#and if you aren’t taking all of the hardest classes you have to take an additional elective | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aewon · 4 months ago

Text

the shift

jungwon x fem reader genre: smut MDNI!!!! wc: 3593 warnings: e2l kinda, ice hockey player jungwon (just mentioned), manager reader, mentioned other members, mentioned chaewon( she’s my go to clearly lol), jungwon’s just annoying to reader, virgin reader, dick sucking, pussy eating, multiple orgasms (2 each), fingering, flirty jungwon, cursing obv, if there’s anything else lmk

note: this is a rewrite of a fic that i had on @/wonkizz, it’s not great but it’s better than what i had og so :p the smut isn’t great but oh well also not proofread so

The university’s ice hockey team was golden, and it was all thanks to Yang Jungwon.

The team’s captain had spent long hours training to make sure the team was efficient in every category.

And now, their hard work paid off as they had landed a spot in nationals against one of the hardest teams to beat.

They’re not worried, they know the team is good, but they’re better.

Normally, you’d praise a team for being confident in their skills, but you think they’re just damn cocky.

It’s even worse considering the fact that Jungwon has taken an unknown liking to you, the team's manager.

Why are you their manager? Because you needed the credit for a class and it was the only thing available.

Back to Jungwon.

The guy is infuriating. He flirts with you constantly, teasing you and messing with you. It’s annoying and no matter how much you tell him to stop, he never does.

With the amount the two of you bicker back and forth, you’re surprised you haven’t been fired yet.

Now, in terms of nationals, it’s an away game, which means a trip to another state. As their manager, that means you have to go too.

You curse every being out there at the fact that you have to go, but what can you do?

It’s 6:00 am when you arrive at the meet up spot on campus. Coach Shin, the head (and only) coach, is already there with the small bus set up for you and the team to take.

The boys aren’t here yet, no surprise there. They always like to be late, for whatever god given reason they have.

“Those boys, I swear they give me a headache every single fucking day,” Coach Shin complains. You can only nod along with his sentiment, scrolling your phone with no real purpose.

6:15 rolls around and oh thank heavens! Here they come in Jay’s beat up car that he loves to call his baby regardless of its status.

Jungwon doesn’t waste a moment, coming to your side and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Did you sleep well, pretty?”

You push his side, trying and failing to get him off you.

“No, unfortunately I didn’t. But I’ll be taking the chance to catch up on my sleep on the bus.”

“Oh?” He inquires, “And what exactly made it not so good? Did something keep you up? Or…someone?”

You push him harder, scowling as he laughs at your face.

Although you finally managed to free yourself from him, the thought of being stuck on a bus with him for 6 hours does not please you.

Coach Shin gathers everyone on the bus, choosing to sit near the front while the boys sit in the back.

You put in your headphones, playing your music on low while the bus departs.

As you leave campus, and eventually your town, your eyes begin to flutter.

They eventually shut and you fall asleep.

When you awaken, your head isn’t resting on the window like it was when you left. Instead, it’s resting against something softer, something moving.

You open your eyes, looking up to see Jungwon’s face centimeters from yours.

You shoot up, realizing your head was resting on his shoulder.

“Sleep well?” He asks, scrolling through his phone like nothing.

“Why are you here?” You ask, trying to create space between your bodies but failing miserably.

“You looked lonely, so I decided to keep you company.”

“Well I wasn’t, if anything you interrupted me.”

Jungwon pouts mockingly, “That’s not very nice. I tried to be kind and this is how I’m repaid?”

“And how exactly do you want to be repaid?”

He takes the opportunity to slide his arm around your waist, squeezing your side, “I could think of one way.”

You grab his arm, gripping his wrist tightly and taking it off you, “As if!”

The whole team begins to laugh at your expense.

You sit there, planning on how to kill Jungwon in your head while he goes back to his original seat, smirking.

You look down at your phone, realizing 4 hours have passed. You sigh in relief, only 2 more hours to go.

Those 2 hours pass somewhat quickly, and you’re parking at your hotel before you know it.

As you get off the bus and gather your things, the sun shines down on you.

It’s blue skies and sunshine in this state, and you wish for nothing more than time to relax.

Coach Shin gathers you all in the hotel lobby, checking in and handing you room keys.

“Naturally you’re all paired with someone, except Y/N.”

“Don’t tell me she gets a room to herself,” Heeseung complains, making the others start to complain as well.

Coach Shin raises his hand, “Don’t start! Of course she has a room to herself, idiots!”

The boys grumble on their way up to the hotel floor.

You check into your room, throwing your bag on the small couch and sitting on the bed eagerly.

You pull out your phone, texting your friend Chaewon.

You: we just checked in :p

Chae 🐯: has jungwon annoyed you much?

You: of course he has but it’s whatever ig 🤥

Chae 🐯: yall gotta like…fuck it out or smth atp

You: EW no why would i do that

Chae 🐯: because the tension is crazy!!!

You: the tension is made up in your head 🙂‍↕️

Chae 🐯: WHATEVER what are you gonna do now

You: i think we’re getting lunch or smth and then idk

Chae 🐯: well keep me updated

You: yeah yeah 😑

You turn off your phone just as there’s a knock on your door.

Coach Shin stands there, “We’re headed to lunch, are you ready?”

You grab your purse with your hotel key, wallet and phone.

“Yes, let’s go!”

The boys are already waiting by the elevator for you, and you all cram inside and head downstairs to the dining hall.

Once seated, you order fettuccine with shrimp scampi while everyone else gets some sort of beef or chicken. They’re all protein freaks, always talking about getting in more of it everyday.

Lunch goes by with little to no conversation between you and any of the boys, no surprise there.

Although you do make conversation with Coach Shin about nationals and how the boys need to play if they want to win.

Not that it really interests you.

You couldn’t care less if they win or lose.

Everyone is given time off to do whatever they want once lunch is over.

You choose to head to the hotel pool to finally relax, and maybe even tan a little.

You put on your bathing suit, and head to the pool with the same purse you brought to lunch.

Surprisingly, there’s no one around.

You sit back on your towel and relax, letting yourself soak up the sun that beats down on you.

But of course, you can never have anything to yourself.

Within 15 minutes of your relaxation, you hear an agitating noise come from the entrance by the pool.

You look up and see the boys, all in their swimsuits, heading your way.

You groan, “Oh Jesus Christ! Can’t a woman get one fucking minute of peace!”

They all look at you, grinning mischievously. They know! They know damn well!

“You don’t own the pool,” Sunghoon says knowingly.

“No shit I don’t own the pool, but you knew I’d be down here to relax and now I can’t!”

“We’ll be quiet, swear,” Jake says, crossing his fingers over his heart.

You sigh, laying your head back down, trying to get back into your relaxation mode.

That was a damn lie.

Within 5, no! 4 minutes, they’re making noise. So much noise it could wake up the dead. Splashing, yelling, cursing, you name it they’re doing it!

Nobody else seems to be bothered because no one comes out to tell them to shut up, so it’s just you and them. Them, overjoyed and you, annoyed.

You want to bang your head against the nearest wall when you hear Jungwon’s voice call out to you, “How’d you know blue’s my favorite color?” He asks, referring to your bathing suit.

“I didn’t,” you respond. “I didn’t wear this for you!”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, “If you say so. You should come in, the water feels great.”

You look down at the blue water, and back up at him repeatedly. “I’d rather not, it looks cold.”

“Oh come on,” he whines, “it’s not! See for yourself.” With that, he sends a big splash your way, dousing the bottom of your legs with water.

You curse at the cold temperature, Jungwon now laughing hysterically along with the other guys.

You get up before you know it, and send a big splash that douses the entirety of them in one sitting.

They all look at you in shock, Jungwon especially as if he isn’t the one who started it.

“No fair! I didn’t wanna get my hair wet,” Sunghoon complains.

“Well that’s too bad now isn’t it,” you retort, hands on your hips.

Before you can say anything further, Jungwon is out of the pool, lifting you up in his arms.

You didn’t realize how strong or broad he is.

As your hands find his shoulders to hold onto, you begin to panic, “What are you doing? Put me down!”

“Nope, now you’ve done it,” Jungwon says smiling, and then without another word he throws you into the pool.

You hit the water with a big splash, the boys all cheering as you’re now just as soaked as them.

You come up, looking at Jungwon in pure shock and somewhat horror.

“You…you’re so dead!”

Jungwon shrugs, “Guess I’m dead then.”

You spend the next half hour playing with the boys in the pool.

By the time you get back to your room, you’ve tired yourself out.

After showering and changing, you take a long nap.

Once you awaken, the clock next to you reads 7:00 pm.

You order dinner for yourself and eat while watching the latest show on Netflix.

By 7:30 you’ve finished your meal and are relaxing when there’s a knock at your door.

Jungwon stands there, freshly showered too.

“Hi,” he says, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

“Hey, do you need something?”

“I wanted to talk, if that’s alright?”

You step aside, letting him in, “Sure, what about?”

“Us,” he says.

You stand there confused as he sits on the edge of your bed.

“What about us?” You ask.

“I felt like there was a shift today, when we were having fun earlier. It felt…different. Having fun with you instead of arguing with you. It was nice.”

“I agree, it was nice Jungwon. I liked seeing that side of you that doesn’t constantly annoy me.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, but it does.

But instead of looking hurt or offended, Jungwon just smirks, “But do you realize why I annoy you?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I like you, stupid.”

You take a second to take in those words. I…like…you? He likes you?

“You mean like, romantically?”

“Yes Y/N, romantically.” He chuckles, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.

You stand there, not knowing what to do.

“Why…why do you like me?”

Jungwon seems caught off guard by that question.

He thinks for a minute before answering,

“I like how passionate you are with everything you do. Even with hockey, we know you don’t really like it but you still do your best as our manager regardless. I like your laugh and your smile, even when they’re not directed at me. I like how clumsy you are sometimes. I like how your tongue sticks out when you’re concentrating on something. I like everything about you, Y/N.”

You feel your heart beat faster as Jungwon speaks, taking in his words and his feelings with care and kindness rather than disgust or disdain.

“Jungwon, I didn’t know you really felt that way.”

“I don’t expect you to feel the same. I just wanted you to know. And I thought maybe, maybe we could try something. I could take you out? See how you feel about that?”

You don’t know what switch inside you went off, but the thought of a date with Jungwon, after today’s events, doesn’t seem so bad.

“I’d actually like that. I’d like that a lot.”

He perks up and it’s oh so cute.

You finally find the courage to sit next to him on the bed, brushing your hand against his.

He looks into your eyes, for any signs of discomfort.

When he doesn’t find any, he leans in, pressing a delicate kiss against your lips.

It only lasts a few seconds, but it’s breathtaking nonetheless.

“Jungwon?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.”

He does as he’s told, pressing his lips against yours harder this time.

You reciprocate the kiss, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, your hands finding the base of his neck and playing with the hair at the nape of it.

Your lips move in sync, creating more passion as it goes.

Jungwon moves, his hand that was resting on the bed comes forward to rest on your waist.

His tongue presses against your lips and you open your mouth, giving him access.

Your tongues move together, the kiss becoming more and more heated as time goes on.

Jungwon’s hand comes to rest on your arm, lightly pushing you down so you're resting on the bed, his frame coming to hover over you.

You separate, lightly gasping for air as you look into each other’s eyes.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” Jungwon says, practically pleading.

“I want this, Jungwon. I want you.”

Jungwon dives back in, trailing kisses down the front of your neck, to the exposed part of your chest.

His fingers find the hem of your shirt, “Can I take this off?”

“Please.”

He pulls it up, over your head.

His large hands find your breasts immediately.

His fingers tug and twist your nipples, making your back arch up off the bed.

He leans down, taking your left nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it as you moan in pleasure.

“Fuck Jungwon, that feels…” you trail off, not able to finish your sentence as he switches to the other nipple.

He trails kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts.

“Wait,” you say, and Jungwon stops immediately.

“What is it? Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, no. I just… I wanna take care of you first.”

“Y/N you don’t have to—”

“But I want to. Although, I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to guide me.”

“You’re a virgin?”

You nod, taking your lip between your teeth.

“That’s okay, pretty, I’ll guide you.”

Jungwon gets up and takes his own shirt off, revealing what you saw earlier but weren’t paying attention to.

His broad shoulders, toned chest and lean torso.

You could drool, he’s so your type.

Your attention is taken by him shrugging his pants and boxers down.

You get down on the carpet in front of him, anticipating.

His cock is already hard. It stands at attention, long and girthy but not too much.

You have to admit, you’ve done some research online in anticipation of this moment. You just hope you don’t fuck it up.

You spit into your hand, lathering it on his cock, listening to him hiss as your cold hand meets the warmth of his skin.

The tip is blaring red, evident of how much he wants this.

You stroke him a few times, just to start.

Then, you slowly take him into your mouth, starting just with the head.

You suck on it, tasting the precum he’s been leaking.

Then you take more of him into your mouth, avoiding your teeth as much as you can.

“God, it seems like you already know what you’re doing, where’d that come from huh?” You know he’s teasing but you feel a responsibility to answer genuinely.

You pull off of him slowly, “I may have done some research about this kind of thing before.”

You smile up at him, watching as his mouth opens in slight shock.

“Ah, so my pretty girl isn’t as innocent as she looks?”

His hand comes up to grab the back of your head, not forcing you but simply as a guide.

You take him back into your mouth, holding what won’t fit in your mouth.

You begin to bob your head, stroking what doesn’t fit.

You think you’re doing a good job, if Jungwon’s moans mean anything.

“Just like that, pretty girl,” he says.

You use the hand that’s stroking him and twist it slightly as you go, creating a solid rhythm.

The sounds of you sucking his cock turn him on so much, he thinks he could cum from that alone, but that plus the pleasure he’s feeling being Jungwon closer to orgasm than he’d like to admit.

Within just a few minutes, he’s close.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, pretty. Where do you want it?”

You pull off slightly but keep the tip in your mouth, sucking on it, indicating you want him to cum in your mouth.

Jungwon thinks he’s a goner, as he cums in your mouth, painting your throat white while he moans loudly.

As he comes down from his high, panting softly, he helps you up from the floor, before turning you around and pushing you back against the bed.

“It’s my turn to please you.”

As you sit up against the pillows, his fingers find the waistband of your shorts, “Can I take these off?”

You nod, watching as his eyes come in contact with your bare pussy.

“No underwear? Naughty girl.”

You’re already soaking wet, your arousal painting your folds and making them glisten in the dim lighting of the room.

“Fuck, you look so pretty. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, baby,” Jungwon says, taking a gentle finger and rubbing it against your folds.

You jerk at the contact, whining as his fingers slide through them.

“Are you gonna make me feel good, Wonnie?”

He groans at the cute nickname, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

With that, he leans down, taking your clit directly into his mouth.

You gasp, arching off the bed as Jungwon sucks on it.

His fingers play with your folds as his tongue swirls around your clit, playing with it.

“Oh my god, Jungwon!”

Fingers soaked in your arousal, he slowly eases one finger inside you, being as gentle as he can.

You whimper at the intrusion. It doesn’t hurt but it’s uncomfortable.

“I know pretty, I know,” he comforts you, thumb rubbing your clit making you feel just as much pleasure.

He goes back to sucking on it, tongue gathering all your slick and swallowing it eagerly.

“You taste so good, I’ll get addicted.”

He slowly thrusts and curls that finger inside you, the uncomfortable feeling being replaced by pleasure.

Your moans fill the room, your hands coming up to grip Jungwon’s hair.

“That’s right baby, hold onto me,” he says, encouraging you.

As he sucks on your clit, he inserts another finger, curling them repeatedly, stretching you open.

Minutes pass and you can feel the band in your stomach tighten, “I’m gonna cum, Jungwon, fuck!”

“Cum for me, pretty,” he says, as you cum all over his tongue and fingers.

He takes it all in, swallowing your release and watching in amazement as it coats his fingers, more and more spilling out.

He leans forward, lips meeting yours as you taste yourself on him.

“You ready for my cock?” He asks and you nod, spreading your legs further.

He runs his cock up and down your pussy, coating it in your release, before slowly pushing inside you.

Your breathing gets slightly heavier at the feeling of fullness, but it’s a good feeling.

He pauses, giving you all the time you need to adjust.

After a minute, you tell him to move and he wastes no time in thrusting into you at a rhythmic pace.

Your mouth is permanently forced open at the feeling of his thrusts.

The power and precision is just right, making you feel like you’re floating.

“Fuck Jungwon, it feels so good,” you whine, hands gripping his biceps.

“That’s all I could ask for, pretty girl.”

You feel him so deep inside you, it’s mad. It feels so good, something you’ve never felt, nor do you want to feel this with anyone else.

“Fucking me so good, god I love it.”

“Yeah, you love this cock?”

“Fuck yes, I love it!”

His thumb comes to rest on your clit, rubbing deep circles on it, causing you to moan even louder, until you’re practically screaming his name.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna cum Jungwon please don’t stop!”

“Me too, fuck where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside please, I want it so badly.”

He groans into the side of your neck, leaving featherlight kisses against it.

His thrusts become erratic, hitting places so deep, you didn’t know they existed.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you whine, releasing all over Jungwon’s cock as he does the same inside you.

Both of you ride out your highs on his slowing thrusts, until he eventually comes to a stop.

As you look into each other's eyes, Jungwon can’t help but smile, “So, about that date.”

AEWON 2025

473 notes · View notes

temis-de-leon · 2 months ago

Text

Lolita!MC snaps after being harassed

Characters: Demon Brothers x fem!reader (platonic or romantic)

Main Masterlist

C/W: a lower demon insults MC's clothing, makes lewd comments and tries to attack MC. MC is violent for a moment, but only with words (sad).

A/N: this is 1473 words long. I don't know what happened.

You are a doll.

Or as close to a doll as a human could be.

If anyone asked Beel, though, he would describe you as a cupcake or a macaron or one of those fluffy desserts with diced strawberries and a ton of whipped cream.

But could you blame him, though?

Your dresses are either white, baby pink or a combination of both, and your outfits are always full of ribbons, ruffles, petticoats, lace and velvet. You look like cotton-candy or the most expensive three tier cake in a luxury bakery, so picturing your taste as sugary is his first instinct.

However, is not only your appearance that creates that image. Your personality is just as saccharine and light.

You’re soft-spoken, sweet and dainty; eyes bigger than a doe’s and a smile full of love that only the brothers know. Your touch is delicate as well, always deliberate and careful, as if trying to keep harm away even from the hardest of materials.

Your skirt rustles when you walk and your high platform shoes echo wherever you walk into.

Opposites attract, or so they say, and the brothers experiment it fully when they’re with you.

Their demon forms, black, sharp and dark, contrast nicely against your cuter clothing style.

And their unimpressed expressions swift quickly when your childlike wonder shows interest in every little thing in the Devildom. For them it’s mundane, sure, but for you? All new, all magical; and you have no trouble letting your excitement show.

Sadly, though, the same traits that make them feel so obsessed with you also attract some mean, ill-mannered lower demons.

Imps of envy are the worst, even more vicious than those of wrath.

Of course, nothing happens as long as any of the brothers are there to defend you and keep your peace, but you deserve your independence and your alone time and being subject to unprovoked insults is, sadly, bound to happen.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been going on, or if you were ever going to tell him in case he didn’t hear, but the first time he hears about it is right after class, when almost everyone is out of RAD and only the slowest students are still cleaning out their desks. The only reason you’re there it’s because he is the slow one this time and you need someone to take you home.

“I almost didn’t recognize you” he hears just before entering your classroom, where you have been waiting for him for ten long minutes.

He tilts his head, confused and unable to make out whose voice he is hearing. The words aren’t meanspirited per se, but something in the stranger’s voice stops him right on his tracks and makes him remain close to the wall to wait for your reaction.

“Look at you, dressing normal for once” the unknown demon says, and his hearts stops suddenly. A tingling sensation follow the path of his nerves, closing his hands in a fist. “See, now that you’re actually bothering to look pretty, I can sort of understand how your grades are improving. Are your knees okay or does the professor give you a cushion before each tutoring session?”

A high pitched giggle follows, and the grating sound makes him cringe and snarl right where he is.

He has only enough self-control to not move and wait for your response. Your powerful and capable. You deserve an opportunity to defend yourself.

If not, he is right there to do the job.

A few seconds pass, and for the sound alone he suspects you’re collecting the rest of your things: pink cases with bunny and kitty stickers. Whenever you couldn’t wear your clothes, you would express yourself somehow else, like with your bag or your school materials in RAD. The brothers even got you keychains and showy pens to complete the look.

“Did your mommy buy you all that crap?” the demon insists, urging an answer out of you, but you stay silent.

He hears you close your bag before getting up and dragging the chair back into place. The trinkets in your loafers clink softly as you walk.

Then, you speak, and your voice is as clear as bells in the morning.

“Satan tutors me, actually, so you can ask him directly if he gives me a cushion. I’d love to know what he says”

Although not joyful, you sound kind of cheery, and you stifle a laugh when the demon fails to give a quick response.

“Also, don’t you feel weird staying here after class on a Friday? Don’t you have friends to go out with? Or does everyone think you are as irritating as you sound like?”

“I’m not…!”

“No, wait, do not tell me” you laugh, weirdly enthusiastic and amicable despite the venom in your voice, as if you were gossiping with a friend. “Are you jealous? Do you want some private lessons from the teacher?”

“Excuse me??”

“Good luck” you wish with fake pity, ignoring their indignant expression. “I hear he only likes the ones with actual potential and not just the party tricks”

He’s so surprised at your words that he almost doesn’t hear the sounds of struggle and discomfort. Astonished, he peaks around the doorframe to check if you’re okay, and his bloods comes to a boil when he sees you on your tip toes, the collar of your uniform tight in the demon's fists as they look at you with hate.

However, no part of you shows any type of fear, and that makes your assailant even more aggravated.

Your next words cut the tension in the air like a knife.

“If you ever talk about my clothes again, I’ll kick you in the throat so hard you won’t even remember the feeling of air by the time I’m done with you”

Lucifer’s eyes widen at your threat, but his hearts soars with pride. Seeing your back turned to him, he loudly clears his throat and waits until the demon sees him and lets you go. They scurry past him, shrunken with fear, and he doesn’t bother hiding the sinister smile occupying half of his face. He makes sure to remember who they are for the future.

Mammon yells an ‘OI’ and follows it with multiple threats as the demon runs away from the classroom and down the hallway. He stops only when they disappear from his line of view and then his attention is entirely on you, making his admiration obvious and wanting to compensate you for your bravery. He’s blushing lightly, but knowing that you’re capable of taking care of yourself helps him ignore that.

Leviathan is mad. You are one of his role models (perhaps the only one in real life) and hearing someone trying to undermine you when you stay so true to yourself greatly unnerves him. He changes into his demon form without realizing and starts walking towards the other demon on instinct, but you stop him with a soft hand in his chest. The touch grounds him enough to not notice when the perpetrator leaves and makes him a blushing mess.

Satan is equally surprised and proud.He wonders if he’ll ever see this side of you again, and ultimately decides he’d rather not if being insulted is what it takes for you to reach that level. He makes a point to ignore the other demon, gently offering you an arm before guiding you outside of the classroom. That doesn’t mean he won’t remember their face, though.

Asmodeus is squealing with happiness, jumping in his place and clapping his hands with hearts in his eyes. He always loved and adored your hyper feminine style and your delicate composure, but seeing first-hand how you stand your ground makes him more excited than he would’ve ever imagined. The other demon’s presence doesn’t even register. They don’t exist for him and they never will, as they won't for anyone else in the Devildom.

Beelzebub walks towards you both silently; a giant wall of pure muscle coming from behind like a wicked guardian angel. ‘You should leave’ is the only thing he says to the other demon in his monotone voice; and he doesn’t need to say anything else. The moment they leave, his attention is on you and he’s smiling adoringly, a faint blush covering his cheeks. Immediately, he invites you for lunch in a restaurant nearby and soon the whole thing is forgotten.

Belphegor is not above murder and he’s willing to let everyone know. Although he hears what you say, and is both amused and delighted, hearing someone disrespect you so blatantly is more than enough to make his feet move and take him directly to the other demon. Now their collar is in his fists. He will let them go if you ask him, but you’re going to join him for a nap. He just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

261 notes · View notes

lilacs-stars · 1 year ago

Text

aiming for your heart

this is part 1, read part 2 here! pairing: james hook x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is glinda the good witch's daughter) SUMMARY: you agree to a tutoring session with your pirate classmate, but things end up taking an...unexpected twist. GENRE: pure fluff, a bit of banter CW: nothing much, just mentions of societal pressures WC: 7.9k (they just keep getting longer...)

