beaming with pride, taking all the pictures and all of the videos as you cut the ribbon to announce the opening

Marry him. Marry him or I will.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

You probably complained once about the workload, saying that it was so much harder than you ever anticipated, and this son of a bitch would just scoff like, “It can’t be that difficult.”

But, it’s that difficult and you let him figure that out. You handed him a stack of your assignments and said, “If it’s so easy, you do it.”

Insert Sakusa Kiyoomi hunched over the table for three hours, just staring at the page, occasionally flipping through your textbook and medical dictionary as if either of those things would help him.

He literally handed you back a blank paper and didn’t say a word.

Honestly, he has no idea how to help you study, but he’ll try his best. If you hand him a study guide or a stack of flash cards, he’ll sit on the couch with you and quiz you until you know each and every one better than you know yourself.

He’s not exactly going out of his way to learn about medicine so that he can better converse with you, but he does pick up on a few things

Kiyoomi’s gotten pretty good at breaking down the medical terms from long hours of helping you study. He has a decent understanding of what some of the roots and suffixes mean, so when you start talking about something from school, he can usually at least pin down some of the information

Sakusa is going to use your career path to his advantage though. He wants to know what disinfectants they're using at the hospital and can you get him some?

He’s already pretty private about his personal life, especially when it comes to his relationship with you, so outside of his small friend group, he hasn’t told many people that you’re a med student.

This doesn’t make him any less proud though. He’s just more quiet about it. But, he’ll celebrate all of the little accomplishments right there with you, texting you right before you take a big test to wish you luck and taking you out for ice cream or a nice dinner when you get your results

If he gets a long break at practice, he’ll go take you lunch, just so he knows that you’re taking care of yourself properly.

MASK SELFIES

You stay up really late trying to memorize the proper treatments and where to make incisions and things like that, so if Kiyoomi doesn’t ask you to come to bed, it’s very possible that you just won’t? And he’s learned that the hard way.

Right before your finals you told him, “Yeah, I’m just going to study for another hour or so and then I’ll head to bed.”

He literally found you asleep at the kitchen table, your notecards all over the floor because you knocked them off at some point in the night

But, Sakusa is a good boyfriend so he’ll make you breakfast and some tea or coffee to help you start your day.

Speaking of coffee and tea. He’s limiting your caffeine intake :) oh, you want a cup of coffee/tea at 9 pm? “That shit better be decaf.” it’s literally just so you can sleep. Once 5 pm hits, he doesn’t let you have caffeine, but it’d be bogus if he sat next to you with a cup of tea, so he also doesn’t have caffeine in the evenings.

He’s definitely the type to show you that he cares more so than actually tell you how much he loves you

Miya Osamu

Superior twin

This is a joke i love both miya boys equally, even if atsumu does have piss hair

N E WAY. Osamu has no fucking clue what you’re talking about 90% of the time and I hate to break it to you, but-

He’s not going to take the time to learn like the others. He may stop you to ask questions, but that’s really it.

It’s not like he doesn’t care though! Osamu really loves that you’re following your passions. He just knows that even if you do explain it to him, he’s probably going to get lost in all of the logistics.

Most of the time, you’ll just see him nodding along with what you’re saying, popping in with a question or a comment every now and then. While he may not understand what you’re saying, he does take some interest in it.

He’ll ask you things about the medical equipment in your bag. Like, how does the blood pressure cuff work? Have you ever given yourself stitches? If he were to cut his hand chopping ingredients, could you fix it right here in the kitchen or would you still take him to the hospital? Can you really hear his heartbeat with those weird headphone things? It’s called a stethoscope ‘samu smh

Osamu is the king of making sure that you take good care of yourself. This man? Oh, he’s packing you a lunch every single day you have to go to class.

Better yet? If you come down to Onigiri Miya between classes, he’s going to pile your plate full of food and then he’s got a to-go container with more, just in case you get hungry. He has your favorite drink stocked so it’s there whenever you come by.

He won’t sit with you, because he’s usually pretty busy, but he will let you sit at the counter so he can talk to you while he prepares more onigiri.

‘Samu always asks how your day went. It’s the first thing out of his mouth whenever he sees you after your classes.

If you guys get done around the same time, he’ll meet you at your university to walk home with you.

He makes sure that you drink plenty of water. He’s like a waiter, I swear. Osamu will walk past you like every 20 minutes just to make sure that you have enough water and if he sees that you haven’t been drinking your water-

Prepare for a lecture on the importance of hydration as if you don’t already know that??

“‘Samu, I’ve had five glasses of water. I’m not thirsty.”

“You need to stay hydrated!”

He’ll try to help you study if you ask, but it usually ends up with you laughing as he tries to pronounce some medical term. He’ll toss the flashcard to the side and just huff, “That’s probably not going to be on the test.”

Like Sakusa, he’s pretty reserved when it comes to talking about his personal life, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a picture of the two of you on your graduation day hanging up in Onigiri Miya.

He’s not going to say anything about it first though, but if someone asks? He can gush about you for a good ten minutes while his patrons smile and nod. Telling them how proud he is that his incredible s/o graduated from medical school with flying colors, explaining what field you’re in and what that means he’s literally just repeating what you told him once oops

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years

Text

‘cause right now you're mine

set in this verse

THURSDAY, APRIL 2nd

Dean 12:01 You didn’t tell me you led Carver Prep’s quiz bowl team???

Castiel 12:15 It’s in the middle of the school day and you’re texting. What kind of example are you setting for your students?

Castiel 12:16 I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t relevant.

Dean 12:17 Haha smartass I’m having lunch in my office Youre texting me back so i see right through you And of course it’s freaking relevant

Castiel 12:20 How?

Dean 12:21 Because I got tapped to coach Edlund High's quiz bowl team this morning!

Castiel 12:21 Oh no.

Dean 12:30 Oh no is right buddy

Castiel 12:37 I thought you coached the softball team.

Dean 12:37 I can do both You’re dating a very talented man

Castiel 12:49 I know that. I just didn’t know it extended to quiz bowls and softball in addition to blow jobs and breaking and entering places to give blow jobs.

Dean 12:52 What the fuck is wrong with you I’m in school! My lunch hour is almost over I’ll have to get up from my desk very soon This is all your fault

Castiel 12:59 :)

Dean 1:00 Just for that No blow jobs for you tonight

Castiel 1:07 :(

MONDAY, APRIL 6th

Dean 11:55 I bet I can grade more midterms than you today

Castiel 11:58 I know better than to make bets with you, Dean Winchester.

Dean 12:03 It was just a kiss I bet you’re just pissed you lost

Castiel 12:04 I can’t engage in PDA in front of my niece and one of my students at a school event!

Dean 12:04 Youre such a prude

Castiel 12:06 Unlike some teachers, I maintain boundaries between my personal and professional life.

Dean 12:07 Prude.

Castiel 12:09 Did you text me on a Monday afternoon just to harass me about my reluctance to kiss my boyfriend in front of minors?

Dean 12:11 Huh Boyfriend

Castiel 12:20 Dean?

Dean 12:21 What?

Castiel 12:22 Is everything okay?

Dean 12:23 Other than *my boyfriend* refusing to even entertain the idea of a friendly wager?

Castiel 12:23 Yes, other than that.

Dean 12:23 No

Castiel 12:25 That’s good. You scared me for a second.

Dean 12:26 I did?

Castiel 12:26 Are you okay with being my boyfriend? The long gap between our messages made me realize we haven’t talked about it before.

Dean 12:27 I mean it’s a little weird My 16 year old students have boyfriends “boyfriend” seems a little I don’t know Juvenile We’re not 16 anymore, Cas Thank god.

Castiel 12:30 Would you prefer “partner”?

Castiel 12:31 It’s just whenever I hear someone call their significant other “partner” I can never tell if they are talking about their life partner, same-sex partner, police partner, or if they are cowboys. That was a joke! Ignore this. I remember how much you like Westerns. “Partners” is off the table.

Dean 12:31 HOWDY YALL THIS IS MY PARTNER CAS

Castiel 12:31 Please never introduce me to someone like this.

Dean 12:32 Only if you watch Tombstone with me tonight

Castiel 12:33 Can I still grade my midterms?

Dean 12:35 You’re killing me here Cas Yes

Castiel 12:40 I’m your huckleberry

SUNDAY, APRIL 12th

Castiel 2:19 Good luck with the softball game today!

Dean 2:21 You’d better make it up for me for missing this one Its the semifinals

Castiel 2:22 I will. Say “hi” to Claire for me.

Dean 2:27 What the hell? Why is she here? We’re not even playing Carver

Castiel 2:29 She has a crush on Kaia Nieves

Dean 2:30 Ohhhhh That explains a lot

Castiel 2:30 She thinks she’s being subtle.

Dean 2:37 I see that runs in the family Subtle as a brick wall. All of you.

Castiel 2:38 Excuse me, you had no idea about my feelings for you back in high school.

Dean 2:49 So? Charlie said you were obvious as fuck But it didn’t matter since I was a dumbass

Castiel 2:50 I prefer oblivious Less dumb Less ass

Dean 2:57 How dare you My ass is a goddamn gift. You take that back right now

Castiel 2:59 Of course. Don’t you have a game to coach?

Dean 3:01 Shit you’re right

TUESDAY, APRIL 14th

Castiel 11:18 I know how I can make up for missing that last softball game last weekend

Dean 12:01 Sorry The kids called me out for texting you 5 mins before the bell last time How the hell did i get stuck with a class full of narcs

Castiel 12:03 It’s probably karma For all the rule breaking you did in school

Dean 12:05 Hey I wasn’t that bad

Castiel 12:05 You frequently defaced school desks and returned library books after their due date.

Dean 12:06 I’m dating a narc too???

Castiel 12:07 You didn’t ask what I have planned.

Dean 12:07 OK i’ll bite What do you have planned babe? Please tell me it’s not another documentary on bees That was depressing The grand canyon one was cool though

Castiel 12:10 Speaking of narcs

Dean 12:10 This doesn’t sound good

Castiel 12:11 When I had to get my extra copy of Camus from my car, I stumbled on Miriam at the edge of the parking lot with a few more students. They were skipping class and smoking marijuana. Naturally, I reported them to the administration.

Dean 12:13 Not helping your not-a-narc case

Castiel 12:13 They received detention for skipping class.

Dean 12:13 And the drugs?

Castiel 12:13 I may have neglected to report the drug use.

Dean 12:14 Seriously?

Castiel 12:14 I still confiscated it. Research evidence shows marijuana has negative effects on the developing brain.

Dean 12:14 I guess that’s fair

Dean 12:15 Hang on Do you still have it? OUR brains are old as balls Seriously, are you telling me you have weed now?

Castiel 12:15 Surprise? I can throw it out if you’d prefer to do something else tonight.

Dean 12:15 Dont you dare!!! I’m going to get a six pack on the way home, download the last Star Wars, and we’re gonna do this right Your place or mine?

Castiel 12:16 I have been neglecting laundry lately. Yours?

Dean 12:16 You’re on This is going to be so awesome

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15th

Dean 12:06 Did you really mean to invite me to dinner with your brother?

Castiel 12:09 I didn’t mean to bring it up when we were high, but the invitation still stands. Claire told him we were together. He wants to meet you.

Dean 12:11 Oh

Castiel 12:11 You do not have to say yes.

Dean 12:13 I’ll go It just took me by surprise

Castiel 12:13 I don’t want to pressure you.

Dean 12:14 Youre not pressuring me

Castiel 12:14 Are you sure?

Dean 12:16 Look, I just know your relationship with your brother is complicated And I don’t want to stick my foot in it By accident or some other way

Castiel 12:20 We’re in a better place than I’d like to admit. I spent a long time resenting Jimmy for the time he had with Father. But it wasn’t his fault Father was a bastard who had a second family he preferred to be with. Jimmy was barely in middle school when Father started going on his “business trips”

Dean 12:21 Jesus christ You told me bit about it back in high school But I didn’t realize it was a second family situation

Castiel 12:21 Mother kept it from us for years. I still haven’t forgiven her for it.

Dean 12:21 Are you OK?

Castiel 12:22 I’m fine. It was a long time ago.

Dean 12:22 That stuff takes a long time to get over.

Castiel 12:22 I suppose.

Dean 12:23 Is it okay if you stay at mine tonight?

Castiel 12:24 Our next date isn’t until Friday

Dean 12:24 I don’t want to wait until Friday to see you

Castiel 12:27 Can you pick me up at Carver at 4pm?

Dean 12:27 You got it More time with you and my baby Win-win!

FRIDAY, APRIL 24th

Dean 11:51 Are you sure what I usually wear to school is OK?

Castiel 11:53 You texted me nine minutes early?

Dean 11:53 Shut up I had to bribe my kids For NINE extra minutes Friggin tyrants

Castiel 11:54 What did they extort from you?

Dean 11:54 I promised to throw out their lowest pop quiz grade

Castiel 11:54 That isn’t too bad.

Dean 11:54 I was already planning on doing it

Castiel 11:55 Clever of you.

Dean 11:56 You’re not just dating a pretty face But getting back to dinner with your brother Is a regular button up OK? The tie hides most of the sloppy joe stain

Castiel 11:56 I’m sure you look very handsome

Dean 11:57 I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not

Castiel 11:57 I rarely manage sarcasm in-person. What makes you think I would attempt it over text?

