#got enough Enemies and problems
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#đ¤đ¤đ¤YouArePowerful â¨OwnIt HigherSelfâ¨StandInYourPower YouAreMagicalâ¨YouAreDivine#i can only be me#got enough Enemies and problems#will be loved Correctly one day â¤ď¸ ugly heart in all
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So as preparation to start outlining the Race to the Edge era of Kings of the Wilderwest, I've been turning the show on and listening to it while at work. While doing so, it suddenly hit me how many of the villains fall into the trap of
"You're so obsessed with Hiccup, it makes you stupid!"
Like, Hiccup has his moments too, but come on. All these guys really should have more important things to think about then this one-legged twig who looks at giant fire breathing lizards and gives up all thoughts of self-preservation in favor of "I bet I could pet that!! â¤ď¸"
#race to the edge#hiccup haddock#is literally that meme about white girls wanting to pet everything#kings of the wilderwest#kotw#funny enough#toothless's only enemy#as in the only one focused just on him and not hiccup#is also obssessed with him#he's got the same problems as his service animal#just to a lesser extent#hiccup is toothless's mobility human#in case that wasn't clear
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The thing is Justified... I know a lot of peeps like it but its not really my jam, but holy hell does Walton steal every scene he's in! Timothy Olyphant is great too, but even if I didn't know how amazing Walton is already as an actor, he really does capture your attention from the off. So that's why I've started watching it anyways đ
Its also so funny to me Boyd Crowder's supposed to be this big bad antagonist from the off, but so far (as I've watched) what he's done is appear very receptive to Raylan's presence and requests and bascially winds him up a lot! Every time Boyd's showed up in recent eps i've watched he's been like "Raylan, let me bring up your trauma for a second. Do you want to talk about your daddy issues?"
Whilst Raylan shuts him down quickly and Boyd is just like "hmm, do you think your repressing of your emotions is boiling up into a rage and that's why ur so trigger happy, babe? Maybe u should do something about that..." - it's great haha ^^
#boyd is like raylan my dearest love and enemy seek therapy lmao#like if he's the one saying go get help for your problems u know its gotta be bad#wow is raylan bad at emotions hes all over the place#he's got the spirit but he's also so trigger happy and dealing with slight toxic masculinity crap#boyd looks a lot healthier in comparison hahaha#justified fx#boyd crowder#raylan givens#kind of#boyd x raylan#i want to study them and put them under a glass#they're so scrunkly and fucked up and meant to be friends even tho they are the worst for each other#ya know what i mean?#boyd was really like I could make him worse but whatvrs going on with him now is interesting enough#and honestly good for him#jury's out on if i like ava tbh i'm not totally vibing with how she's been written but I reserve judgement for later
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Very nice and cool you are
SO I finally started dumping my stuff on my geocities.ws account that I made like a year ago but it turns out that this site SUCKS but at least it can send .txt files so here's a fossil fighters card game that I made WAY more cards for than I thought I would
#fossil fighters#i actually didn't bother much with making vivosaurs#i just had a million ideas for the other card types#the vivosaurs were kinda just Work to design since i was taking a lot of their stuff directly from the games#so it was a lot of looking stuff up and adjusting the numbers to work better#and i STILL don't know if i made the damage numbers high enough because i've never used this kind of defense mechanic before#inspired by me thinking about the pokemon tcg and thinking âhey that's a really good system to focus on Monsters Battlingâ#and my thoughts drifted towards my Braithia card game for like 15 seconds before i wanted to make fossil fighters#also all the mechanics that don't involve cards are lifted directly from the game#the various Zones and such are copied straight from fossil fighters 1#the only changes i made were lowering the numbers and changing support effects to be flat numbers instead of multipliers#also changed elements from multipliers to flat numbers#multipliers: great for video games and annoying for physical games#also i wrote all the rules before coming up with the fossil deck idea which i'm still really proud of#and i was able to just kinda staple it on with no changes to the rest of the rules so that was nice#and then once i had fossil rocks as a mechanic i got started writing cards and i simply didn't stop#so many things to take from the games#like when i came up with the fossil deck one of the first ideas was taking the worthless normal rocks you dig up#and just chucking it at an enemy for damage#there's a lot of ways to spend fp so i felt kinda pressured to make everything low cost#which was a problem because of the Durable mechanic i put on the dark fossil rocks#like durable 3? there's literally only 3 cards in the main deck that cost 3 or more#and it made the Fragile mechanic pretty meaningless too#high costs would prevent you from attacking that turn so it was just pretty awkward#might just remove the durable and fragile mechanics if i come back to this#they were mainly just for flavor anyway#because wondrous/miraculous fossil rocks need to cost a lot but i want to represent how fragile they are#fuck i spelled it wonderous instead of wondrous. english is stupid#ka asks
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fuck newt. all my homies hate newt, btw
#idk its like a switch flipped in my brain and now newt is enemy number 1#bro had his memories removed bc someone got chosen over him romantically? WEAK. EMBRACE THE YEARNING#lauratexts2025#also the fucking diary. where he's like 'was it not enough'#as if luke/y OWES him for the decision NEWT made to save him. fuck off.#the memory growing over IS very funny though.#i hope newt forgets his motivations entirely and becomes a Problem. villain newt would be cool as hell#(from what ive seen in the discord i think this is actually likely)
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restless nights.
you get into an argument and they become restless without you by their side.
angst with comfort. apologies for any ooc moments and stubborn mc/reader.
sylus

"I'm not taking you with me."
His words left no room for anymore rebuttals. No matter how persistent you got and what reasoning you gave, Sylus continues to reject your request to join him for the upcoming Onychinus mission.
He's never had a problem with you tagging along before, so why now? You've learned from Luke and Kieran that Sylus will be dealing with one of the most dangerous men they'd ever met, so you wanted to support him. When you brought the topic up to him, all he said was that the setting will be too much for you.
You reassured him that you can handle anything, being a hunter who's familiar with the messiest, most vile types of environment, but regardless of your reasonings, he fully intends to go to this mission alone.