A/N: I decided to finally do something cute and fluffy after days of working on dark angsty stuff and this felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air. it was so fun to write, so thanks to the anon who requested this for the fun idea! <3 please give me feedback and suggestions, I'd love to know your thoughts!

Up, swish, circle, flick. Up, swish, circle, flick. Up, swish, cir—

“Ahh, oww!” you cry out as a very solid metal object collides with the side of your skull. Your hand instinctively goes up to the spot on your head—which you can already feel starting to swell—as you wince in pain.

You’re supposed to throw the ring in the basket, not at my head, idiot, you think to yourself as you grimace.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear!” you glance around the room, locking eyes with your classmate just a few tables away, whose wand is still poised in their hand and a bewildered expression planted on their face. “I just can’t seem to control…this gosh darn wand…”

You let out a little sigh, trying your best to not be impatient. After all, you couldn’t expect everyone to be as experienced in this field as you are.

You glance back at the student, who’s rereading their textbook pages for what’s probably the tenth time. As you watch them struggle, a pang of guilt hits you for being so mean and irritable. It’s not like they were trying to hit you, and even though it was just a thought passing through in the privacy of your mind, you still feel as though thinking something mean like that is wrong.

You push your chair back and rise from your seat, wand tightly gripped in one hand. Walking over to your classmate’s desk, you give a small smile as you ask them, “Need any help?”

They look up at you with wide eyes. “Oh, yes, please! Enchantment of Magical Objects is literally the hardest class ever!”

You grin again, keeping your demeanor light and friendly, like always. “Okay, so first, you go up, then swish, then circle your wand back around, and finally flick, and then…”

You copy the movements with your own wand as you speak, small magical sparks flickering off it at your gestures. After you complete your little demonstration, you both watch as a hand-sized sleek metal ring, somewhat resembling a circular horseshoe, levitates off the desk and neatly lands in a bucket in the center of the room.

Today’s assignment in your Enchantment class is to use the Aiming Spell to throw the rings into a bucket. Safe to say, it wasn’t really going well for most of the class.

“Wow, that was amazing! You’re so good at this Y/N!” your now starry-eyed classmate exclaims. “And I can barely get my rings off my desk…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there,” you smile reassuringly. “After all, I’ve had a lot of experience around wands and enchantments.”

“Yeah, I suppose that is right. I guess not everyone can be as talented with magic as the Good Witch’s very own daughter.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, and you bid farewell to your classmate as you make your way back to your seat. They aren’t wrong, after all. Your mother, Glinda, taught you how to use a wand as soon as you could walk. You’ve been watching her use magic for ages, so it’s not a surprise to anyone that you’re top of your class.

You sit back down, getting back to work. Even though you know you’ve already mastered the spell, you still have some class time left, which you decide to use wisely and continue practicing the spell.

Staring at the pile of metal rings in front of you, you take a deep breath and begin the task of making each one levitate off your desk and make a perfect arch towards the basket.

Up, swish, circle, flick. Up—swoosh!

A flying ring shoots straight past your face, barely missing you by only a few inches. You stumble backwards in your chair, quite startled. Still, it isn’t unusual to see objects flying around the classroom, or rather, objects flying where they’re not supposed to.

A moment later, another one whizzes past you again. Then a third, which gets so close to your face that you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Annoyed, your head snaps to your right, trying to figure out who keeps nearly decapitating you.

You glance around, finally locking eyes with what seems to be the culprit. Chair leaning against the wall, tipped back on its hind two legs, sits a figure with deep brown eyes and smokey eyeshadow look to match. A smirk is planted on his face, a mischievous glint in his gaze. He wears a dark red jacket on top of a black dress shirt, the collar disheveled and his tie loose around his neck. Contrary to his tousled outfit, his medium-length brown hair is neatly slicked back. One of his hands leisurely holds a wand while the other rests behind his head, and combined with the way he has a leg crossed over the other, one would think he’s enjoying a nice day at the beach instead of sitting in class at one of the most prestigious academies in the land.

You fix him with a look, your gaze subconsciously morphing into a glare as he jerks the wand up, causing one of the metal rings in front of him to levitate a few inches off his desk. With a flick of the wrist, he sends it flying across the room once again. Having learned your lesson, this time you duck down, eyes following the disk as it soars across the room. You watch as it shoots straight towards its target, who expertly crouches as the metal ring hits the wall behind him with a thud, falling to the ground and joining the previous disks.

The target of these attacks is a boy you recognize to be a good friend of the ring-throwing troublemaker, with light brown hair brushed away from his forehead and dressed in a dark green shirt with a black choker around his neck. Morgie le Fay shoots a glare across the room to his perpetrator, making a face that could only mean “You’ll pay for this later.”

Another disk comes shooting at his head, and he ducks down yet again. This time, the metal hits the wall so hard, you worry it left a dent. Unable to take their child-like behavior any longer, you get up from your seat for the second time and stomp your way over to the disk-thrower.

“Hook!” you say as you reach his table. The man in question tilts his head towards you, looking up with an amused grin.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, lassie?” he replies, his accent crisp and unmistakable.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, knowing it would be terribly rude, even if he was getting on your nerves like no other. You settle for fixing him with another look. “Could you please stop hurling those disks around? It’s not the assignment, and you practically hit me!”

“My apologies, love,” Hook replies, still peering up at you, unbothered. You honestly doubt he means it, so you frown and try again. “I’m being serious, Hook.”

“As am I,” he replies, making you want to smack that stupid smirk off his face. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you remind yourself. Violence is never the answer. You find it funny how you can almost hear your mother’s voice as you repeat those words in your head, the ones she always tells you.

“So you’ll stop?” you ask, raising a brow and putting your hands on your hips to show him you’re not messing around.

“Ah, well, you see,” Hook starts, and it takes every ounce of benevolence in you to not internally combust at whatever excuse he’s planning to come up with. “I’m having a tad bit of trouble with this spell, love. No matter what I do, I simply can’t seem to lock on to the right target.”

At this, you raise your eyebrows again, disbelief laced through your every cell. “Why don’t you give it a go,” you say, jerking your chin towards the basket in the middle of the room. “You never know until you don’t try.”

Hook leans forward in his chair, righting it again so it stands on all four legs. He raises his wand, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s actually concentrating on the task at hand. One of the metal disks rises into the air, levitating a meter above the floor.

Hook flicks his wand forward and the disk sails away, missing the basket in an almost laughable attempt at execution. Instead of the proper target, it lands on the edge of a file cabinet in the far corner of the room. You pray for the poor soul that will inevitably open one of its drawers, only to be smacked in the head by a piece of solid steel.

Eyebrows raised, Hook unabashedly turns back around to face you with that grin of his. “So how was that, love? Satisfied?”

“Not quite,” you huff, shaking your head at him. “Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone make such a…uh, interesting attempt at this assignment.” Deep down, a little part of you really wants to say much meaner things, but you bite back your words, knowing that showing contempt never did anyone any good.

“Interesting, eh?” Hook’s smirk grows, and you can see him already scheming inside that villainous little mind of his. “Say, Y/N”—he uncrosses his legs, leaning in your direction—“you’re the top student of this class, are you not?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but refrain from saying anything you know you’ll later regret. “Yes, and?”

“Well, as you can clearly see here, I require a bit of assistance with this assignment. After all, not everyone grew up waving wands like you,” he quips, flourishing the wand in his hand as if it were an ordinary stick. Abruptly, he stills his movements and drops the wand on his desk, before turning to face you directly, locking eyes. “Would you be so kind as to teach me a few things?”

You quirk your brows, albeit attempting to keep a straight face. “Are you asking me to…tutor you?”

Hook grins yet again. “This evening, 7 o’clock, the common area in the East Wing.” He puts his hand on his knees as he gets up, now leering a few inches above you. Still holding your gaze—although he has to tilt his head down to do so—he asks, “I’ll see you then?”

You blink twice, mind replaying the events that led to you getting yourself stuck in this situation. On the one hand, you definitely don't want to have a one-on-one study session with a villain—and an annoyingly smug one at that. Honestly, the few interactions you are forced to have with him in class are far enough for you.

But on the other hand, he is asking for help to improve his grades…after all, it’s not every day someone the likes of him shows interest in learning. Plus, you know that it’s not right to turn away a person in need of your help, no matter how insufferable they are. Especially if they’re always flashing you a smile filled with shining white teeth and full, plump pink lips.

A sigh escapes your mouth before you can stop it as you resign yourself to your fate. “Alright, I guess. But come prepared to learn. That means you need your wand, your textbooks, notebo—”

He cuts you off with a passive sweep of his hook, much to your annoyance. Leaning in just a little closer to you, enough to make your palms slightly sweaty, his face tilts down even nearer to yours. “It’s a date, then,” Hook says, his voice soft but still with that teasing tone it always seems to carry.

“It’s not a date!” you call out as the bell rings, but he’s already making his way out of the classroom, sauntering off to do who-knows-what.

Heavens, what have I gotten myself into, you think, placing a hand on your forehead as you breathe out a long, heavy sigh.

The evening rolls around far too quickly for your liking, and before you know it you’re making your way out of your doom room and up a set of stairs.

You keep on thinking about how you had ample time to back out of this arrangement; plus, you would be lying if you said you didn't consider it a number of times. But each time, you remind yourself that you are doing a good deed for someone obviously in need of a good influence. That you have to be selfless and put aside your personal feelings to serve a good cause, as all heroes do. That your opinions don't really matter—after all, the best heroes are the ones who make the deepest sacrifices, right?

So that’s how you find yourself dragging heavy feet across a corridor, a tiny voice in your head begging you to turn around, as you finally reach the common area set as your meetup spot. You glance at your wristwatch, which reads 6:55. You had decided to leave a bit early so you could arrive with a few minutes to spare. As your mother always reminds you, “It’s better to be an hour early than a minute late.”

Pulling out a chair at a nearby two-person table, you sit down, plopping your bookbag next to you. You had stuffed it full of your personal notes, your wand, and several textbooks you thought could help Hook.

Tapping a pencil on the wooden desk, you sigh, glancing at your clock again. 6:57. Thinking back on your previous decision, you wonder why you left so early. After all, you have Hook down in your mind as the type to be extremely unpunctual. Leaning back in your chair out of sheer boredom, you start to clearly picture Hook showing up a good hour late. Heck, you’d be surprised if he even shows up at all.

The clock hits 6:59, and you begin to debate how long you’re willing to stay here before giving up and returning to your dorm. Would ten minutes be enough? Fifteen? Thirty? The more you think about it, the more you can imagine this being some sort of elaborate prank to trick you. After all, why would a delinquent villain like Hook ever be interested in planning a tutoring session?

You sigh once again, angry at yourself for being so naive as to fall for his little trick. Drumming your fingers on the table as you put your head down, you mentally punch yourself for your gullibility.

Which is why you nearly jump out of your own skin at the sound of a loud thud sound from in front of you. You jerk back into your chair, arms flailing as it tips, causing you to nearly topple backwards. With your reflexes kicking in, your hand latches onto the edge of the table—thankfully—and you manage to pull yourself back to a more stable position.

Hand clutching your pounding heart, you roll your head back to be greeted with that stupid little smirk that haunts your thoughts. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, love. After all, we were planning to meet up, were we not?” Hook says, tone extremely smug and a tiny bit pitiful at your frightened state.

You raise your arm and flick your wrist, reading the time displayed on your clock. 7:00. He…he showed up exactly on time, you think, praying that your shock isn’t displayed on your face.

As if he can read your mind—and in all honesty, maybe he can—Hook says, “You didn’t doubt me, now, did you, darling? How could I skimp out on our little date?”

“It’s not a date,” you tell him once again, not even trying to hide the annoyance in your voice this time.

“Whatever you say.” Hook gives a little grin as he raises his eyebrows for a second. Before you can continue to argue, he pulls out the chair across from you and sits down. You eye a small black leather satchel that dangles from his hook as he drops it down on the floor. Huh, he even came prepared.

He leans in, arms resting on the table, as he fixes you with a sly grin. “So, Miss Teacher, what are you going to teach me today?”

You hate to pass on the opportunity to make a snarky remark, but you know that rubbing Hook the wrong way is not going to make these next few hours any less sufferable. Instead, you simply go for a “How about you start by getting out your materials?”

“As you wish, m’lady.” An irritated sigh escapes your lips, and you realize you’ve been sighing a lot more than usual ever since you got in this…predicament. You watch, somewhat impatiently, as Hook reaches down and draws a single notebook and his practice wand out of the leather satchel. Glancing at his materials, then back at yours, you realize that you came a lot more prepared than he did, even though you’re not the one trying to learn here. Well, I guess him putting in some effort still better than nothing.

You pull out one of the thick textbooks from your bag, the used animal skin cover peeling at the edges and the pages yellowed from the wear of time.

“First, we’re going to get started with the theory of enchantments and spells.” You flip through the pages until you land on the first of many detailing the basics of spellcasting. “Even though we’re going to be focusing on the Aiming Spell, the underlying principles are pretty much the same for all spells you use. Now, you see here, highlighted in the chart are the five main…”

You chance a glance over at Hook, voice trailing off when you realize he isn’t listening. In fact, he's not even looking at the textbook placed in the middle of the desk. Instead, his gaze is fixed on…

…you?

“Hey! Why are you staring at me like that, you weirdo!” you exclaim, pulling back from the table. Hook remains unflinching, his chin in his good hand as he stares up at you with a sparkle in his eye.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, love. You’re just so…so entrancing.”

You blink hard, recoiling at his words. He’s not flirting with you…is he? No, there’s no way. Don’t be overly arrogant, you convince yourself. This is just his personality, how he usually acts. The same way he calls everyone “love” and “darling.” There’s absolutely nothing more to it than him saying anything he can think of to fluster you and throw you off track.

…Right?

You ignore the stupid little flutter your heart does at not just being called pretty, or beautiful, or any of the normal compliments. No, you aren’t normal, you’re entrancing…

Snap out of it! you internally scold yourself. This is just another one of his little antics. You’re just letting him win by getting in your head.

“Look, I didn’t come here and set aside this chunk of my valuable time to tutor you, only for you to not listen. If you came here to mess around—” you rant, but you’re cut off before you can get everything off your chest.

“I apologize, lassie. I promise, I’ll focus from here on out,” Hook vows. You eye him with a glare, feeling very distrustful, but you’re only met with his rather sincere gaze.

You let out another breath, once again regretting agreeing to this. “Fine. Get out your notebook. You’re going to want to take notes on this.”

Hook nods and reaches into his satchel, which is still lying on the floor. “If I’m being completely honest—which I assume you must hold in high regard, being a hero and whatnot—I really didn’t expect you to be so…irritable.”

You shoot Hook another glare, before realizing that you’re just proving his point. You give a brief roll of your eyes as you attempt a smile. “I’m not usually like this,” you say, fighting to keep a decently pleasant expression on your face. “You just really find a way to, how should I put this, you really—”

“Push your buttons?” Hook finishes for you, raising his eyebrows.

“I was going to say you really find a way to get on my nerves, but that too,” you respond, with obviously forced cheerfulness. “Whatever, we need to get back to studying. For real this time.”

Hook replies with an “Of course, m’lady,” before you begin your lecture again on the foundation of enchantments. This time, he makes sure to periodically glance down at the textbook pages and occasionally nod or ask a question, all to ensure that you don’t catch him staring at you again. Unbeknownst to you, adoration shines bright in his eyes as he studies your features, committing them to memory every time you’re not looking his way.

You spend some time going over theory with Hook, until you can feel him growing restless, causing you to start wondering if people like him have a capacity for how much information they can absorb at one time. Deciding that theory is no good if it’s not put to practice, you slam the textbook shut once you reach the end of a page, standing up.

Hook looks up at you, a slightly startled expression on his face. “Come on,” you say. “Now we’re going to see how much you paid attention by putting your lesson to good use.”

You hope to see a look of fear flash across his face, but his demeanor stays completely even. Feeling a bit let down, you remind yourself that he still has to actually cast the spell. Watch him mess it up, you think. Let’s see how smug he is then, huh?

Reaching down into your bookbag, you pull out a small bundle wrapped in a piece of cloth. You open it to reveal a handful of metal disks, similar to the ones you had used earlier in class. You empty them out on the table before walking over to the middle of the room and placing the cloth down on the floor, a good number of meters away from your table. “This is your target area,” you explain. “Stand by the table and get those rings to land within the borders of the cloth.”

Let’s see how well you fare now, pretty boy.

“Aye, that’s not fair,” Hook says, scrunching his brow as he gestures towards your setup with his hook. “That cloth’s much smaller than the basket we used in class. And the distance is far greater.”

“Well, if you learn how to get the spell right with tougher constraints than the requirement, you’ll be sure to do great for the real thing.” You flash him a wink as you watch his jaw part slightly, an incredulous expression painted on his face. “That’s how I always ace my exams.”

Hook draws in a breath, putting his ever-famous smirk back on his face, although you can feel his unease this time. He picks up his wand, turning around to point it at disks on the table.

Up. He rolls his hand upwards, and one of the disks starts to levitate a foot in the air.

Swish. Hook jerks his wrist to the side, causing the disk to start gently vibrating with potential energy.

Circle. He rotates his hand counterclockwise, drawing a circle with the tip of the wand.

Flick. You watch with bated breath as Hook flicks the wand towards the cloth in the middle of the room.

Both of you follow the disc’s arc through the air with tense anticipation, as it soars, soars…

…and ends up missing the cloth by a good three feet.

Hook gives a small, halfhearted laugh, trying to keep up the suave facade. Yet you notice the way his shoulders slump forward, the way his body stiffens in an embarrassing shock.

Part of you feels a wickedly twisted satisfaction at his failure—but as soon as you recognize it for what it is, you shove it away, repulsed at the thought of you even coming close experiencing such an emotion. Plus, the majority of you feels rather disappointed at the undesirable outcome. Whether it’s Hook’s chagrin rubbing off on you, or the voice in your head whispering that you, as his teacher, failed at your job, you can’t help but feel a bit let down at his messing up.

“Hey, it’s fine. Let’s try again,” you say softly, your usual eager-to-help manner coming back at the sight of someone needing comforting.

And so, Hook tries again. And again. And again.

Finally, after the seventh or eighth try, he puts the wand back down on the table. “I don’t know what to tell you, love. No matter how hard I try, it’s simply not working.” You sigh, looking at the floor before you, which was now littered with disks. “Hey, at least you got closer each time! That’s still progress.” You attempt to raise his spirits a bit, but he just fixes you with a look that tells you he’s not one to fall for your false positivity.

“Uhm…” You hesitate, not quite sure what to do next or how to fix this. “How about you see how I do it, and try to copy that?”

Hook gives a small nod and you fish out your wand, pulling up your sleeves and taking a deep breath to prepare. Focusing on one of the disks on the table, you start the particular movements. Up. Swish. Circle. Flick!

Both of you watch in somewhat astonishment as the ring curves perfectly through the air, flying with grace, as it lands directly in the center of the cloth.

Hook looks at you with raised eyebrows. Although that little part of you wants to rub it in his face, the fact that a hero, out of all people, bested him, you decide that torturing him with your teasing is only going to make him less likely to get the spell right.

“You see that? Now, try to copy it yourself,” you instruct.

And so, Hook makes a few more attempts, landing closer to the cloth each time, now only a couple inches away—yet never actually making contact with it.

You study his movements carefully as he casts the spell, trying to figure out what he’s doing wrong. After a few more of his failed attempts, you decide to try a different approach.

“Okay, watch me do it again, but this time come hold my wand from behind so you can get a feel for how I cast it,” you say, glancing up at Hook. “After all, it’s all in the wrist.” You recite a line your mother always says, one that often replays in your mind as you cast a spell. In your opinion, her guidance is the main reason that you’re so good at spells.

You’re still sitting down in your chair, pushing it in a little to provide room for him to come up behind you and reach your wand.

You were expecting Hook to get rather close; after all, there aren’t many ways for two people to hold the same wand in the position you were in without a tight proximity. What you weren’t expecting was the way he comes up from behind you leisurely, deliberately. The way his chest presses into your back as he leans in, arm brushing against yours as he extends it towards the wand. The way you can feel his exhales on your skin, breathing down your neck—literally—causes goosebumps to rise up and down your arms. The way his natural aroma engulfs you completely, overwhelming your senses all at once. How his large hand feels on yours as he places it on top, curling his fingers around the wand—and yours, as well. The way you can feel the smirk dancing on his face, looking down at you with what you expect to be half-lidded eyes.

And the way your heart races, good heavens. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought you just ran a marathon. Your body simultaneously heats up and freezes at his touches, no matter how small, your mind becoming overly aware of every point of contact you have with him. You fight against the overstimulation flooding your senses, resisting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your legs, while hoping that the wand doesn’t slip out of your hand as perform the incantation.

Truth be told, although you definitely won’t admit this to anyone: you really haven’t had much experience with romance, or anything of the sorts. All your life, you’ve focused on doing good deeds and keeping up with your studies, aiming to be the best of the best in the hero world. Which is probably why no boy has ever taken interest in you; instead of going to dances or out on dates, you've always spent your Friday nights locked away in your room, studying hard to make sure you ace your exams. Plus, with your goody-two-shoes streak, you aren't exactly the most sought-out person in your class.

Which is why with the way Hook flirts with you, and now, the way you can feel his inhales and exhales against your skin—subconsciously trying to match the rhythm of his breathing—your brain is short-circuiting. The lack of romantic attention you’ve received your whole life is behind why you don't know how to react to Hook's antics, while still internally freaking out at his movements and words.

You inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady your quivering hand and hope that Hook doesn’t notice your reaction. But after the amused little hum he gives, your embarrassment grows by the second. Trying your best to focus on the task at hand, you say, “Okay, here goes.”

Up. You feel Hook’s grip tighten around your hand, just a little bit but still enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Swish. The disk vibrates with extreme intensity, to the point where you’re afraid it’ll break apart, despite the metal structure.

Circle. As you circle your wrist around, you feel Hook’s arm rub against yours even more, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. Gods, the things this man is doing to you.

Flick. You flick the wand towards the cloth yet again, jerking your head sideways to follow it as it flies across the room. Agonizing in how it ignites every nerve in your body, you feel Hook’s head brush against the top of yours as he follows your movements, watching the disk soar.

It seems, for a minute, as if it’s going to land right on top of the previous one. But to both your shocks, it falls just outside the borders of the cloth, barely touching the edge.

Your face absolutely burns in embarrassment, palms dripping with sweat now. Hook tilts his head towards yours—which you feel all too well—as he says, far closer to your ear than you would’ve liked, “Well, it seems like even the master makes mistakes, love.”

Fuming, you finally give into the urge and drop the wand to wipe your hands on your clothes. Screw him, you mentally curse. It’s all his fault. I’ve never messed up this spell before.

And as much as you want to blame him, you know that it’ll do you absolutely no good to tell him the fact that he was so close to you made your brain short-circuit to such an extent that you messed up a spell you could do since you were five.

You shake your head, refusing to accept your failure. “No, I…I don’t know what happened. It must have been a faulty disk. Just…I’m going to try again.”

Hook raises his eyebrows at you—or at least, you’re pretty sure he does, as you can’t see him from behind. You grab your wand again, and without even telling him to do so, Hook leans in and places his hand back over yours, your fingers trapped between his and the wand.

Internally, you find yourself growing impossibly more annoyed at him. Honestly, did he really have to go back to that position, the one that made you mess up the spell in the first place? You take a deep, steadying breath, forcing away all thoughts of Hook and how his dark brown eyes, beautiful and rich like the bark of the trees back in Oz, are boring into your skull right now. You simply can’t afford to get distracted again. Messing up the spell once is one thing—sure, everyone makes mistakes, don’t they? But twice? It would be absolutely inexcusable.

Twice would mean that you are not as adept as you thought you were, not talented enough in the one thing that you've been sure of for your whole life.

Remember the words.

Up, swish, circle, flick!

Fueled by your self-directed rage, you ensure that every movement you make is precise, sharp, and without a single tremor going through your hand. This time, the disk slices through the air with a clean, aerodynamic curve, and lands…

…right on top of your first one.

You beam, regaining your former confidence in your spellcasting abilities.

“The master may sometimes make mistakes, but they’re still the master,” you gloat. “Now come on, you need to practice till you get as good as that.”