Dean 11:58 Good point

Castiel 11:58 You’re a very good-looking man, Dean. I’ve known this since we were 15.

Dean 11:59 Stop it you’re making me blush

Castiel 12:01 It’s the truth.

Dean 12:04 Alright, alright I’m already sleeping with you No need to butter me up

Dean 12:05 It’s just I remember how you used to talk about him The perfect big brother

Castiel 12:07 More like the perfect student and perfect son. Jimmy was honestly too busy to be much of a brother. The 11 year age difference didn’t help. When I was in high school, he already had the perfect nuclear family on the way.

Dean 12:07 Exactly

Castiel 12:08 Exactly what?

Dean 12:08 You’re lucky I know you And I know you’re not drawing this out on purpose Look, i want to make a good impression, OK? he seems like a hard guy to please.

Castiel 12:09 I That’s very admirable of you, but it’s entirely unnecessary.

Dean 12:10 He’s your family

Castiel 12:11 And I understand family is very important to you, but it isn’t the same with me. It would be very nice if dinner goes well, but if it does not, I will not care in the slightest.

Dean 12:11 Really?

Castiel 12:11 Truly.

SATURDAY, APRIL 25th

11:16 I’m sorry for my dad.

Dean 11:17 Who is this?

11:20 Claire Novak

Dean 11:21 How did you get this number?

Claire 11:23 Alex Jones

Dean 11:24 How did Alex get my number???

Claire 11:24 It was on the softball permission forms How did you not know this Didn’t you draft them?

Dean 11:25 It’s been a while I’m a very busy man

Claire 11:25 Sure. Anyway, my dad was a dick. Totally out of line last night

Dean 11:26 Shouldn’t you be texting Cas about this?

Claire 11:26 I don’t have his number

Dean 11:26 Cas wasn’t kidding when he said you guys weren’t close

Claire 11:27 Nope.

Dean 11:27 Well I am very close with my brother He’s a lawyer out in California

Claire 11:27 Good for you???

Dean 11:29 It doesn’t sit right with me that Cas doesn't have a real relationship with his family

Claire 11:31 That seems like Uncle Castiels business

Dean 11:33 But Jimmy isn’t Cas’s only family SO if you ever need a place to crash, i’m always available

Claire 11:35 Maybe my dad was right And you’re secretly a perv I’m not staying with you you freak

Dean 11:35 Jesus christ, I’m trying to say, if ALEX isn’t the only girl on Edlund's softball team you’re getting buddy-buddy with, it’s fine You should get a chance to explore that part of being a teenager While STAYING SAFE But don’t let your parents stand in the way of that side of your life

Claire 11:41 Dad wouldn’t kick me out

Dean 11:42 Maybe not. But if you are at all uncomfortable, just give cas a call I’ll forward you his contact info now

“I might have told Claire she’s always welcome at my place if she comes out to her parents,” Dean says as he pockets his phone. He turns his back on the pile of sparkling clean dishes drying on the rack by Cas's sink. Dean adds, “Hopefully she’ll ask you before she goes to me.”

They hadn't really discussed the disaster of a dinner with Jimmy and Claire. A few tense words on the drive back to Cas's house, a tacit acknowledgement in the morning not to mention it until after coffee and breakfast. But then Cas brought out his homework for the weekend, even while last night's argument scratches at the back of his mind like a fly trapped in a windowless room. So Dean did the dishes and texted Claire.

Cas looks up from his juniors’ final exams. “You were talking to Claire?”

“She texted me first,” Dean says defensively.

Cas sighs and caps his pen. It’s blue, because red pen, according to Cas, is too traumatizing a grading implement. “I’m very sorry about last night.”

Dean waves his apology off. “You warned me it could go sideways.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Still,” he says slowly, “I told my mother and Jimmy I was gay a few years ago. I think it was easy for them to ignore it as long as I didn’t have a boyfriend in the picture.”

Dean fiddles with a dishrag as he hovers by the sink. “Was Jimmy a jackass to your other boyfriends?”

“What others?” Cas asks wryly. “None of them were ever serious enough to pique Jimmy’s interest.”

“Really?”

Cas nods and gestures for Dean to take a seat at the kitchen table next to him. He holds out his hand, which Dean takes, bemused. “I don’t know why Jimmy thought religion was an appropriate introductory dinner topic. I could tell he was trying to genuinely understand our… lifestyle, to use his word, but-”

“I got angry,” Dean says looking down at their clasped hands.

“You didn’t say anything I wasn't thinking,” Cas says simply. “I’m glad you reached out to Claire.”

“It seems like she needed it.”

“She doesn’t have a lot of adults in her life she can rely on to be in her corner,” Cas says diplomatically. “I’ve tried, over the years, but I can’t relate to her at all.”

Dean laughs. “Of course not. Teenage rebellion wasn’t really your style.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Cas says, his voice dry as chalk, “you’d be the perfect person to talk to her. The cool kids speak their own language. How could I forget?”

Dean smirks. “It’s full of references you don’t get.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cas says darkly.

Dean leans in for a kiss. Eyes dancing, as he whispers, “Relax, babe. You were always the coolest kid in school to me."

#destiel #destiel fanfic #fanfic #teacher castiel #teacher dean #established relationship #fluff #text fic #the story of us verse #profoundnet #rae writes fic

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everwitch-magiks · 4 years

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 18)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 17

It’s a quiet evening in January, when everything changes.

Whiskey has just come back from his run and is met by a familiar yet unusual smell as he steps inside the Haus. It’s cumin and garlic, pork and definitely chili… Whiskey frowns. It can’t be. Really, it can’t. He makes his way into the kitchen, almost hesitantly.

Except, it is.

Miguel is at the kitchen table, speaking with a patient tone as he guides an unusually focused Hops through the steps of properly folding tamales. It was only last week that Whiskey learned the method and terminology, himself, when Miguel had shown him the process in the cramped kitchen of his new apartment. There’s two pots on the stove, and something's already in the oven – garlic bread, if Whiskey isn't entirely mistaken. Huh.

Both Hops and Miguel look up when Whiskey enters.

“Hey, there." Miguel smiles. He makes a small, somewhat helpless gesture around the room in general, as if to say I wasn't expecting this, either or perhaps even this isn't actually my fault. “Dinner’s on the way.”

“Whiskey!” Hops exclaims giddily. “I’m cooking!”

“I can see that,” Whiskey says carefully.

He’s more than a little bit surprised. Miguel comes and goes almost as frequently as some of the members of the team, these days, so it’s not completely unheard of that he’d be at the Haus before Whiskey. Still, Whiskey didn’t expect Miguel to have made himself quite this comfortable in the Haus kitchen. Especially since they’ve been making such an effort to keep things very low-key.

“Oh, Whisk, have you met Miguel?” Hops suddenly asks, completely sincere. “He’s Tango’s friend. And a kitchen genius, obviously.”

“Oh my God,” Miguel says, very quietly.

Whiskey wants to laugh. He wants to laugh so badly. He forgets, sometimes, how the world can be so stubbornly determined to see nothing but heterosexuality all around.

“No, we’ve met,” Whiskey finally says, probably more than five seconds too late, but at least he keeps most of his composure. “Actually, we had a class together last semester.”

"Oh, that's 'swasome." Hops grins, blissfully oblivious. "Me and Tango have decided Miguel can use the Haus kitchen anytime, so you might be seeing a lot more of each other."

"I suppose that's fine," Whiskey says dryly. Miguel stifles a laugh. "Do you guys need any help?"

“I think we’re fine,” Miguel says brightly. “Actually, Whiskey, isn’t that your phone on the table? It’s been buzzing non-stop for a while, now.”

Miguel is right – it is his phone. Whiskey picks it up. He’s got seven missed calls, all from an unknown number. Huh. Just as he pulls up his browser to google it, his phone starts ringing again.

“I’d better take this.” Whiskey is already leaving the kitchen. “Save me some garlic bread, okay?”

“You got it!”

He’s making his way up the stairs as he takes the call.

“It’s Connor.”

“Oh, there you are.” The pleasant voice on the other end of the line is only vaguely familiar. “Connor, this is Emily Larsen. We met briefly a couple of months ago at one of your home games. Is this a good time? I’ve actually got a few different things to cover.”

Emily Larsen… Right. That Emily Larsen. The Houston Aeros.

Wait. Seven missed calls?

“It’s nice to hear from you,” Whiskey says carefully. He enters his bedroom and closes the door firmly. “Now is fine. I’ve got time.”

“Good, good.” Emily pauses for a moment. “This is kind of going to be a lot, okay? Just let me talk for a bit, first. I promise I’ll try to answer all of your questions later.”

She doesn’t give him the chance to respond before she launches right into it.

It is a lot, Whiskey thinks dizzily, and paying proper attention soon turns out to be something of a challenge. Mostly because every impossible thing Emily tells him seems more impossible than the one before. Several ill-timed injuries, which means we have an unexpected opening, Emily says, and Whiskey’s heartbeat quickens. A make or break situation where we need to act fast, Emily says, and Whiskey finds that he needs to sit down. We'd like to get you down in time for tomorrow’s practice, Emily says, and Whiskey has to remind himself to breathe.

“Tomorrow,” he manages to cut in, the single word costing him an unbelievable effort. “That’s… That’s really soon.”

“We have our next game on Tuesday, next week,” Emily explains efficiently. “We would need to have you on the ice with our guys as much as possible, before then.”

“Okay,” Whiskey says faintly. “I, uh. I have a pop quiz tomorrow.”

It’s probably a pretty fucking stupid thing to say, but Whiskey can’t actually bring himself to care very much right now. His mind is still spinning rapidly.

“Look,” Emily says. Her voice has softened, just slightly. “If you’re going to sign with us, you won’t be having a lot of pop quizzes in the near future. You’re going to need to drop out.”

“Right,” Whiskey says. He forces himself to take a steadying breath. “No, I get that. It’s just all very sudden. Is there any chance I could have some time to consider?”

Emily is quiet for a brief moment.

“This is a really big opportunity, Connor,” she says firmly. “We need someone to come down as soon as possible – yesterday, preferably. I can’t hold this door open for very long.”

“I understand that,” Whiskey tells her. And really, he does. It’s just… Whiskey gives himself a second, let’s himself just look around his room for a moment. His eyes linger at the Samwell banner he’s got pinned to the wall and the framed picture of the team that sits on his desk. Somehow, it all calms him down enough to help him hold his ground. “But I’m still going to need more than a couple of hours to make a decision like this. If you can’t accommodate that, then I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to accept.”

There’s another period of silence from Emily, except this time it’s not quite silent. A faint noise can be heard at the other end of the line, almost as if Emily has covered her phone with her hand and is exchanging a few words with someone else.

“Alright,” Emily says, more than a few moments later. “How about this. We fly you down tomorrow, you join us for practice for the rest of the week, but you don’t actually decide whether to sign with us or not until Sunday. We can get you back to Samwell over the weekend so you can take care of any unfinished business, but by Monday you’ll relocate permanently. First game on Tuesday.”

Whiskey bites his lower lip. It’s still impossibly fast, but at least it’s slightly better. And Emily is right – this is a really big opportunity. In many ways, it’s actually exactly what Whiskey has been hoping for all this time.

“Yeah,” Whiskey hears himself say. “That works.”

They wrap up the call soon after. Emily says she’ll send him his flight details, plus a check-list of things to pack. Whiskey remembers to thank her for her time, and for the opportunity. When they hang up, he’s almost convinced himself that he’s not freaking out about this.

As soon as Miguel steps into his room, that illusion shatters.

“I swear,” Miguel says cheerfully, “I give Tango one helping of leftover tamales, and suddenly the whole Haus wants in. Can you even believe…”

He quiets. Evidently, he’s registered the look on Whiskey’s face.

“Hey,” Miguel continues softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s... I’ve just, uh.”

Whiskey tries to breathe. God. He thought it wouldn't be like this, at least not yet. He thought he still had time.

Apparently, he was so wrong.

It is what it is, though. And it's not like they didn’t both know this was going to happen eventually. It's just sooner, rather than later. And it's a good thing. It should be exactly what Whiskey wants.

Whiskey finally manages to take a breath. It almost feels better. And anyway, he literally doesn't have time for even a minor breakdown, right now.

He needs to get a fucking grip.

“I’m leaving for Houston, in the morning.”

ch. 19

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #connor whisk #hops #... what even is hops name #OC: Miguel #whiskey x oc #a somewhat unexpected situation #here we go #dance with somebody #fanfiction #evie writes

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Don't Strauss Too Much (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: Back on my Crygi clownery! A big thank you to the lovely @sportcox who helped me brainstorm this title <3

Summary: Gigi needs a tutor, and Crystal is happy to help her out.

Gigi Goode is going to throw herself off a cliff.

She’s been staring at her flashcards from yesterday’s music theory lecture for what feels like forever now, and she’s still no closer to memorizing the information she needs to know for her quiz on Friday than when she got here.