"Okay."
The moment he watched you calmly closed the door on your way out of the room, Sylus knew he fucked up.
You avoided him all afternoon, and it didn't take long for loneliness to strike him hard.
He hated the silence.
Knowing you're under the same roof and yet you're deliberately ignoring him... he'd much rather have you screaming at him.
Sylus remained at his working station to continue modifying a weapon that he'd recently purchased; however, his distracted state prevented him from making progress.
The face you made before walking away from him keeps haunting him.
The disappointment in your eyes made his chest unbearably tight.
He tried to push the uncomfortable feeling away, telling himself that his response to you is for the best, but it didn't work at all.
It was difficult to concentrate on anything else.
He wondered what you were up to.
What if you decide to leave because you can't stand to be near him?
Just imagining you rush out of the house while angry caused Sylus' hands to become unsteady and accidentally crossed some wires that weren't supposed to touch.
And so, the weapon sparked and caught on fire.
"...great."
He decided to move on to boxing, hoping to release some anger â not at you, but for his enemies that he'll be seeing for the upcoming mission. If they weren't so... filthy and gruesome, he wouldn't have to worry about keeping you away from them.
After two minutes of hitting the punching bag, Sylus' eyes started to repeatedly glance towards the entrance of the gym, checking to see if a certain someone would walk in for their weekly boxing lessons.
Your boxing gloves are in the usual place, untouched. He recalled the day when you two bought it while shopping: you were so excited about using it, you woke him up early just so you could start boxing while wearing them.
But now, you won't even step in the gym because he made you upset.
Suddenly, Sylus was no longer in the mood to box.
You didn't join him for dinner.
He wasn't surprised, though he felt another pang at his chest when he sat down on the empty dinning table.
He learned from Luke and Kieran that you had already eaten a little earlier while ranting to Mephisto, who was your only companion for supper.
The crow gave him a questioning look as he flew by and parched on the empty chair next to him, where you usually sit.
"I know. I'm working on it."
Sylus went to his bedroom, hoping that you don't run away and that you hear him out.
But when he opened the door, a cold breeze hit him along with a lonely feeling. The room is empty, and you're nowhere to be found.
He knew you're still somewhere in the house; otherwise, Mephisto would've told him already that you'd left. You staying means he's not totally screwed â not yet, at least.
The only other place he thought to check is the room where you used to sleep in, before your relationship became official.
And sure enough, after calming down his nervous, hitched breath, Sylus knocked on the door.
No response, but the room is unlocked.
He dared to take a peak inside and immediately softened at the sight of you sleeping on the bed. His feet acted before his mind and walked up towards your side.
He sat down on the mattress and his eyes slowly traced the ravishing features of your face that he missed, despite the argument being only just several hours ago.
He yearned to touch you, just for a second, to feel your warmth and softness. His right hand carefully reached towards your face, knuckles aiming to brush against your cheek.
But then, you opened your eyes.
Sylus froze for a moment, waiting for you to tell him to leave and stay away from him, but instead, you just blinked at him with curiosity and a hint of amusement.
"What are you doing?"
"...caught me redhanded." he chuckles. "I was looking at you. Because you wouldn't let me do it while you were awake. Sorry to disturb your peaceful sleep."
You watched his hand that was about to touch your face slowly retract, and you wanted to grab it and embrace it.
"...who said I was sleeping peacefully?"
Sylus looks at you with confusion.
"It's hard for me to sleep whenever we have arguments." you murmured, sitting up slowly so you can look at him properly. "I wanted to see you, but..."
You were sulking all afternoon.
You grew tired of arguing with him and thought you'd eventually find the right words to tell him later on, once you've calmed down.
"Me too." Sylus slowly reached for your hand, almost afraid that you'd pull away, though he relaxed once you intertwined your fingers with his. "Let me tell you why I'm against you accompanying me for this mission."
He told you about the shady people he'll be visiting. They are nasty criminals who have done unforgivable things to people, and everything about them is just disgusting â physically and figuratively.
As much as he wanted your company and assistance, Sylus doesn't want them setting their filthy eyes on you. He doesn't want them to know about your existence at all.
Mostly, he doesn't want to waste your time and energy on people like them. He knows you're strong enough to be by his side and help him take them down, just as you have done a few times before, but he'd much rather keep you away from their dirty hands.
"I understand now." You tightened your grip on his hand. "And still.... I want to go with you."
Though his brows furrowed as a silent reply, he stayed quiet and allowed you to fully let out everything you want to say.
"I appreciate your concern for me, truly. But ever since the twins told me about them, that they're dangerous and full of dirty tricks, I can't help but worry.
You're strong and you definitely don't need me, but still... I asked to go with you because I want to support you, just like how you sometimes help me out with my missions."
Sylus was met with the familiar look of persistence and determination in your eyes and realized he was never going to win this argument.
You've always been stubborn.
But that's just one of the reasons why he's so infauted with you.
You win.
"I should have known better than to try to leave you out of something like this." he sighs in defeat, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
You grinned at his tone. "It'll be fine. And fun â maybe. If not, then I'll suffer with you."
He clicked his tongue and poked your forehead. "Fine. But before we go, you have to prove to me that you're capable of fighting them."
"Hmm? Prove to you, how?"
"You'll have to join me in the boxing ring tomorrow, kitten."
You gasped and your eyes lit up. "My gloves! I've abandoned them! Let's go boxing right now!"
"...weren't you just about to sleep?"
"No way! I wanna hit something now! Come on!"
Sylus allowed himself to be dragged out of the room and brought back to the gym, where the boxing ring awaits.
Unlike earlier, the gym appears to be warmer and much more lively.
At last, Sylus can breathe easily.
zayne

Getting scolded by your lover was not how you were expecting your trip to the hospital to go.
He never raised his voice, but the coldness in his tone was what struck you in the chest.
He reprimanded you for being too reckless and careless at work, stating that you need to pay more attention to your surroundings and not throw yourself in danger at any chance you get.