You and Hook spend quite some time on practicing the spell, with you giving him pointers and him—surprisingly—improving. It seems as though your hands-on demonstration really helped him, as his skills greatly improved.

Soon, in every set of ten rings he practiced on, he was consistently getting six or seven of them within the boundaries of the cloth, with one or two more landing on the edge, half-in.

After one round where he managed to get nine of the disks touching the cloth—his personal best so far—you decide he needs something even more challenging.

“Woah, that was a really good round,” you praise. Hook turns to face you, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that his normal smirk seems a little less snarky and a little more…genuine.

“Still not as good as you, though, love,” Hook replies. You can tell he’s trying hard to maintain his nonchalant front, especially when it comes to academics, but the pride in his eyes and the earnest grip on his wand tell a different story. Honestly, you like him better this way. Less of him pretending to be a bad boy villain, and more of his real personality.

And in this moment, as you subtly study his features and think about his change in behavior over the past few hours, a thought that’s never even come close to crossing your mind suddenly pops up. What if villains, just like heroes, feel pressured to uphold a certain facade? The same way that you’ve always felt like you just have to be good, no matter the cost, no matter how hard it is for you, maybe villains feel the same way. Maybe they believe they always have to be bad, troublesome, and cruel. Even if that’s not who they truly are.

And through the lens of your new insight, you start seeing Hook in a different light. Just like how you feel as if being good and helpful and cheery all the time is a burden, how sometimes you wish you could just let loose and be selfish, maybe villains feel like being evil is a burden. Maybe Hook feels compelled to act smug and suave, even though that isn’t who he truly feels like being all the time.

You begin to feel a deep sense of guilt for judging him based on his demeanor and criticizing his performance in class. Reflecting back, you realize that you had been unnecessarily harsh on him for something that is likely beyond his control. Gosh, I'm such an idiot, you think, shame burning your cheeks.

Shaking off your remorse, you put on another bright smile and try to respond as cheerfully as possible. “Hey, it’s still a huge improvement from sending the rings flying on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Or at innocent bystanders’ heads!” This time, you don’t encourage him because you feel pressured to do so, or because that’s who you know you’re supposed to be. You do it because deep down, in your heart, it’s what you feel like saying.

“Hmm, true,” Hook replies, angling his head to the side as he considers your point, the smallest of smiles still dancing on his lips.

“Now, for your final test.” At your statement, Hook raises a brow. “You need something different, something truly challenging. Something to prove your mastery of the Aiming Spell…”

You rack your brain for ideas, but nothing comes to mind. After a moment in silence, Hook speaks up. “I may have an idea.”

Glancing over at him, rather surprised—you were the teacher, after all—you gesture for him to go on.

“Go stand over there by that wall,” he instructs, motioning with his hook to the wall opposite you two. “And put your hands up.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, fixing him with a look of wariness and doubt. You don’t move for a second, still too distrusting of him as you try to imagine what standing in that position has to do with casting a spell. Noticing your hesitation, Hook nods towards the wall again. “Well, go on, love.”

Still suspicious of him, you cave in and walk over to the far side of the room. Pressing your back against the wall as you raise your hands up, the position makes you feel as if you've just been caught red-handed in the midst of a crime. Hook still stands by the table, waiting patiently. You try to think back to the textbook pages you went over with him, wondering if you had accidentally taught him some sort of attack charm that he was planning to use on you.

Feeling your anxiety build, you wriggle your left fingers, wrapping your thumb and middle finger around the base of your pointer. You always wear a special, very pretty ring on that hand, a gift your mother gave to you a few years ago. Fiddling with it while twisting it around and around helps to soothe you, especially when you feel nervous.

But this time, when you go to repeat the same movement you always do, you feel the absence of the familiar metal surface and engravings etched into it. Glancing up at your hand, you confirm that your ring is indeed missing. The only trace of its former presence is the two parallel, circular indents in your skin from wearing it for so long.

Your panic skyrockets now at the loss of one of your favorite possessions, practically forgetting about Hook and the unease that accompanied his bizarre request. That ring had come with a special message; the night you got it, your mother had told you, “Remember when you were younger, and I told you that people are either good or bad? Well, that’s not quite true. No one is really black or white. We’re all just shades of gray. Some people are lighter gray, and some people are darker gray. And although we might be different shades, we all fall under the same color. Remember that, Y/N.”

And you have remembered it. Every time you go to toy with your ring, those words echo in your mind. Your mom had embedded the ring with a marble featuring a swirl of many different shades of gray, a reminder of the message that came along with it. You were too young to truly understand her words back then, but now, especially in these recent moments, you think you’re starting to fully grasp what she meant.

Snapping back to the present, you realize the serious problem you have at hand. “My ring!” you cry. “I could have sworn I had it when I came here…”

“Looking for this?” Hook’s smirk is back in full force. His left arm is raised, and on the crest of his polished metal hook, your precious ring glimmers under the golden lights projected from the ceiling.

“You…! When did you even…” your voice trails off as your mind catches up to your mouth. It must have been when he leaned in, while you were demonstrating the spell. That was the only time he had gotten close enough to you, although you don’t know how in the world he nicked it off your finger without you having the slightest hint.

Then you remember, quite painfully, how flustered you had been in that moment. If you were so distracted that you couldn't even cast a simple spell right, then you certainly wouldn’t have had enough brainpower to notice a skilled thief steal from you.

“Hey! Give that back!” you exclaim, huffing angrily, a frown etched deep into your face.

“I will, darling,” Hook replies smugly. “Now, raise your hands up again. And don’t wiggle your fingers around this time.”

“Give me my ring back first!” you demand, your previous annoyance towards him coming right back.

“Let me do this first, and then you’ll get your ring. Hands up.” At your glare, Hook tilts his head to the side and gives you a look. “Don’t you trust me?”

Well, of course not, is the first thought that pops into your mind. You’re a liar and a thief, and above all, a villain.

But then you remember your mother’s words, your earlier revelation and how, just for a moment, you glimpsed Hook through a different light. So, although you definitely won't go as far as saying that you trust him, you still empathize with him enough to give in to his request.

Wordlessly, you raise your hands back up to your sides, palms facing in front of you, while fighting the urge to fidget again. You debate whether or not it’d be best to close your eyes for this, but you ultimately decide that if Hook does try to pull any more of his little tricks, all your senses should be sharp and aware.

And so you stand, frozen, as Hook raises the wand. For a second, you think he’s going to cast the spell on you. But instead, he uses his good hand to remove the ring from where it’s stuck in his hook, instead placing it dangling from the tip. He points his wand at the ring, repeating the maneuvers you two practiced so many times.

Up. The ring lifts off his hook and levitates just in front of him.

Swish. It starts vibrating like the disks, but due to its small size, your cherished ring begins to rotate on its axis.

Circle. With Hook’s circular movement of the wand, the ring’s spinning accelerates, locking on to its target—whatever that is.

Flick. For one final time, Hook flicks his wrist, this time towards you.

You watch, your heart pounding as fast as ever, as the ring—your ring—curves through the sky as it falls, getting closer and closer to you. You slam your eyes shut for just a beat, unable to bear the anticipation, before remembering your earlier rationale again.

Eyes flying open instantly, you regain your vision just as the ring falls, falls, falls, landing…

…directly on your finger.

But not the finger that you previously wore it on. Your eyes widen again in disbelief as it slips perfectly around your ring finger.

“Uh…I…uhm…” you stammer, confused and shocked and overwhelmed with far too many things at once to form a coherent sentence. How in the world did he cast such a precise Aiming Spell, in a situation where it wouldn’t have succeeded had he been even a centimeter off? And if he was so precise with his location pinpointing, then why in the world did he put it on your left ring finger??

“Come on, spit it out, love,” Hook replies teasingly. “You can say it, don’t be afraid.”

Your mind is working far too hard for you to shoot him a glare, but you mentally do it anyway. “That was…impressive,” you finally admit, although you wish you didn’t when Hook’s smug grin grows twice as wide. Ugh, his ego is already big enough. I did not need to inflate it like that.

“Could you always cast the spell that well?” you ask, still stunned at his precision. You honestly couldn’t see how anyone who had been sending disks flying all across the room a mere few hours ago was now casting spells with the accuracy of someone who had been doing this for years.

“Why, of course not. You saw how I was earlier.” Hook’s grin grows even wider as he adds, “It’s all because I had a wonderful teacher.”

You still frown at him skeptically, walking back towards the table where he stands. “I highly doubt it’s because of that. I mean, I don’t know if even I could pull something like that off with such little practice.”

At this, Hook gives a little laugh. “What do they say, the student exceeds the teacher?”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, they call it ‘beginner’s luck.’ You should be happy you got it right this time, because you might not get so lucky on your exams.”

Hook grins again, and as much as you detest the pleasure he gets from teasing you—and though you’d never admit it—a small, dark gray part of you enjoys the playful banter between you two.

“That’s why I have you, darling. If I ever need more help, I’ll know who to run to.” He leans in close to you, so close, until his mouth is right next to your ear. You start having flashbacks to your previous experiences with Hook being in a close proximity, and the combined feelings from both your memories and his current actions causes your body to heat up in a way you didn’t even know was possible.

He tilts his head down ever so slightly towards you, his lips feathering across your ear. “And you won’t be able to get out of helping me, my little goody-goody.”

Your mind is absolutely spinning at his words, his touch, his presence, his everything. You desperately struggle to formulate some sort of response, but just as you open your mouth, ready to question his choice of ring placement, a deep, low horn sounds, reverberating off the walls.

Curfew.

Hook breaks away from you as you glance down at your wristwatch. The clock shows exactly 10:00. Gods, how did the time pass by so quickly?

You glance back up at Hook, deciding to ignore the way he so alluringly whispered in your ear just seconds ago. “Well, uh, we have to get going, then,” you awkwardly say, scratching at your neck.

Hook stands there for a moment, staring at you whilst completely motionless, making you wonder what he’s thinking and what he’s planning to do. Just as you’re about to bid him a goodnight and turn away, he reaches his good hand out, grabbing your left one. He holds it delicately in his hand, his palm cupped upwards with your fingers resting gently on top.

Slowly, and while keeping his head up just enough to maintain eye contact with you the entire way down, he bends into a bow in front of you. Only does he avert his gaze when he finally reaches your hand, looking down at your ring, which still sits on your ring finger, as he places a kiss on the bright stone.

He peers back up at you, deep brown eyes wide and expressive.

“Until we meet again, m’lady.”

on to part 2! ->

taglist: @4ng3l-ch1ld @astrynyx @0strawberrysorbet0

just leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

a/n: the demons I had to fight to not name this "if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it" haha. anyways thanks for reading!

do not plagiarize, translate, remake, or copy my works, including my writing and images, in any way.

721 notes · View notes

slattlicker · 2 months ago

Text

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * B O Y W I T H T H E G R E E N F O L D E R ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮a high school au jschlatt x reader oneshot ↳ ~8.2k words · sfw · slow reveal, soft feelings, super anime-esque ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female y/n in mind ✦ (but all are welcome to enjoy ♡)

there were noodles. there was boba. there are A LOT of feelings.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

the classroom’s warm.

sunlight seeps through the window beside him, spilling over the desks and floor like honey. it hits the back of your head perfectly. too perfectly. and it’s making it impossible to think.

you’re just sitting there, twirling your pencil like you don’t know you’re driving him insane. like the light glinting off your earrings and the soft breeze ruffling your uniform skirt aren’t the most life-ruining things he’s ever witnessed.

schlatt’s supposed to be taking notes. but instead, his notebook is a battlefield of emotions: your name scribbled over and over again, in every style imaginable.

mrs. y/n schlatt. mr. and mrs. schlatt. y/n ♥ schlatt

one doodle has a banner. another has dramatic little wings and sparkles. there’s even one with a cowboy hat on the “s” because, for some reason, his brain short-circuited into yeehaw mode during third period.

he’s sick.

he knows it.

but god, he’s in love.

every little laugh, every time you bite your lip in thought, every time you tap your pen against your notebook—he memorizes it. hoards it. his brain’s just a slideshow of you.

because he tried talking to you once. in freshman year. some dumb group project. he stuttered over his own name. you smiled politely. offered to take the hardest part of the worksheet. didn’t even flinch when he knocked his pencil case off the desk.

you were nice.

which, unfortunately, made everything worse.

because you’ve always been nice. to everyone. you don’t just say good morning, you say it like it matters. you remember birthdays. lend people your charger. always have a pen.

you are, objectively, popular. not in a loud way—more like… effortlessly magnetic. people orbit you. they want to sit with you at lunch. they want you on their group projects. they want to be the reason you smile.

and schlatt? he’s tall and awkward and weirdly good at calculus. he plays bass in a band that’s never played live. he sits by the window because it’s easier to zone out during lectures. he’s the guy who trips over his own feet walking into class and then apologizes to the floorboards.

so yeah.

he doesn’t talk to you.

he writes you letters instead. pages and pages of them. some serious, some stupid, all tucked into a battered green folder in the bottom of his backpack. he’s never given you one. probably never will.

but he keeps writing them.

just in case.

and today—today was supposed to be like all the others.

he was going to watch you from afar. write down how the sunlight hit your hair. maybe draft a sonnet or two about your handwriting. normal, harmless, delusional things.

but then the bell rings—sharp and sudden—and schlatt jumps like it personally offended him. his pen flies out of his hand. his notebook slams shut. he starts packing up fast, head down, heart already racing.

he’ll go to the library, he thinks. or maybe the band room. he needs to get this down while it’s still fresh in his head. he’ll write a new letter. maybe the best one yet. maybe he’ll even sign it this time—

“hey.”

your voice.

his whole body freezes.

he looks up, slow. like maybe he imagined it. but no—you’re standing right there beside his desk, one hand on your hip, the other holding your bag. head tilted. smiling.

and oh god, he’s going to die.

he swallows hard, clutching the straps of his backpack like a lifeline. “h-hi.”

“wanna have lunch with me? i was gonna sit on the bridge today. maybe pick something up from the store instead of the caf.”

there’s a pause.

schlatt, in his head: this is it. this is the moment. say yes. just say yes. you’re literally in love with her. you’ve imagined marrying her in at least three different countries.

…and still, somehow, nothing comes out.

his mouth opens—then closes. then opens again. like a fish. a love-struck, socially inept, dying fish.

he swears his heart is beating in italics.

you asked him. you asked him. not the guy who sits behind him, not one of your pretty friends, not even as a joke. him.

and you’re waiting.

his brain, meanwhile, is throwing chairs. screaming. dialing 911.

“uh—i—uh,” he stammers, voice cracking like a damn glow stick. “y-yeah. i mean. if you—if you want. like—yeah. sure. cool.”

nailed it.

you blink. your mouth twitches. then you smile—wide, amused, like you heard every beat of that inner breakdown and found it a little endearing.

“cool,” you echo.

he’s still frozen. still clutching his backpack like it might launch him into space.

you reach out. take his hand.

he jolts like you touched him with a live wire.

you don’t flinch. don’t tease. just lift his hand slowly to your lips and press a kiss to the back of it. soft. casual. intentional.

“see you in a bit,” you say, as if he isn’t about to melt into the floor.

and then you turn, walking toward the door—your hair catching the sunlight, cherry blossoms drifting past the window like it’s the climax of some coming-of-age romance.

he stands there.

blinking.

buzzing.

then, very slowly, he sinks back into his chair.

and mutters, “holy shit.”

he’s not going to the library. he’s not writing anything. he’s going to walk across that bridge and pray he doesn’t pass out.

✧✧✧

he doesn’t go to the cafeteria.

he barely remembers how he got out of the building—just that he didn’t trip, and he didn’t throw up, and his legs kept moving even though his brain had short-circuited completely.

you kissed his hand.

you kissed his hand like it was normal. like you just go up to someone and do it on the regular.

he adjusts his backpack strap and rounds the corner by the main gate, trying not to overheat—and there you are.

waving at him like an idiot. like you're happy to see him.

the afternoon sun hits your hair. your skirt swishes. you’re beaming, weight rocking on your heels, a little bento sticker still stuck to your phone case.

“hey!” you call out, jog-walking the few steps toward him. “i was starting to think you bailed.”

“i—no—i wouldn’t—i just—” he fumbles over his words immediately, cringing as they trip out of his mouth like falling bricks. “i was coming. i came. i'm here.”

you laugh, already turning toward the sidewalk. “good. because i’ve decided i’m craving boba and noodles.”

he blinks. “...that's a pretty big lunch.”

“it’s the lunch of lovers, schlatt!”

he chokes. “wha—”

you grin up at him, teasing. “kidding. it just sounds better than cafeteria pizza.”

(he’d eat cafeteria pizza off the floor if you asked, but…you don’t have to know that.)

“i figured we could walk to the corner shop for the noodles, and then stop by the bubble tea place near the bus stop,” you say, looking up at him like it’s all the most natural thing in the world. “that okay?”

he nods, too fast. “yeah. yeah, totally. of course.”

your fingers brush his for half a second before you adjust your bag on your shoulder. he feels it all the way down to his spine.

you don’t seem to notice—just keep walking ahead a little, humming some song he doesn’t know, totally unbothered.

and schlatt… well, he tries to remember how to walk like a person.

✧✧✧

the noodle shop is small and warm, tucked between a flower kiosk and a dry cleaner. the windows fog slightly from the steam, and the scent of broth and garlic hits the second they step inside.

schlatt lets you order—because of course he does—and you flash him a quick grin before telling the cashier:

“one big bowl of the special. extra everything. two spoons.”

he blinks. two?

you’re already walking toward a corner booth, flopping down with a satisfied sigh and tugging your sleeves up to your elbows. he follows—awkward, lanky, trying not to knock anything over—and sits across from you.

the bowl arrives five minutes later, massive and gleaming. golden broth, handmade noodles, floating scallions, slices of pork and egg and chili oil glistening on top. the whole thing smells like heaven. two smaller bowls are set beside it, along with chopsticks and a little metal ladle.

you grin. “communal style. is that okay?”

he nods, too quickly. “yeah. totally. communal. love that.”

you snort, ladling broth into your own bowl and tugging noodles from the pot with practiced ease. schlatt mimics you awkwardly, his chopsticks nearly slipping out of his hand twice before he manages to scoop a modest serving.

“hope you’re hungry,” you say, grinning. “i know i am.”

he nods. “y-yeah. totally. starving.”

which is… half-true. he is starving. he always is by lunch, especially after skipping breakfast (again), especially after third period (the longest in human history), especially when he’s nervous (which he always is around you). but he’s barely touched his small bowl, dragging the noodles around like he’s being graded on etiquette.

you glance at him. then at his bowl.

“you eat like someone’s watching you through a window.”

he jolts. “what?”

“you’re starving,” you say simply, already scooping a few more noodles into his bowl with your chopsticks. “but you’re being weird about it. no one’s judging you. just eat.”

he blinks. “you don’t have to—”

“yeah, i do. that’s kind of why i invited you.”

that makes him freeze.

you keep assembling your own bowl, tipping in extra garlic and chili oil like it’s second nature. still not looking at him when you add, casual as anything:

“you always look like you’re about to eat your notebook by fifth period.”

he stares.

“i figured you skip breakfast,” you continue, calm and matter-of-fact. “and the cafeteria lunches aren’t exactly made for guys like you. so. i figured i’d get you a real lunch. or… y’know. split one. even if it’s more of a 20-80 kind of deal.”

his mouth opens, then closes. “o-oh. thanks.”

you glance up, smiling faintly. “it’s all good. as long as i get all the fishcakes.”

and then you’re back to eating like nothing happened.

meanwhile, schlatt’s brain is screaming.

you noticed him. not just in the polite, surface-level way classmates notice each other—but really noticed. enough to clock his eating habits. enough to care. enough to invite him to lunch. buy food. share a bowl. use your own chopsticks to top off his plate like it’s normal.

he slurps a few noodles, still trying to play it cool. still trying not to inhale the whole bowl like he hasn’t eaten all day—which, honestly, he hasn’t. he’s a big guy. he eats a lot. but right now, he’s eating like a victorian orphan in a candy shop, wide-eyed and grateful, because the girl he’s head-over-heels for just casually said she wanted to be the one to make sure he's well fed.

and now she’s laughing at a dumb pun she made about scallions. and bumping his foot under the table when he doesn’t respond fast enough. and brushing her fingers against his when she passes him a napkin.

you’re mid-bite when you ask it—simple, offhand, like you’re just passing time.

“so... do you go out a lot?”

schlatt’s chopsticks stall just short of his mouth.

he blinks. chews. swallows. “uh. like… with people?”

you raise an eyebrow, grinning around the rim of your water cup. “yeah. like… friends, dates, whatever.”

schlatt tries not to choke on air. “oh. uh. not really. i mean—sometimes. mostly with charlie or travis or, like, for gaming stuff. not really… dating.”

not really ever.

his brain is already short-circuiting. because what the hell kind of question is that? why would you ask that unless—no. no, don’t spiral.

you hum, popping a piece of tofu into your mouth. “mm. i kinda figured. you’re hard to read sometimes.”

he fidgets with his chopsticks, nervous now that the spotlight’s back on him. “why’d you figure that?”

you shrug, like it’s obvious. “i don’t know. you don’t talk much in class. you’re always drawing or writing stuff. people assume you’re quiet ‘cause you’re shy, but i think you’re just private.”

he stares at you.

you look back, relaxed, legs swinging slightly under the bench. like you’re not unraveling him.

“you’re not wrong,” he mumbles.

you smile—genuine, warm. it makes his stomach flip. “so. what would you do if someone confessed to you?”

schlatt freezes.

his mind leaps to the green folder. the dozens of unsent letters. the way he almost included pressed cherry blossoms in one. he’s not equipped for this.

“uh. what kind of… confession?”

you laugh, tipping your head. “you know. like one of those corny schoolyard things. letter in your locker. gift on your desk. ‘meet me after class, i like you’ kinda thing.”

his ears go pink. “i… i don’t know. probably combust.”

you giggle into your hand. “nooo. you’d be sweet. i think you’d be nice about it.”

you say it like you know. like you’ve imagined it. which—god. maybe you have…?

“have… you gotten a lot of those? confessions, i mean,” he asks, trying to sound casual, but it comes out strangled.

you shrug again, fiddling with your napkin. “some. i usually know it’s coming, though. they get all nervous, leave notes. sometimes i get snacks or keychains. last one tried to give me a frog plushie.”

“a frog?”

“yeah. i like frogs. it was actually really cute. i still talk to him.”

schlatt’s heart plummets. he picks at his noodles, half-listening, half-mourning his already nonexistent chances.

you still talk to that guy.

of course you do. you’re nice. you’re charming. you probably keep a perfectly organized box of old love letters, too, just to make sure no one’s feelings get thrown out with the recycling.

he swirls a bit of broth in his bowl. “so… what kind of guy do you like?”

you pause, mid-sip, giving him a look that’s not quite teasing, not quite surprised. just curious.

he tries to keep his voice neutral. “i mean—you get, like, confessed to all the time, right? so you’ve gotta have, like… a type.”

“i guess…” you rest your chin on your hand, spinning your chopsticks between your fingers. “i like guys who are tall. really tall. like... have-to-duck-through-doorways tall. not lanky-tall, though—like, big-tall. broad.”

schlatt clears his throat, sitting very slightly lower in his seat. tall. he is so tall.

“and i think it’s cute when they get blushy for no reason,” you say, absentmindedly stirring your noodles. “like, i’ll just say hi, and they look like they ran a mile.”

schlatt stares down at his bowl like it just personally betrayed him. his face is already hot—he can feel it, the flush creeping down his neck—and he desperately hopes the lighting in here is dim enough to hide it.

you hum, smile curling soft at the edges. “oh, and guys who write stuff. not like, ‘oh, i journaled once because my therapist told me to,’ but real stuff. like, hamilton-level pages on pages on pages. letters they never send. scripts they never show anyone.”

his grip tightens on his chopsticks. the green folder in his bag practically burns a hole through the canvas. his brain flashes with the line he scrawled at 2 a.m.—'your laugh should come with a warning label. dangerous levels of adorable.'

“i literally fall for the ones who overthink everything,” you say, voice light, totally unaware that you are currently cracking him open like a lobster shell. “like, the type who thinks ‘how was your day’ is a trap. just spirals and spirals and then lies awake all night dissecting the conversation.”

he is absolutely being read for filth.