She and Nicky are sitting in the corner of their favourite cafe, notebooks and highlighters sprawled out on the table among cups of coffee and various sweet treats. Normally, the cozy atmosphere always puts Gigi into a good mood, but today she’s far too stressed to enjoy the experience. She has a week to memorize a whole chapter’s worth of material. So far she’s wasted most of her time just staring blankly at her notes.

“What kind of demon professor gives a quiz on a Friday, anyway?” She complains.

Besides her, Nicky laughs. “Take a break if you’re so upset about it.”

“That’s not how it works,” Gigi mumbles, even as she closes her folder and takes a sip of her iced coffee. She slumps back into her seat. “Music theory is gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“I don’t even understand why you’re taking it,” Nicky says, tapping her pen against her teeth distractedly.

“I needed the credit,” Gigi explains in a monotone. “I thought it would be easy, but Professor Visage doesn’t even give us completion credit for homework.”

“Oh, the horror,” Nicky smirks at her. “Imagine, Stanford professors not giving you full credit just because you turned your work in.”

“Shut up,” Gigi pouts. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Can’t you just drop?” Nicky steals a bite of Gigi’s tiramisu, giggling when the other girl swats her away. “Hey, I’m helping, I deserve some of your cake.”

“I can’t,” Gigi says, rolling her eyes at Nicky’s antics. “Missed the deadline.”

“Just get a tutor then,” Nicky suggests. “Isn’t that Crystal girl you like also taking it? You said she was doing well last time.”

Gigi very nearly chokes on a macaroon.

“How… do you even remember that?” She gets out, coughing.

“As if I could forget. That’s all you talked about the entire two hours we hung out. You were all, ‘Crystal’s so good at theory’ and ‘Visage likes her so much’ and ‘if she weren’t so pretty I could be able to hate her.’” Nicky teases. “Besides, you know I love to play matchmaker.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s not happening. I can’t even talk to her, let alone survive a tutoring session with that girl.” Gigi says.

“Okay, well, it’s not like you have any other options.” Nicky is unimpressed.

“Then I’d better just accept that I’ll bomb this quiz.” Gigi pops another macaroon into her mouth in self-pity.

“No, not on my watch.” Nicky insists. “Just message her, it’s not that hard!”

“Absolutely not,” Gigi says. She reopens her folder, looking glumly down at the index cards tucked into the pocket. “Like I said, I’d rather fail.”

She’s too busy staring down at the material in front of her to notice when Nicky grabs her phone until it’s too late. “Hey!”

Nicky just cackles, angling her body so that Gigi can’t interrupt her typing. “If you don’t have the guts, I’ll do it for you.”

“Nicolette Doll, I’ll kill you,” Gigi says, trying to grab at her phone.

Gigi glares at her friend, calculating about a hundred ways to dispose of her body. She has half a mind to drive her dessert fork into the blonde’s neck in an attempt to stop her from going through with this. Gigi bats at Nicky’s arms, attempting to wrestle the device away from her.

It’s no use. Nicky’s grip is strong, and Gigi watches with growing horror as the blonde types Crystal’s Instagram handle into the explore page. Nicky doesn’t even need to type the full name; Crystal pops up into her recent searches as soon as she inputs the first few letters.

In usual circumstances, Gigi would at least be embarrassed, but right now she’s more horrified at the prospect of messaging Crystal Methyd.

Crystal, the girl who she’s been crushing on since the very first music theory lecture. Crystal, who’s probably the reason she’s barely pulling a big fat D in the class in the first place, since, as it turns out, staring at the pretty Latina sitting in the front row isn’t a very effective learning strategy.

“Nicky,” Gigi says, trying a different approach. “I’ll do the dishes for a week.”

“Too late!” Nicky grins at her, far too proud of herself. She hands the phone back to Gigi. “Your welcome.”

Gigi stares down at her phone screen, blinking dumbly at it.

Hey! This is Gigi from music theory. I needed a tutor and was wondering if you might wanna help?

Gigi’s gaze darts from Nicky to the screen, and then back again.

“I hate you,” She decides, puffing out a breath at the end of the sentence. “Why am I friends with you?”

“You’ll be thanking me soon enough.” Nicky shrugs. “Oh! Look, she’s typing!”

Gigi feels a rush of dizzying panic at Nicky’s narration. She snatches her phone closer to her chest, doing her best impression of a chipmunk with a peanut. A glance down confirms, yes, Crystal really is typing out a response. Now that Crystal’s already seen it, it’s too late to unsend the message. God, she’s probably weirded out by the random request. Why did Gigi think bringing this up with Nicky was a good idea?

“Uh-uh, I don’t trust you anymore,” She scolds, voice only shaking a bit, as Nicky tries to peek over her shoulder. “You can sit there and if you’re lucky I’ll fill you in.”

Nicky huffs, pouting. “Putain.”

Gigi’s about to retort when Crystal’s typing icon disappears, and a message replaces it.

hi gigi :) of course!

Gigi fights the dumb smile that’s threatening to burst across her cheeks, hyper-aware of the fact that Nicky’s watching her intently. She can feel the french girl’s gaze on her, practically burning a hole through her ponytail and skull.

Crystal typed the message in lowercase— Gigi’s not sure why she finds that so endearing, but the detail lodges itself in her brain and Gigi files it under the mental list she’s begun to keep this semester. Little things about Crystal: she likes big earrings, her laugh sounds like liquid sunshine, her hair is a different colour every other week. And now, the newest addition, she types in lowercase.

The smiley face Crystal sent peers up at her.

Her phone pings again. how does tuesday sound? maybe at 3pm?

“Bitch, what’s happening?” Nicky asks, craning her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of their exchange.

A flash of annoyance shoots through Gigi. For some reason, she feels very protective of this little exchange. Nicky’s well-meaning, she knows, but she’s not quite ready to share Crystal yet. It feels kind of exciting to know that this… well, whatever this is, is just between the two of them.

“Nothing so far,” She says. Nicky seems to accept the answer, going back to reading a section in her textbook.

Sounds good. We can work in the Lane reading room if that works for you?

The response comes almost immediately. totally, yeah! see you then

Gigi tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of a smiley face this time around. Keyword: she tries to. But it’s hard to read the signs over a couple of text messages, and she re-reads the last text she sent. Did she do something wrong? Was it too formal? What does Gigi respond, now that she isn’t sure if Crystal just texts everyone smiley faces, or if the girl is flirting with her?

Gigi grabs a chocolate chip cookie and takes a bite, stalling. There are two chunks of chocolate in the mouthful. Gigi takes that as a good sign and decides to go for it.

Looking forward to it! See you then <3

She regrets adding on the heart as soon as she presses send, but there’s no way to take the message back now. Gigi settles on stuffing her face with the rest of the cookie in regret.

She waits a few excruciating seconds, but no response comes. Fuck, she shouldn’t have added that heart. Crystal must think she’s totally creepy. Gigi flips her phone facedown on the table and picks up those flashcards again.

Nicky sees her make like she’s going to continue studying and lets out a snort. “Good luck, girl.”

“Nice to know you have faith in me,” Gigi shoots back, chewing at her bottom lip.

Nicky’s right, though. She doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the half-hour they’re there, her mind too full of thoughts about study dates and smiley faces to focus on anything else.

***

“Ugh!” Gigi tosses another dress aside, falling back onto her bed dramatically. “Why is this so hard?”

Nicky looks up from her phone. “You’re the one that’s making it complicated.”

Gigi throws a pillow in her general direction and the blonde shrieks as it hits her. The impact makes her fall out the beanbag she’s currently sitting on with a loud thump.

“Merde, okay, I’ll help!”

“Thanks.” Gigi flashes a cheeky smile at her.

Nicky puts her phone down and contemplates murdering her friend. “What do you have so far?”

“Uh,” Gigi holds up a tweed dress. “This?”

Nicky can’t help it: a snort escapes her. “What are you, Blair Waldorf? That’s way too fancy.”

“Alright then, uh,” Gigi fishes around for a bit, before showing Nicky a floral two-piece. “What about this one?”

“Hell no, a set looks way too put together.” Nicky shakes her head. “You wanna creep her out?”

Ten minutes and half of Gigi’s closet later, they’ve finally settled on a winning combination: a leather jacket and Gigi’s favourite pair of jeans.

Nicky insists that she doesn’t need a bra under her mini cardigan, so Gigi rolls with it.

A little part of her is glad that Nicky’s so passionate about Gigi flashing Crystal her nipples: at least she will have someone to blame when this all ends in a train wreck because she’s coming on way too strong.

Also, the mental image of Crystal getting flustered— well, Gigi would be lying if she said it wasn’t convincing.

Gigi’s alarm goes off and she grabs her phone, groaning at the time. “Shit, I’m gonna have to power-walk there.”

“I’ll see you after then,” Nicky says, winking at her. “Have fun with your little crush!”

As it turns out, Gigi didn’t have anything to worry about, because Crystal is late. Gigi takes a seat by the windows, spreading out her stuff. She tries not to think too much about the girl she’s currently waiting for, occupying herself instead with watching the people outside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late!” A voice says. Gigi turns and comes face to face with Crystal. The girl slides into the seat next to Gigi, her smile a little sheepish. “Art History is on the other side of campus. I guess I didn’t give myself enough time to get here.”

“Oh, uh,” Gigi flounders, not sure where to look. Is it weird to look into Crystal’s eyes? That feels a bit too intimate. She settles for focusing on moving her pencil case from her left to her right. Crystal’s looking expectantly at her, and she swallows hard, trying to clear her mind of Crystal’s tanned skin and cute freckles.

“No worries!” Her voice comes out weirdly high-pitched and she cringes inwardly.

Crystal doesn’t seem to notice her strange behaviour, flashing her another sunny grin. “Okay! Is there a specific section you want help with?”

Right. Tutoring. That’s why Crystal is here. Not so Gigi can stare at her, and certainly not to get to know Gigi or anything like that. Gigi can’t help the pang of disappointment that she gets at the reminder. Part of her forgot this is strictly a school-related thing. Gigi suddenly feels stupid for overthinking her outfit and draws her jacket closer to herself. Hopefully Crystal doesn’t notice how dressed-up she is today, because Gigi doesn’t know if she’ll be able to survive that embarrassment.

“I’ve been having trouble with secondary dominants,” Gigi says, pulling out her workbook.

“Okay, yeah, I can help you with those!” Crystal grabs a pen. She leans over, tracing the chords with it. “Can I write on this?”

“Huh?” Gigi asks stupidly, cheeks warming. Crystal’s shoulder is pressed against hers, and although it’s perfectly innocent, Gigi’s still hyper-aware of the way her skin feels too warm from the contact. She tries to stay perfectly still, not wanting to spook the other girl into moving away from her position. “Oh, uh, go ahead, totally. That’s fine.”

“Right, great, so let’s use this question,” Crystal says, marking something down on the book.

She’s close enough to Gigi now that her perfume envelopes the space around them. She smells like honey and coconut, a warm mixture that Gigi finds comforting. A curl slips over Crystal’s shoulder, and the girl bats it away. Gigi almost melts at how cute the action is.

This week Crystal’s hair is a muted matcha colour, and Gigi thinks that it suits her. It’s the prettiest she’s ever seen Crystal. Then again, she thinks that every time Crystal walks into class with a new colour, so maybe it’s less of a testament to the colour itself and more to how utterly head-over-heels Gigi is.

“The key signature is A Major, and this chord starts on a C. So you can count down a fifth from C, and you get F, which means that the chord is an F Dominant Seventh,” Crystal explains. “Do you know what the next step is?”

“Um,” Gigi says eloquently, brought back from her daydream by the question. How long did she zone out for?

“Sorry,” Crystal says, tapping her pen on the workbook rapidly. “I lost you, didn’t I?”

“No, it’s okay, just,” Gigi chews at her lip nervously, then immediately regrets it because she definitely has lipstick on her teeth now. “Can you go over it again?”

Crystal nods. She takes a sharp inhale like she’s going to say something, but seems to change her mind, instead offering Gigi a reassuring smile. “Of course, yeah.”

Gigi shifts awkwardly in her seat at the action, unsure what Crystal’s thinking. She’s about to ask, or say something when Crystal jumps into the explanation again. Gigi tries her very hardest to pay attention this time, but she still finds herself staring at Crystal’s lips. They’re coated with a glittery red gloss, and they look so shiny and plump that Gigi really, really wants to kiss them.

“Wanna try one on your own now?” Crystal asks.

Gigi blinks. “What?”

Crystal sets her pen down, eyebrows raised. “Did you get any of that?”

“I, uh,” Gigi stammers, trying to find some way to save the situation. Her cheeks warm, and the realization that she’s blushing makes her even more flustered. “Sorry, I’m just really out of it.”

Crystal offers her a sympathetic smile, patting Gigi on the arm comfortingly. “Hey, you’ll be fine, okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m just worried, I guess.” That’s not it at all, but Crystal doesn’t need to know that.

“I won’t let you fail, promise,” Crystal says with a wink. Gigi can’t help but giggle at the action, and Crystal pokes her playfully. “You got this!”

“Thanks,” Gigi mutters, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth through a soft smile.

There’s a slight pause, both girls regarding each other with a hint of shyness. Gigi swallows thickly, eyes flicking around Crystal’s face. Her breath is coming quicker now, and she feels a bit lightheaded.