Maybe you caught him in a bad mood, or maybe he was fed up with all the times that he has to see you with injuries. Either way, you didn't feel like being around him for a while.
Later that night, you fell asleep earlier than usual and missed a call from Zayne. You knew you probably should've called him back once you woke up in the morning, but the memory of him scolding you like a child made you throw your phone aside and momentarily avoid him.
Zayne is wide awake and his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.
For once, he doesn't have work to keep him up late at night. Instead, you're the reason why he's unable to sleep.
You haven't been returning his texts and calls.
He knew you're upset because of what he did at the hospital. He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You were already hurt. The last thing you needed was for him to give you a lecture over something you don't have much control over.
Zayne wanted to apologize to you.
He considered going to your apartment so he can properly give his sincere apology, but with the way you've been deflecting his attempts to communicate, he figured you wanted some space from him.
It's understandable that you'd feel that way, but still, Zayne can't ignore the aching in his chest. The other side of the bed feels colder than usual, and the silence of his house was uncomfortable.
You should've been next to him, resting your head on his chest while showing him funny memes and videos of cats after playing silly games on your phone, then you'd randomly come across an interesting article that would be your discussion until the two of you fall asleep.
This time, all he can do is keep checking his phone, just in case you decide to text or call him, and he'd answer in a heartbeat.
He wanted to hear your voice just so knows that everything is going to be okay, and that he doesn't need to worry about the possibility of losing you. Unfortunately, he wasn't granted that wish.
He eventually fell asleep with his phone on hand resting on the empty side of the bed.
Zayne was right.
You really are careless.
Showing up at the hospital twice in a week, just two days after your previous visit, is embarrassing at this point. You admit that your mind wasn't as awake and alert as it should've been, and so you've landed yourself another injury while fighting a Wanderer.
You did your best to hide from Zayne.
In fact, you tried going to a different hospital but Tara dropped you off here and fled instantly, so you have no choice but to go in with your slightly injured shoulder.
It just so happens that Doctor Greyson was the one that treated you, as he was the only one currently available.
You thought you'd be able to leave without seeing Zayne at all, but Greyson was unaware of your current situation so he informed him that he just finished fixing you up and you should be free to leave now.
Zayne just finished a long surgery, but once Greyson passed such valuable information to him, he rushed to your assigned room.
He caught you just as you were about to step out.
"Ah!" You put a hand over your racing heart. "You scared me!"
"Sorry." Zayne paused for a moment. "May I ask you to join me in my office?"
Your stomach shifted anxiously. "Sure..." The walk to the location was filled with nothing but awkward silence, which hurt to think about because it's Zayne.
That's the man whom you love more than anything else.
The last thing you want with him is an uncomfortable silence.
At the very least, you were able to gather your courage to own up to your mistakes.
Once he closed the door...
"I'm sorry!"
Zayne was caught off-guard.
"What?"
"You're right. I've been careless lately." Your shoulders sagged as you accepted defeat. "Like my injury today could've been avoided if only I was a little more cautious. I really do need to work on it better. I'm sorry for ignoring your texts and calls. I know you're just looking out for me."
Zayne let out a breath of relief.
He failed to stop himself from pulling you into his arms, so tight that you let out a gasp, though you didn't complain so he didn't release you just yet.
He desperately needed to hold you.
He was afraid that you might not want to see him anymore because of the way he had spoken to you, but it seems he'd gotten a chance to correct himself.
"I'm sorry for talking to you so coldy." He backed away just a small distance so he could look you in the eyes, though his hands remained locked on your elbows. "There are much better ways to express my concerns for you. I won't make the same mistake again. But also..."
He took your left hand and kissed the back of it. "Please don't ever try to hide your injuries from me whenever you do get hurt."
"Ah...." you wondered how he found out you were trying to hide from him today. "Sorry. I won't."
Zayne smiled and kissed your forehead.
"I'll accept your apology, on one condition...."
"What?"
"You have to spend the night and the whole weekend with me now. To make up for the times when you weren't by my side."
caleb

"I did it to protect you."
"And now, the fleet has all the access to the information that I was supposed to get. But yes. I was so fortunate that The Colonel came to my rescue. Thanks."
Caleb sighs as you shut the door and locked yourself in your own room of his house in Safehaven.
It's true that he interfered with your mission and you failed to do what you were sent for, but the man you were interrogating was equipped with a weapon that could've left you permamently injured.
What was he supposed to do?
He wasn't going to just watch and wait for you to get hurt.
The man just happened to be a common enemy of the fleet and the hunters association, and it seems that you've crossed paths for a race on whoever could capture him first.
While you technically reached him first, Caleb was the one that took him away and had him in captive with the fleet.
He figured he could just find that man and get the information you need, though it seems your mission was time sensitive and you were supposed to report to the association by tonight.
While he feels bad about you failing to accomplish your mission, he doesn't regret barging in to stop the enemy from hurting you.
His priority has always been you and it will always be you.
Everything that he's ever done is to protect you, even if you're against it. That's why this isn't the first time you've fought.
Ever since you were younger, you'd sometimes get mad at him for doing something that was intended to keep you out of harm's way.
It's nothing new.
Still, no matter how many times it happens, Caleb will always hate the feeling of you being upset with him.
He especially cannot stand it when you pretend he doesn't exist. He'd rather you hit him as hard as you can than act as if you don't see him. Otherwise, what other purpose does he have, if not to provide for you and be by your side?
Caleb made dinner for two, but he's the only one in the dinning room, sitting across an empty chair. It's dead silent aside from the noise of the flying vehicles roaming around outside his house.
He already put food in your plate and filled you a glass of juice, just in case you give in to his attempt to lure you out with the delicious smell of tonight's meal.
Caleb took his time eating. He had sent you texts, with lots of stickers, telling you that dinner is ready and that you can come out of your room now, though not a single message had gotten a reply.
His eyes would constantly dart to your closed door, hoping that it would open and you'd stubbornly come out with a pout on your face, just like what you always do ever since you were little.