“and maybe someone who video games?” you add, lifting your water to your lips. “but not like, ‘screams in the headset and doesn’t shower’ gamer. i mean the kind who plays after class, maybe streams sometimes. doesn’t make it his whole life - it’s actually just for fun.”

he swallows. hard.

you glance at him over the rim of your cup. “i love techy guys, too. but not in a ‘new iphone’ way. like, give me physical media. give me vhs tapes and dvds and that one shelf of old movies no one wants to lend out. someone who loves watching movies about how good life is when you slow down..”

he thinks he might throw up.

because this is... this is him. every single word. somehow he’s been peeled apart, laid flat on the table, and described like a character in your story. and you’re just—talking. so casually. like this isn’t the most intense thing anyone’s ever said to him without actually saying it.

he pokes at a chili flake with his chopsticks, voice hoarse when he finally manages, “sounds like a pretty specific guy.”

you smile. shrug. “yeah. kinda impossible to find.”

you sip your water.

he stares.

he does not sip anything.

because his entire body is malfunctioning and he’s 98% sure he’s being toyed with by the universe, or something.

✧✧✧

the walk to the boba shop is short—but it feels longer with you beside him.

you keep pace just slightly behind his stride, your shoulder brushing his arm now and then. he notices. of course he notices. he starts adjusting his steps, trying to match yours, but then that feels too obvious, so he goes back to normal, which means you keep doing this little half-skip to keep up.

he doesn’t say anything. but he’s thinking about it.

he’s thinking about how small your hand looked around his when you kissed it. how your shoes make that little click every time you catch up to him again. how he probably looks like your bodyguard. or your older brother. (god, no—never mind. what is wrong with him, ugh!)

he clears his throat. “hot out today.”

you hum, squinting up at the sky. “mhm. feels like a brown sugar kind of day.”

he swallows. “with oat milk?”

you blink at him. “yeah.”

“you usually get it on hot days,” he mumbles.

you tilt your head, smiling. “you’ve been watching my boba orders?”

“no—! i mean—not like that. just… you ordered it last week on the school trip. and during midterms. and i saw you after my rehearsal that one time.”

“totally not tracking it, huh?”

“i just have a good memory,” he mutters.

you snort. “alright, memory boy. what do you think i’m getting today?”

he glances at you. hesitates. “brown sugar, oat milk, extra pearls, light ice.”

you grin. “ding ding ding.”

his ears turn pink.

when the shop comes into view, you both pause outside the door. it’s small and sunny inside, vines creeping down from the window ledge, a tiny chalkboard sign listing the seasonal specials.

“your turn,” you say.

schlatt raises a brow. “huh?”

“you guessed mine. let me guess yours.”

he opens the door for you. “you won’t get it.”

“wanna bet?”

he huffs. “sure.”

you both step into the cool, tea-scented air of the shop, and you immediately turn to the cashier with a smile. “one brown sugar oat milk, extra pearls, light ice—and a taro, half sugar, with egg pudding and no ice.”

schlatt freezes.

you glance back. “did i win?”

he blinks. “how did you…”

you shrug. “you ordered it after the fall pep rally. and after finals. and that time you bombed your calc quiz.”

he stares at you.

you raise your eyebrows, smiling. “i've got a good memory.”

he doesn’t say anything. just watches as you pay before he can even reach for his wallet. again.

and when you turn to wait at the pickup counter, looking utterly unbothered, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a full-blown meltdown.

you guessed his order. you remembered details about his life he didn’t even know he’d revealed. you’re standing next to him in a sunlit boba shop like this is a date. his heart is being strummed like his bass guitar.

the drinks come out with a soft ding, and you’re the one to grab them, handing schlatt his taro without ceremony.

“thanks,” he mutters, wrapping his hands around the plastic covered cup like it might anchor him to earth.

you plop down on the little bench outside the shop—half in sun, half in shade—and kick your feet out with a satisfied sigh. he follows, careful to keep a bit of space between you. not too much. just… enough to think straight. kind of.

you take a long sip of your drink, then glance at him over the rim of your straw. “you know, your order says a lot about you.”

he blinks. “what?”

“boba orders. personality test. super accurate.”

he raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “you’re joking.”

“nope.” you tap your straw against your lid. “taro’s a classic comfort flavor. safe. steady. a little nostalgic. and you ordered it with egg pudding, which means you’re secretly a softie.”

he opens his mouth. closes it. “that’s…”

you smile, smug. “true?”

“i was gonna say bullshit.”

you cackle. “same thing.”

he watches you sip again, straw clicking against the ice, and tries not to get distracted by the curve of your smile or the way the sun catches in your lashes.

you continue, casual as anything. “also, no ice means you like control. you want things how you want them. predictable.”

“i don’t like brain freeze.”

“control,” you say again, nodding with mock-seriousness.

he scrunches his nose. “fine. what’s your flavor say about you, then?”

“brown sugar, oat milk, extra pearls, light ice?” you echo. “easy. i’m adventurous, but emotionally grounded. extroverted. likes to have fun. sucker for texture. totally down to stir the pot—” you lean in, eyes gleaming. “—but only when i know i’ll win.”

he chokes on a laugh, taking a very long sip of his drink to recover. “that sounds fake.”

“it’s science, actually.”

“remind me never to let you psychoanalyze my lunch order.”

“oh, i already have,” you say sweetly. “you took exactly three bites before slowing down to take a sip of water. that means you were trying to be polite. which means you were raised right. but your eyes kept drifting to the bowl, which means you can be food-motivated, and that’s probably half the reason you agreed to come.”

he groans. “please stop.”

“also means you’re big,” you continue, cheerfully ignoring him. “like, obviously you’re tall, but you’ve got a big appetite. big frame. big heart. big… everything.”

you pause, smile twitching, like you’re trying not to laugh at your own implications.

he goes pink. again.

“stop analyzing me,” he mumbles, slurping violently at his straw to hide it.

“you’re the one who guessed my drink first.”

there’s a beat of silence—quiet, but warm. the kind that settles when two people are sipping the same kind of sweet and the same kind of slow, letting the buzz of the afternoon soften everything around them.

“wanna walk a bit?” you ask, tilting your cup toward the road. “before we gotta go back?”

he nods. “yeah. yeah, okay.”

you both rise. the bench creaks. his cup’s half-empty already—nerves and thirst don’t mix well—and he silently curses how fast it’s already gone.

you’re beside him again, shoes clicking lightly against the sidewalk. your pace is slow. measured. there’s a corner up ahead shaded by cherry trees. some leftover petals scatter along the edge of the sidewalk. he watches your hair move in the breeze, the way you shift your drink from one hand to the other, and something about it—about you—feels so close and so far at the same time.

he wonders if you can hear his heart from where you stand.

and then you say, “hey.”

he looks at you.

you’re already looking at him.

“you know what i think?” you ask, voice a little quieter, smile a little smaller.

he shakes his head.

“i think…” you swing your drink slightly by your side. “i think you’d be a really good boyfriend, for someone. if they were what you wanted.”

his brain bluescreens.

you don’t wait for a reaction. just keep walking, sipping, like you didn’t just set off an internal nuclear event in his chest. like it’s just a passing comment. like the sidewalk didn’t just tilt thirty degrees beneath his feet.

✧✧✧

he’s still trying to reboot his entire nervous system when you both reach the school gate.

the cherry blossoms are thicker here, brushing against the chain-link fence. it’s warm now—late afternoon golden, the kind of heat that makes everything feel like it’s glowing softly. your hair’s catching the light again. your drink is almost gone. your hand brushes his again.

and he’s reeling.

you’d be a really good boyfriend.

you said it like a thought. like an observation. like something you already believed.

he’s never walked so straight in his life. never thought so hard about the placement of his arms. his fingers. his breath.

and then someone calls your name.

loud. nervous. fast footsteps behind.

“hey! hey, y/n, wait up—!”

you turn. schlatt does too.

there’s a boy. not from your class, he thinks—maybe first year. shorter than you. holding something behind his back. his tie is crooked and his cheeks are bright red, and he skids to a stop a few feet away from you, panting.

“i—i wanted to—”

you blink. “oh.”

the boy shuffles. brings his hands forward.

a box. wrapped in silver paper with little frogs printed on the sides.

schlatt’s stomach drops.

“i made these,” the boy says quickly. “frogs. well—not real frogs! candy. little gummies. i, uh. i heard you liked frogs? so i… um. i do too. i mean—i like you. i like you.”

schlatt stands still. silent. watching. entirely unsure what to do with his hands, his drink, or his existence.

you take the box gently, fingers brushing the kid’s.

you’re smiling.

but it’s not the same as it was a second ago.

schlatt notices it immediately. the smile’s softer. kind. warm, but distant. there’s a wall in it. a barrier. it’s practiced.

“thank you,” you say. “that’s really sweet.”

the boy laughs—high-pitched and anxious. “so, um—does that mean—?”

“i’m really flattered,” you say gently. “but i don’t think it’d be fair to say yes when i don’t feel the same. i hope that’s okay.”

the boy blinks. his smile falters, but he nods. “oh. yeah. i mean. yeah.”

“i like talking to you, though! i hope we can still do that.”

“…yeah. i’d like that.”

you nod. and just like that, the whole thing’s done.

you watch him walk away. then turn back to schlatt like nothing happened.

but something is different.

he sees it the second your eyes shift. the moment the kid’s out of earshot, something in your shoulders slumps—not much, not dramatic, just enough to notice. your smile doesn’t fall exactly… but it changes. less performative. less curated. less like the school’s favorite girl handling the situation with grace, and more like…

more like you.

your gaze flicks toward schlatt’s for only a second. then down at the ground. you exhale.

“always feels a little shitty,” you say, voice lower now. “even when you do it right.”

he doesn’t know what to say. not yet. he’s still watching the way your hand curls around your basically empty cup tighter. the way your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to frown.

“not ‘cause i feel bad saying no,” you continue. “but it’s just—tiring, i guess. being someone people like so much. it…doesn’t feel real.”

his stomach twists.

because this—this version of you? it’s so far from the bright, easygoing persona everyone sees. it’s not bubbly. not bulletproof. it’s quiet. honest. like you’re letting yourself stop performing.

and it’s hitting him all at once: the way you looked at that kid—kind, but detached. how fast you stepped back into the role of you, the version people expect.

and then there’s him.

the weird, shy kid who stumbles over his own sentences, who didn’t say anything clever or flirty or impressive all day, all year—and yet you invited him to lunch. shared your noodles. walked in step. remembered his boba order. kissed his hand. talked to him like you weren’t trying to be liked—just trying to be close with him.

and before he even registers it, before he can run the moment through the hundred mental checks he usually does—

“wanna come over?”

you blink. “huh?”

oh no.

his heart immediately slams against his ribs. “i mean—! you don’t have to, it’s just—uh, my house is, like, five minutes from here? and my mom’s probably not visiting today. i mean—not in a bad way, i just thought, like—if you weren’t busy, or—”

you’re staring at him. not weirded out. just… surprised. and a little amused.

he starts spiraling.

“i have snacks,” he adds, like that’ll save it. “and movies. and air conditioning. if you—like air. and conditioning.”

oh my god, he thinks. i’m going to eat drywall.

you smile. and tilt your head again, that same unreadable expression on your face.

“…yeah,” you say softly. “i’d like that. i'd really, really like that.”

his stomach does something inhuman. his brain is already short-circuiting, imagining you on his couch, in his space, next to him.

and then—

“oh,” he blurts. “i—i meant after school. not like—right now. unless you wanna skip. not that i’m asking you to skip. that would be irresponsible. i respect education. i just—yeah. after school.”

you snort. “relax, valedictorian. i got it.”

“i’m not valedictorian.”

“yet.”

you start walking again, totally at ease once more, sipping the last of your boba like he didn’t just fumble through seventeen disclaimers. he follows, stunned. lightheaded.

and now, not only does he have to survive the rest of the school day—he has to do it knowing you’re coming over afterward.

god help him.

✧✧✧

the final bell rings.

schlatt barely hears it.

his whole day’s been a blur—barely coherent notes, teachers asking if he’s feeling alright, charlie throwing paper at his head when he completely spaces out during group work. he’s just been counting the hours. the minutes. the seconds until the end of the day, until he can breathe again, until he sees you again.

he heads to the getabako—the rows of wooden cubbies where everyone stores their shoes—trying to act normal, trying not to look like he’s just run a marathon fueled entirely by nerves and caffeine-free anxiety.

and then he sees you. already there. already waiting.

you’re crouched by your cubby, switching your indoor shoes for your regular ones, hair slipping over your shoulder. you glance up when you hear him, and your whole face lights up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“hey,” you say, easy and familiar. “i figured i’d catch you here.”

his stomach flips. “you… were waiting for me?”

you nod, shifting your weight as you close your cubby. “well, yeah. i realized i don’t have your number. or your address. so i figured i’d just walk with you.”

he blinks. “walk with me?”

“to your place?” you say it like a question, like you’re checking to make sure he hasn’t changed his mind. “unless that invitation from earlier was just, like... heatstroke-induced.”

“no! i mean—yes. yes, it was real.” he fumbles with his laces, nearly trips over his own foot. “you can totally come. i just—yeah. i should’ve given you my number or something.”

you laugh. “you were a little busy malfunctioning.”

he flushes. “was not.”

“were too,” you grin, bumping your shoulder into his as the two of you walk toward the school gate together.

he ducks his head again, heart thudding like crazy, barely noticing that he’s started smiling.

you’re halfway down the path to the school gate when schlatt’s eyes flick toward the bike rack. his old rust-red frame is still there, locked up in its usual spot, tucked behind the hydrangea bushes that never get enough sun.

he hesitates—just for a second.

you notice.

“what?” you ask, glancing over.

he shrugs, half-smiling. “was just thinking about walking. didn’t expect company.”

you follow his gaze. “that your bike?”

he nods.

you tilt your head, thoughtful. “you always ride home?”

“usually,” he says. “it’s quicker. my house isn’t that far, but—”

“then let’s ride,” you interrupt, grinning as you step ahead and unloop the lock before he can stop you.

he blinks. “wait—you wanna ride? like, both of us?”

“sure,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “i’ll hop on the pegs.”

“the… pegs?”

you gesture behind the seat. “yeah, dork. you’ve got ‘em. you think i can’t balance?”

“i—i didn’t say that,” he stammers, fumbling to adjust the handlebars and kick up the stand. “i just didn’t think you’d wanna—”

“i do,” you say, already stepping around to the back of the bike. “now c’mon. pedal, chauffeur.”

he stares as you adjust your bag, step in close, and rest your hands lightly on his shoulders. there’s a quiet confidence in the way you move—like this isn’t new to you, like you’ve done it before, but never with him.

then you push up onto the pegs in one smooth motion, settling behind him, the warmth of you suddenly pressed against his back.

close. so close he can feel the shift of your weight, the soft exhale of your breath brushing his neck as you lean in and murmur—

“try not to crash, romeo.”

he doesn’t. but only because he pedals like his life depends on it.

✧✧✧

when you arrive, schlatt hops off the bike first and immediately fumbles with his keys, nearly dropping them twice. you tilt your head at him, amused, as he shifts his bag and mumbles something about “just a sec.”

he cracks the door open a few inches, peeks inside like he’s preparing for battle, then turns back to you. “uh—can you wait out here? just for, like… two minutes?”

you blink. “sure?”

he nods, already disappearing inside with a frantic “thanks!” before the door clicks shut behind him.

inside: muffled chaos.

there’s the sound of shuffling papers. a clatter of something hitting the floor. a chair screeches against the tile. a cabinet slams. you think you hear the microwave door open and close three times in a row.

you wait. patiently. leaning against the railing of the narrow walkway, shifting the weight of your backpack and holding the bike upright. seems like schlatt keeps it inside with him…doesn’t seem to be a bike rack outside the complex.

inside, schlatt is moving like a man possessed—sweeping crumpled papers off his desk, yanking dirty shirts off the back of a chair, trying to stuff all evidence of an unsupervised teenage existence into drawers, corners, anywhere.

the living room looks half-decent. the kitchen? he doesn’t even bother. the living room matters most. and maybe, his room.

he flings open his bedroom window to let in air, runs a hand through his hair, and takes exactly one deep breath before opening the front door again.

“okay,” he says, trying to sound calm, like he hasn’t just done a five-minute triathlon. “you can come in.”

✧✧✧

it’s small—but not cramped. a little studio-style place with a connected kitchen and living room, clean enough to suggest he’d panicked and straightened up just before you got there. the couch is worn but comfy-looking, and the tv’s flanked by a stack of vhs tapes and half-finished notebooks.

as you walk in, you pass an open door—just a glimpse into his bedroom.

the lights are off. bed half-made. a hoodie draped over a desk chair. you catch the soft hum of a fan and the edge of a cluttered nightstand before you move on.

the bathroom’s tucked inside, past the bed—ensuite, apparently.

“sorry,” schlatt mutters, kicking off his shoes and nervously smoothing down the hem of his shirt. “i cleaned a little, but—i wasn’t expecting, like… company.”

“it’s cute,” you say, setting your bag down by the couch.

his head snaps up. “it is?”

you nod, already wandering toward his vhs pile like you’ve been here before. “has personality. lived-in. smells like cinnamon gum and laundry detergent. very you.”

he clears his throat and nearly trips over a laundry basket trying to make room on the table. “you, uh—you wanna do homework? i’ve got snacks. water. sodas. i think there’s tea—”

you glance at him over your shoulder, smile teasing. “boring.”

he blinks. “what?”

“homework. c’mon. it’s friday. you really invited me over to finish worksheets?”

“i—i didn’t—”

you sit down on the couch, pat the space beside you. “let’s play something.”

he pauses mid-step. “like… video games?”

you tilt your head. “like truth or dare.”

a beat.

he looks like you just challenged him to a duel.

“truth or—?” he coughs. “that’s… elementary school stuff.”

you shrug. “only if you’re boring about it.”

“i’m not boring.”

you raise a brow. “then sit down and prove it.”

he does—like a man on his way to the electric chair.

the couch dips under his weight, and for a second you both just sit there, close but not quite touching, the space between you electric. you tuck your legs under you. he fiddles with a frayed thread on one of the couch cushions.

you grin. “truth or dare?”

he shifts, clearly panicking already. “…truth.”

you lean in just slightly. “were you surprised that i said yes when you invited me over today?”

he goes still.

then: “yes,” he says, barely above a whisper.

you smile, slow and satisfied. “thought so.”

his ears are bright red. “truth or dare?”

“truth,” you say, without hesitation.

his mind goes blank for a second. then: “why me?”

you blink. “why you what?”

“why’d you ask me to lunch today?”

you pause. not in hesitation, but consideration.

then you say, very simply, “i wanted to.”

and you lean your head back against the couch like it’s nothing. like you didn’t just lob a stick of dynamite into his chest and light the fuse.

he swallows. “your turn again.”

you smile. "dare or dare, schlatt?"

his breath catches. “that’s… not how the game works.”

you tilt your head, grinning. “is now.”

he stares at you. stares a little too long. and then, cautiously—like he’s stepping into a trap he wants to fall into—he says, “...dare.”

your grin widens. “i dare you to let me sit on your lap.”

he chokes. actually chokes.

“wha—here?! on my couch?!”

you raise your eyebrows. “is there another couch i don’t know about?”

he opens his mouth. closes it. glances around the room like he’s hoping to find an escape hatch behind the vhs tapes. but there’s nothing. just you. just this moment.

and oh god, you’re already moving.

you shift forward, like it’s the most normal thing in the world—and settle across his thighs, knees tucked beside him on the cushion. he’s stiff as a board beneath you, arms frozen at his sides like if he moves an inch, the universe might implode.

you look up at him, smirking. “you okay?”

“uh-huh,” he says, very unconvincingly.

you lean in just slightly, voice dropping. “you sure? you’re not internally combusting or anything?”

“i’m fine,” he says, squeaky and desperate.

you laugh. you actually laugh, and it’s so warm and real that he forgets how to breathe for a second.

then you lean back—just enough to rest your head on his shoulder, hands fidgeting lightly with the edge of his sleeve.

“you’re warm,” you murmur.

he is. he’s burning up, actually.

“is this… the dare? did i do it?” he manages.

you hum. “mhmm.”

“okay,” he says. “cool. normal.”

“totally normal,” you echo.

and then—so casually it kills him—you add, “feel free to ask when you’ve caught your breath.”

he swallows. feels his forehead sweating. but he nods. "dare or dare, y/n?"

“dare.”

it’s not fair—how confident you are. how steady. you say it like you’ve already won something. like you know exactly what you’re doing sitting on his lap, fingertips brushing his sleeve, your head so close he can smell your shampoo.

schlatt, on the other hand, is trying to survive.

his brain scrambles for something. anything. not too soft. not too bold. not too weird. but also not boring. you’re sitting on him like you belong there. he has to come up with something that makes you stay.

“i dare you…” he starts, brain blanking entirely.

you wait, one eyebrow raised, perched so confidently on his lap you might as well be sitting on a throne.

and then—he panics.

“i dare you to… put your face really close to mine.”

you blink. but you don’t laugh. you don’t tease. you just grin. slow. foxlike.

“oh?” you say, all innocent. “really close?”

he nods, stiff. “y-yeah.”

“like this?”

you lean in, stopping barely an inch from his face.

he can feel your breath now. warm. sweet. brown sugar type of sweet. sees the little flecks of color in your eyes.

“or closer?” you whisper.

he’s not breathing. he’s sure of it. his hands are hovering again—not on you, not off you, just there, like he’s buffering.

you shift. slow. smooth.

one leg swings over his lap, settling on the other side of his hips—and now you’re straddling him. facing him. close enough that your knees bracket his thighs, your hands rest lightly on his shoulders, your nose barely a breath from his.

he forgets how to exist.

you smile. “my turn, right?”

he nods. barely.

“dare or dare, schlatt?”

his voice cracks. “dare.”

your grin sharpens. sweet and devastating.

“i dare you,” you whisper, “to confess already.”

his brain—his entire soul—short circuits.

you’re watching him like it’s nothing. like you didn’t just strip him emotionally bare. like you haven’t been unraveling him all day with every shared sip, every soft glance, every perfectly-aimed, casually-spoken dagger.

“i—uh—”

“c’mon,” you tease, tilting your head. “unless...you don't like me?"

he opens his mouth. closes it. his hands flutter uselessly at your sides before finally, finally landing gently on your hips.

“y/n,” he says, soft and wrecked.

his hands are trembling a little where they rest on your hips. his mouth opens—then closes again, like he’s trying to catch up with the weight of what he wants to say. but when he looks at you, really looks at you, it just... spills out.

“i like you,” he starts, breathless. “i mean—i’ve liked you. since the first week of school. since you sat by the window and got mad at the vending machine for eating your dollar.”

his voice is soft, shaky. but he keeps going.

“i like you so much it physically hurts sometimes. like—like, i’ll be in the middle of math class, staring at a graph, and suddenly i’m thinking about the way you tie your shoelaces. all braided up.”

you blink back what he thinks are tears. he swallows hard.

“i write about you,” he admits, eyes wide. “not in, like, a creepy way—but in this really stupid, sappy way. i write poems about your handwriting. i’ve drafted letters about your laugh. i—i know how you take your tea. i know which boba you order when it’s hot out. i know you hum when you’re thinking really hard, and that you only wear your hair clipped back like that on rainy days.”

your breath catches.

he laughs, just barely—more like a nervous exhale—but it’s wet around the edges, like his chest can’t quite hold everything in.

“i know it’s ridiculous,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “i know i’ve barely said a full sentence to you before today without turning into a puddle. but i’ve thought about you. so much. not in a daydreamy, fairytale kind of way. in the real, little ways.”

his voice gets quieter. more tender.

“like how i wonder if you’re sleeping okay when you yawn through first period. or if you’re stressed when you chew your pen cap. or how your nail polish changes color when you’ve had a rough week. i just… i care. so much. more than i know what to do with.”

his fingers twitch gently at your waist. his eyes search yours—wide and hopeful and aching.

“i think you’re brilliant. and cool. and funny. and a little scary in the best way. and i never thought i’d be lucky enough to sit nearby you—let alone have you in my lap, looking at me like i didn’t just overshare myself into oblivion.”

a beat.

“i think you’re the best part of my day. every day.”

he shudders, his shoulders dropping – like a huge weight has been taken off of him. but his eyes linger on you, searching for that same fake smile you gave the freshman earlier today.

you stare at him. and then, slowly, you smile. your real smile.

your voice, when it comes, is quiet. honest. almost a whisper.

“i liked you first.”

his breath hitches.