Crystal has picked up her pen again, nervously clicking it under the table. The sound is threatening to overpower Gigi’s already scattered thoughts. Gigi’s hand goes to cover hers out of instinct, to stop the rhythmic clicks. The back of Crystal’s hand is soft, and Gigi’s fingers loop lightly around her wrist, feeling the fuzz brush against her fingertips. Crystal stops clicking the pen, but Gigi doesn’t remove her hand.

Crystal takes another sharp inhale in, and Gigi thinks the girl is going to shake her hand loose. Nothing happens, though, and for the second time, Crystal seems to swallow her words.

Gigi’s mouth feels sticky, and she runs her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to get rid of the feeling. Crystal presses her lips together at the sight, and Gigi feels a wave of adrenaline so strong it almost knocks her flat. Every fibre in Gigi’s body wants to crash herself against Crystal. She wants to feel the lip gloss slathered on the other girl’s lips on her own, and to drape her arms over Crystal’s shoulders. Her clammy hands twitch as if they might truly act on the desire without Gigi’s approval, and she balls them into fists to suppress the urge.

“You look pretty today,” Crystal says, more air than sound to her words.

Gigi hums. “So do you. You always do.”

Another few moments of stillness. Gigi finds it surprisingly comfortable, existing in Crystal’s space. She focuses on the rise and fall of Crystal’s chest, subconsciously mirroring the pattern with her own breathing.

Crystal’s the braver of the two.

She makes the first move, flipping over their hands so that hers is on top and using that to tug the redhead closer to her. Gigi slides obediently forward in her seat, her legs slotting around Crystal’s. Crystal walks her fingers up Gigi’s arm, raising goosebumps as she gets higher and higher. A chill runs through Gigi’s body, and she regrets not wearing a bra for the second time today. She shifts, straightening her spine, and immediately has to bite back a whimper when she feels her nipples brushing against the knit of her cardigan. By the smirk on Crystal’s face, the moment hasn’t gone unnoticed. There’s a challenge in her eyes, and Gigi feels her throat close when Crystal’s hand brushes her cheek.

Fucking tease, Gigi wants to say, or maybe scream. Hurry up and kiss me.

But Gigi doesn’t, she just sits there and tracks Crystal’s movements with her eyes, and shivers when Crystal tucks a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, agonizingly slow.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Crystal asks, tilting her head in faux innocence.

Gigi bristles and feels her hands jerk impatiently in her lap. “Yes, fuck.”

But Crystal doesn’t let her get it that easily. She shakes her head, curls bouncing gently around her face. “No, say it.”

Gigi splutters something in between a curse and a laugh. The absolute nerve of this bitch. She doesn’t bother saying it again, just rolls her eyes lightly and leans in. Her patience has worn thin, and Crystal’s lips are too inviting to not feel them on hers right this moment.

Crystal ducks away and Gigi is left hanging there for a second, confused, before she opens her eyes with an annoyed huff. “You-”

“Say it,” Crystal repeats. The corners of her lips turn up slightly like she’s fighting a smile. Her hand goes to cup Gigi’s chin. “Wanna hear you say it, Geeg.”

Gigi literally feels her vision cloud over for a split second at the nickname.

Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but her blood is buzzing in her body and she swears everything has gone a bit fuzzy around the edges. In any normal circumstance, Gigi would probably be over this little game of cat and mouse. She could just kiss someone else. But this is Crystal Methyd in front of her, and that’s enough to make her decide to shelve her pride for now.

She wets her lips and whispers what Crystal wants to hear. “I want you to kiss me.”

Crystal narrows her eyes at Gigi, and for one terrible moment, Gigi thinks Crystal is going to find another excuse to deny her, that she’s going to pull away and tell her that this has all been some kind of cruel power play. But then Crystal’s closing the remaining distance between them, and Gigi takes a sharp shock of air in and has to blow the breath out in one great big rush because Crystal is finally, finally kissing her. It’s tender and soft, a bit more elementary school than anything, and it’s perfect.

Crystal pulls away before Gigi can slide even closer, and she whines unashamedly, shuddering out a shaky breath. Crystal’s hand brushes against Gigi’s chest as she lets it fall, and Gigi’s breath catches. This girl is going to be the death of her.

“Been waiting to do that for a while,” Gigi admits, still a bit breathless.

“I know,” Crystal says. There’s a pretty blush adorning the highs of her cheeks, still visible when she continues. “I was wondering when you’d work up the nerve to talk to me. You stare at me every class.”

“Bitch! I wasn’t that obvious,” Gigi defends.

Crystal just blinks at her. “No, you were obvious as fuck.”

“Oh.” Gigi feels heat blooming on her cheeks.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I know that?” Crystal prompts. Gigi still looks a little confused, so she continues. “I only noticed because I was watching you, too.”

“You liked me and didn’t make a move?” Gigi exclaims, hitting Crystal on the arm playfully.

“It was more fun to watch you struggle,” Crystal says, waggling her eyebrows.

“You suck.”

“If I kiss you again will you forgive me?” Crystal pulls an exaggerated sad face, clasping her hands together.

Gigi just snorts and closes the distance. Their lips mesh together softly, just as dizzying as the first kiss, and when she pulls away Gigi can still feel Crystal’s gloss on her lips. She smacks them together, trying to blend her own lipstick with the bright red goop.

“So. Do you think you can try a problem now, Miss Goode?” Crystal grins mischievously at Gigi.

“I don’t know, you’re quite distracting,” Gigi counters, a smile pulling at her lips.

Crystal just hums, pointing at a row of questions. “If you get three of those right in a row, I’ll kiss you some more.”

“On my own?” Gigi really would rather go on kissing Crystal.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun, we can make it a game!” Crystal sounds hopeful enough that Gigi finds herself wanting to keep her happy. “Please?”

“What, now you’re the one begging?” Gigi teases.

She picks up her pencil, getting to work. Something about this new studying strategy is more effective than anything she’s tried before, and before long, thanks to Crystal’s teaching (and the kisses peppered between each problem set,) Secondary Dominants make perfect sense.

Come test day, Gigi sits right next to Crystal, in the front row, and makes a respectable 82.

If Professor Visage notices the hand-holding and stolen glances they exchange in the following lectures, she doesn’t mention it. The professor just seems grateful that Gigi’s finally absorbing the content for once. And as for the extent of her knowledge of why Gigi is suddenly so motivated to come into her class every day, well, Visage’s knowing smile says it all.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #crygi #nicky doll #lesbian au #college au #fluff #mumu #concrit welcome #s12

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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years

Text

Eighteen Candles

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Word Count: 4,965

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, teenage angst

Tag List: @moonstruckhargrove @hotstuffhargrove @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hawkeyeharrington @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal @mickmoon @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe @baebee35

You’d been excited for weeks, and with good reason. A girl only turned eighteen once. And you were certain that your friends were throwing you a surprise party. How could they not? You’d thrown parties for Tina and Carol on their eighteenths and you were already planning one for Macy in July. They had to do the same for you, they loved you the same.

You’d hardly slept the night before, your favourite outfit laid out on your chair across from your bed and your alarm set fifteen minutes later than usual as a little gift to yourself. And when that alarm went off, you practically jumped out of bed. You’d never been excited for a school day in your life. You couldn’t keep the grin off your face, it was too infectious. It didn’t matter that the sky was grey and cloudy; you’d light up the whole town with your good mood.

“Y/N! Get up! You’re late!” you mother screamed from the bottom of the stairs, she sounded very annoyed. That wasn’t exactly the greeting that you were expecting, but you were technically late, so you didn’t think much of it. You hurried to get ready, humming along to your walkman as you unfurled the curlers from your hair, swiping blush onto your cheeks. You wanted to look your best because it made you feel your best and you refused to not have the best day.

You skipped downstairs, slinging your bag onto your shoulder. Your mother and brother were already at the door, about to head out. She looked you over with a sigh “You’re late, Y/N.”

You shrugged “Sorry, just give me two seconds and we’ll go.” You didn’t have your own car, purely because yours had crapped out a year after you bought it and you couldn’t afford the cost of fixing it. It sat on cinder blocks in your cousin Artie’s car lot, waiting for you to be able to cover the costs of having a specialist fix it. You didn’t necessarily adore being driven around by your mother, but there wasn’t much you could do about it at the moment, and it wasn’t as if she was going out of her way-she dropped off your little brother every day at Hawkins Middle, which were only steps away from Hawkins High.

Your mother sighed violently “No, you’ve already made us late enough. You can walk to school.” She snapped, pushing your brother out the door and into the dreary day, slamming the door behind her.

She didn’t wish you a happy birthday. It stung a little.

But she was mad, you rationalized, she probably just forgot in the heat of the moment, she’d remember later and apologize. For now, you just had to get your act in gear and get to school. You didn’t exactly mind being late today, you considered it a small treat for the week, so you took your time that morning.

But that was a mistake. The second you exited your street the rain came down in buckets. It was as if the heavens opened up to sing a harmonious and angelic ‘fuuuuuck yoooooou’ right onto your head. You didn’t have the time to run back home to get an umbrella or a raincoat, and the walk back wouldn’t be any dryer than the walk to school, even with the coat, so you suffered through every splash from passing cars and sink of your shoes into the mud. By the time you made it to school, you were shivering, your favourite thigh high tights absolutely soaked through and your hair dripping wet.

You practically rushed to your locker, your fingers fumbling over the lock until it clicked and you were able to pull the door open. You knew that you had a brush and a hair band in there, as well as your painter’s jeans from first semester art class, which were your saving graces of the day. You changed fast in the bathroom, just as the bell rang out, signalling the end of homeroom. You smiled to yourself, sure you missed homeroom, but Mr. Dixon’s math class was a bitch and he would’ve given you detention on the spot if you walked in late. Getting an absence on your report card wouldn’t be too terrible, you could explain it away. Missing Mr. Dixon’s class was a blessing.

And luckily, Carol and Tina were coming your way. Things were looking up.

You opened your locker again, grabbing your history textbook from inside before checking your makeup. The rain hadn’t washed everything away, although it had made a mess of your mascara. You used your pinkies to wipe away the goop pooling under your bottom lashes, smiling as it wiped away mostly clean. You wiped your hands on your jeans; it wasn’t as if they had to look nice anyway.

From the magnetic mirror stuck to your locker door, you saw Carol and Tina come up behind you. You turned fast, unable to hide your obvious excitement. But they didn’t look too happy to see you, in fact they both looked downright annoyed.

“Where were you this morning?” Carol snapped angrily, crossing her arms over her chest. She was wearing that lilac turtleneck again with the plum coloured suspenders. She looked like someone’s uncle grew boobs, which you wouldn’t usually go for, but she seemed to like.

“And what are you wearing?” Tina added, looking you over sceptically, her nose for fashion clearly offended by your jeans.

Your hands came to the ends of your wet hair, squeezing them uncomfortably “I woke up late, had to walk.” You explained “I got stuck in the rain and my tights were soaked, I would’ve caught my death if I kept them on and this is all I had to change into.”

Carol rolled her eyes and Tina scoffed loudly “You need to get your car fixed like asap.” She muttered, leaning against the lockers behind her. Tommy came up next to Carol and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the space between her jaw line and the edge of the sweater’s neckline. Behind him, Billy Hargrove stood, arms crossed over his chest, a toothpick clenched between his teeth, looking around the halls with a bored look.

This was a rare appearance.

Billy Hargrove ran in your circle, barely. He associated with them when he needed to or deigned to, so it seemed. He was trying so very hard to seem above everyone in your grade. And maybe, to some of your classmates, it was working; Carol and Tommy thought he was endlessly cool, Tina thought he was the sexiest man in the world. But you didn’t buy it. What you saw when he stood there was a guy staring off into space, trying to look cool, not allowing himself to be vulnerable in the slightest, surrounded by people who would think anything he said was super cool.

“So, what’re your plans for tonight?” you asked the group, trying not to appear too needy or desperate. You had to have a clue as to what they were doing for your birthday, so you could plan.

“It’s a Tuesday, Y/N...I’m gonna study for Dixon’s hell test on Friday.” Carol snapped, looking over her long red nails with utter disdain “Which you would’ve known about if you’d decided to grace up with your presence this morning.”

You stifled a sigh “I told you, I was late-” you tried, but the group had already moved on.

“I can totally help you study, babe,” Tommy said, nuzzling into Carol’s neck “But only if your parents aren’t home.”

Billy rolled his eyes at that comment and you couldn’t help but smirk. Your sentiments exactly. Tina was looking him over with utter lust in her eyes; it was a little embarrassing to watch. Of course, you’d been in her shoes before, although not over Hargrove. To be completely honest, you didn’t get the appeal. Sure, he was very pretty, but his laissez-faire attitude about everything was a bit of a turn off. You needed to know that there was more to him than that and, so far, nothing. He was exactly how he seemed, a very shallow pond with nothing growing at the bottom.

Carol smacked Tommy hard in the ribs “I can handle it myself...” she bit out through gritted teeth. Tommy held up his hands in defeat, backing up slowly.