He wasn't so lucky tonight.
But that doesn't mean he'll let you starve. You can be mad at him, but at the very least, be angry with a full stomach.
Caleb picked up your plate and drink and set it down on the floor right outside your room.
"Pip-squeak." He knocked a couple of times. "It's fine if you don't want to see me. You don't have to forgive me, but please eat something before you sleep. I'll leave the food outside the door."
He paused for a moment, as an apology almost slipped out of his tongue, though he wants to do it properly when you're face-to-face, so he will wait for a better time.
"Goodnight."
Afterwards, Caleb took a long bath before going to bed. You two had plans to watch movies tonight after your mission, but that was definitely not going to happen now. He had no idea things would end like how it did, and now he's staring at a wall feeling empty.
Around midnight, you quietly stepped out of your room. You brought the dirty, empty dishes back in the kitchen so you can wash them and return them in the storage.
Five steps in the dark kitchen and you almost drop the fragile items on your hands.
There's something lurking in the shadows.
"Ah!"
Your right hand swung up to hit the figure that started to walk towards you, ready to hit them with the plate.
The object was caught easily and snatched right out off your fingers. The light switch clicked and soon your eyes had been greeted by bright white light.
And you learned that the figure that had been bathing in darkness is none other than Caleb, who looked just as freaked out as you.
"Why are you still awake?!" you screeched, putting a hand over your pounding heart. "Why are you out here just standing in the dark like some demon?!"
"I wasn't standing in darkness. I was sitting." he huffs, putting the plate on the counter table. "And I should be asking you the same thing, Pip-squeak. Why are you awake?!"
His eyes suddenly widened and his shoulders stiffened.
"You're...not gonna leave, are you?"
He looked like a sad, kicked puppy that made you feel like a super villain.
"No, I'm not leaving." you replied softly, taking a step closer to him after setting down the empty glass of juice on the counter table. "I was just going to wash these... dinner was delicious.... by the way..."
Caleb let out a sigh of relief before a smile came to his face. "I'm glad you liked it. If you still have room in your stomach, wanna go for dessert? I still have some of the ice cream that you bought last time."
Your eyes lit up at the mention of the sweet dessert. "Yes!"
As the two of you enjoyed the ice cream, Caleb took the opportunity to talk about what happened.
"I'll admit that I don't regret interferring with your work to save you from getting hurt." he started slowly, watching you just in case your mood flips again. "But I am sorry for getting you in trouble."
You shook your head. "I'm over it now, but... you have to remember that I'm also capable of dealing with dangerous guys. I may get hurt, but it's part of my job. You don't have to jump out and save me every time, even though I appreciate it and you, every time."
Caleb sighs, recalling you repeating similar words to him before.
He really does jump out of nowhere to save you a lot â in fact, anytime he can, he does it.
"You're right. I know you've gotten strong, Pip-squeak." he grinned, patting your head. "I'll be sure to remember it. But also, you have to remember... worrying about you is part of my job. That'll never change, even if you become the greatest superhero of the deepspace."
"Heh."
You can't help but laugh because it's true.
That is just how Caleb is.
And it's one of the things that you love about him, despite all the times he pissed you off by being over protective.
"If I become the greatest superhero of Deepspace, will you bring me more ice cream?"
Caleb laughs at your empty bowl. "All you have to do is ask and I shall obey, Pip-squeak."
Once drowsiness finally hit you, you returned to bed and this time, Caleb made sure to cling to you the entire time.
rafayel

You'd been extremely busy for almost two weeks because of a big, intricate mission. It left you very little time to rest, and absolutely no time to go out with your lover.
But once you finally got some freedom, the first thing you did was give him a call, asking him out for lunch.
"It's okay, Miss Bodyguard. You don't have to see me if you don't want to. I know you've been really busy to make any time for me."
Maybe he was just joking or being dramatic as usual, but something about his tone rubbed you the wrong way.
"Okay then. Bye."
The moment the call ended, Rafayel wanted to throw his phone at the wall.
Why did he say that?
He'll admit that he has been sulking, disappointed that he hasn't seen you for days; however, he knows it's not your fault. You're just doing your job, after all.
His mood hasn't been the best lately, and he ended up saying the wrong thing to you. Now, he scared you away from him even more.
He wanted to see you and apologize, but you sounded quite mad and he's certain you don't want to see him at the moment, so it's probably best to leave you alone for now.
Thomas entered the studio and almost tripped over a paintbrush on the floor. The place is even messier than before.
He found Rafayel lying on the couch, wide wake and staring at the ceiling.
"Your studio's getting way too messy. Maybe you should clean up a little."
"It's fine. No one's going to come over anyways."
Thomas was quick to notice his dispirited tone. Rafayel already seemed lonely last week, but this time his mood seems worse.
Another proof of that is the lack of progress on the paintings.
"You haven't started anything new yet?"
"I haven't had any inspiration."
The one hint that Thomas got about what was bringing Rafayel down is the yellow bird plushie right next to him, who he may or may not have been talking to.
"So, it's your Miss Hunter, isn't it?"
It's happened a couple of times before. You two have gotten into arguments before and it usually ends in the same way, with Rafayel sulking like this. This time, it might've lasted longer than usual.
"I don't know what happened, but I suggest seeing her and talking it out."
"I know that. But if she doesn't want to see me.... what if she starts screaming and hitting me when I'm there?"
Or worse, you tell him you hate him.
His stomach tightened with discomfort just by thinking about it.
Thomas chuckles lightly. "So what? You can take it, can't you? Then again, she is a hunter.... and she could kill you...."
Rafayel frowned and froze for a moment.
Then, he suddenly rolls over and drops to the floor before jumping to his feet. "Thomas, you're a genius!" he exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. "I don't care if she stabs me with her sword! I'd survive. but... if I go on another day withour seeing her, I might actually die for real..."
"Hh â sure, I guess..."
"I'm gonna go see her now!"
Thomas watched as he started to scramble and sprint out of the room. "Wait, you should clean up first before â "
"Ow! Who put this paint brush here?!"