“i mean—first first.” you laugh, soft and self-conscious. “first day of school. before anyone had even learned your name. you sat behind me, and you dropped your pencil three times, and i just... i knew.”

schlatt stares like he can’t believe the words are real.

“i thought you were cute,” you admit, cheeks heating. “and tall. and weird. and kind of grumpy-looking, but in this really endearing way. and then i saw your notebook—covered in dumb doodles and scribbles and little pixel hearts—and i was done for.”

he blinks. “wait, what—”

“i watched you go red every time i looked at you. i thought, oh. that’s what a crush looks like.” you grin, ducking your head. “and i waited, schlatt. i waited so long for you to talk to me.”

his mouth opens. closes.

you lean in, forehead brushing his. “all those other guys, the ones who gave me flowers and candy and love letters—i turned them down because none of them were you. i didn’t want some perfect confession. i just wanted you. fumbling, awkward, way-too-tall you.”

he lets out a broken laugh. “are you messing with me?”

“i’m not,” you whisper. “i used to make excuses to pass by your locker. i figured out your class schedule. i wanted to talk with you more, without using homework as an excuse.”

schlatt looks like he’s about to combust. “you stalked me?”

“lightly,” you clarify, giggling. “i call it strategic observation.”

his hands curl a little tighter at your waist, grounding himself. “you’ve liked me this whole time?”

“i like you, schlatt. present tense. deeply. disgustingly.” you shift in his lap, just a little, voice softening again. “i thought you’d never confess. i was this close to doing it myself.”

he stares, eyes wide. face flushed.

you’re still in his lap.

still staring at each other.

still suspended in this moment of soul-baring, reality-shattering honesty—and schlatt, for a second, looks like he might short-circuit all over again.

he blinks. once. twice. his hands twitch on your waist.

and then he blurts, “wait—wait, wait—hold on, this is real? like—this is happening? you—you like me? like, for real? not just like ‘hey, you’re kinda funny sometimes,’ but like—like-like?”

you open your mouth to answer, but it’s already too late. the spiral has begun.

“i mean—god, you’re literally in my lap right now,” he rushes on, voice gaining speed. “you’re saying you’ve liked me since the beginning and i’ve been sitting in class writing poetry like some 18th-century wench with a disease and—you already knew? you could tell?!”

you laugh, but he keeps going, eyes wide, rambling now.

“and i didn’t even know how to start talking to you, because you’re just—you, and i’m—me. and today wasn’t even supposed to happen. you weren’t supposed to invite me to lunch. you weren’t supposed to know my boba order or kiss my hand like that or sit in my lap, and now you’re here and you’re saying all that, and i think i’m having some kind of stroke.”

you blink at him.

then you sigh.

then you grab both sides of his face.

“schlatt.”

he freezes.

you lean in, forehead pressed to his. your voice is low. steady.

“i had to dare you to confess.”

he just stares.

you lift your brows. “do you know how embarrassing that is? i literally had to make up a game just to get you to say something. i am sitting on your–”

he kisses you.

it’s warm and soft and slow—the kind of kiss that says i wanted this for so long, and maybe also, i’m so sorry that i’m really bad at picking up signals.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, breath shaky. “you’re right,” he mumbles. “you had to go through all that just to get me to admit i like you. and i guess i just… didn’t want to waste more time asking if i could kiss the girl who already likes me back.”

you blink at him.

he looks wrecked in the sweetest way. flushed and wide-eyed and still trembling a little, but there’s a spark there now—something bolder underneath all the softness.

you blink again. then laugh, breathless.

“oh, now you grow a spine?”

he ducks his head, hiding a grin against your collarbone. “shut up.”

“no. this is so unfair. you’re supposed to be the shy one.”

he groans. “i am the shy one.”

you grab his face and press your lips to his—firm and smiling and a little triumphant. tilt your head and kiss him again.

and again.

because you can.

because you want to.

because finally.

#UGH BE STILL MY BEATING HEART #i luv a shy schlatt #also i like to imagine this takes place in the same place as wherever ace attorney takes place #a mix of LA and Japan #something like that #vuewrites #jschlatt #schlatt #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt headcanons #schlatt headcanons #jschlatt imagines #schlatt imagines #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you

133 notes · View notes

just-dreaming-marvel · 7 months ago

Text

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 48

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,770ish

Summary: You and Laura rebuild your lives. Spans from 2029 to 2035.

Warning(s): nightmares, injuries

Notes: I hope this chapter is okay! I know that it's not terribly long and skips a lot. Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

You woke up with a jolt. The image of Logan laying there bloody against the tree still fresh in your mind all these months later.

You made it across the border with Laura. You found Eden, the official safe haven, and you hated every moment of it. The leaders there were happy to have an X-Men on their side, but you no longer felt like an X-Men. When you expressed your desire to leave, they weren’t too happy but agreed to help. They gave you enough money for a cheap car and first and lasts months rent for a small one bedroom apartment. They urged you not to take Laura, but there was no way the two of you were going to be separated.

You sighed, turning your head to find Laura staring back at you. You moved onto your side to face her.

“You had another nightmare,” she whispered.

“Did I burn you?” You asked. You had woken up a few times to Laura spraying you down with a fire extinguisher, making you thankful for keeping extras on hand.

“No. No flames this time.”

“But I woke you?”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, sweetie. You need to be getting rest too.”

“Can’t… nightmares.”

You reached over and began to run your hand up and down her arm. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

~~~

You were able to get a teaching job after taking a few classes to renew your license, with help from the people at Eden. Laura was able to go to school with you. Laura was a good and smart kid, but she had her father’s temper and patience. That meant you spent a lot of time in the principal’s office with Laura the first few months of school. You were just grateful that Laura had yet to show her claws off to anyone yet.

You sighed as you drove home. Laura was in the seat beside you, staring out the window with her purple sunglasses covering her eyes.

“Laura, you know that I completely stand by you when it comes to standing up for others,” you began, “but you cannot beat each bully up because of it.”

“They deserved it,” she muttered, keeping her gaze out the window.

“That doesn’t matter, Laura. We need to be better than the bullies.”

“Dad would have been proud.”

You slammed on your breaks as your breath caught. “What?”

“I said that Dad would have been proud.”

You swallowed, mind reeling at the mention of Logan. The car behind you honked, pulling your from your thoughts and causing you to continue to drive forward.

“Your father…” you breathed out. “Your father might have been proud of you, that’s true, but he also would tell you never to do it again. That it’s not actually a victory to lower yourself to the bullies standards. He would not want that for you.”

Laura looked over at you and reached over, touching your arm. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not mad.”

“No,” she shook her head, “sorry for making you sad.”

It was like a punch to the gut. This little girl was way too observant for her own good.

“I’m fine, Laura,” you told her, pressing out a smile. “I’m not sad.”

Laura looked at you for a moment before going back to staring out the window. You knew she didn’t believe you one bit.

~~~

Nights were the hardest. Though you shared a bed with Laura, you missed the way Logan would hold you close at night. You always felt safe and wanted. You would try to cry it all out in the shower, hoping that Laura couldn’t hear you, but she could. Silent tears would still slip down your cheeks as you tried to sleep.

Laura would often notice, her senses like her father’s. She would reach over and take your hand, hoping that would be enough to calm you. Sometimes it was, sometimes it made it worse. You were the much older adult. You needed to be the strong one for this little girl who was still struggling with her own trauma. Yet, many days you couldn’t put your own problems aside. Laura didn’t push or press though.

Both of you were the only constants in each other’s lives now. You didn’t know it, but through your own tears, you were helping Laura. She grew up in a place where emotion was not okay. By you showing your ranges of emotions, you were showing her that it was okay to show emotion.

One night, you woke up to a sharp pain in your arm. You looked over to see Lauras claws in your arm. She was crying out and thrashing around, all of her claws out for show. Careful not to move too much with her claws in you, turned over to face her and reached your other arm over.

“Laura, sweetie,” you called calmly. “Wake up. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”

Laura gasped as she shot up. Her eyes scanned the bedroom for any short of danger. She froze when she saw her claws in her arm.

“No,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “No, no, no, no!”

“It’s okay, Laura! I’m fine. I’ll heal.”

“No!” She continued to shake her head.

You winced as she wanked her claws out and scurried away until she fell off the bed and hid herself in the corner. You didn’t even bother to look at your wound as you crawled over the bed and sat yourself down on the floor next to it.

“It’s okay, Laura,” you repeated. “We’re okay.”

The two of you sat in silence, the only notable sound being her heaving breathing. Suddenly, you got an idea. You reached out your good arm and turned your hand so that your palm was up. A flame formed in your palm, lighting up the area a little and catching Laura’s eyes.

“See? I’m okay,” you whispered, ignoring the fact that your palm was actually aching as you formed the palm.

Laura’s eyes darted down to your injured, bloody arm, feeling little relief though it was healing. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, still staring at it.

“No, need,” you shook your head. “It was a nightmare… You know, Logan got nightmares often.”

“I know.”

“Do you know that be stabbed me a few times as well?”

“He did?”

“Yes. He hated himself for every injury he ever caused me, but I rarely ever let him run away from me. I knew that it would only make it worse. So I helped him.”

“How?”

“I would hold him. Let me know I was there still. Sometimes I would use my heat to relax him. His muscles were always so tense after a nightmare.” You watched as Laura rolled her shoulders, like she was testing if it was the same for her. “I can help you, too.”

You extinguished the flame and held out both of your arms. Laura was hesitant at first but then slowly moved over. As soon as you could, you pulled her into your lap and held her against you. You kept your body heat at a comforting temperature as kept her close.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

It didn’t take long for Laura to fall back asleep in the safety of your hold.

~~~

You stood next to the car as you waited for Laura to finish chatting with her friend. You listened in as a small smile formed on your lips. It had been over a year since the two of you basically reset your lives and this was the first time Laura seemed interested in having a friend.

“Can you come over to my house to hang out?” Her friend asked. “My mom can take us and then bring you home.”

“Uh, let me ask my mom,” Laura said.

Laura turned around and hurried over to you. You were staring at her in shock. You had never heard her call you that before, not that you were mad.

“Hey, um, mom,” she said once she was in front of you. Her voice was nervous. “Can I go over to Alex’s house? Alex’s mom can bring me home.”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, still processing your new name. “Of course. Just keep your phone on you and let me know if you need me to come get you.”

“Okay! Thanks! Love you!” Then she rushed back to her friend.

“Love you, too.”

~~~.

As the years past, Laura and you grew closer. You were not just a mother-daughter duo, you were best friends. Both of you had opened up about your lives over the years, making each other the only ones who knew intimate details about the other. She was now starting her senior year of high school, trying to figure out her life, and, for some reason, yours.

“Just one date.”

“I told you, Laura, I’m not interested.”

“Come on. He’s cute.”

“I’m not going out on a date with my boss.” You shook your head as you continued to make dinner. “That’s just weird any so many ways. Besides, he definitely doesn’t see me like that.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “He literally looks at you like he could take you right then and there.”

“Laura! He does not!”

“Oh, he does, and everyone knows it but you. Come on, mom, it’s been six years, it’s time—“