He looked over to Billy with a smirk, leaning over to him “Fucking chicks, eh?” he joked with a crass chuckle. Carol’s eyes flared angrily, fire flashing behind her dull green eyes. Tina immediately reached out and touched her shoulder, shaking her head with an understanding look. Billy pulled a small smirk, nodding approvingly to Tommy. You had no proof of the meaning behind that look, but you guessed that Tommy had gotten all the affirmation he needed from Billy. He was right to think that women were utterly impossible. On the opposite side, Tina seemed to be telling Carol to ignore him, that he wasn’t worth it.

The bell rang above you, signally the start of your next classes. Tina’s pupils blew out and she let go of Carol, pushing into the still crowded halls “C’mon, Y/N, Crazy Krupke’s pop quiz!” she burst into a sprint down the halls. You stepped away from your locker, offering a feeble wave to the group, all of whom had free period that hour. They weren’t paying attention, but it wasn’t a big deal.

They hadn’t wished you a happy birthday. That stung a bit.

But maybe they were trying to make you think that they forgot so you’d be surprised for your party tonight. That would be smart. Maybe smarter than they were capable of, but you liked to give them the benefit of the doubt. You kept a positive outlook on the situation.

But that was hard to keep. The group abandoned you for lunch, each off in their own direction to bother different people. Tommy dragged Carol along to try to convince Steve Harrington of all people to throw a party for the upcoming break. Tina ran off with Macy to go to a prom committee meeting. And Billy Hargrove, well, you weren’t too focused on where he went. You ate lunch alone in the library, hiding in the shelves to not get caught eating in there, since that was against the rules. But that wasn’t too terrible, you’d done that before, and it was nice to get some of your work done.

But the rest of the day wasn’t any better. The group seemed to be avoiding you all day. They wouldn’t each lunch with you, they wouldn’t talk during class breaks, and Tina sped off after school before even offering you a ride, like she usually did. But all of this fell perfectly into the elaborate plan you’d imagined them making. They couldn’t just be assholes. They weren’t assholes most of the time. You wouldn’t have started hanging out with them if they were.

You got caught in the rain again on your walk to work, which while wasn’t intensely far, was just far enough away to cause you to get absolutely soaked through again. You worked at the local library, which you considered to be a blessing since the place was quiet and most people didn’t bother you. Luckily for you, they even had some leftover fundraiser shirts, which one was easily given to you to wear home. And while you weren’t happy to be working on your birthday, it was nice to just be surrounded by sweet old ladies and quiet, fat babies. It was nice. And your manager, Roberta, cut your shift early, a rare blessing from her. She even lent you an umbrella to walk home with, which you were insanely grateful for, since the rain didn’t seem to stop for you.

The day was really starting to bog you down. You were cold and tired and damp, so very damp. You were going to wake up with a cold in the morning, you just knew it. But it would all be worth it when you walked into your surprise party. You spent your walk home practising your surprised faces, the excitement in the pit of your stomach building as the sun set behind you during your walk, the streetlights slowly turning on during your walk. Turning onto your street, you took a deep breath, looking around the area. You didn’t see Tina or Tommy’s cars parked on the road, but that would be good planning. You made your way up the street, trying not to run or skip, to give them the time to finish any last minute set up.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you made your way up your driveway, every step faster than the last till you were running up to your front steps, skipping up them till you were at your front door. The warm light from your dining room was pooling out of the window through the shut blinds. The whole house seemed lit up and comforting, as if the house was full again, instead of it just being you and your parents. Your hands fumbled for your keys and you stabbed them into the lock, your hands shaking as you turned the key, pulling open the door and letting the sound of loved ones wishing you a happy birthday.

Except, none came.

You crept slowly into your house, peering around corners to find exactly none of your friends. Your parents were in the dining room, unaware that you’d even arrived, your little brother picking at his food.

Nobody had shown up. Nobody had done anything for you. All your friends were somewhere else, having fun without you. A wave of disappointment washed over you, soaking into your skin and making you sick to your stomach, like heat stroke. Your body felt sticky with sweat, your stomach filled with shame. Why on earth would you think that they would do anything for you? God, you’d gone to them for comfort after your little friend group fell apart. Sure, you, Samantha Baker, Tammy Thompson, and Robin Buckley didn’t have much in common by the end, but losing Barb was just the icing on a crumbling cake. And Carol and Tina, they were there for you, they invited you into their shitty, bitchy little circle with open arms and false smiles. And you trusted them. But they didn’t care about you, they didn’t put in the same work towards your friendship that you did. And that was the thing that broke your heart, that your friends just didn’t care that much.

“Y/N, you’re late come and eat.” Your mother snapped, gesturing to your open chair, food already piled onto your plate. You bit back a sigh, trudging into the dining room and plopping down in your chair.

As if today could guess any worse. Beef Stroganoff. You fucking hated beef stroganoff; it was like someone ate beef and liquid diarreahed it onto some egg noodles. It was salty and terrible. Your mother always made it when she was bored of cooking. Usually, you’d offer to take over for the night to give her a break. You make pizza or spaghetti and meatballs and your mother would take a nap. It was a win-win. But working on a weekday proved to be your failure.

You pushed the food around your plate, waiting for something-someone to ask about your day, to crack a joke, god to fucking wish you happy birthday. But nothing. Everyone just ate in silence. It was crushing.

Your mother broke the silence with an aggravated sigh “Y/N, can you please just eat? You’re setting a bad example for your brother.”

“I’m really not in the mood for beef stroganoff...” you replied, letting out a sharp breath through your nose.

Your mother clicked her tongue angrily “I have had a very bad day, Y/N, can you please not make it worse?” she asked, obviously annoyed.

That was it. That was your breaking point. You dropped your fork on the table, looking up to finally meet her eye. “Oh, you’ve had a bad day?” you asked, your lips curling into a sneer “You?”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother.” Your father said boredly, not bothering to even acknowledge the scene.

That didn’t stop you, you were too mad. “It’s my fucking birthday.” Recognition filled your mother’s eyes as her mouth opened slightly.

You pressed on “It’s my god damn eighteenth birthday and nobody remembered. You forgot, he forgot, dork breath over here forgot. Everybody fucking forgot. My friends forgot. And the universe decided to shit on me too, I got rained on all day-I’m freezing still from the walk TO school. My friends ignored me, you ignored me, everyone at work ignored me and all I wanted to do when I came home was hear ‘happy birthday, Y/N’ it’s all I fucking wanted. So, no, I don’t wanna eat beef stroganoff and hear about your bad day, because it cannot top mine.”

“Y/N, apologize to your mother.” Your father snapped. Your mother was still in shock, but your father seemed to have caught on to the situation and was fuming. You didn’t care. You knew no matter what happened, you were going to get your ass beat later, but for now you had an ounce of power.

You pushed yourself out of the chair, standing up and stalking to the doorway “Fuck this shit.” You snapped back, shoving your shoes into your feet and marching outside, slamming the door behind you.

You didn’t exactly know where you were going, but out was better than in the house, so you started the walk down to the Hawkins woods. Maybe you’d get eaten by a wolf or kidnapped like that Byers kid. That would really be perfect. Then you could disappear and they’d regret it.

You hiked up to the quarry in peaceful silence. The rain had finally stopped and everything smelt like wet grass and pine wood. It had gotten significantly darker, but you weren’t afraid of it, you welcomed the danger those woods could offer. Sitting by that little pool of murky, gross water, you felt calm again. Everything was still fucked up, but sitting alone made it easier. You let the tears brimming in your eyes finally spill out, small sobs breaking through your throat.

You didn’t sense the headlights coming up behind you till you heard the car stop. You jumped to your feet, still crying, as you threw up your dukes. You couldn’t imagine how insane you looked, face streaked with mascara, red and blotchy from crying, ready to fight. The driver’s side door creaked open and you heard the sound of the driver’s shoes before you saw them. Lit from the front, the annoyed and bewildered Billy Hargrove flicked a cigarette at your feet.

“What cha doing out here, Y/N?” he asked in an almost sing-song tone. You dropped your fists, groaning loudly towards the sky.

“Just trying to enjoy some alone time here.” You sighed. Billy sauntered up to you, looking you up and down with a sly expression.

“You’ve been crying.” He hummed.

“What’s it to ya?” you shot back. Billy wrapped an arm around your shoulders, which was unexpected but you didn’t exactly pull away, if only because he was so warm and you still were freezing. He led you over to his car and gestured for you to sit down on the hood. You did so and Billy followed.

“Alright, what happened?” he asked, looking over the quarry.

You furrowed your brow “Since when do you care?”

Billy shrugged “I’m bored. You gonna tell me or what?”

You sighed, closing your eyes slightly “Everyone forgot my birthday.”

Billy nodded “Yeah, I could tell you were waiting for them to say something this morning, couldn’t figure out what but that-that makes sense.” You took in a hard, shaky breath, wrapping your arms around your stomach to anchor yourself. “Your parents too?” you nodded. Billy chuckled darkly, shaking his head with this look of silent understanding that you found both distressing and oddly comforting. “But I mean why didn’t you mention it to them?”

“What? And look like a desperate loser?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and begging for tears not to fall from them.

“So, instead, you sat around and got upset?” Billy asked. You felt his eyes burning into the side of your face, but you refused to look at him.

“Look, I never said it was logical.” You huffed dramatically. Billy chuckled; pulling his pack out of his pocket, sliding a cigarette between his teeth and flicking open his lighter.

Billy chuckled before hopping off the hood. Without a word, he slid off the hood and sauntered over to his still ajar door. You kept your eyes on the water in the quarry and silently prayed that Billy didn’t try to drive off with you still on the hood. He came back though, to your relief, and took his seat next to you.

He handed you a sealed plastic bag, which you took sceptically. You examined it in dim light from below you. Sour gummy worms. You turned to Billy with a curious look “Secret sweet tooth?” you asked, pulling open the thick plastic and taking a worm out carefully, dropping it into your mouth.

Billy scoffed “Max left them in my car.” His voice cracked on the end. You weren’t certain, but you had a hunch that he was lying. You shrugged it off though, offering the bag to him. He grabbed about three from the bag, shoving them all into his mouth and proving your theory on the sugar thing.

“Well, thanks,” you sighed softly, dropping your head into your hands “Guess this is all I’m getting for my birthday...”

“Don’t give up hope on ‘em.” Billy grumbled, digging his fist into the bag once again, pulling out more of the candy and shoving it into his gaping maw. He’d given up on the cigarette, tossing it into the mud to burn out in the damp sand.

You sighed bitterly “But its so easy to...I mean if I just say that they suck then I don’t have to have any expectations for them again.”

Billy shrugged “Having less expectations is good, makes for more surprises.”

You chuckled “Oh yeah? Like what?” it was a leading question and you knew it, but you wanted to see what Billy was going to pull out of his ass to impress you. You weren’t surprised when he grabbed your chin and pressed his lips to yours. What was surprising was that it wasn’t the aggressive, attention grabbing, tongue filled kiss he’d usually pull with other girls. He was soft and careful; he held your face like it was something precious and his lips brushed your delicately. It was nice, his lips tasted like sour sugar from the candies with a hint of Vaseline, which you assumed was some sort of ChapStick. You weren’t surprised that Billy took care of his appearance, although it was a bit of a treat to kiss a boy whose lips weren’t sandpaper against yours.

You pulled away first with a smirk, which Billy didn’t share. He looked...surprised? Confused maybe, the look was one of sheer confliction. You didn’t question it. And when he offered to drive you home, you let him, sitting in the cigarette perfumed interior and letting him blast Slayer into your ears until you were sure that they’d bleed. He dropped you off without a word, leaving you feeling about as confused as he looked. You headed inside to face the worst of the wrath from your parents with your head held high.

To your surprise, they weren’t waiting for you. You’d been given the blessing to creep upstairs and go to bed. But before you could turn off your light and try your best to fall asleep, the door cracked open, your mother on the other end. Wordlessly, she stepped in, taking a seat on the end of your bed.

“Your father isn’t too pleased with you.” She said softly. Your little brother’s room was next to yours, connected by a wall. You sat up a bit in bed, not pretending to feel guilty for your actions. You opened your mother to defend yourself, but your mother cut in again “I don’t need you to say anything, I understand.”

That was not what you expected. Maybe the whole have fewer expectations thing really could work. She continued “I’m sorry we forgot sweetie, I really am. I know this one was a big milestone birthday and I feel awful that we didn’t remember. I know you know things have been really hectic around here, with your father starting a new job, and I want you to know that we’re very appreciative of what you do to help. And to show that, we’re just gonna pay to get your car fixed, okay?”

Your whole face lit up. Car payments weren’t even on the table for gifts, you were certain it was too expensive. “Really?” you asked softly, unsure if your mother was joking or not.

She grinned “Really. No more walking in the rain.” You burst out of bed, wrapping her in a giant hug. Your mother laughed, returning it with equal fervour. It was nice, a small bit of bonding with your mother, something that rarely happened anymore. You went to sleep peacefully that night.

You weren’t expecting anything when you went into school the next day. It was a Friday; everyone was focused on getting through the day to make it to the weekend. You were no exception. You were finally getting your car back; your father had gone to pay for the tow truck and the mechanic’s shop to fix the damn thing that morning. Anything else was tertiary.