You opened the door and Rafayel immediately shields his face with his hands, as if to protect himself from you.
"....I don't know what's going on but I'm a little offended."
You wanted to laugh but you reminded yourself that you're still mad at him.
Or at least, you were.
The moment Rafayel showed up at your doorstep, all you want to do is hug him.
"If you're gonna stab me, do it quickly but at least wait until I say sorry first so it doesn't sound like I'm using my last, dying breath to make it up to you. I mean, I would do that too if I must, but I'd prefer if I don't sound pathetic and gross."
"...what?"
Rafayel pulled himself together and held both of your hands.
"I'm sorry for what I said. I promise I didn't mean it at all. I just missed you a lot and... I.... I might've been...a little grumpy because of it... but I still shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm really sorry."
You softened and held his hands tighter. "I'm sorry too, for snapping so fast and running away. I also wasn't in the best mood."
Rafayel didn't waste another second before pulling you into his arms.
"Let's not do that again. It's stupid and silly and boring."
"Agreed."
He buried his face against your neck and held you tighter for a little longer while your fingers brush his hair from the back.
Rafayel took a moment to feel your warmth.
You're here, right in front of him, after days that felt like months.
Letting you go will be extremely difficult.
"Miss Bodyguard...."
"Yeah?"
"Do you wanna come to my house? Reddie misses you...
"Just Reddie?"
"...well, I missed you way more, but you can spare him five minutes of attention. But that's it. The rest of your time is mine."
xavier

For your latest mission, Jenna paired you up with a new hunter that just joined your team. She said she wanted him to learn from you, so he became your temporary partner.
Xavier wasn't quite happy with the captain's decision.
Jenna never said he couldn't join you, right? The new guy can keep following you, but that doesn't mean he has to be alone with you.
Fast forward to the end of the mission, Xavier had been so focused on making sure the new guy keeps a fair distance from you, and the newbie almost got hurt.
You took responsibility and jumped in at the very last moment to save him, leaving you with a minor scratch on your left arm. Nonetheless, the mission was a success.
You confronted Xavier afterwards. You didn't care at all about the scratch, but you were more concerned with him letting his jealousy get in the way of the mission.
Captain Jenna scolded him about not following orders. Although she never specified that he couldn't join you, he still messed with the plan that the team discussed early on. Luckily, he's not deeply in trouble: he'd only been warned not to do it again.
You mostly repeated what Jenna said, but you also told Xavier that he shouldn't have gone out of his way to physically keep your temporary partner away from you, and that you wished he trusted you a little more, especially in a professional environment.
Xavier was unable to come up with a response and like always, whenever he's jealous, dark clouds appeared all around him as he sulks.
You didn't feel like cradling him at the moment, mostly because you felt tired from the mission, and you needed to cool your ahead after all that happened.
You went straight to your apartment after work. Soon after taking a shower, you landed on your bed and welcomed a nap.
Xavier anxiously paces back and forth in his apartment.
He knows you're sleeping because of the fitness watch app that you both use. He decided that he'll wait until you wake up before apologizing, so at the mean time, he's practicing in his head what he'll be saying to you.
You two rarely have arguments because he'd learned to be more straightforward with his thoughts and feelings, but when jealousy comes into play, he still struggles to contain himself. He's working on it, but he's having quite a slow progress.
He'll admit that he might have gone a little overboard today, and he hated that his actions led to you getting hurt, even if it's just a scratch. If only he hadn't gotten in the way.
"...I'm going now."
Unable to wait any longer, Xavier teleports out of his apartment and appears on your balcony â it's become a habit of his.
He found you sleeping on the couch of your living room.
Xavier walked up to you quietly and covered your body with the throw bunched up by your feet. He knelt down on the carpeted floor and admired your features.
He knew he shouldn't get jealous so easily, but how could he not?
He's so deeply in love with you, he can't help but act irrationally sometimes.
But even more, he despises whenever you're upset with him and because of him, so he knows he can't keep behaving drastically all the time whenever another person who shows an ounce of admiration for you comes around.
"You smell like burnt cookies."
Xavier snapped out of his thoughts only to realize that you had woken up.
He took a whiff of his white hoodie and confirmed your observation. "I tried to make you some cookies to make up for earlier but I got distracted and forgot about them...."
And by distracted, he means pacing back and forth across the kitchen while writing his apology speech in his head.
"Pfftt.."
Xavier scratched the back of his head while you laughed loudly. His eyes lit up at the sight of your joy on your face.
"I'm sorry about your cookies." he sighs. "And I'm sorry for acting the way I did earlier. I promise I'll... try not to get jealous..."
You laughed again, this time softer as you leaned forward to brush his hair with your fingers. "The truth is, I don't mind that you get jealous sometimes. Even I get jealous too."
"Really?"
"Really."
He never notices you secretly being bitter whenever someone is clearly attracted to him, though you never act out on your jealousy because he always reassures you that he only has eyes for you.
"It's normal to get jealous." you told him. "But next time.... just make sure not to step out of line and get yourself or anyone innocent in trouble."
Xavier nodded and kissed the palm of your hand that had been combing his hair. "I promise I'll be more responsible from now on."
You smiled and pecked his nose.
"The smell of cookies really got me. Wanna try again? I'll help you this time."
"I'd like that. But first...." he rested his face onto your lap. "Can we just stay like this for a little while? I think I need to recharge."
Your hand returns to combing his soft hair. "Of course."
#love and deepspace#lynnsfics#sylus#zayne#caleb#rafayel#xavier#sylus x reader#zayne x reader#caleb x reader#rafayel x reader#xavier x reader#sylus love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#caleb love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#lads#lads sylus#lads zayne#lads caleb#lads rafayel#lads xavier#love and deepspace x reader#lads x reader#lnds
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I think maybe I got married to a museum this morning. Boy is this a long weird story.