“I’ve told you this before, Laura, I’m not going to date anyone and that’s okay. Your father was it for me.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of me going to college and you being here all alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know about that. You haven’t been alone like this before.” You finally turned to face her. “Laura, thank you so much for taking care of me all these years. But it’s okay that you could live your own life. I’ll be okay… We’ll be okay.”

~~~

The two of you were out shopping for new clothes for the school year when it happened. You and Laura were walking down the street. Laura’s backpack was thrown over her shoulder as she was always prepared for anything and kept one of her father’s comics on her at all times. Neither of you saw it coming. Before you knew it, someone tased you from behind and then Laura.

The world around you disappeared and you suddenly were thrown into an unfamiliar place. You and Laura tumbled to the ground. You groaned as a pair of boots stepped into your vision. You looked up to see a bald woman standing over you.

“Welcome to the Void.”

next chapter >

121 notes · View notes

willsmithsbitch · 2 months ago

Text

Need you now - Will Smith

Kinda based on the song Need you now by Lady A

will smith x f!reader

Wc- 1.1k

Summary - One year after the breakup between you and Will, you find yourself still needing him and wondering if you ever cross his mind.

Liv talks- this is my first fic so I’m sorry if it’s so bad. Lmk if u want me to continue this or write something new!

You and Will had broke up a year ago. One year without him and yet you still feel yourself reaching for the absence of his touch.

It was a mutual decision after the two of you decided that you couldn’t make long distance work.

You and Will met at college in communications class and started dating shortly after, where everything was as perfect as it could be. Will was the most perfect boyfriend, bringing you flowers ‘just because’ and being the best shoulder to lean or cry on where never you needed; but then he decided to take a leap of faith and fulfil his childhood dream of playing in the NHL. You never blamed Will for leaving you, you would never do that because you know how bad he wanted to be in the NHL, but there’s always a small part of you that wish he never did.

After Will had moved to San Jose, things fell apart for you too. The both of you tried your hardest; calling whenever the two of you were free, texting to update each other all the things going on in your two completely different worlds and flying to see one another maybe once or twice, but it just wasn’t all possible. You were always busy because of school work and when your weren’t, Will was busy because of practice or a game, so the two of you drifted.

Both of you didn’t want to drift, it was clear to everyone around the both of you that you were so deeply in love, but that love just didn’t work hundreds of miles away with no time for each other.

The breakup hit the both of you like a ton of bricks. However you never know how bad Will was after it happened because you both decided to cut contact all together because you both knew it would be too difficult to stay friends. You tried to move on, you really did but you couldn’t find yourself attracted to anyone after Will, wether it was the ‘hottest’ boy on campus who played football and had the best abs or the ‘cutest’ boy in town who took you on all different kinds of dates and swore you were the prettiest girl in the world. You just couldn’t. Every time someone was interested, you just pushed away like you were trying to sabotage yourself.

Will was the same. He didn’t find anyone attractive anymore but you. He even stopped trying, ignoring all the chirps by his teammate that he ‘couldn’t keep a girl’. He would find himself loosing sleep at night thinking about you or searching your name up on instagram to see if you had moved on without him.

So here you are. Sitting in your tiny off-campus apartment with a bottle of wine that you aren’t even old enough to be drinking. Each day without Will swallowed you up. Almost every one of your friends has tried to set you up with someone but it just doesn’t work. Every night, whether there’s a guy in your bed or not, you go to sleep thinking about Will.

It’s around a quarter after one in the morning by now and you’re staring into space, wine glass in hand, while some lame show plays in the background of the darkened living room. Today would have been you and Will’s anniversary, but instead you have spent it crying into a glass of wine wishing your life was the same as it was last year.

You wonder if he thinks of you. Does he or is he too busy in a club surrounded by a bunch of puck bunnies with blonde hair, blue eyes and more work done than Katie Price?

You’ve been zoned out for about 10 minutes by now, replaying every moment with Will. It was sad, you told yourself. He’s moved on and is living his life in San Jose. Just move on…

Will was lying in his bed with only one thought in his head. You. He thought he was being stupid that he hadn’t moved on. “It’s been a whole year and he’s still stuck on some girl.” That’s what he overheard one of his teammates saying just earlier today. ‘Some girl’. But she wasn’t just some girl, it was his girl. His girl that he let go so easily and is now gone.

The thought that you could be in someone else’s bed tonight doesn’t leave is mind. It was suppose to be your anniversary tonight but instead you could be sleeping with some random guy for all he knows. Or worse; your new boyfriend. “What if her new boyfriend is treating her better than I ever did? What if ever memory of us together was now forgotten by her because her new guy if so much better? Or what if she’s falling for a guy who treats her horribly. What is he’s never brought her flowers or listened to her talk about her favorite book for hours on end.” All these thoughts rushed his mind. But if you were happy, that’s all that mattered to him, he told himself.

One of his old friends from BC had told him just last month that you were seeing someone from BU and you had started dating. But Will didn’t know that was just the rumour going around and you weren’t attracted to him. So Will has been watching yours and the guy from BU’s instagrams like a hawk. He couldn’t wrap his head around the thought that you might of moved on.

Some of the guys from the sharks had invited Will out tonight to some club downtown, but he didn’t want to go, knowing he would just ruin the mood all night. He knows all the boys thought he was weak and sad for not moving on, and he wished he was moving on, he’s tried many times, but it just wasn’t possible.

Being alone in a dark room with nothing but the light in his phone was depressing. He couldn’t help but just feel so alone without you. He doesn’t know if it was his tired brain or the shots he took just an hour ago in the Marleau’s kitchen after they had all went to bed but by the time he could even think about what he was going to do, his fingers were making its way to your contact on his phone.

You had been taken out of your sadtrance by the your phone that was lying on the coffee table lighting up the room. The sound of your ringtone beamed through the house as you lift yourself up by your fists to see who was calling you at such a time.

You thought you were dreaming. Why would he be calling you? You hesitated to pick it up, wondering what was happened. Was it some prank by his friends? Your hand slowly makes its way and hovered above your phone for a good few seconds before reaching to pick it up. You pressed accept and quickly placed it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi y/n…”

#Spotify #will smith hockey #will smith hockey imagine #san jose sharks #macklin celebrini #will smith hockey fanfic #will smith hockey story #hockey

63 notes · View notes

blank-house · 11 months ago

Note

Can we talk about clingy Elio? My heart!! 🥺❤

Sure! Picture this anon!

Elio— hanging out with his friends on the Green, waiting for you. You walk out of your lecture, on your way to your next class, and he sees you out the corner of his eye.

There’s a shift in the energy. It’s high, dazzling, brilliant and all because he started grinning at the sight of you. It’s the only thing his friends get to see before he’s zipping down the Green to catch up to you.

If you’re okay with touch, once he’s near, he wraps you in a big hug, sweeping you off your feet. And if you aren’t, he brakes before you with a little squeak— and you can’t tell if it’s because he nearly toppled over just then or because he’s trying his hardest not to tackle you into a hug.

But there’s that smile you’re so familiar with and you’re already cracking a grin as he greets you with a breathless “Hey”.

“Going to your next class? Let me walk you!”

“Didn’t we talk about this? You don’t have to wait for me, your lab is across campus.”

“Mm, yes. You’re absolutely correct but counterpoint— I’m fast and I know I can make it if I run! Besides, I haven’t seen you all morning.”

If he had picked you up, he puts you down gently here, but his arms remain around your waist— drumming a happy beat against your back. And if he hadn’t there’s a reflexive glance toward your hand, a shuffling of his feet as he steps just a little bit closer, and pinches your sleeve. It’s what you’re comfortable with so it’s all he’ll take and he rocks on his heels to burn himself of the need to pull you in.

Chuckling, you step away and there’s a beat where he wilts until you move to hold his hand.

“We still got a date later today, right? I’ll see you then. Go and don’t be tardy.”

“I won’t— I swear. It’s practically around the corner and—“

With a roll of your eyes, you press a quick kiss to his cheek. Stunned, he belatedly turns his head to chase after but you’re already marching down the sidewalk with a flutter of your fingers.

“Later tonight, Elio! Now get to class, you goof.”

His chest rises with unsung affections, a medley of “I’ll miss you,” or “I can’t wait,” and another set of three words he’s been dying to shout since he’s discovered his feelings for you— but it all dissipates through a wistful sigh as he watches you leave.

He doesn’t mean to be clingy, at least not while you’re still trying to get accustomed to this relationship. The last thing he ever wants to do is fuck up one of the best things that’s ever happened to him in a long while. So he’ll squash the intensity of his feelings for however long you’ll need, keep them at bay until you’re ready for them.

But even so— he hopes you’ll kiss him again. He hopes you’ll want to reach for him first. He hopes that you’ll search for him in the off chance that he’s near. But more than anything, he just hopes that you love him in the way he so badly wants to love you.

#keyframes asks #elio kealoha #is that alright with you Elio nation?

252 notes · View notes

orangecatsmissingbraincell · 2 months ago

Text

Pretty Girl (ShaunaHat)

3.6k words

Tags: Modern setting, no crash AU, college AU, Fratboy!Shauna, smut (minors dni!), strap-on, eating out, drunk sex, Shauna kinda being a little toxic, lowkey Genlissa breadcrumbs in there too, no proofreading bc I'm lazy

“Should I go with the lilac hat or the flamingo one?”

Gen looked up from her chemistry notes to look. “Mel, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be looking at your hat. I’d go without it”

“The hat’s the most important part”

“Why are you even bothering with this stupid party anyway? It’s probably just frat guys and desperate girls”

“Because,” Melissa practically groaned as she spoke, “the soccer team’s gonna be there, and I’d like to get in with them now”

“You still thinking about trying out then?”

“Of course, and you should too. I’m already starting to miss playing with you”

“I can’t. I have these things called classes. You know, the thing that we pay for here? You should try going to one”

“I will…eventually. Maybe. I’ll get to it”

Gen rolled her eyes and went back to her chemistry homework. “Just, call me if things go south alright?”

“Yeah, of course”

Melissa headed down to the dorm lobby, still nervous about her first college party. She’d seen the movies and always imagined these to be the real deal, not like the high school parties where she had to sneak around and down just enough cheap beer to feel slightly off, but not so much that her parents would notice and ground her. She was a real adult now and could do whatever she wanted and no one could say anything. Her ride finally came, a friend from one of the few times she actually went to class. After a quick apology on account of the traffic that held her up, the two made it over to Jackie’s apartment

Once captain of her high school soccer team who’s closest brush with defeat was an anticlimactic tie at nationals, now captain of Rutgers’ team and president of Gamma Sigma Rho, Jackie had lived the high life with the worst thing to ever happen to her being falling off her bike exactly once when she was 8 and a messy breakup with her old high school sweetheart. She had become the main source of parties on campus, alongside Shauna if only by proxy. Shauna was mostly in it for an excuse to get trashed and people watch, even if Jackie had other ideas

“I’m getting tired of you throwing random douches at me,” she protested when Jackie started pointing guys out to her at the party

“Come on.” Jackie said with a mock whine. “You need to have fun, get your needs met before becoming some boring housewife with a degree that’s all for show”

“I do get my needs met. Besides, I’m not even in the mood for guys right now”

Shauna kept her drink close, a red solo cup filled to the brim with Jackie’s homemade punch. Jackie, however, was still stubborn and not taking the hint. In her mind, if she was going to hook up one night, so would Shauna, and if Shauna found someone on her own, then she had exactly five minutes to find someone herself

“Sooooo you want me to find you a girl then? I think I can do that”

Shauna tried her best to protest but a small laugh still escaped her. “You really are a true progressive”

“I have my moments”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe Jackie did finally get to her, but Shauna decided she might as well find someone for tonight

“Change of plans,” she said, patting Jackie’s shoulder. She locked eyes with this one cute blonde. She was clearly out of her element, probably a freshman who had no idea where she even was, terribly dressed but that wouldn’t matter soon enough. All in all, this girl was exactly her type

Melissa practically perked up when she saw Shauna approach, but tried her absolute hardest not to come off like some overly desperate freshman. She didn’t know her, but recognized her from the games. When Shauna did come up she practically brushed Melissa’s friend out of the way

“Why aren’t you drinking? Are we not fun or something?”

Melissa stuttered over herself to get the words out. “No…no its just…I just got here and didn’t wanna immediately start stealing-”

Shauna cut her off. “I’ll make you something then.”

She came back a few moments later with a cup of punch and ran her eyes up and down Melissa

“You got a name?”

“Y-yeah. Melissa…”

“Just Melissa?”

“Melissa Jones”

“Well, good to meet you Mel. Shauna”

“Yeah, I know.” She always wondered why she said stuff like that. She tried course correcting. “I just mean that…I’ve been to the games. You guys are good. I, uh, play too.” Why was she rambling so much?

Shauna cocked her head and took a sip. “What position?”

“Forward”

“Oh wow,” Shauna said with a slightly insincere tone. “Must be pretty good then”

“Thanks,” Melissa said sheepishly

“So you agree? You think you’re really good then?”

Shit. “Oh, well…I mean…”

Shauna cut her off. “Ease up. I’m just fucking with you”

Melissa sighed in relief and gave an awkward laugh. “Right…yeah”

Shauna just nudged her arm at that, an excuse to establish touch early more than anything sincere. “Jokes aside, you thinking about trying out?”

Melissa nodded. “Yeah, yeah I want to”

“Well, good luck then, but if you played forward in high school you have a decent chance. Better than some of these people who were the best player in their shitty small town school and think they’re hot shit”

Melissa gave a nod at that. “Yeah, I’ve already met some people like that. They’re the worst”

There was a brief space in the conversation before Shauna filled it in

“You’re pretty cute, yknow. How many guys have you had to fight since you got here?”

Melissa was surprised and took a bit to just think of a good response before finally settling on “none”

“Maybe it's the outfit. Guys get weird about stuff like that. I don’t care though. I think you fit the rich sporty lesbian type pretty well”

When Melissa finished her drink, Shauna quickly broke off to bring her a refill. Shauna leaned over as she handed her the new drink, not letting the fact that Melissa was an inch or two taller than her get in the way of anything. Melissa seemed to shrink up in response

“These parties kinda suck. I only go to them because I live with Jackie,” Shauna said after taking a big gulp of her drink. “You ever been to these?”

“No, this is my first time”

“Well, sorry your first party sucks. I have a TV in my room. You wanna just watch something? I actually like talking to you”

Melissa felt like jumping up and down in excitement, but tried to keep her cool

“Yeah, that sounds better than this,” she said, nodding towards some frat bro who was tripping over himself. The two quickly refilled their drinks one more time and headed to Shauna’s room. Jackie noticed them and muttered “Shipman you son of a bitch” before grabbing some random guy

In her room, Shauna tossed her jacket off and sprawled over her bed. She aimlessly browsed her TV, not even looking for anything specific before settling on trashy MTV reruns

“This is a lot better. Not as loud, no drunk douches, no shitty hip-hop”

Melissa gave a nod at that. “Yeah, it’s a lot nicer”

“Melissa, you can sit.” Shauna scooted over to make room on her bed, a twin sized bed with no headboard, only marginally bigger than the one Melissa had in her dorm. The two were hip to hip, and Melissa tried her hardest not to blush or shrivel up. Shauna kept one arm around her, idly tracing up and down her arm. She knew she didn’t have to ask to touch her; it was something that came naturally. She would still test the waters at least, see how far this girl would let her go. Her hand drifted off Melissa’s arm down her side. It tickled a little, and Melissa let out a soft gasp but acquiesced. Shauna took that as a side to go further and wrapped her arm around her waist, playfully drumming her fingers on Melissa’s belly

“You work out. I can tell,” Shauna said, tracing along Melissa’s abs. “I like that”

Melissa gave a shaky “thanks” before looking over at her. She wanted Shauna to go further, to be the one to actually initiate, but she was holding off. Instead, she just kept her hand on Melissa’s belly, way above where they both wanted that hand to actually be. Neither were actually paying attention to the show at this point. Shauna finally saw the opportunity and planted her lips on Melissa’s neck. It was far from a romantic kiss. It was hungry, aggressive even. Melissa whined and gasped, already drunk and now wound up. Shauna flipped over, pulling Melissa to the side as she climbed on top. Their legs intertwined, and Shauned pushed her knee just between Melissa’s thighs as she kissed her neck, her lips, her cheeks, any open and vulnerable skin she could find while Melissa slowly melted underneath her. Melissa’s hands wrapped around Shauna’s back and held her close. Whether seconds or minutes or hours passed, Melissa didn’t know, she was lost to the sensations. Shauna broke away for a moment to take off her shirt before returning to tonight’s mistress

Shauna seized the opportunity and hastily unzipped Melissa’s pants, then slid her hand under her boxers. “God, you’re soaked,” she said as she curled her fingers inside her. Melissa gasped and whined as Shauna turned the heat up. Her weak moans echoed all through the room and drowned out the TV. Shauna went until absolutely couldn’t take it anymore. She slid off to strip her jeans off, then started rummaging her nightside. Melissa looked to the side, clearly still in shock from the experience

“Go on,” Shauna said looking back at her. “Take the polo off”

Melissa flushed bright pink before nodding. “Right…right…”

“You have done this before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, no yeah I have. Just nervous ‘s all,” Melissa said as she began to lose the polo

“That means you aren’t drunk enough. Finish your drink while I get set up”

Melissa downed her cup as Shauna started to fasten a thick purple dildo into the harness and put it on. Melissa’s head was spinning but she managed to get her pants off too. Her clothes all laid messily on Shauna’s floor. Shauna decided to grab a joint she had prepared for tonight. She got on her back and started to light it before looking at Melissa

“Well, go ahead. Get on.” She grabbed the freshman and pulled her over her lap. As Melissa began to lift herself, Shauna smirked and slapped the dildo against her

“Cmon pretty girl, there you go,” Shauna cooed as Melissa lowered herself back down with a low, slow moan. Smoke flowed around them as Shauna let Melissa ride. She loved how girls would do all the work for her, even if this one was a little slow. She gave her a hard spank to get Melissa to speed up

“Your tits are so pretty,” Shauna praised as she watched the blonde’s breasts bounce with every movement. “What a pretty girl”

Shauna grabbed one of her tits and ran her thumb over the nipple just to excite this girl. Her hand slid down her body before settling on her hip. She absentmindedly traced her thumb in circles while the rest of her figures curled around that pretty ass. Melissa put her hands on Shauna’s chest for stability. It was a struggle for her to hold it together. The adrenaline was running high, and she was multiple strong drinks deep, so her balance wasn’t exactly the best

Shauna tried to pass the joint to Melissa, but when she almost lost her balance she instead decided to have her lean over so she could hold the joint while Melissa inhaled. “That’s it. One more”

Melissa’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. The weed and alcohol only intensified the feelings. She was pretty loud normally, but that mix made her totally lose herself and every movement was coupled with loud, intense moans. It felt like a fire had been lit inside her. Melissa went until she was fatigued and her legs were too shaky to keep going

“What’s wrong pretty girl?” Shauna asked when she slowed down. “Tired already?”

Melissa nodded. “Y-yeah…its too much. Can you take over”

Shauna smiled at that. “I don’t think you want me to take over”

“Please,” she whined. “I need it”

Shauna gave her hip a slight tap and helped her off. “On your knees babe”

She put the joint out and lined up behind her. Shauna tsked at her when she saw Melissa on her hands and knees

“Not like that. Like this.” She pulled Melissa’s arms from under her and kept them behind her back while she shoved the young blonde’s face into the mattress. Melissa’s heart jumped several beats ahead at that; for a brief moment she was convinced it would burst out of her chest. Shauna kept one hand on her head, grabbing a fistful of hair to keep her head pinned against the mattress. With her other hand she gave her ass a hard spank, followed by one more just to make sure her skin would remember Shauna’s handprint

She lined the dildo against her folds then slowly pushed deeper. With her hand gripping Melissa’s hip, Shauna sped up, growing more and more intense until the sounds of them slapping against each other filled the room. Melissa surrendered to the feeling, saying little more than “fuck” or “oh God.” Shauna finally found the perfect angle, something she had a talent for, and abused it until the blonde’s voice was an octave higher and shook so much she started to worry this girl would fall apart

“Fuck Melissa. You take it so well. You’re a fucking pro”

She pulled out for a moment, then grabbed Melissa’s legs and pulled them back so she laid totally flat. Shauna laid right on top of her and rolled her hips with as much intensity as she could get. Melissa let out a whiny moan in response to the new position. Shauna grabbed her wrists and kept her pinned down. Not that she really needed to, since her own weight was enough to keep this girl pinned against the mattress, but she liked the control it gave her

“I’m really close Shauna”

“I know pretty girl,” she said with mock sympathy. “I know you can take some more though, right?”

“Y-yeah”

“Good, good.” Shauna started to slow down just to toy with her girl. Melissa was soon begging her to speed up

“Say please,” Shauna taunted

“P-p-please”

She smiled and decided to give this girl everything in her. She drilled her until the mattress started to sink in. Melissa let out several high pitched moans, which slowly faded into weak whimpers. Shauna got her mouth close to her ear and gave Melissa the words she’d been dying to hear

“You can cum now”

Almost on command, Melissa frantically grabbed the mattress and let the fires consume her as she came more than she ever had in her life. Shauna kept rolling her hips into her until she was totally done. When Shauna did pull out, Melissa was trembling and her dildo was covered in her juices. While Melissa was still panting, she moved over to put her hand on her cheek and guided her to suck the dildo and clean it up. That was another thing Shauna really loved, making these girls taste themselves off her

“You were so good,” she said as she pulled out of Melissa’s mouth. “Think you can return the favor?”

Melissa nodded, still out of breath, and Shauna slid the harness off her so she was perfectly open for Melissa. She came back and kissed Melissa, then laid back and used her hand to guide Melissa’s head between her thighs. Melissa looked down at her eagerly, admiring Shauna’s build. Her eyes took in everything, from her muscular thighs to the bush she had, before Shauna teased her

“Quit staring, eat.” She grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved Melissa in. She immediately went to work and Shauna let out a deep, almost masculine moan. “That’s it. Finally doing something useful with that tongue,” she said. She wrapped her legs around the girl, locking them at the heel to keep her from escaping. Every so often, Shauna would give her directions but when Melissa finally found the right way, she could lay off. Her chest heaved up and down. Melissa was surprisingly good at this, she thought to herself, just needed some instruction was all. Melissa had to fight the urge to just go as fast as she could, but Shauna told her to keep it slow. There was a brief moment where she got excited and went faster than Shauna preferred, which prompted a tug of the hair

“Slow down. It’s not a race”

Melissa just nodded and settled herself down the best she could. God this girl’s stamina was insane, she thought to herself. Time seemed to drag on as Melissa continued tongue fucking her. Shauna just enjoyed the sight of a pretty obedient girl who would fuck her exactly as she told. She listened better than most of the girls- and all of the guys- that Shauna had been with. Most would’ve gotten too excited by now and would’ve rushed things. Instead, Melissa was happy to do whatever she was told. This was a girl who seemed to enjoy eating pussy just for the sake of it

After a long period, Shauna reached the first peak. Her thighs instinctively wrapped tighter around Melissa’s head. Melissa felt like her cheeks were being hugged. She grabbed Shauna’s thighs for stability

“You can go a little faster now,” Shauna told her. She immediately picked up the pace. She felt excited, like it was a stamp of approval for her since she loved going fast. Her jaw and tongue ached but she pushed through, desperate to guide Shauna through every rush of pleasure. Her eyes widened when she felt the sudden grasp of Shauna’s thighs tightening again.

“I’m gonna cum,” she grounded. “Gonna cum on that pretty face of yours”

Shauna leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The pleasure rushed faster than she expected, and with a low groan she came right on Melissa’s tongue and face. She let out a content sigh and held Melissa close just a little longer so she could clean everything up. She pulled her back in for a quick kiss and let Melissa relax on her for a bit. She didn’t hold her long though

“You got a ride?” She asked Melissa, who was a little taken back by the question

“Oh…right…yeah I can call someone”

“Jackie doesn’t really like when people stay the night. She’s kinda a bitch like that”

Melissa had the feeling that wasn’t really the reason, but relented anyway. She shot Gen a quick text.

“It’s 1:30 AM!” She texted back. A few moments later she shot a second text. “You’re lucky I love you. Be there soon”

Melissa shot her a quick heart and looked back at Shauna. “Someone’s coming to get me”

Shauna just nodded in response. As Melissa was started to get dressed she spoke up

“Melissa, lemme have your number”

This girl was something different, too special to just dump after one session. She was definitely going to hear back from Shauna one of these days. Melissa’s phone buzzed again when Gen texted her.

“So umm…this was fun, thanks,” she said before shuffling out

She met Gen outside and hoped in her car

“Welcome back slut,” Gen said with a smile. She barely got dressed and instead just substituted pajamas for sweats and a jacket

“Oh hush.” She felt embarrassed to be called out so easily, but the blush all over her face and neck probably did little to help her case

“Just promise you won’t puke in my car”

The two headed back to the dorm where Gen did her best to sneak in a too drunk and too high girl without alerting the RA. She helped her into their dorm and sent Melissa to get cleaned up. Gen sighed when Melissa got in the shower. She was always there to save Melissa from her own messes. She really shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it. Part of her always thought that if she was there enough then Melissa would finally clean her act and maybe, just maybe, actually settle down with her. She gave a smile when Melissa stepped out in pajamas and flopped onto the bed. She wasn’t in the mood to hear about the party, or whatever she actually got up to while she was gone. They both tried to sleep, but neither could

“Hey,” Gen said, turning back to her. “Wanna watch some cartoons or something?”

Melissa turned back to her. “Yeah, sounds nice.” She tried to hide the disappointment in her voice and being dumped so unceremoniously earlier. She hopped onto Gen’s bed and the two watched some cartoons on Gen’s old laptop. They only got one episode deep before the alcohol and weed and sex high all started to wear Melissa down. She fell asleep on Gen, who was starting to get tired too. She turned the laptop off and pulled a blanket over them before falling asleep herself

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets fics #yellowjackets fic #yellowjackets smut #shauna shipman #melissa yellowjackets #shauna strapman #shaunahat

54 notes · View notes

girlietips · 4 months ago

Text

Big sister advice school addition 📖🖋️📚

Here is the next installment of my big sister advice for academics.

School is easy if you just do the work you should know everything for the test.

There is no reason (except for literally terrible teaching) that you wouldn’t know the concepts for the test unless you didn’t do all the work assigned to you.

Obviously this doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t study or practice the skills but if you have no clue what could be on the test you didn’t do all the work.

But if you are struggling in the class there is no longer an optional assignment or an extra credit opportunity you aren’t going to do. Always do extra credit anyway because 102% before the final means you can relax for finals week. Plus the teacher will take note and you could probably get a letter of recommendation from them.

Having a predetermined homework time is the best thing you can do

No matter what do homework at that time. If you finished all the homework for the week do next weeks.

Mine were at 7am-9am (I work best first thing)on Monday and Friday and I had to work the entire time so I basically never had to work outside of those times except for studying and reading.

It only benefits you too be ahead.

If you have the ability (some courses are not laid out that way) to get ahead in work you should. Especially if you are given a list of all the assignments before hand.

It gives you the ability to take days off and knowing what the lecture is going to be on before you head in will help if you have a hard time focusing.

Even if it is just skimming the reading right before class it’ll help.

You are allowed to be disappointed in grades (even if they are still good grades)

This past term was the first term in college where I didn’t get a 4.0. I got an A- in chem and I literally was 5points away from an A. (Honestly a B would’ve been less devastating and I’m not being dramatic)

Even tho my gpa is perfectly fine I am allowed to be frustrated with myself because I know that that 5 points was easily attainable I just got lazy towards the end.

Don’t let people tell you you can’t be upset over a slightly low grade. But also don’t beat yourself up about it if you truly tried your hardest and did all you can do. There is a difference between a B where you worked for hours on end did all the assignments but the class is that difficult and a A- in an easy class but you allowed yourself to slack off. (Self call out lol)

But obviously don’t push this standard on other people cuz that’s rude. Even if you wouldn’t be happy with a B if your friend is celebrate celebrate with them. Don’t be a bitch

Be strategic in what classes you skip.

I am not going to be all high and mighty and say I never skip classes or try and tell you to go to every lecture no matter what. I barely showed up to my math class this term. But I still got an A because the class was assignment based and in a subject I can do in my sleep. I did all the homework and showed up for the tests and did great but if you can’t do that with a class don’t act like you can. Pick and choose your battles.

Never skip a class you struggle in!!!!!!

You never know when a teacher is going to say something that makes everything make sense. Or give you the best life hack ever.

Getting all your homework done before the weekend means you can have a social life.

If you want to have a good life/school balance you have to schedule when you complete things.

School should always come first so if you want to party that weekend you better finish everything by Friday.

Also not really school related but if you are gonna be a party girl in college (me too me too) don’t party everyday of the weekend!!!!!