But, to your shock, a large group of kids were standing around your locker. It wasn’t anywhere near the size of your graduating class, but it was at least fifteen kids. Carol, Tina, and Macy stood in the front. Tina had a cupcake in her hands as Macy struggled to get a lighter to work to light the big pink candle in the centre of the thick, green icing. You spotted Tommy, grumbling in the back, arms crossed tightly over his argyle sweater. He had a huge black eye that spread over his right cheekbone and eyebrow. Samantha was in the back as well, with a smirk pulled on her black lips. Tammy Thompson and Robin Buckley were tittering between themselves behind Carol, who angrily shushed them.

You walked up to the group tentatively. All at once, the group screamed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!” the group started into the birthday song, everyone off key and cringing as they realized just how long the song really was. Macy lit the candle and Tina held out the sickly sweet looking treat to you. You took it awkwardly, blowing out the candle and holding it up with a nod. The group dispersed almost immediately.

“My birthday was yesterday…” you said to the remaining group. Carol and Tina looked between one another awkwardly. They seemed shocked by the information.

“We know!” Macy blurted. Carol and Tina snapped their heads around to look at her, nodding for her to go on with an excited, desperate expression. “We wanted to surprise you and this seemed like the best way to do it!”

Tina nodded fast “Exactly! We wouldn’t forget.”

You smirked, nodding slowly as you looked around the hallway. When you spotted Billy hiding behind the wall of lockers, trying to look casual, you smiled. Without a word, you left the group in the dust, marching over to Billy. He met your eye as you stepped up to him. You held out the cupcake “You want this?” you asked.

Billy raised an eyebrow quizzically “It’s your weird birthday thing.” He replied, trying to sound bored.

You shrugged “I don’t want it.” Billy paused before taking it, practically ripping the wrapper off.

You chuckled “How on earth do you keep your arms while devouring that sugary shit?” you asked as he took a monstrous bite, bright green icing sticking to the tip of his nose.

“I work out.” His mouth was far too full for his words to be understood. You cringed at the sight of mushed food in his mouth. Billy closed his mouth fast, swallowing hard. “Sorry…” he mumbled.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” You replied.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean that…scene. You didn’t have to do that.” You scuffed your shoes on the dirty linoleum. In truth, the scene was slightly embarrassing. A half assed surprise with a cheap grocery store cupcake and awkward singing. It had made you want to run away, but of course it was obviously for you, so you’d had to stay.

Billy shrugged “You were upset, didn’t bother me to beat up Tommy about it.”

“Since when do you care?” you asked genuinely. Billy barely paid attention to anything, much less you. You didn’t think that he even liked you till last night.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re the only decent person in that group.” Billy replied simply, pushing himself off the lockers.

“Thanks?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Billy chuckled “You’re welcome.” The warning bell for first period rang out from above you. “Come on, I’ll walk you to class.” Billy never offered to walk anyone anywhere. You took the walk without question. You were trying not to have any expectations anymore, why have any about Billy? You just decided to enjoy the company and silence and try to not obvious want more.

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deuynndoodles · 4 years

Text

a new oneshot is up! read on ao3 or click read more

end of the beginning by deuynndrabbles

Then Fenton rummages through his bag, pulling out a . . . Thermos? He presses a button on the green-accented metallic canteen, and the ghost that entered is sucked into the thermos. Danny Fenton hasn’t looked up from his test at all.

The alarm cuts off.

Foley bursts out in laughter at the expressions on the other students. Manson offers a quick thumbs up on the opposite side of Fenton, barely suppressing her giggles as well.

(aka 5 times danny was a cryptid/super weird and one time people were really weird to him)

2.8k | oneshot

Star hates the cafeteria food.

Though the fact that said food is glowing, has sharp white teeth, and flying is probably enough to make anyone not want to eat a hot dog ever again in their entire life.

She dumps the food off her tray and swings it at the floating hot dogs. When Star turns around, she sees that everyone else is doing the same. Even Sam Manson, who is usually stoic and reserved when ghosts are around. To be fair to her, the meat sticks are chewing at the edges of the brunette’s hair.

Star takes a deep breath and readies herself. She pulls out a pocket-knife from her pocket (don’t you dare ask her what she’s doing with it, have you heard of creeps?) and flicks it open, swiping all the hot dogs surrounding in half. A good dozen of them fall to the ground limply, but they are still glowing brightly.

Why is the food ecto-contaminated, anyway? How the fuck did that happen?

In the corner of her eye, the blonde sees Danny Fenton enter the cafeteria. He leans his head back, exhausted, and she hears him say, “Oh no, not again.”

It’s the last word that caught her. That insinuates that this has happened before to him. What happens next is even more weird- all of the food drops to the floor, losing their ectoplasmic glow. There’s a collective gasp of relief from every mouth in the room, including Star.

The girl turns to Fenton. She’s sure she is the only one looking at him, and he returns her gaze. What startles her is that his eyes are glowing a toxic green instead of their regular sky blue. Star blinks and then it’s gone.

The boy then walks up to a hot dog that’s sitting on one of the student’s trays, popping it in his mouth and then leaving. Star tilts her head, watching the boy.

She must have just been seeing things, surely.

•

Edward Lancer is a teacher, and a fairly good one at that. He’s had many students, far too many to count and he unfortunately doesn’t remember everyone’s name. There is definitely one name he’ll never forget though-

And that name is Danny Fenton.

Edward always sees the brunet walking around with his best friends if he can help it, a wide grin on the young boy’s face as Tucker Foley makes a remark that he can’t hear. Whenever he sees the boy he hides a smile and continues on doing whatever he’s doing, may it be repeating a word in the shakespearean novel for the umpteenth time to his confused class, or simply washing his hands in the bathroom.

To be fair, the reason the boy sticks in his memory isn’t because of his grades. Yes, the boy is brilliant when he tries, but it is not the purpose that the words “danny fenton” are always on his mind. No, it’s because of how quirky the boy is.

This is what he thinks when his class is taking a test, all scribbling furiously. Some are chewing on the eraser of their pencil, a few of the girls are twirling their hair around their finger in thought, and Fenton is almost glaring at his paper as if it personally offends him. The boy licks his lips and scribbles a quick answer on the second page of the quiz, proud of himself.

Then the ghost alarm goes off.

A blue-skinned ghost in denim overalls phases through the window, bringing his hands up in a mock-scary way that actually causes some of the kids to scream.

“Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, calm down students!” Edward says before he can stop himself. To be fair, he’s slightly scared himself.

The alarm cuts off.

Foley bursts out in laughter at the expressions on the other students. Manson offers a quick thumbs up on the opposite side of Fenton, barely suppressing her giggles as well.

Edward opens his mouth to ask what that is about, and where is the fear that Fenton usually shows when there was a ghost before running off, when the bell rings and the boy just runs up, blurts a quick “Done! Bye Mr. Lancer” before running off with his friends as if he hasn’t just did the weirdest thing ever.

One of his students starts off with a “What the fu-” before Edward gives him a look. Honestly though, that’s the same thing he’s wondering right now.

Dash is going to teach Fentoenail a lesson.

This dodgeball game is a perfect chance to do that. All of the A-Listers on his team, and the losers on Fenton’s team, there’s no possible way Dash could lose. There are jocks he doesn’t know the name of on his team, and the girls are cheering for him on the side of the gym; this is perfect.

At the beginning of the game, it’s Fenton’s little girlfriend who starts. The brunette leans to the floor, holding the ball securely in her hands, and throws. It hits one of the boys in the back on his thigh, and Dash claims war.

The blond takes a dodgeball from the floor while everyone else does at the same time, and suddenly balls are flying everywhere. He distinctly hears Paulina complain about a ball missing her just by a foot at least twice, but he ignores it in favor of getting more hits in. He rushes about the gym, not slipping in the slightest.

However, Fentina is a different story. The puny little boy has horrible footwork, slipping every time he tosses a ball which constantly throws off his aim. He’s huffing with every breath, slowing down every ten seconds. Dash takes the chance to throw his current ball at the heaving brunet.

Dash has no idea how fast the ball is going, but he can see it blurring in motion. Fenton turns around, seeing the ball. The jock waits for the ball to hit him in the nose, the specific spot that he aims for.

Fenton catches it.

He has his palms out, catching the ball cleanly. The boy narrows his eyes and squares in on Dash. Dash doesn’t care, it’s not like Fenturd can actually hit him; the catch is just beginner’s luck.

He’s proven wrong when the ball hits him straight in the face, and he’s forced to leave the game.

“You’re dead, Fenturd!”

•

Mikey is a nerd. That’s the simple truth everyone about him knows, no one wanting to look further. He’s bullied often, no one daring to help him in favor of staying on the A-Listers’ good side. The redhead also knows that Danny Fenton is a nerd, and because of this the boy is bullied as well. He doesn’t dare help him though; if he does, then he’ll take the bullying upon himself.

Yes, a little cowardly, he knows. This is why he simply stands by when Dash shoves Danny in his locker for the sixth time this week. (It’s Tuesday.) Mikey gulps and turns to his own locker, placing his math textbooks in. He walks to his next class on shaky feet.

He hears some rattling as he passes by the boy’s locker room to retrieve his change of clothes, and he inhales to calm himself down. If it’s a ghost, Danny Phantom has surely fought it off, right? He inhales again, this time it is more effective.

He realizes that as he was breathing, everyone in his gym class has come into the locker room as well. He grabs his clothes out and slams the locker door closed, which is lost in the chatter of all the other teenage boys.

A boy opens his locker a few feet away from him.

“Fenton?”

Dash turns his head at the noise, ignoring Mikey. He lets out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding; but then startles as Danny waves at one of the jocks, suddenly all the way on the other side of the school when no one has seen him come out of the locker.

Mikey blinks twice, and then pulls his shirt off. He is still confused, but he needs to get dressed so that he could sweat all over the floor and hear the whistle of Tetslaff telling him to “pick up the pace!” He sure as hell didn’t like it, but he needs one more year of physical ed before he could take the classes he wants to take.

The fact that Danny had somehow teleported is on his mind for the rest of the day.

•

Tucker Foley is tired.

After helping Danny fight ghosts up until 3AM last night, it’s understandable. His teachers don’t know it, though, which doesn’t help in the slightest if he’s startled awake every other minute.

Tucker glances over at Danny, who looks even worse than he did. Danny slumps over on his desk, his fist slipping off of his face. The brunet’s face slams against the desk, and he jolts up; fully awake for a few seconds before the cycle repeats.

And as perfect compensation, of course the ghost alarm decides to go off right then and there.

Tucker bites his lip. Danny is half-asleep, there’s hardly anything he could do fighting-wise. The boy sees a wisp of cold air blow out of the other’s mouth, and he barely acknowledges it.

Tucker reaches into his bag and pulls out his personal Fenton Thermos, ready to suck up a ghost. The boy glances out the window, and braces for impact.

Tucker doesn’t have Danny’s ghost sense, so he has absolutely no possible way of knowing who it is. To be fair, Danny probably doesn’t either, but he knew the ghosts better than he did. The boy leans over, shaking the other tired boy.

“Danny, time to go ghost!” Tucker says as Danny grumbles. “C’mon, Danny. I’ll cover ya, just go!”

Danny raises his hand and Mr. Lancer gives them both a look, but lets Danny leave. Tucker smiles nervously, worried about the halfa. He sits stiffly, waiting, and once nobody has their eyes on him he bolts out the door with the Thermos.

•

Sam is quick to follow. She rushes out the door and outside to see the ghost boy trading blows with Spectra. The goth bites her lip nervously and bates her breath, lost in time. The only thing she can see is the two battling ghosts.

Danny is clearly too exhausted to come up with any quips, his eyes tired and his mouth sagging into a frown. He throws another punch again, but misses by at least a foot as the other ghost kicks him right in between the shoulderblades.

Sam is suddenly aware of the crowd of people surrounding her on all sides, pressing her in so she can no longer see the boy. She elbows herself to the front, and shouts out to Danny,

“Use your Ghostly Wail!”

It is the only logical thing right now. Danny’s getting more and more clumsy, and if he aims an ectoblast it’s likely he’ll burn a tree instead of his enemy. The white-haired teen glances back at Sam, an expression on his face that probably means you sure? Sam responds silently, her face pleading, do it.

Danny inhales deeply, and Wails. Spectra is blown back from the force. Everyone in the crowd cover their ears, including Sam. The girl rushes forward to where Danny has stumbled in midair, and then he starts falling to the ground.

His transformation rushes over him, and he falls immediately to the ground, unconscious.

Sam gasps, this is the one thing she didn’t think of. She tries to block him from sight, but everyone else has already seen.

The brunette gulps.

There’s immediate chatter, but Sam ignores it completely. Tucker comes out of the crowd and helps Sam carry Danny inside after he captures Spectra, his sneakers dragging on the floor. The conscious boy turns to the girl, his mouth opening.

“Yeah, I know. Shut up.”

Admittedly, Tucker hasn’t spoken a word. But Sam just knows that he’s going to rant on and on in panic; and she wants to stop that because if he starts, he will never stop.

“Wait.”

The two turn around to see Dash of all people. Sam glares at him, spitting out the words, “Whadd’ya want, asshole?”

Dash looks at his feet and shifts them. It’s very uncharacteristic of him. “I wanna help.”