I was standing in line to get into the Museum of Natural History this morning when an older woman near me in line gestured for me to take out my headphones. She was clearly a little agitated, and she asked me if I was American, if I spoke English, in a pretty pronounced English accent. I said I'm from Chicago, and she looked relieved and said, "Can you help me find out if I can pay for my ticket with my credit card inside? It wouldn't register when I tried to buy a ticket on the internet this morning."
I said I didn't know how we'd find out, but I opened up the website on my phone to check. While I poked around the site she didn't stop talking once, telling me that she's in New York to look after her daughter who just had major surgery and she's very stressed and her daughter asked her to go out and distract herself for a while which....having spent some time in this woman's company, she's very sweet but I can see why her kid needed a break.
Anyway, I think this might actually be a lie on the website, but it says there that you HAVE to buy tickets online and you have to have an email address to get them delivered. She couldn't do the former and didn't have a smartphone she could use to access the latter.
So I said, why don't I buy your ticket on my phone while we're here in line? I can send it to my email, and you can come in with me. She fretted about fraud but I said nah, I'll just tell them your ticket's on my phone because I helped you buy it, they won't care.
Now, this sounds like she was running some kind of wild scam, but who the hell scams their way into the Museum of Natural History? Like lady if you love natural history that much and haven't got $24 to your name, let me buy you a ticket, you've earned it.
Anyway, I bought the ticket in about 30 seconds, and we had about ten minutes to wait, which she filled with a nonstop monologue about her daughter's medical problems, her husband's job, her attempts to get into a gym to swim, the crowdedness of New York, it was just...so much talking. And I had dire visions of possibly having to take her around the museum with me simply because I was so friendly and helped her get in. I wished to silently contemplate the taxidermy, thanks.
Inside, I took her to the customer service desk because she wanted a printed copy of her ticket, and while they were printing it she counted out the cash to pay me back. Then I ruthlessly unloaded her on one of the customer services agents, saying, "He'll explain what you can do with your ticket and give you a map -- you have a good time now and I'll be thinking of your daughter," and did my best to disappear. I rounded a corner, dashed into an elevator, and fled to the fourth floor where I was headed anyway.
That's enough of a misadventure just trying to get into the museum, but I put it from my mind and enjoyed the dinosaurs and dioramas...until I slipped on something black, on the black floor of the dimly lit Hall Of Mammals, and almost fell.
There, under my boot, in front of the stuffed rhinos, was a black-and-gold silicone ring.
If it had been any other kind of ring I'd have turned it in to lost and found, but I wear silicone rings myself -- they're very cheap and meant to be worn in place of a real ring while you're doing tool work (they tear away under pressure unlike metal rings that'll take your finger with) or if you're afraid you'll lose the real thing. I have several thin ones I wear on top of my normal rings to keep them from falling off when my fingers change size in the cold. It's not the kind of thing one would even go to Lost and Found for; you can replace it for $5.
I think the museum gave me a wedding band.

It's a little big but the spirit is there.
So yeah, much like how the Rijksmuseum and I are sworn enemies, the American Museum of Natural History is now my bride. Well, she saw that I know how to look after my elders. As spouses that are actually large cultural institutions in the middle of New York City go, could be worse.
[ID: The middle and index finger of my left hand, showing several rings -- the middle finger has a silver ring with a kokopelli motif (a gift from my maternal grandmother), a gold ring with a knotwork motif (the wedding ring I inherited from my stepfather's parents), and a thin silicone band to hold them in place. My index finger has the new ring, gold with a border of black, looking slightly loose.]
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âá°.á⎠When Jeonghan panics and lies to his family about being in a long-term relationship, he only knows one person reckless enough to go along with it: you, his grumpy new neighbor who barely tolerates him. Now, youâre stuck on a weekend family trip, pretending to be the doting girlfriend of a man who once labeled his oat milk with a death threat.
The problem? Youâre too good at pretending.
From shared rooms to fake backstories, suspicious siblings and lingering touches, the line between fake and real starts to blur⌠and neither of you are ready for what that means.
pairing: jeonghan x f!reader
genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers (but like.. flirty enemies), forced proximity, one bed, mutual pining (slow burn edition), romance, domestic fluff in disguise, idiots in loveâliterally
word count: 2.1k
a/n: my other jeonghan fic did so well, my shayla đŞđso hereâs another teasing jeonghan (maybe teasing jeonghan is up you guys alleyđ¤Şđ) anywaysss leaving it with a cliffhanger ending whilst i know what happens next đđ
âYouâre kidding,â you said flatly.
Across the passenger seat of the very full, very overpacked family van, Yoon Jeonghan had the audacity to grin like this was all part of some grand master plan.
âLook, I didnât think theyâd actually ask to meet you, okay? It was justâmy mom was getting nosy, and I panicked.â
âSo your first instinct was to lie about having a girlfriend?â
âNot a lie,â he said, far too casual. âA preemptive relationship announcement.â
You scoffed. âWith who?â
âWell, you live across the hall, and we already bicker like a married couple.â
âBecause you steal my laundry slots and label your milk passive-aggressively!â
âAnd yet,â he said, adjusting his sunglasses with flair, âhere you are, coming on a weekend family trip to save my ass.â
You glared at him. âOnly because you bribed me with three monthsâ worth of your mailroom favors and cleaning up after your nightmare cat.â
âSheâs not a nightmare. Sheâs emotionally complex.â
âShe bit me.â
âLove bite.â
You opened your mouth to argue but were interrupted by his mom in the front seat turning back to you, beaming. âWeâre so happy you could come, sweetheart! Youâve been dating our Jeonghan for over a year and weâve never met you! Can you believe it?â
You smiled, the tight, polite kind. âYeah. Time really flies when youâre in⌠love.â
Jeonghan tried not to laugh beside you. You jabbed your elbow into his side.
The cabin was cute.
Cozy.
Charming.
And had one bed.
You stood in the doorway, staring at the neatly made queen-size mattress that absolutely screamed âgood luck, suckers.â
âAbsolutely not,â you said.