It’s seriously unhealthy to consume alcohol like that consistently and guess what you can get burned out from too much partying just like you can get burned out from too much work. Even hot girls can be functional alcoholics and that’s not cute.

If you are going to make it an every weekend thing make sure it’s only one night. So you still have one day to recover from the party and one day to be productive!!! Obviously there are going to be some weekends (halloweekend) where people go out multiple days in a row and to that I say know your limits and be safe! Please please freshman don’t make halloweekend be the first time you drink!!!!

That’s all I have for school themed advice! Hope you all have great day!

Love you all Xoxo💋

#that girl #it girl #girlblogging #glow up #self care #self love #coquette #becoming that girl #healthy #healthyliving #school #studyblr

142 notes · View notes

lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I read your "Third Enoshima" works, and I've gotta say that I absolutely loved them! If it isn't much trouble, would you mind writing something with a Third Enoshima!Reader who is constantly comparing themselves with their sisters?

They're still going agaisnt their plain of causing despair of course, but they can't help but feel a bit insecure of not having such a fit and strong figure like Mukuro or how they don't even get close to having such a nice and clear skin like Junko as they wash their face with a bar of handsoap. They refuse to join dinners and constantly push themselves to the extreme to try and please the other student, it goes from simple, yet harmful, things like wearing clothes they are clearly uncomfortable wearing to doing some heavy physical training without having eating anything since they woke up. Is it detrimental to their health? Yes! Will they stop? ...probably not...definitely not.

I wonder how their classmates or even their sisters would react or what comments they'd make towards Reader's behavior! (If they don't already have their ears ringing by the end of Ishimaru's lecture, lol.

(Sorry if this is written badly, English is not my first language!)

Comparison | Yandere Danganronpa with Third Enoshima Reader

It’s a phase that usually comes when you’re a preteen

But it’s not hard if it stretches further

They both are so amazing – despair aside

They’re able to excel in their alternative ultimates just fine

Using their skills to further their agenda

All while still having the time to dote on you

It’s easy to compare

Is it because they are insane that they’re so talented

Or is it just the genes you happened to miss out on

Whatever it is it haunts you and it’ll eventually slip out

Whether with a snide comment or a nervous questioning

They notice awfully quick

“Dawww Baby-bird wants to be just like us! Then quit yer whining and follow me!”

Junko sees it as a compliment and an invitation to put you in despairing situations

Of course, you may not know your life isn’t in danger with her but she’ll let you believe it

Constantly goading you to be like her

She’ll dress you like her, get a wig if she has to

Before Mukuro pulls you away seeing that this isn’t working

“(Y/n) you are perfect in your special way! If you’d like to do what I do I’d be happy to teach you!”

Taking you to shooting ranges and destroying you in paintball or airsoft

Just shows the distance between you two even better

She’ll try and get you to try wielding more simple weapons

Dazzling you with her speedy knife skills

Unfortunately though, instead of cheering you on she ends up just gushing over you

“Aaa~you look so cute with your little bulletproof vest. M-maybe I should have you wear my helmet~!”

“Mukuro I don’t think this is–”

“J-j-just a few more pictures! Aaa~ I can’t wait to wear this after you.”

They aren’t much help in the end

Both just letting you slink off

Your sisters aren’t exactly emotionally available enough to coach you through it

But there are…some intentions

If it lasts all the way until you get your ‘tailored’ classes at Hope’s Peak

there are very few who actually notice what you mean when you vaguely comment about what you’re missing

“(Y/n) you seem to be especially hurt about your features, why is that?”

Celestia won’t beat around the bush

She wants to know who put this silly notion in your head

She needs to know if she needs to kill them

Knowing it’s your sisters makes her hesitate

You’d be upset about it right

But she’s going to bluntly tell you what your strengths because clearly your too dumb to see it

“I’m going to list all your admirable traits clearly. So listen closely.”

Nekomaru oddly enough pays enough attention to you and works his hardest to understand what those comments you make are all about

“IF YOU WANT TO GET THOSE THINGS IN YOUR LIFE WE’RE GOING TO GET THOSE THINGS YOU HEAR ME!”

“What are you talking about!”

His goal is to coach you on the areas you feel like you are lacking

Even if he doesn’t know about that particular area

So he takes the extra time he’s forced+ into spend with you to praise you for the little things.

“YEAH!!!!THAT SEEMED LIKE A SUCCESSFUL NUMBER 2 ONLY YOU COULD PULL OFF!”

“Nekomaru! I went number 1 and it’s not that big a deal!”

“YEAH IT IS! IT’S BECAUSE YOU DID IT! BECAUSE YOUR THE BEST HUMAN IN THE WOOOORLD!”

He honestly has no other idea how to get across his affection

Not without ruining his image as the ultimate team manager

He also invites you to train with him and Akane if only to see you use your cute muscles in person

And to find your weaknesses so he can be your savior

Despite his boisterous persona his encouragement and praise is honestly kind of helpful

Someone else who’s really helpful is someone who relates

“(Y/n)...for a long time I’ve pretended to be someone I’m not. Settling to just compare myself to the people I wish I could be. But now I’ve changed and I’ve decided to work on making myself more like them in my own way! I-if you want w-w-we can do it together? The….training I mean….yeah.”

Chihiro knows the feeling and if you take him up on his offer he’s thrilled

More time to plant new tracking devices

Even better with the preplaced cameras

Taking your insecurities and turning them into things you’re working on helps a lot with self-esteem

Giving you a lot more pride when you do compare and notice changes

It’s not perfect but it’s helping you

And it’s surely going to bring you and Chihiro closer

Maybe even close enough that you’ll come into his room

Your sisters will be happy…in their own way that you’re happy

But if you notice they start putting more urgency into their plan for despair

It may have something to do with the amount of time and smiling you’ve done with others in Hope’s Peak

“I can’t wait to show those neets the truest extent of despair! It’s going to be euphoric!”

“KillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthemallKillthe-.”

“Patience, despair is coming Piggie! You know what just to give them a taste maybe we’ll make sure (Y/n)’s got to take a couple of sick days! I can’t wait to watch it eat at them when they don’t respond to their messages!”

191 notes · View notes

whalesforhands · 1 year ago

Text

what’s yours is mine (7/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“You’re not going to get any better if you don’t lie down.”

Yet you don’t listen, only clinging harder onto your Mama and pressing your face into her thigh from behind, helplessly balling her clothes into your fists as she watches the stove that had yet to be turned on.

Where a pot of uncooked rice porridge still sat atop, cold and unappetizing; totally unfit for a sick child such as you.

It was a curse that you swore had beset you on this unlucky day as you woke up groggy and sapped of your energy, stumbling over your blanket with shortened breaths as you tried to get to the bathroom.

You’re sure of it. An evil villain had blackened your soul, diminished your health and withered your spirit— All because you were a hero. That’s why Mama came upstairs only to find your half-dressed self face-planted onto the futon, your body trembling and clearly struggling to dress yourself without her as your eyes went teary from stress and the resentment of your weakened limbs.

“M-Mama…” Your voice is weak, strained and clearly upset as it tips over into a sob as you’re scooped up into her arms, her forehead pressed against yours in hurried moves as her much cooler hands hold your limp body.

You’re burning up.

“Honey, I think you’re sick.” It’s in a quiet coo, a soft trill to her tone in attempts to hush the beginnings of you throwing a fit.

“I-I’m n-not sick…!” You denied, hands curled into weak fists to throw a miniature, and very fatigue-ridden tantrum as your eyes tear up, bottom lip trembling as you try your best not to cry.

And Mama knows that you’re not the type to deny yourself from such things. Not the type of good child that would decline being babied and fawned over by her within any given circumstance. But she gets it, gets you.

It’s the day of the sports festival after all.

At the ripe young age of 8, sports has always been a defining point in popularity and the general likability of an individual in their class. A time for kids such as yourself to build repertoire, to build a reputation for themselves. A way to be labelled as ‘someone’.

Simply put, it was your opportunity to make friends without actually ‘making friends’. A, in your opinion, relatively smart way of flouting Satoru’s promise and Suguru’s disapproving gaze.

(Even if it made you sad to make them sad…)

So you chose to take part in the relay race, the one team based event that you think you could not possibly be bad at, your hand raised high into the air and eyes sparkling with a determination that made you believe that there was definitely a victory in sight when your teacher called for volunteers.

It went against your yearly choice of being on the cheer team, but you think change can be a good thing.

(Heroes always talk about it in anime.)

That’s why. That’s why your face was burning hot with the passion that was meant to be exerted upon the relay race, the tears leaking out of your eyes and soaking into your Mama’s skirt meant to be ones that would taste like victory when you brought great honour and glory to Class 3B.

It just wasn’t meant to be.

This is definitely the world’s revenge for making your friends upset. Heroes definitely do not have it easy, even if you did single-handedly save Satoru’s playground.

You can’t even eat the super delicious character bento that your Mama had stayed up late last night to make you as your bottom lip wobbles, frustration running high and your hands balling up the fabric of her skirt as you try your absolute hardest to make the swell in your throat go down.

You don’t want to cry. You’re strong. You’re capable. That’s why you’re a hero. That’s why you can’t let the villain who cursed you win.

And when a hand is gently rubbing your head from above alongside the sound of a pot clattering closed; it was enough to make the dam that you had so desperately tried to keep closed burst open.

“It’s okay to be sad.”

She knows how much you trained for this day. How much you let her smear sunscreen all over your face, whining and letting her pat your cheeks as you slip your feet into velcro sneakers, waving her goodbye with your waterbottle tucked underneath your armpit and a hanky in your pocket.

“Satoru said he’ll help me train.” Your look of determination barely falters as you smile up at her. “So I’m gonna work really, really hard.”

Gojo Satoru. The anchor of your class, the star boy who effortlessly gets the best grades despite sleeping through most of the lessons, and the one unanimously decided by the majority that he is the running last because that was just how fast he was. Don’t get yourself wrong, Suguru was fast. And really smart too.

But Gojo Satoru was just too exceptional even for the above average.

So that’s why you’re out here, an empty plastic cup in your hands acting as the ‘baton’ and Suguru waving a palm in front of your face to break you out of your daydreaming trance.

“You sure you wanna train when it’s so hot out?” His brows are furrowed and his lips are downturned into a frown. “Satoru and I don’t mind, but you don’t really like playing outside.”

Other than the playground anyway.

“Mmhm.” A nod of your head and the clenching of your fingers around the replacement baton as your own eyes hued with a fiery resolve met his worried purple. “I gotta do it.”

You’ll do it for glory. For the future where you’ll be as highly revered as your friends, for the classmates to even possibly think that you were the slightest bit cool.

“You’ll help, right?” Your smile is innocent and far too happy, the giddiness on the cheeks that were too cute for him to say anything else.

“…okay.” Anything for you.

This was your hero training arc.

“And Suguru’s gonna be passing to you from that tree, and you’ll pass to me! So we’re gonna practice that by running up and down this path I made Kimi-chan mark out!”

“Seriously? Where’d ya even get them?”

“I made Kimi-chan buy them, duh.”

That sounds easy enough, right? The cones that had been laid out practically beckon you as your ears no longer pick up on the chatter between your 2 friends, a giddy excitement in your stomach as you clench your fists with blazing resolve.

Well, some things are easier said than done.

A fall.

“(name)-sama, are you okay?!” Hands hurriedly pulling you back up to your feet as fingers fumble over your knees. “That was quite a bad fall…!”

Another stumble.

“I’ll run faster so that you have more time to pass to Satoru, okay?” His words are only slightly chopped, slightly winded from the multiple laps that he had gone as his hanky presses against your scratched knee.

An unprecedented tripping over your own feet. Or was it the air…?

“W-What? Ya were so close that time! How’d ya even fall?!” Gojo Satoru is the one who catches you this time, having hurriedly trying to break your fall having noticed the slightest odd bend in your ankles.

“Kimi-chan! How long did that take?!” He pants, wiping the sweat off his brow as the baton sticks to his slick hand, snowy hair sticking to his forehead as Suguru fans himself under the shade of the tree you were all taking refuge under, letting you catch your breath by leaning against him.

Said caretaker looks up from where she was icing your bruises, hands moving swiftly to take another look at the timer. “Exactly 2 minutes and 38 seconds, Young Master.”

“Ehhh? That’s so slow!”

And while you don’t cry a lot, but it doesn’t mean that you never will. It doesn’t mean that you don’t feel frustrated at the fact that you ran so much every single day after school, panting and feeling the heat of the sun on your hands, the sticky feeling of your clothes on your skin as you try not to feel faint. Try to get your bearings back every single time the boys practically ran laps around you.

Training is difficult. And it’s even more difficult to have to come to terms with what was now out of your reach.

“There’s always next year,” Her hand pats your back as her voice is barely above a whisper, gently wiping your tears as you feel her hand upon your chin, gingerly making you release your jaw so that you won’t bite down on your lips.

“What you worked hard for won’t disappear just like that.”

So that you won’t be so hard on yourself either.

“B-but I can’t—“ Can’t do anything even if you worked so hard for it. It’s become useless all on its own, even when you had so clearly forced down more vegetables these days in preparation, gulping down lots and lots of water to aid in the healthiness power up.

“What you can do now is do your best to cheer for your friends, okay? Then your effort won’t go to waste if you cheer really, really hard for them.” Your sight is blurry as you blink through your tears, staring up at the soft expression of your Mama’s face, the fever patch on your head making you start to feel faint.

“You’re really good at cheering too.” Not to brag or anything, but your Mama is definitely right. But you think your running is definitely and hopefully much better.

But that’s the only thing you can do for them now. A second chance, a gleaming, glowing chance that paves way to make up for the fact that you couldn’t win together with them.

So you accept it.

“Okay…” Even if you can’t see them, even if you can’t even cheer for them physically like you did in the previous years. But you’ll pray, pray really really hard in your head that they will win, that they would be the ones to bring the glory that you couldn’t.

You really hope it goes well. You really, really, really hope so as your chin rests on your Mama’s shoulder, your legs wrapped around her waist and her hand patting your back as she carries you up the stairs.

You do wonder how they’re doing up to now, though. Hopefully… Winning?

“No!” A cross of his arms and a huff of annoyance. “No way am I gonna receive from some nobody!” A decisive stamp of his foot into the dirt below, his back turned onto the only other person here that would even dare to go this close to him, especially when he’s kicking up a dust cloud alongside throwing yet another tantrum.

“You’re being too much, Satoru.” He sighs with a palm pressed to his forehead, his hair now shorter than ever so as to comply with school regulations as he watches his stubborn friend.

At least it won’t get in his face when he’s doing sports. Much unlike the fuming Gojo Satoru in front of him.

“Oi Suguru! How could ya let that hag tell us what to do?!”

And Geto Suguru feels like his head was going to split open. “Our homeroom teacher only suggested that we get a replacement because we’re short of one.”

At least, that’s what he’s been trying to get across for the past 10 minutes.

“We don’t need anybody replacin’ her!” Another stomp onto the ground as the blue-eyed boy pouts even harder, making a pebble launch off the ground and rocket towards the concrete wall to ricochet with a force full of repulsed impatience. “They’re gonna be stupider than her for getting sick t’day!”

“Then our class would be a person short, Satoru. And don’t call people stupid.” Because you’d probably be the one to make that comment right about now. Not that it matters, even if it came from the noiret who even tried to dissuade him with words that you’d probably say—

All for naught. Even if they mimicked the way you spoke, it just doesn’t have the same effect. So Geto Suguru had decided to just give up entirely to be the crass, straight to the point self that scratched at the nerves of the neighbourhood Gojo.

(And it looked like Satoru liked this version of him better, anyway.)

It doesn’t make logical sense to skip out on manpower. Not at all, especially when they’re in this specific category looking for a win. Yet, Suguru gets it as his nose scrunches and his brows furrow. He gets why the boy is so adamant on your position not getting swiped from underneath their noses.

(He won’t admit it though. If he does it first, it means Satoru wins.)

“It’s not like you can stop being sick all of a sudden.”

You worked so hard, after all. You would never be the type to lie to skip out on this. You’re just… Unlucky. Or was it their fault for making you play in those rain puddles…?

(“It’s not fair! I even made my maids pack extra special Digimon bentos to eat t’day!”

“Eat them yourself then—“

“No!”)

Alas, he still has to deal with the spoiled prince whom even the teachers seem too scared to make him upset. Seriously, what is up with everyone and the Gojo family?

“Then you just gotta run faster!” A poke of a proud finger into the young boy’s chest, a purposeful prod that was barely teetering on a threat as those shiny blue hues were ignited by a flare of indignation.

A glare that commanded Suguru’s obedience and compliance as those angry cheeks puff up even more.

Suguru would like to deny it, but you’re right when you say that this spoiled, stubborn, annoying boy was c—

“I don’t wanna receive from anybody else!” A click of his tongue as his shoe kicks at the dirt below him, and a smack against the black-haired boy’s shoulder as flabbergasted amethyst clashes against unrelenting sapphire.

“And we’re gonna win, no matter what. So don’t drag us down or I won’t forgive you!”

Good god, he was so difficult to deal with. Not that this was anything out of the ordinary for Geto Suguru, though.

A sigh, and childlike hands that clasped their together into a determined handshake, fingers squeezing into a promise just as the blare of the loudspeaker comes on to announce the start of their event.

“Say that to yourself first, Satoru.” A tightening of their hands as the ‘handshake’ gets ever tighter with their growing adrenaline. “I won’t forgive you either if you lose to the rest of them.”

(“Also, can’t ya eat your bentos yourself? My mama packed me one too with cold soba—“ He immediately shuts up when he spots the angry pout on his friend’s face, red cheeks and fuming anger that threatened to have steam blow out his ears.

And the— Sight of eyes that looked like they were gonna… Cry?

Oh.

“…let’s save some for (name) when we eat them later.”)

——

“Dear,” A cool hand pushes your hair back as you groggily blink awake, tummy still warm from porridge and forehead feeling slightly damp from the soft, moist cloth against your heated skin. “Are you feeling better?”

“Mn…” You think your body is starting to feel less heavy, less burdensome on your bones as you let out a groan, small hand reaching out for the glass of water that looked like it was floating in front of you.

Magic glasses of water taste the best. You would know since you had a couple today. At least… You think it’s magic. It is, right? That’s why they always fly around and looked like there was always more than one surrounding you.

“Geto-san came over with some soup when she heard you were sick.” She’s gently smoothing down your hair as you start to perk up, shifting slightly so as to be able to sit up properly against your Mama’s arm supporting you against your back.

“You can eat it later, okay?”

You hope you have strength to go over and thank her later, though… Do you have to give her something as thanks too? It must be hard, having to make a soup that would help cure the curse upon your body…

Mama stops momentarily as she watches you from above, humming slightly when you finally down the rest of your glass and let out a little sigh, fully going lax against your Mama’s cooler to the touch body as you cuddle up against her.

She should take more off days to stay together with you more—

“Oh, and your friends. They came over to visit as well.”

And that has you whipping around to face your Mama, the sudden movement making your stiff neck cramp slightly from how long you laid down.

But it doesn’t matter. The pain won’t stop you. Won’t stop the racing thoughts you had through your head that mostly overpowered the soreness of your neck.

Was the sports event already over? Did they win? Did they lose— No. Wait. That’s impossible. Your friends could never, would never lose. Oh, but what if there was a possible chance there was? Even if heroes suffered a little bit sometimes the villain could still win—

“But I couldn’t let them in.”

“(name)’s mama! Is she awake yet?” This was probably the third time they had knocked against the front door, hands on his hips and blue eyes staring up at the all too patient woman.

“Satoru— My mama said we have to wait.” Purple eyes blink up at her apologetically. “Sorry, (name)‘s mama, we can wait a while longer—“

“But it’s been like— Too long, Suguru! How much longer until she wakes up???”

Oh. That sucks. You visibly deflate, a whimper escaping you as your shoulders slump into defeat. You can’t even talk to them or else you’ll pass your dirty, cursed germs to them…

“Nothing a call can’t fix,” She uses a soft handkerchief to wipe any remnant moisture, petting your head as her eyes briefly meet the drawn curtains of your shared bedroom.

“And I might… Have a better idea.”

Excited waves from the window, shimmers of gold against reflective glass and your widening eyes as the summer breeze flutters the curtains and ruffles through your hair.

It’s windier than you thought, with the sun in your eyes and the cicadas singing in this heat.

(Or was it because you just spent most of the day sleeping?)

“Look! I won the medals for us!” Half his body was practically hanging off of the window ledge, hands holding all 3 shiny medals as his lower half was held back only by the more responsible friend clinging onto Satoru’s waist and pulling with all the might an 8 year old might have.

“Satoru! Don’t lean over the window— And we won those together!”

A haughty huff.

“Ya, but you didn’t cross the finish line, did ya? I did! But look, look! We got your medal too!”

(“You’re so annoying!”

“Blehhhh!” A stick out of his tongue as excited blue kept jumping in place despite the dangerous position he put himself in. “Kimi-chan’s already down there to catch me just in case, anyway!”)

Golden and shiny and everything that encompassed a winner. It shone so brightly even when competing against the late afternoon sunshine, stood out even when held

Winners. They’re winners.

But if you think about it all on your lonesome, looking upon those shiny medals and standing by your window with your futon wrapped around your form…

There’s something odd about this empty feeling inside of you. Something that lingers in the same sense disappointment would, swirling around you and making you feel… Bad.

Why? You’re happy that your class won, happy that they managed to win the glory you’ve been going on and on about in your head. They’re winners, beat out all the other people who trained hard for this event as well. What is this disgusting feeling of secretly hoping that they lost?

So why? Why is it that you feel this way even as they smile so proudly at you, proclaiming that they’ll personally hang the medal around your neck when you get better so that they can dub you a winner too—

“See? Ya didn’t have to worry about us at all, (name)!” His sparkling blue eyes close to form a matching grin with Suguru who was too busy smiling at you despite your sick state, eyes too busy to notice Gojo Satoru smacking his shoulder when they’re stuck staring at you.

“You’re getting better, right? Your Mama said that you slept a lot. We can talk more with our telephone when Satoru’s gone cause he’s annoying.”

“Hey! I want a string telephone connecting to all your houses too!”

“You live too far. So it’s only mine and (name)’s.”

Ah. You think you get it now. Understand why you feel this way as your hand gingerly presses against your hot cheek and sliding up to your eyes to feel the wetness that was starting to form.

When did you—?

It has your friends doing a double take.

“(name)… Are you crying?” Please don’t cry.

“I-I think she’s just happy that we won! Right, (name)?” Please don’t cry. Not right now.

Because you realize these weren’t tears of happiness, after all. It was the realization that— Despite all your training, despite all the effort you put in to help them, help this class…

They didn’t need you to win after all.

“…yea! Good job!” Your smile feels too unlike any that you’ve ever given, all stretched awkwardly and like it didn’t belong.

This wasn’t you. You know it so, since this is your own self you’re talking about.

You’ve definitely been cursed.

——

And so, it wasn’t long after that you finally recovered, finally able to properly get onto your feet. Finally able to get dressed without your Mama's help, finally able to pick up your backpack without faceplanting onto the ground... All that healing food did wonders.

("You're so happy today, Satoru." You can't help but smile at the boy holding hands with both yourself and your black-haired friend as all 3 of you sat in his car, listlessly listening to the radio together as he sat directly in between the both of you, tips of his ears red as he tries to act... Cool.

"Oh? Satoru, what's with that face?" A smug smile and upturned purple eyes. "Don't tell me it's because you missed-"

"Shut up, Weird Bangs!")

So imagine your surprise when your teacher beckons someone in from outside your classroom door, the entrance sliding open and the taps of an unfamiliar pair of shiny, brand new indoor shoes against the floors of this familiar classroom.

A new kid. One that had a pretty mole by her eye and her prettier name written so neatly upon the blackboard in such neat chalk lines that you just can’t help but feel envious.

“Ieiri Shoko. Please take care of me.” With only the slightest bow as she stares ahead blankly, eyes avoiding the whispers of your already chattering class.

It must be scary, right? To have to stand there and do that… You don’t think you want to be in her position right now.

“Do you think she’s scared?” It’s a thoughtless whisper to the only other person who could possibly hear right now, your own gaze meeting familiar purple.

“Maybe.” He’s dismissive, as if he didn’t care too much as he takes out his pencil case. “I brought the colour pencils you wanted to see, by the way.”

Ohh—! You’ve been wanting to—

“She looks boring.” His crass huff from your other occupied side makes you think he already doesn’t like her. “Don’t talk to her, (name).”

Shimmering comets for eyes turn to meet yours, glowing with a certain spark that had hidden thoughts.

“You’ll get into trouble.”

“Thank you, Ieiri-chan. Please sit at the empty desk near the back by Minato-chan.” A shuffle of papers as your homeroom teacher neatens the stack. “I want you all to be nice to our new friend, okay?”

“Okay, sensei!”

“Good! Now let’s begin class.”

Lunch rolls by far too quickly today. You swear the clock is definitely moving faster than usual.

“Heyyyyy. Stop studying and let’s go playyyyy!” A poke of your cheek as you stare at Suguru’s workings, eyes narrowing as you try to make sense of these complicated numbers.

“Ah, make sure you erase this. You’ll get confused if you don’t.”

“Is this right?” Your paper is pushed towards the more helpful of your friends, anticipating his praise as you wait with bated breath as his purple eyes scan over the worksheet.

You definitely got it this time. Definitely.

“Suguruuuuu! Y’er so slow, I’ll do it!” And that has him snatching up the starting to crumple sheet, blue eyes screening over it with ferocious and frightening accuracy, his cute brows furrowed and his bottom lip jutted out as he lets out a huff.

“This one’s wrong.” A finger taps against your paper, drawing a circle with his fingertip as he yawns. “And this one. This too.”

“The last one was s’pposed to be right but ya forgot to carry the 1 over.” His cheeks puff with dismissiveness when he looks up to only see Suguru comforting you with pats on your shoulder.

Oh.

“W-What? I only checked ‘em over!” He’s not at fault again for something, right? He was sure this was a more straightforward thing of being correct or not, something that shouldn’t be that big of a deal even if it’s because of the way he spoke—

If you hadn’t gotten them all wrong, that is.

“…it’s okay, (name). We can just practice them again.” And you pout, letting Suguru pat your head in consolation as you stare down at the hurriedly marked paper that was handed back to you. “Satoru just doesn’t know how to be nice cause he’s mean.”

“Hey! I can be nice!” Fuming rage and his hands slamming against his desk. “I’ll help ya both study later if (name) gives me a hug and the pudding in your fridge!”

And he’s serious about it. You can tell by his shiny cheeks and those smug half-lidded eyes that he would help— Even if you didn’t give him the pudding. The hug would be mandatory, though.

“What does my pudding even have to do with all this?”

All this whilst that new girl sat alone in the back of the class by herself. She’s not good at making friends, you notice. Quietly keeping to herself as she flips through a book, ignoring the cries of your schoolmates running down the hallway and into the wide, wide yard.

And when hands squeeze your cheeks together, mushing your face into his palms and making you turn away—

“You shouldn’t look at other people when we’re here. Sato—“ He stops himself, eyes moving from the pouting boy and back to your face that was in his hands. “I don’t like it.”

You must’ve been staring for too long.

——

“I don’t wanna go!” He’s clinging to you, backpack hastily thrown onto the ground as Kimiko-san tries her absolute hardest to persuade her young master into the car.

“Please, Satoru-sama. You have martial arts training—“

“Don’t wanna! I wanna stay with (name)!”

So all you can do is stand there and pat his shoulder, his head on your not at all stiff shoulder as you reciprocate his overly attached self, blinking up at a panicking Kimiko-san before down to the head of fluffy white.

“Suguru said he’ll beat you up with judo if you don’t go.”

Because he’s in the club. And he’s really good at it. Better than Satoru, actually.

“That dummy’s not gonna beat me.” It’s off handed and far too self assured as it’s muffled by the strap of your bag.

“You don’t know that.” You really don’t. Suguru’s been going on and on about training a lot, and he let you both see how he could do a flip once. At least— You think it counts as a flip anyway.

And you can hear him mutter unintelligible words, before he pulls away, his hands grabbing onto your shoulders and ferocious, narrowed eyes staring at you head-on with a pout on his lips.

“You better be at home to play with me when we’re back!”

“Okay.” You nod, sticking out your pinky towards him as you smile. “I promise.”

“Hmph!” He takes it, roughly, with a pout that turned into a satisfied smile as he finally— Finally gets in the car.

(“Thank you so much, (name)-sama…”

“It’s okay. I heard Libras were unlucky today cause the stars aren’t aligned for them. You should be cautious about the people around you, lest you run into trouble.”

“T-Thank you, (name)-sama…? Please get home safe. Weather reports say that it will rain soon.”)

And what unexpectedly occurred— Was the fact that the new kid was waiting in the same area as you were, waiting out the rain due to a neglected umbrella that probably sat near her door.

Which was the same case as you were. Except— Despite Kimiko-san’s warning, you ended up wandering around school too long in hopes of getting to watch Suguru train.

“Hi.” You’re trying to make conversation now that it’s just the both of you. Alone. By yourselves. This is a rare chance, honestly. You can count how many times you’ve been left like this by your friends on one hand throughout the years you’ve all been together.

It’s a chance you don’t really want to pass up. Time to put those social skills you’ve gleaned over the years into good use.

(From all those TV shows you’ve watched, of course. Your zodiac sign said that you’ll be lucky if you put yourself out there! And you’re outside right now, so you definitely have been buffed. A special power-up, if you will.)

“…hello.” A response. This is a success. A major success that you got on your own accord.

(Onto the next phase!)