Sam’s face must’ve changed, because then Tucker looks at her and blanches. “That’s a scary look, dude. When’s the last time you smiled at Dash?”

Sam ignores the boy’s remark, instead giving the blond a stiff nod. Dash nervously walks forward and takes the unconscious halfa by the chest, throwing him over his shoulder as gently as possible. Sam takes the chance to run back to the classroom, and pulls her emergency first aid kit out of her bag. She doubts she’ll need it, but she doesn’t know the full damage Danny sustained.

Dash enters the room and plops him in his assigned chair. Sam turns to Tucker, not believing she is going to say this.

“Ya wanna do the honours?”

And Tucker smirks, licking his finger and sticking it in the unconscious boy’s ear.

•

Danny startles awake, pushing Tucker’s hand away. “Fucking gross, dude! Why’d you even do that?”

Both Tucker and Sam look at him with an expression he can’t place. The brunet tilts his head. For some reason, it is kinda ominous.

“M’sorry.” The voice is harsh and masculine, the words almost sounding ungeniune. But it’s because the person doesn’t like saying sorry, no that they aren’t sorry.

It isn’t Tucker who said that. The voice comes from behind him, and he blinks. He turns around, unaware of Sam making the cut it out gesture with braced teeth. When he sees Dash, he’s understandably confused.

“Wait, what?” He must’ve heard that wrong.

“I’m sorry for bullying you.”

Danny just pauses. There’s no other way to explain it. He reboots with one sentence immediately out of his mouth.

“Why the fuck is Dash apologizing?”

Sam inhales, her chest rising and slumping like it’s a burdensome task. She stares at the floor, unsure. Danny finds it startling to see the girl looking so awkward; first Dash, now Sam?

“Y’know Spectra?”

He recalls that he just blew Spectra away with his Ghostly Wail, and he furrows his eyebrows. “Yeah, what about her?”

“Well. . .”

Tucker interrupts. “Remember when Sam said to use your Wail?” He’s rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Yeah? What about it?” Danny asks

You may or may not have transformed back. And it may or may have not been in front of the whole school.”

“What?”

Tucker shamefully pulls his beanie over his eyes so he can’t make eye contact. “Sorry, dude.”

Danny throws himself back. “That’s it. I’m ruined,” he groans.

There’s a creaking sound, and then Dash reappears in his line of sight. The jock looks unsure, before he says, “I’m sorry,” yet again with his voice cracking in the middle of the o.

This entire thing is unreal. Is Danny dreaming? He pinches himself on the cheek and moans in pain.

I’m sorry, this isn’t a dream."

Tucker is the one to break the ice with a quip. “I mean, at least it wasn’t on live TV.”

Sam eyes him, judging the boy. “Don’t jinx it.”

“Oh shit.” The words have finally sunken in for Danny. He holds his head, hunching over his chair with a distressed expression.

“Well,” Tucker shrugs, “we can always worry about it tomorrow?”

As he hears a stampede come down the hall (likely searching for him) he reaches over and grabs his friends, tiredness forgotten. He taps into his core and tugs, invisibility flickering over the trio.

Dash blinks at air where three people were just standing, before recovering. “I’ll hold them off, get out’a here.”

Danny grabs his backpack as the other two do the same.

“But. They’re gonna want an explanation, Fenton. So ya better give it to them tomorrow.” Leaving the and me unspoken.

Danny pauses, speaking before he could stop himself. “Thanks, Dash. I owe ya one.”

Dash has seemed to finally return to his senses, finally saying a characteristic sentence. “Ya sure fucken do.”

Danny bites his lip, he knows that the students will eventually reach this room. He activates his intangibility, spreading across Sam and Tucker as well, and walks through the wall.

And if he gets regular ice cream cones for him and Tucker (Sam wants vegan) leaving the money in the cash machine, no one is there to judge him for it.

#oneshot #my fics #drabbles

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mysweetestcreature · 5 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 10: Not a Bad Thing

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat!)

***

Monday November 24, 2008

It’s been days since they’ve had a normal conversation...or any decent form of communication for the matter. This past week had consisted of multiple attempts (on her part) to talk to him, but each time he’d make up some excuse to cut all dialogue short. “My mum’s waiting for me outside, maybe next time?” or “I’m actually late for practice, but I’ll catch up with you later,” but of course he never did. Beyond her comprehension is how she had managed to mess everything up so badly in so little time.

Eleven minutes.

Harry had arrived eleven minutes after she had accepted Jasper’s invitation. There’s nothing she can say that can justify why she’d done it because even she isn’t so sure. Maybe she was scared. She’d been so hopeful about where this friendship with him would lead them once before, and it had costed her the first heartbreak of her life. The biggest part of her wanted so badly to wait for Harry to ask her, but a small yet seemingly influential nerve had let her insecurities take over.

She wishes she hadn’t cared so much about what other people had thought, and instead used her own judgement. She hadn’t realized just how difficult it would be for their roles to be reversed, and she only has herself to blame for it.

“I wish you’d stop stressing,” Cici tells her as they do their warmup stretches. “I doubt he’ll be able to stay mad at you for much longer.”

“You might be wrong for once,” she smiles sadly, facing down to stare numbly ahead as she reaches for her toes.

Once she and Harry had parted (or more accurately, when Harry had left her standing ashamed in the hallway), Cici had found her sitting on the floor beside her locker, a somber expression painted all over her face.

“I messed up,” is all she had mustered up in that moment of fragility, dejected eyes having fallen into her lap. And Cici –– who had already passed an equally, if not more, crestfallen boy on her way to find Y/n –– was readily equipped with her words of enthusiasm, even if she was quite disappointed in the turnout of the day. “You made one mistake –– it doesn’t make you a bad person.” Doesn’t it, though?

Cici scoffs as she tightens her ponytail. “I am many things, but I am never wrong,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone –– almost arrogantly, if you ask Y/n –– before standing up and brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. “It’s not in my vocabulary.”

“But it’s in mine, apparently,” her lips curve down.

“I didn’t mean it like–”

“I know.” She rises to her feet. “It was a stupid decision and I wish I could redo it, but I can’t now. He can barely stand to be in the same room as me for more than a class period. He hasn’t dropped by the Home Ec. Room in who knows how long, and I haven’t been able to make a decent pumpkin pie since. Me? Screw up a pie? That doesn’t happen! This weekend I typed out twenty-seven texts that I never sent. Twenty-seven, Cici! Who does something like that?! All saying the same thing, that I like him so much that it makes my heart go crazy, and how it hurts that he might think otherwise because I’m going to this stupid dance with someone who’s not Harry and it fucking sucks!”

It leaves her chest to heave heavily, and her lungs to feel completely depleted of any oxygen. With an outburst like that, she’s managed to surprise herself. And while conversations amongst the other cheerleaders continue, it feels like she’s once again in the spotlight as the heat creeps up her neck and settles on her forehead and the apples of her cheeks.

Cici stands in front of her, eyes rounded in astonishment and mouth hung open wide. Her eyes quickly dart down at her arm.

“You’ve never cussed before, I literally just got chills!”

A smile slowly reemerges. “It felt good,” she admits, and she breathes out in relief as her shoulders feel lifted from at least a portion of the weight that had been set upon them. “I’ve been holding that one in.”

“No, that was totally clear.”

A restful silence falls upon them, and Y/n makes it an opportunity to reflect on the upcoming days. She needs to fix this and salvage whatever she can before they permanently fall apart. Hating to sound dramatic, but she has a strong feeling that if they can’t recover from this, then it could be over for good.

And that’s just not in the cards.

“I’m going to tell him.”

***

Tuesday November 25, 2008

“Got any plans for Thanksgiving?” Maxxie asks him.

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, staring down at his jumbled pile of flashcards on his desk. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about it constantly because it had been toying with his mind for the better part of the weekend. “You could say that, I guess.”

The answer, in all its vague glory brings about an amused grin from the boy across from him. Maxxie leans over the table and goes as far to lift his hips off the chair just invade his personal space. “What was that tone?” he gawks, wiping the cards off the surface of the table.

“Well...” he starts off timidly (a bit of annoyance mixed in because he’s going to have to clean up the mess later), and a small burp erupts from the back of his throat as a sign of his mild discomfort. “I was sort of...maybe...actually invited to...” but the tail of the sentence is nearly undecipherable to the human ear.

Maxxie squints his blue eyes across from him. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch all of it.”

Blowing out the air from his lungs, Harry’s head falls back so all he has to focus on are the dull cracks in the ceiling. Part of him still doesn’t believe it, or rather hadn’t thought it an admissible option given the recent events. He pokes his inner cheek outwards before letting out a tired groan. “We’re spending it with Y/n’s family, okay? There, I said it.”

“You’re bluffing!”

Harry whistles out a breath. “Not today, mate,” he chortles, rubbing the base of his palm against his left eye. “Jeremy literally asked my mum the day after...well, you know.”

“Are you going to be able to manage it?” there’s a weariness in Maxxie’s voice.

But honestly, Harry doesn’t know. Yes, he’s still broken up about the whole thing. Yet, the hardest part is being next to her and feeling as though he’s missed every chance that he’s had at being hers. Because he’s sure it’ll take him a long time before he’s over her, and that’s what hurts the most.

***

On Day 6, Pattern D finds itself at ten in the morning, the third class of the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break. To Y/n it’ll be the first class she has with Harry, meaning another chance to get things straightened out between them. Now that their positions are reversed, she feels even worse about having treated him so harshly the month before when there had been a hefty cloak of uncertainty to keep things understandably complicated.

Just as Mr. Daughtry’s door comes into sight, her path is intercepted by a body suddenly appearing before her.

“Hey, you!” Jasper greets her with a bright grin. There’s a moment of clumsiness when she predicts his fluid movements based on how his arm extends and fingers point in her direction as they rise to the height of her shoulder. In a slight panic, she twists arounds, pretending to fish for a pencil from the side pouch of her backpack. Luckily (for him) he’s able to stop himself from proceeding, and he shrugs the action off as he stretches that same arm over his head. With a skittish laugh he continues. “I feel like I haven’t seen much of you this week.”

“I’ve just been busy,” she mumbles, hugging her grey math notebook close to her chin. She can’t help but wonder if he isn’t late to some class, or club meeting, or some discussion about hair accessories (the latter causes her to snigger to herself).

Jasper simply nods, pulling slightly on the knot of his tie. “So, I told my mom about the formal and she’s super stoked that we’re going together,” he blushes. “I mean, I’m really happy you said yes.”

Meanwhile, the metallic taste of blood starts to fill her mouth the longer she keeps her tongue trapped between her teeth. “Yeah...” she struggles to find her voice. The right thing to do would be to come clean, to be straightforward with him and give him the honest answer he had deserved from the beginning.

Blowing the air from her nostrils, she parts her lips as they wrap around the words. “Jasper, I actually need to talk to you about that...”

“Karan! What’s up, man?”

She forces an unbothered appearance in front of Jasper’s friend –– Karan –– as they start a whole conversation of their own.

This is something she’s found to dislike very much, how Jasper always seems to forget that his friends aren’t her friends...well, at least none that she particularly like enough to call by such an intimate name. It bothers her because she doesn’t know if she can walk away or if this boy has any intention of including her or even continuing with what they’d started only minutes before.

She taps her foot contempt, not even caring if either find her actions to be tactless. All Jasper does is shoot half a smile before carrying on talking about the latest scandal to hit the tenth grade.

“I should really get to class,” she meddles in the momentary pause between speakers. “See you around.”

Before Jasper can send her off with a proper goodbye, she turns around and keeps en route for the classroom. As soon as she’s about to cross under the arch, she collides with another body, notebook falling from her hands and falling open-faced on the floor.

“’m sorry,” the other rushes out, his voice all too recognizable to her ears. Harry quickly picks up the notebook and holds it out for her to take, but all she notices is how his eyes remain low and unwilling to look at her.

“Thank you,” she whispers. He gives her a nod in response before signaling for her to go enter ahead of him. But she stays in glued in place. “Do you think we can...”

“There might be a pop quiz, I heard,” he interrupts, his hand finding the small of her back to gently prod her into the room. Despite it being nothing more than a graze of his fingers over her sweater, she still feels jolts of electricity run up her spine and tickle the back of neck.

With their arrival being just a minute or so before roll call, the only available seats are towards the very rear, two desks grouped together and pushed in the far-right corner of the room. His hand falls back to his side, the absence of his touch leaving her colder than she had just been. It makes her frown, and as they make their way to the back, the space between them only grows.

For her, this has to be the most difficult consequence to deal with.

“Alright, since everyone is settled in,” Mr. Daughtry starts, uncapping a blue dry erase marker. “Let’s go over last night’s homework.” And he ponders down at the reference notes on the podium, before the shrill squeaks of the marker against the whiteboard slowly begin to reveal an equation.

Beside her, Harry opens up his notebook, each homework problem neatly organized (this includes all the work he’d done to solve them) over two pages. She looks straight ahead, slightly squinting so she can decipher the correct answers on the board. “How is it 43?” she asks under her breath, staring down at problem #5.