âWhat?â Jeonghan walked in behind you, setting his duffel down with a dramatic sigh. âThey think weâre together. Do you want to blow the whole thing up now?â
You turned to him. âThen you sleep on the floor.â
He blinked. âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me. You got us into this mess. Iâm not sleeping on the damn floor.â
He raised a brow, arms crossing. âDo I look like someone who can survive a hardwood situation? Iâm delicate.â
You pointed at the floor. âDelicate your way down there.â
But he just grinned, the kind that was all cheek and absolutely no remorse. He spread his arms wide like he was announcing a magic trick.
âItâs an adventure, darling.â
You rolled your eyes. âCongrats. In this adventure, youâre sleeping on the floor.â
The cabin creaked in the dark. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket chirped like it had a personal vendetta against your ears. The faint hum of Jeonghanâs mom watching a late-night drama drifted through the walls, barely audible.
And thenâjust loud enough to drive you insaneâ
Rustle.
Rustle.
You groaned. âAre you trying to be loud?â
Across the room, from the sad little nest of blankets and throw pillows heâd dramatically built on the floor, Jeonghanâs voice floated back at you.
âIâm adjusting my spine for optimal survival. You know, since Iâve been banished from the comfort of the bed.â
âYouâre lucky youâre still breathing.â
âYouâre lucky I have impeccable restraint,â he muttered.
You turned onto your side, scowling into the darkness. âYouâre so dramatic.â
âI was forced to fake-date my neighbor because of a single panic lie. Forgive me for needing to emotionally process.â
You scoffed. âYouâre not processing. Youâre fishing.â
ââŚDid it work?â
âNo.â
He exhaled a laugh, low and lazy. Then it was quiet again. For a moment, you thought maybe heâd finally fallen asleep.
Untilâ
âYou⌠really didnât have to say yes, you know.â
You blinked at the ceiling.
âI know.â
âI just meanâŚâ His voice was softer now. âYou didnât owe me anything. Especially after the whole⌠hallway coffee incident.â
You bit back a smile. He remembers the coffee incident?
âYou mean when you bumped into me, spilled hot latte all over my skirt, and then had the audacity to ask if I had a towel?â
âI panicked,â he mumbled. âAlso, I still stand by the fact that the hallway is too narrow.â
âItâs a normal hallway, Jeonghan. You just have zero spacial awareness.â
Another laugh. This one sounded real.
Silence again.
Then, gentlyâ
ââŚI didnât expect you to help me.â
You didnât answer right away.
Then: âI didnât expect you to say âplease.ââ
He was quiet for a long moment. Long enough that you thought he might be asleep.
And thenâ ââŚCan I ask something?â
You turned to face his direction, even though you couldnât see him. âWhat?â
His voice was small, almost teasing. âOn a scale of one to ten⌠how convincing do you think we are as a couple?â
You hesitated. ââŚlike⌠six.â
âSIX?â he cried in a whisper. âThatâs barely passing!â
You grinned. âMaybe if you didnât look so smug every time I touch your arm.â
âI do notâ okay, fine, but you laughed when I kissed your cheek earlier!â
âYou missed! You kissed my ear!â
A beat.
ââŚRight. Yeah. Six. Fair.â
And thenâquiet laughter.
Yours.
Then his.
And before either of you knew it, the silence that followed didnât feel so awkward anymore.
It just⌠was.
Two strangers.
Two liars.
Two people figuring out how to fall asleep in the same room without falling apart.
You stared up at the ceiling, sleep nowhere in sight. Your pillow was slightly too soft, the room slightly too warm, and your fake boyfriend slightly too annoying.
âHey,â you whispered.
Jeonghanâs voice floated back from the floor, muffled and suspicious. âWhat.â
âCan we go over our âhow we started datingâ story? Again. Just in case anyone asks tomorrow.â
There was a dramatic sigh. Fabric rustled.
âSeriously?â he groaned. âItâs a family trip, not an interrogation.â
âYes, seriously,â you snapped quietly. âYour sister already asked how long weâd been together. What if someone wants details?â
âI gave you the details.â
âYou gave me concept art, Jeonghan. You gave me vibes.â
Another dramatic sigh.
âFine,â he muttered, like it was the greatest burden of his life to clean up his own mess. âOkay, so⌠we tell them it started after you tripped down the stairs, right?â
Your face immediately contorted in disbelief. âIâm sorryâwhat?â
âAnd I caught you at the bottom,â he continued, completely unfazed, âlike a scene straight out of a drama. Your hair was glowing, the light behind you was all soft and golden, and you looked at me like Iâd just saved your life.â
âI looked at you like I had a concussion.â
âExactly! The impact of love.â
You blinked at the ceiling. âYou want me to tell your entire family I fell in love with you because you caught me falling down a staircase?â
âDo you hear how good that sounds?â
âIt sounds like I have zero standards and you have a hero complex.â
Jeonghan rolled over with a groan, now half-visible from the floor. âFine. Weâll say it happened when I helped you carry your groceries up to your apartment.â
âThatâs actually not bad.â
âAnd then I leaned against your doorframe all charming and irresistibleââ
âNope. There it is.â
ââand you said, âWow, no man has ever carried my oat milk so tenderly before.ââ
You flung your pillow at him. It hit the floor with a thump.
He laughed, low and pleased with himself. âAdmit it. Youâd fall for me.â
âFall on you, maybe. Just to knock you out.â
âRomance.â
âDelusion.â
He smirked, voice trailing off into the dark. âI think youâre enjoying this fake dating thing a little too much.â
You turned back to your side, blanket pulled over your shoulder. âI think youâre confusing âenjoyingâ with âsurviving your dumbassery.ââ
Silence fell for a moment.
Thenâ
ââŚOat milk though. That was a good line.â
You threw the spare pillow next.
You woke to the sound of someone knockingânot on the door, but on your brain cells.
Jeonghanâs voice cut through the early light like a dull blade. âTheyâre making pancakes.â
âWhy are you talking like thatâs urgent news?â
âBecause theyâll think weâre having morning couple time if we donât show up soon.â
You sat up, hair wild, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cloak of regret. âI shouldâve let you sleep on the porch.â
Jeonghan, already dressed and way too smug for 8AM, only winked.