“So didya hear about the… Recent sports festival?” You nod your head. Perfect. Perfect follow-up. “Our school held one a couple days ago.”

“Oh. That.” She doesn’t look up from the book she had been reading all this time. And now that you’re much closer to her than you ever were before—

You realize it’s a manga. Not a book. Technically, she is holding onto a book, but utilizing the hard cover page to cover up the fact that the manga had been sneakily slotted in.

“I was meant to join just a day before, actually. But I made my mama wait a couple days more.”

What.

“You waited until the day after?” Why? Why would she— This new girl do such a thing when it could bring you and your class such great glory?

“But the sports festival is fun…” And a great chance to make a ton of new friends. She’s not under the same promises that you made.

She goes silent, the mole on her cheek rising with her huff as she looks off to the side, out to the open air space that held the path to the school entrance as droplets of water tap against the tips of her shoes.

“Cause it’s bothersome.”

Oh. That’s a new type of answer.

“Do you hate bothersome things?”

And finally— She looks into your eyes, pushing back a stray strand of her long hair and her eyes hued with dews of luster brown that reminded you of the autumn sunset surrounded by orange leaves and sunset rays.

“Yea.”

“Oh.” That’s all you know how to say now, actually. Um… How do you respond to that?

So you go silent. You think she might be annoyed. Hopefully she’s not? You hope she likes you, though. And that you left an okayish impression. Should you tell her she’s pretty? But still, Suguru’s prettier but you can’t tell her that—

“Do you… Usually let them treat you like that?” She sounds… Bored. Maybe taken aback. Or was it simply just curiosity?

Either way, you’ve never really heard anyone ask about that— Other than your Mama, of course. But you tell her everything practically everyday.

“Is there something—“ How should you say it? Is she trying to tell you something? You think it’s fine, even if you don’t know how other people view it. “Bad about the way they treat me?”

You watch as she thinks for a bit, staring off to the side for a bit and up into the dark skies as the rain starts to pour just that little bit harder.

“Not at all.”

——

“Stop looking at me like that, you brat.”

Your eyes were practically boring into him as you watch him rub at a bruise on his cheek, his knuckles stained with dried blood and his green eyes narrowed into a mean glare.

“Did you beat up some—“ You try to think about how he described those people the last time you talked to him— Which was around last week, maybe?

“Butt ugly misters?”

It’s not the exact wording he used, but whatever he says makes you scared to parrot them since you’ve seen one of the old aunties— Sugimoto-san quite literally gasp when she heard him talk once.

“They’re motherfuc— Bad people. Don’t call them misters.”

“You said you didn’t care what I call them though.”

And all you get in response is the click of his tongue. “Whatever, brat.”

Silence. It’s steady and beating and not at all uncomfortable as you watch him pull out another piece of his snack, big teeth chewing with an open mouth and manners flying away. Yet, you still end up asking from your built up curiosity and these mere few minutes just before either of your friends would make it home.

It’s your free time, anyway.

“Mister, am I a bothersome person?” Like those thugs that he gets into scraps with practically every month?

A deep huff as his teeth chew on dried squid, gnawing at the tough exterior as he stares off into the oranges of the sky. “Duh. Who even likes annoying brats like you?”

Even when he says it like that, you can’t help but feel that it’s not true. There’s a reason you hang around him, a reason you still stay despite how mean and nasty this almost adult can be and how often he lies about how he definitely didn’t get into fights.

It’s because he reminds you a little of Satoru.

His words may cut, may be a little overwhelming and cruel. But they ultimately held no weight, nothing particularly soul-crushing or tear weeping.

You might even dare to say that even his insults sound very comforting to you.

That was why you were eating the very crushed biscuits that had been almost mashed into dust right out of the very crinkled plastic packaging that it came out from right now.

(He bought it for you.)

“Nuh uh. Mama says I’m a good kid.”

Maybe it’s the sincerity in your tone, the innocence that can only come from a child that got him thinking.

He doesn’t know how to describe how he’s feeling right now as he stares down at his bruised knuckles, bloody and calloused and hastily bandaged as he grunts.

“Then stop hanging out with me if you think that, kid.”

previous masterlist next

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader

173 notes · View notes

aethes-bookshelf · 2 years ago

Text

empty eyes, emptier words || astarion/tav/halsin

I've been stuck in BG3 hell since the game first came out. I'm still in there. I don't think I'll be coming out anytime soon, so have this piece of angst. If everything goes well, maybe I'll deliver on some devil fucking (ft. Haarlep & Raphael). But that's a big IF.

For now, take this. I wrote it in class. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I made this instead. Bon appétit.

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, tav straight up fucking dies

Pairing: astarion/tav/halsin

Wordcount: 1.4k

Summary: Orin knew exactly who to take to hit those troublesome True Souls the hardest. Their leader was the obvious choice - a chicken can only run so far if you take its head. Tav would make a beautiful sacrifice for Bhaal.

And if anyone came to try and get them back? All the better. Blood will flow either way. And what a sight it'll be.

[I made some changes to Orin's dagger. Now, whoever gets killed with it can't be resurrected. Or can they?]

ao3 link || part 2

Orin turned around at the first sound of footsteps. She brandished her dagger, her Netherstone embedded in the cold metal of the weapon. She was standing on the sacrificial altar at the center of the temple. Beneath her laid Tav, arms and legs bound. They were unconscious, fresh and old wounds littering their body. The little clothing they wore stuck to their skin, wet with blood. The smell of it hit Astarion like a club to the head. He hated how his mouth instantly watered, hunger rearing its ugly head.

‘I don’t smell Gortash’s rot on you,’ Orin said, crouching by Tav’s body. She dragged her blade across their skin. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface. Tav didn’t even flinch. They were barely breathing.

‘Did it think it could trick me? Did it think it could save?’ Orin taunted, her dagger stopping right over Tav’s heart. Astarion could hear its faint beating.

The heat of Karlach’s anger burned the air around her. ‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you are. For your sake.’ Her massive ax sliced through the pungent air, tail swishing behind her.

Halsin didn’t speak, but his eyes glowed bright gold. His hands were clenched at his sides, anger barely restrained.

Astarion unsheathed his own daggers, their weight a fleeting comfort. ‘You lay one more finger on them, I’ll rip your throat out,’ he said. A growl ripped itself out of his throat.

‘Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce my throat,’ said Orin. The tip of her dagger sank into Tav’s chest. ‘Not enough to slice my flesh, taste my blood.’ She drew back her hand, dagger rising into the air. A speck of blood followed its tip.

Astarion clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. His upper lip drew back; he bared his fangs on instinct.

‘Even if you kill them, all you’ll achieve is pissing us off,’ said Karlach. Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her; she was afraid. ‘We’ll just bring them back so they can spit on your fucking corpse after I split you in half, you crazy bitch.’

None of them liked the way Orin laughed at those words. ‘“Bring them back”? Not here. Not with Bhall’s blessing.’ She grinned, showing all of her teeth. ‘They’ll be the first sacrifice of the night. Then I’ll spill your blood and guts on their flayed skin.’ A shiver ran through Orin as she brought her dagger down.

The blade sank into Tav’s chest with a sickening squelch. They gasped, body going rigid for just a second. Then they went limp.

Astarion’s scream rang through the still air as Karlach charged the altar.

* * *

Astarion knelt down by the bodies laying on the stairs and started rifling through their pockets.

‘What the hell are you doing, Fangs?’ asked Karlach. Tears were evaporating off of her face, her infernal engine still hot with her battle rage. The ashes of a used scroll of revivify were cooling at her feet. The spell's energy had already ran out and Tav was still limp, their body slowly going rigid.

‘I’m looting, can’t you tell?’ Astarion’s voice was snappy, but even. ‘Tav’s usually the one to take everything that’s not nailed down but they obviously can’t do it this time, can they?’

He leaned down over a pile of smoking bones and burned blood that used to be a man once. ‘They always find something for us in these piles of trash, I thought it’d be… nice to do the same for them for once.’ He managed to fish out a rusted dagger from underneath the pile.

‘Astarion,’ said Karlach, voice breaking.

‘Besides, their favorite tea ran out a few days ago, so we’re gonna need stuff to sell.’ He leaned over the pile of Orin’s gore next. ‘Tav spent most of our money on some new armor for you and Gale, and that tea’s expensive, you know?’ He took Orin’s dagger. His hands were shaking.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach tried again. The low hiss of evaporating tears got louder.

‘They deserve to drink something good when they come back, no?’ Astarion stood up straight. His grip on Orin’s dagger was so tight his chuckles went paper-white.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach’s voice was low and thick with tears, ‘I don’t think they’re coming ba—’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Astarion was quick to turn around and point the dagger at Karlach’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ For the first time since they arrived at the temple, his voice broke. ‘Of course they’re coming back. Why do we keep that creepy skeleton around if not to bring us back in times like these?’

His eyes watered. ‘They’re coming back. They have to. They must. Even if that means I’ll have to drag them out of the Hells myself.’

Astarion’s eyes wandered to Tav’s broken corpse. They were still laying on the altar, the stone of it slick with their drying blood. He couldn’t see their face; Halsin’s shoulders were obstructing the view. Astarion could swear the druid was shaking too.

‘Halsin, they’re coming back, right? They’re coming back!’ If Astarion’s heart still beat, it’d be fluttering with rising panic.

Halsin’s voice was low and quiet. He kept stroking Tav’s matted hair as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure they will, my friend.’

Those words punched all air out of Astarion’s lungs. Fury replaced it.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed; his voice echoed in the empty temple. ‘We were supposed to have decades together. Decades! They can’t leave yet. They promised!’ His knees buckled. With every word he spoke, he sank lower and lower, until his knees hit the cold stone beneath him. ‘They promised we’d… We were supposed to find a way for me to be in the sun again,’ his voice faded into silence.

Astarion couldn’t speak anymore. His chest clenched and his eyes burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and kill, and tear. He wanted to bring Orin back just so he could send her to her blasted god all over again. He wanted to hear Tav laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

His throat was clenched so tight not even sobs could escape it. He was vaguely aware Halsin’s shoulders were openly shaking with his grief, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort the druid. That would mean looking at Tav’s empty eyes. That would make this entire nightmare real. So very, terribly real.

Astarion’s grip on Orin’s dagger loosened; the weapon fell with a loud cling, its Netherstone slipping out of it. The stone shone dimly in the light of the torches.

All of it for these stones. All this death, pain and misery for these three pieces of one whole. Tav died for it.

Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. All of it. All of it!

Astarion’s mind was reeling; jumping from pain to denial to anger to desperation. He didn’t know what to do. Tav would know, he thought, and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Karlach laid a hand on his shoulder. She’d cooled down enough for her touch to be only slightly painful on his corpse-cold skin. ‘We have to go, Fangs. Halsin.’ Her grip on Astarion tightened when he shook his head. ‘We have to go,’ she repeated, harsher this time. Barely restrained emotion shook her voice. ‘If they even can come back, we need to get them back to camp as soon as possible.’

Halsin took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Karlach’s right,’ he said and stood up. Tav was limp as he cradled them close to his chest. To his heart. ‘If we stay here too long, we’ll certainly lose them for good.’ The druid squared his shoulders and turned to face the other two.

Astarion went rigid at the sight of Tav’s hand, limply hanging off the side of their body. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at their face.

‘Astarion,’ Halsin’s voice was soft, ‘I understand your pain. They are in my heart as they are in yours. But we mustn't waste time lest we lose them forever. If there is a chance to save them, we must act now.’

Astarion swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The chill of death had never been more present in his bones. He nodded, silent, and picked up Orin’s dagger and Netherstone.

‘Let’s go,’ said Karlach, new-found determination on her face. ‘We still have to buy their favorite tea after this, right? How’d you put it, Fangs? “They deserve to drink something good after this”?’

Astarion nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke. There was an empty, far-away look in his eyes.

As they left the temple of Bhaal, the sweet stench of blood followed them out.

#my writing #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #astarion x tav x halsin #angst #hurt/no comfort #major character death #x reader #gender neutral tav #ambiguous ending

507 notes · View notes

sageryuri · 1 year ago

Text

THE WEIRD AND THE WILD, ENHYPEN.

THE WEIRD AND THE WILD is a seven-part series in which the Enhypen members are mythical, supernatural creatures woven into fantasy-romance!

If you would like to be part of the overall tag-list for this series, or just for certain members, please let me know! It’s no given when these parts will be released (all can be read separately)

TILL DEATH DO US PART, LEE HEESEUNG.

— DEATH IS HARD, and it becomes especially hard when your boyfriend passes away after a car crash you managed to pull yourself out of. Having to live your life alone again is difficult to re-learn, but when you start to see signs that Heeseung isn't completely gone, it gets a little easier (ghost!lee heeseung + reader)

READ HERE CURRENTLY WRITING (AT 2.6k)

THE OCEAN SPEAKS, PARK SUNGHOON.

— YOU WERE ALWAYS so immersed by the ocean waves, wondering what could possibly be hiding in and between them. On a curious adventure to the beach, you don’t expect to see a man washed up on the beach, one with a very peculiar tail (merman!park sunghoon + reader).

READ HERE

WORKING BRAINS, SIM JAEYUN.

— LIVING IN AN apocalypse was terrifying and it was never a given that you were making it to the next day. It’s always full of surprises; when one of the dead begins to speak coherent sentences to you, everything gets incredibly complicated (zombie!jake sim + reader)

READ HERE

BITE ME BACK, PARK JONGSEONG.

— YOU FRIENDS LOVE buildings that were made prior to their time, their parents time and even their grandparents time. Finally, they convince you to travel to the mountains of Southern France to visit an infamous castle that’s more intriguing than you had thought (vampire!park jongseong + reader)

READ HERE

SPRINKLE OF LOVE, KIM SUNOO.

— YOUR GRANDMOTHER HAD always made sure to take care of her garden, even as you were a young child she would tell you the stories of all the little beings that took residence there. After growing up, you had almost forgotten all about them, until you became one yourself (fairy!kim sunoo + reader)

READ HERE

MY MOONLIGHT, YANG JUNGWON.

— YANG JUNGWON HAS always set off a sense of irritation in your body. He was always so snappy and overly bothered by every little thing, frankly you were sick of him being so aggressive towards you. When you decide to give him a piece of your mind on a whim, you aren’t sure the furry beast in front of you is him (werewolf!yang jungwon + reader)

READ HERE

AMORTENTIA, NISHIMURA RIKI.

— AT THE BEGINNING of every year, you were always told to be careful with which potions you decided to create in class. The realisation that your amortentia potion was distinctly your best friend, Riki, you try your hardest to ignore how tough it had gotten to be around him (wizard!nishimura riki + reader)

READ HERE

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #jay park x reader #park jongseong x reader #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon x reader #ni-ki x reader #nishimura riki x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen series

167 notes · View notes

deiiidree · 2 years ago

Text

5,200.04 km away | shen ricky

pairing : nonidolricky x reader

genre : fluff, angst

sypnosis : being in a long distance relationship can be difficult at times, communication’s the key to the problem, but what happens if you don’t?

staring at your phone, his contact name flashed on your screen. isn’t he supposed to be in class right now? why’s he calling you all of a sudden? you hesitated for a moment before swiping to answer, “hey, what’s up aren’t you supposed to be in class right now?” you ask him.

he sighed at the other end, the weariness evident in his breath as a result from a long day “my professor called in sick so he gave us shit tons of assignments to do instead, starting to question my life choices to be honest.” he says from the other end.

leaning back on your chair, you let out a chuckle at what he said “hold on a little longer, it’s almost sem break.” you tell him trying to lift up the mood a little.

“i miss you” he confesses out of the blue. the words hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of the distance that separates the two of you. you could tell from his voice how tired he is.

“i miss you too rui” you reply, words hanging a bit uncertain, unsure of how to offer comfort across the distance.

you and ricky were what people would call high school sweethearts, you would have lunch together with his and your friends, walk together to class, have study dates—he’d tutor you in subjects you didn’t do quite well in which you are still amazed at how good he is at it, and you’d do the same for him to return the favor. but all changed after graduation, when the two of you seperated going on different paths.

the both of you have talked about this a few times before, even when you two were still in what people usually call the “talking phase”. curious you’d bring up this topic to him as you two would be graduating not very long later.

you both knew the consequences of getting into a long distance relationship, the hardest one being not being able to see each other face to face for a long period of time, feeling lonely even though you have a partner. but hey it’s not like we’re living back in the days like before, even then people would send out letters to their loved ones, you can still talk to him through messaging and calls.

but its not so easy sometimes seeing not just your friends but also everyone on social media doing regular couple stuff, going on dinner dates, going to the movies together. sometimes you just wished you could smash through whatever’s keeping you and ricky from doing the same.

despite all the challenges, you two were the ones who agreed to continue this relationship in the first place, hoping that all efforts the both of you put in at the moment will one day pay off.

“anyways, any plans on sem break?” he asks you through the other end breaking the silence “haven’t really thoufht about it yet, what about you?” you respond asking him back

“same, just want everything to be done honestly. so much things to do, i’m gonna go crazy.” he rambles

“when’s ur break starting?” you ask him pulling your back up from the chair fixing your posture to sit up straight.

“in about three weeks i guess?” he responded back, crossing his arms placing it on the table, head leaning forward closer to his screen to get a better look at you. “what are you doing?” he asks you.

you then take your phone, bringing your camera to show him what you’re working on — “oof, 加油” (jiā yóu — good luck)

putting back your phone to where it was earlier, still showing your face, you suddenly yawned, reminding you of how late it is and how you should call it a day and go to sleep.

“go to sleep dear, it’s already so late there.” he reminds you — though he still wants to spend more time with you even through the phone, your different time zones don’t allow you to.

“10 more minutes” you responded eyes still glued to the screen not wanting to sleep yet with the amount of undone tasks you have.

you can’t deny, the time you two are spending on each other are getting lesser day by day, assignments adding up as soon as you finish one, different time zones — him wanting to stay up to talk to you on times you are free, but you not letting him cause he has class the next day even though you know deep down how much you want to spend time with him, but you don’t want to be the reason he’s tired the next day. and the same goes for you as well, you wanting to stay up late to talk to him, but him not letting you do so for the same reasons.

its usually times when you’re free, he’s either sleeping or he’s at class. so sundays it is when you two could catch up after a busy week.

despite all its negatives, there were also times when he would ask you out on “virtual dates” like watching movies together, playing games late at night screaming and laughing at how dumb the both of you are at the game, there were also times where he would match up with your time just so you two could have a meal together just like how it used to be back in the days—and by that i mean he would not eat for a couple hours to match up with your time just you two could dine together even through online. he’d set up his place, place candles on his desk, get a wine glass just to fill it with anything but alcohol.

“what’s with the candles?” you ask him laughing. “omg is that wine?” you say noticing the wine glass filled with what you thought was wine. “its grape juice.” hearing him say that it’s not made you laugh even more continued by him showing you the bottle of grape juice and suddenly making tapping noises on it “asmr” he smiling as he whisperes to his microphone only making you burst out laughing even more at his acts.

“did you change your lights?” you ask after noticing the change of ambience in his place which wasn’t usually this warm. “yeah isn’t it nice” he responds to your question while looking around at his surroundings. “what are you having for dinner mr shen?” you ask him teasingly. the effort he put in to make the it feel like a fancy restaurant while you’re in your room, dressed in loungewear and just a cup of cup noodles in front of you cause you didn’t feel like cooking or ordering from outside save money.

he then shows you the meal he cooked just now, he’s definitely improved his cooking skills after living alone for a few months now. “oooo looks nice, how long did it take you to make that?” you ask him, trying to keep the conversation going.

he takes a bite into the chicken he made “hmm about 40 ish minutes, it wasn’t as difficult as it thought it would be.” he said after chewing on his food. “i should add more pepper wait here i’ll go grab it.” he says before leaving to grab the seasoning and continue to have dinner with you after months of being away.

not only virtual dinner dates, he would send you gifts, buy you things out of nowhere and it suddenly arriving at your home. he would also send you packages from his place filled with snacks you’ve always wanted to try, snacks he recommends, random things he bought, and we can’t forget; his hoodies or sweaters that he made sure to spray with his perfume before sending it out to you.

not only him, but you too would send him packages filled with snacks you want him to try, random things and hand written letters you write on your freetime. sometimes, you two would wait for the package to arrive at your homes, and unbox them on facetime together to get each other’s reactions.

you could be doing the dishes or even your laundry while talking, rambling about your day while he sits there watches and listens to you rant about your teammate not doing their part on the group assignment.

he could be cooking, or even cleaning which he still hasn’t gotten used to since he used to rarely do housework back then before college, he’d call you, asking you what to put in his soup, how you cook certain meals or sometimes at days when he’s not in the mood to cook, he’d just order takeout and would still call you, have you decide on what he should eat.

as the end of semester came rolling round, you two found yourselves swallowed by the relentless tide of responsibilities. what used to be daily messages and calls that bridged the distance became less frequent, late night calls where either him or you used to talk, relax and do anything turned into brief and hurried messages of words of encouragement, pushing each other to do their best on their examinations.

ricky : still alive?

you : barely

ricky : goodluck tomorrow, don’t stay up too late.

you : you too ❤️

you : totally bombed the test

hours later

ricky : hey, sorry was studying just now.

ricky : bombed mine too

you : oh shut up, you say that then end up acing the test.

ricky : not this time

you : still up?

late night cramming, and early morning revisions and also time zones left little room for the usual routine that you used to have, past messages and call histories turned into bittersweet reminders of what once was.

as the last exam wraps up, a heavy silence settled between the two of you. weeks of stress and exhaustion left little to no energy for the emotional reconnection the both of you desperately needed.

you : good luck on your last exam!

ricky : thanks, you too dear 🤍

each passing day bringing more tension. both survived the exams but it feels like you’re slowly loosing something in the process.

after days of suffocating silence, you reached your breaking point. the weight of unspoken words and the distance became too much to bare. feeling even more upset after the way he responded to your message; like he was in such a big hurry. how he wouldn’t start conversations without you talking to him first.

ricky : what are you up to?

ricky : i miss youuu

ricky : wanna call?

reading his message felt like salt on an open wound, he’d just text you like as if the past few days of no contact hadn’t bothered you.

seeing his name pop up on the side of your screen, you think about it for a moment before picking up. in the dimly lit room, his face glowed softly, illuminated by the bright computer screen in front of him.

“hey” he says while adjusting his thin framed glasses he usually wears. “what are you up to?” he asks you. you didn’t feel like giving him a long answer on what you’ve been up to these days when he hadn’t made effort on contacting you. “nothing much” you say nonchalantly hoping he wouldn’t question you even more.

“oh” was all he let out to your response. you two then stayed there in silence, not saying a word to each other despite being on call. he’s doing whatever he’s doing on his computer and you’re scrolling through your social media not really wanting to start a conversation with him.

you know it is quite unreasonable that you picked up the call with zero intentions on talking to him just to get his reaction but you hadn’t gotten one so far. it was like he was fine with you two not talking.

this made you even more upset. “i need to go, talk to you later bye.” you said before hanging up on the call. he didn’t even have time to respond before you hung up that quickly.

but on his side he found it wierd that you changed all of a sudden, you suddenly not talking as much. daily updates from you became less often, almost none ad the day passes by. assuming that you were busy and he didn’t want to bother you. he decided to wait for you to initiate contact then go with the flow.

as hours passed by without your usual updates and messages, he began contemplating the silence. maybe you truly were busy and had no time to talk. hesitant to disturb your presumed busy schedule, he refrained from reaching out, leaving the the distance even more quiet. with each passing hour, it felt like the uncertainty was getting even cloudier without the usual chitchat.

they say communication’s the key to a healthy relationship. right? so then why are you so persistent on not talking to him, basically giving him the silent treatment. waiting for him to make the first move. you very badly wanted the silence to end, but why are you so hesitant on reaching out? the questions flood in your mind—does he not care? does he not find it wierd that you’re not reaching out as much? is he seeing someone else? does he still wanna be with you? frustration creeps in as your thoughts spiral.

as days go by, still no contact. admist the chaos of your thoughts and the akward silence, there’s this tiny hope—maybe he’s going through the same uncertainty. then it hits you that this isn’t a solo mission and that you should communicate through problems like this.

you : still up?

you shoot him a text, hoping he’s still up wich you were pretty sure he was. you knew his sleeping schedule, especially during breaks when he’d stay up till the crack of dawn, either glued to his computer or just chilling. late night talks, scrolling through social media, gaming. he wasn’t exactly an early bird.

so you sit there, waiting for his response hoping he’d reply quicker. then you see those three dots pop up—he’s typing. feeling even more nervous, wondering what’s on his mind in the middle of the night.

ricky : yeah, can we talk?

surprised at his response. it was like he could read your mind even through the distance. getting up from your bed, sitting on your chair you turn on your laptop to video call him.

waiting for him to pick up, you scroll through your phone to ease your mind. you then hear your laptop notify you that he’s picked up. “hey” he says breaking the silence.

“hey ricky” you greet him back. which was unsual—you’d always call him by nicknames, babe, dear, love etcetc. him hearing you call him by his name sounded wierd.

“so…” you say after taking a deep breath. “how’ve you been?” he asks you but it was akward this time. “nothing much, you?” you respond, asking him the same question. hearing him click his tounge you could tell he was frustrated “look, i- to be honest with you im pretty sure you’ve noticed already, we haven’t been talking as much.” he says straight to the point, quickly which he does when he’s nervous.

you stared at your screen for a second not knowing how to respond. but part of you felt relieved that he also felt the same way. “i know this might be wierd for me to say all of a sudden but did i do anything wrong? it’s killing me that we’re not talking.” he asks you genuinely confused.

your heart skips a beat hearing him say that. his unexpected honesty catches you by surprise. “i- it’s just that i noticed you haven’t been very active these past few days you don’t respond to my messages like how you used to, i know you’ve been busy with exams and all, i understand that but it just kind of continued till after exams which kind of confused me to be honest. i assumed you really were busy so i thought it was better for me not to bother you so much.” you explained, coming clean to what you’ve been feeling lately—“and…to be honest with you too, i have been wanting to talk to you about this past few days ago, i just hadn’t got the courage to.. i’m sorry.” you apologized.

giving him the silent treatment wasn’t going to solve the problem. so you thought it would be best to be honest with him and talk to him about what’s been on your mind.

taking a deep breath, processing what you just said earlier “i actually thought the same about you, you haven’t been very active. and i figured you were caught up in stuff” he says feeling bad, all this happened because of miscommunication.

“yeah, i get that” you acknowledge, feeling relieved that you’re both on the same page, getting what each other’s saying in your conversation. “we totally should’ve talked about it sooner, huh?”

you chuckle softly “yeah, maybe we’re not so mind reading savvy as we thought.”

“promise me you’ll talk to me if we have any problems?” he asks you putting up his pinky making a pinky promise. “yeah” you reply also putting up your pinky.

as the conversation continues, you both realise you’ve been on the same tricky journey. it’s like a lightbulb moment, and you feel the tension melt away replaced by a sense of connection after confusion.

the chat goes on, it’s like the fog lifts. back to goofy emojis, jokes, and laughs. leaving the tension an issue behind.

“any plans yet?” he asks you thinking about going to yoir place this sem break. “no not really, you?” you ask him back.

“should i go to your place?” he asks you, tilting his head slightly while looking at you through his screen. surprised, “what really?” you ask him getting excited over the thought of being able to see him again after months being away from each other.

“it’s up to you, you know” he says making it a choice for you to decide. “yeah of course” you say excited. “when tho?” you ask him while thinking of what you two should do when he visits, food he needs to try, places you two should go; places you wanted to go but couldn’t cause you didn’t want to be alone, no. cause you wanted to go with him.

“next week? tuesday or wednesday?” he replies while looking at available flights from his to your place. “tuesday, tuesday aahh im so excited.”

“right, then tuesday it is”

part 2

#zerobaseone #shen quanrui #zb1 x reader #zb1 #ricky zb1 #ricky x reader #shen ricky #ricky shen #shen ricky x reader #zb1 angst #zb1 scenarios #zb1 fluff #long distance relationship #not super proud of this i haven’t posted in soo long help #ricky x you #shen quan rui #ricky boys planet #ricky

225 notes · View notes