“It was a negative two, not positive...which would mean b becomes positive in the expression,” he answers. He orients his notes towards her. “Right there,” he points to it with tip of his pencil. He leans in a little closer, elbow coming to rest on the table as his head tilts in her direction. Her heart goes crazy as he goes on to explain the steps of the equation. It’s the first time in days he’s willingly talked to her, even if it is about schoolwork. But she forces herself to shake off the feeling for the time being, if only to prevent herself from messing this up.

“How’d I even...” And she cross checks with his work, brows curling inward. “Oh, I’m such dummy. I didn’t even notice that!” she shakes her head and rubs her eraser over the page.

He looks at her for the first time today with a prelude of the softest smile. “You’re not.”

She offers him a toothy grin as she settles back down. Every now and again will she sneak an admiring gaze.

***

“Harry!” she calls after him. In the short period of time she’d taken to pack her things, he had already fled the room by the time she looked up. It took squeezing her way through two bulky juniors from their class to quickly find his mop of brown curls in the crowded corridor.

At the sound of his name, he begrudgingly comes to a stop. He sighs and scratches the back of his head, his internal monologue arguing that he should continue forward. The decision is to be outweighed by a greater influence.

“Hi,” Y/n says in a bit of a wheeze.

“Hi,” he returns, nodding. He watches as those around them disperse in their difference directions, until the hallway soon becomes barren during this first lunch period. “What’s going on?” he asks simply.

She absentmindedly goes to mess with a loose strand of hair. “I was just...” she snivels (allergy season can be a real nuisance). “Wanted to say that I’m really looking forward to Thursday.”

“Oh,” his mouth forms an o with his lips. He glances to the floor and wriggles his feet as though pebbles were buried in his shoes. “Yeah, I think my mum’s bringing trifle or some kind of dessert.”

“That’s sweet of her,” she affirms. “Are you excited?”

Harry looks up, noticing the hope embedded in her eyes. “It could be fun,” he says evenly. “Your dad seems pretty keen on watching the Packers game together. Mason, too, I guess.”

“Mason hasn’t stopped talking about it,” she admits shyly, but can’t help but giggle at the thought of her brother. “You know, he told his teacher that you were his best friend.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh. “Really?” Y/n nods enthusiastically. “He’s a cool kid. Tell him I’m honored.”

“You can always tell him on Thursday.”

Harry smiles. “I will.”

***

Thursday November 27, 2008

Thanksgiving Day has never been more stressful for Y/n. Not only has she been baking since last night (did someone say four different flavors of pie and three fall-themed cookies, and a carrot cake bigger than her dad’s head?) but she must have changed her outfit at least nine times in the last half hour. The Styles’ are expected to arrive at around 5pm, which means she only has another forty-five minutes to come up with the perfect ensemble. Earlier in the afternoon, it had just occurred to her that she hasn’t met Anne nor Gemma, and she’d be dishonest if she said she wasn’t ultra-nervous about it.

Gosh, how her stomach feels so full of air.

She wishes she could be as carefree as Mason because all he’s been fretting over is which boardgame to play with Harry after dinner and which Disney movie he’s going to have running on the laptop whilst Jeremy slaves away to the television at approximately 8pm.

“Do you think Harry likes Monopoly or Connect Four?” the little boy asks. She tears her attention from her cookie display to look down at her brother who’s holding two boxes up for her to examine.

“But, Mase,” she giggles, wiping her hands on her apron. “You don’t know how to play Monopoly.”

Mason looks at the box in his right hand and eyes it carefully. He gives her a signal of understanding before trotting off back into the living room to set up. Shaking her head, she continues setting up the cookies along the three-tier server. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to impress their guests. “It’ll be fine,” she tells herself.

***

The doorbell rings, and almost instantly does it cause alarm within Y/n.

“Oh my god!” she panics, running around the kitchen to quadruple check that everything is exactly as it should be. “Dad! Dad! Did you–”

“Yes.”

“How about the–”

“Yes.”

“Okay but what about–”

“Y/n,” Jeremy says sternly from the foyer. She closes her eyes as she listens to the bottom rim of the door brush along the mat. “Welcome! Nice to see you again, Anne. Harry, ready for that Packers game? Oh, hello! I don’t think I’ve met you yet?”

Her eyes widen, he must be talking to Gemma! Harry had told her stories about how close they are since Anne’s job requires a lot of traveling. Oh gosh, she must hate her for having done what she did to her brother. She knows this because she would absolutely despise anyone who would ever dare to hurt Mason. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she breathes unevenly and braces herself over the counter.

“Not to validate anything your father says,” Olivia sneaks up from behind, “but you really do need to relax.” She takes a good look at her daughter. “Weren’t you wearing the brown sweater?”

But before Y/n has the chance to answer, three new faces enter from the side, her heart skipping over multiple beats as she becomes tightlipped.

“Hello!” Olivia greets them. “We’re so happy to have you join us! I’m Olivia, by the way.”

Harry’s sister nudges him from behind. “Oh, um...” he looks behind him. “This is my mum Anne, and my sister Gemma.”

“So nice to meet you,” Anne smiles, and she extends a hand to Olivia, Gemma does the same. “You have such beautiful home. Are those chrysanths you have along the walkway? They’re absolutely stunning!”

Olivia covers a hand over her heart. “I like you already,” she sobs playfully. “Finally, someone who gets it! Two kids and neither of them share a love for gardening.”

“You can say that again,” Anne returns. The two share a laugh, and Olivia leads them into the dining room to continue on with their chat.

It leaves Y/n with Harry and Gemma, and she isn’t even sure where Jeremy might have wandered off to now. Harry whispers something into Gemma’s ear, and she rolls her eyes before shoving her elbow into his side. Y/n can’t help but wonder what he’s saying. Is it about her? Has he found something wrong? Stop this! She reaches behind her and pinches herself. Relax.

Taking a bold step forward, she strikes up conversation. “Hi, I’m Y/n.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Gemma replies, a warm aura radiating from her being.

Y/n tilts her head. “Good things, I hope.”

“Well,” the older girl starts, sending a smirk at her brother and sniggering when his eyes widen in realization. “This one never stops talking about you.”

Harry gasps, “Now wait just a minute.” But as soon as he’s about to come up with a rebuttal, he’s immediately attacked from behind with a hug. Short arms lock his legs together, and if it weren’t for his sister standing there for support, he would have most definitely fallen over. “There he is!”

“Harry!” Mason giggles, reaching his arms above his head, a notorious signal for Harry to lift him up. “Did you miss me?”

“Duh!” Harry teases. “How can I not miss my bestest mate?”

***

Dinner goes better than either she or Harry can expect. Their families seem to have taken well with one another, Anne and Olivia having already formed that instant bond over maternal care and green thumbs. Jeremy is shocked to hear that Gemma is interested in programming herself, and he’s even more impressed to learn that she’s in the process of building her own website. As for Mason, well...it’s a little hard not to fall in love this boy when all he pours out into the world is happiness, and maybe a little bit of cupcake frosting.

A seating arrangement had predetermined their positions at the table (thanks to Olivia and her brilliant mind). As it had happened, Y/n and Harry are seated beside each other, their chairs closer than usual with the extra chair on his other side. Although, it became apparent throughout dinner of the gap –– while not visible to the human eye –– that remains between them.

Y/n doesn’t understand why that is, especially since they’d seemed to be on better terms on Tuesday. While they hadn’t eaten lunch together, he did sit next to her during Spanish class so they could work on the conjugation exercise together. Sure, it hadn’t been the most romantic thing they could have done, but it was a start, right? But now she feels bothered that the extent of their communication today has been polite smiles and requests to pass whatever dish the other is closest to.

Deciding she’s had enough of this, she turns to him. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she whispers to him.

“It is the holidays, so...” he keeps his answer elusively.

She has to play it back in her mind to determine if there’s any underlying meaning behind it. Pushing around the remains of her pumpkin pie she speaks up again. “Are you still mad at me?”

He takes his time before answering, mulling over the words carefully. Yet, there’s no intelligible way to organize them to make it sound any better. “It’s not that simple.”

And that manages to stir something within her. “It’s either yes or no.”

“Y/n,” he warns, not wanting to cause a scene in front of their families. “Now’s just not the time to talk about it.”

She scoffs, shaking her head and willing herself not to cry. “It’s never the time with you.” And she excuses herself from the table.

***

Giving himself one last glance in the mirror, he wraps his hand around the copper knob. He takes a long breath as he prepares himself to rejoin everyone and pretend that he doesn’t wish he could be anywhere else today. For majority of the day, he had thought he’d moved on from the rejection. However, the more time he spends with her, the more those feelings regress him back to those open wounds. Despite how much he likes watching football with Jeremy and playing Connect Four with Mason, he can’t help but get distracted whenever she comes over and asks thoughtful questions about the game. And that distraction causes him to remember how difficult it’s been to keep up this charade.

When he opens the door, he’s immediately met with her figure looking up at him with doe-like eyes. His jaw clenches as he tries to ignore how the pout on her plump lips makes a part of him go a little crazy. What’s worse is that he shouldn’t feel this way, not right now at least. Not when he’s trying to stay mad for a little while longer.

“Please,” she starts off faintly, looking all too small as she stands before him. His expression softens only the smallest amount that she isn’t sure if maybe it was just a twitch. “Can we just talk?” She can see it in his eyes, the answer that’s about to roll off his tongue so blatantly obvious. And before he has a chance to decline, she latches onto his hand and starts to walk him towards the stairs. They’re careful not to draw attention to themselves as they practically tiptoe through the dining area where Anne and Olivia continue to share embarrassing stories from when both Harry and Y/n were much younger.

The grip she has on him while she leads him up the steps surprises him. Her soft hand squeezes his so tightly that his palms start to sweat from the sheer pressure (and maybe from a bubbling sense of nervousness that’s brewing inside). “Is this really necessary...” he hears himself muttering out loud, even though he’s expecting no answer in return. Although, he may have just felt just the smallest bit of added compression around his fingers as they round the corner.

Once they’re in her room, she’s sure to close the door this time around. If she’s learned anything from the numerous times they’ve been interrupted, it’s that one can never be too sure around her family –– or anyone really. She debates whether to take it all the way with caution, standing frozen as she stares down at the lock with hesitancy.

“Are you planning on keeping me hostage or something?” he chuckles lightly, plopping down on her bed, having already accepted his defeat. He combs his fingers through his hair a couple times before allowing himself the chance to relax.

She exhales fully and closes her eyes. “If that’s what it takes.” With the lock pinched securely between her fingers, the faintest sound erupts within the space. Click. “Then, yes.” Rotating on her heel, she presses her back up against the door, hand still loosely grasping the handle as she tilts her head back. She keeps her eyes low at first, but as seconds on the clock begin to outnumber them, she has no choice but to have them ascend.

He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” she says shakily, whatever confidence she had absorbed seems to have fizzled out. But she can’t back down now, not when the opportunity is right in front of her. “I knew you were going to ask me, and I swear I was going to wait but then Jasper completely caught me off guard and then everyone was watching and I just...I just didn’t...I just didn’t think. It was stupid and I know that’s not an excuse, but I just want things to go back to normal.” She crosses her arms over her chest, a twinge of embarrassment filling her as her own words repeat through her ears.

He shifts uncomfortably. All the feelings he’d been trying to avoid are being unlocked, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. It’s not even that he’s mad (he’s found it impossible to harvest any ill-feelings for the girl in front him), it’s more that he’s dreading whatever might come out of her mouth because he isn’t sure he can handle another rejection. “We don’t have to talk about it, really. We’re fine,” he says as neutrally as he can.

“No, Harry. We’re not. And you know it.”

He knows she’s right, no matter how much he wants to deny it for the sake of saving his own heart. But now that she’s locked him in, he has no choice but to confront the issue. “Look, whatever might have been between us, I’ll get over it, okay? I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to feel–”

“No!” she almost screams, and she marches right to where his knees bend off the side of the mattress with her lips pursed in a newfound determination. “That’s the complete opposite of what I want to happen.”

His green eyes are fixed on her. “What do you mean?” he whispers. But she shakes her head, as though regretting the words to come out of her mouth. Because now they implicate her of the thing she’s been dying to say, and there’s no coming back once it’s said.

Not even thinking, he places his hands on her waist to bring her closer. She still refuses to look at him, her arms further wrapping around her vulnerable self. There’s something in the way her bottom lip moves in the slightest matter that intrigues him. And now he just needs to know. “Hey, look at me,” and he gently cups her cheek to encourage her. “What?”

She stays quiet as she tries to get her breathing back to a normal pace, but the feeling of his stare causes a sweat to form down her back. “I don’t want you to be over us.”

With that, she finally looks forward.

It’s about time one of them be brave.

“I don’t want you to be over me,” she says in the most delicate manner. “I don’t want you to get over me because...” She uncrosses her arms, only to have them wrap around his neck as she settles between his open legs. “Because I don’t want to have to get over you.”

Their eyes meet, and she lets her forehead fall against his. The tips of their noses nudge against each other. A sigh of pure bliss fights its way out of him. He pulls her even closer, thumbs rubbing small circles into the plush of her hips. Her heart beats erratically, as does his as they bask in the echo of a declaration. Two pairs of lips pull up into benevolent smiles before finally coming together.

Eight letters.

There are eight letters to be remained unsaid (until another time).

***

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