When you stepped into the kitchen together, his hand found your lower back automatically. Warm. Light. Familiar.
You didnât think about it. Until you did.
His sister, who was cutting fruit at the counter, didnât miss a thing. Her eyes narrowed. âWell, well, well. Look who finally woke up.â
You smiled. The kind that didnât reach your eyes. âWe took our time. You know. Jeonghanâs a cuddler.â
He choked. âIâI am not.â
She gasped, mock horror on her face. âJeonghan? Touchy? In the morning?â
âHe mumbled in his sleep,â you said sweetly. âCalled me his âoat milk angel.ââ
He stared at you like you had personally just ended his whole career.
âI did not.â
âYou did too. I was touched. Emotionally.â
His sister was cackling now. âI canât believe this. My brotherâs in love.â
Jeonghan rolled his eyes and grabbed a banana from the counter in retaliation. âWeâre not doing this.â
âOh, we are. We are absolutely doing this.â She pointed her knife dramatically. âBecause youâve never brought anyone home before. This is like watching a rare animal leave its den after twenty-seven years.â
You turned to him, mock-offended. âYou told me I was special.â
âI did not say that.â
âWow. First he forgets our anniversary, now this.â
You pouted, and for dramatic flair, he reached for your hand, dramatically clutching it with two hands like he was repenting for a sin he did not commit.
âMy love,â he said solemnly, âforgive me. I shall make it up to you by massaging your shoulders later.â
âI demand breakfast in bed.â
âIâll hand-feed you grapes.â
You snorted.
His sister stared between the two of you, suspicious. âYouâre both awful actors.â
Jeonghan raised a brow. âSays who?â
She gestured with her fruit knife. âSays my intuition. And the fact that your handâs still holding hers even though that whole bit ended a full thirty seconds ago.â
Your stomach fluttered.
Jeonghan let go like heâd been burned. âOh.â
âOh,â you echoed, barely above a whisper.
But it was too late.
The feeling had already curled somewhere in your chest.
Because his hand had been warm. His thumb had rubbed circles without thinking. You hadnât wanted to pull away.
You looked at him.
He looked at you.
And something was there.
Not loud. Not obvious.
But there.
It started with Jeonghanâs mom saying, âWeâre out of eggs,â and ended with the two of you in a cozy little convenience store five minutes from the cabin, pretending you werenât sharing one brain cell and an alarming amount of chemistry.
You held the basket. He pushed the cart even though you only needed two things.
âShouldâve just made your mom send one of your siblings,â you muttered, scanning the shelves.
âYeah, but then who would I fake domestic bliss with?â he said, casually tossing in a bottle of your favorite drink. You blinked at it. âWhat? Iâve seen you drink it, like, five times this month.â
ââŚStalker.â
He grinned. âObservant.â
You stopped in front of the ramen section, head tilted. âThey have your spicy one.â
He reached over your shoulder, grabbing the exact brand without hesitation. âWeâll get two. Iâll make it for you tomorrow.â
You stared at him.
âWhat?â he asked, shrugging. âFake boyfriend duties. Let me cook for you so my parents continue to believe Iâm a gift to the earth.â
You rolled your eyes and turned toward the snack aisle.
But your heart was⌠beating a little weird.
It didnât help that somewhere between âwe need eggsâ and âooh they have strawberry Pocky,â Jeonghanâs hand had somehow ended up on the small of your back again.
Like it belonged there.
Like it fit.
You tried not to think about it.
At checkout, he handed over his card before you could pull out yours.
âJeonghan.â
âRelax, sugarplum. Itâs like, $11. I can afford our fake life together.â
You shoved him lightly as the cashier laughed under her breath. He winked.
The walk back was quiet. But not uncomfortable. At one point, your fingers brushed. He didnât pull away. And neither did you.
Back at the cabin, his mom peeked into the bag.
âGot everything?â
Jeonghan nodded. âYep. Even her favorite drink.â
She smiled, just a little too knowingly. âYouâre already acting like an old married couple.â
You opened your mouth to protest.
But Jeonghan beat you to it.
With the softest, most dangerous smile heâs ever wornâ
âWeâve had practice.â
Your stomach flipped. Your fingers curled around the strap of the bag just to ground yourself.
Because god help youâ
you werenât sure where the lies ended anymore.
#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen x reader#svt imagines#seventeen#svt fluff#svt scenarios#svt x reader#seventeen drabbles#seventeen fluff#seventeen x you#seventeen reactions#seventeen jeonghan#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan imagines#jeonghan scenarios#jeonghan x y/n
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Captainâs Girl. [Part I]
John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)
Synopsis: After Laswell pitches you a favor to join 141, you're left with no choice but to accept. The only problem arises when you and the Captain start to butt heads, but if the two of you hate each other as much as you say, then why is the rest of the team calling you his girl?
Tags: Enemies to lovers, tension, military romance, forbidden love, smut, fighting, secret feelings, slow burn.
Word count? You know the drill, itâs long.
.ăťăăăťăăăťăăăťďź.ăťăăăťăăăťăăăťďź
âCaptain John Price.â You skimmed the document again, his name catching your eye for the third or fourth time. The black ink seemed to bleed together against the crisp paper of your enrollment documents into Special Forces Task Force 141. It was a promotion, and an honor at that, special forces to begin with were selective.
But 141 was almost unheard of, a combination of British special forces and American special forces. They were one of the best, and you were about to become a part of it. You read the documents again.
âAll personnel will be working under John Price and answering to Kate Laswell, respectively-â Your eyes trailed further along the mess of columned words, making sense of the legality aspects of transferring to a new team. You hadn't expected to be transferred over, not until Kate had contacted you with an offer. You could tell she was put under pressure by the way her voice strained against the receiverâŚ
âLook, I need you here. Ever since Shepard went rogue, we've been a bit tight over here. John has stepped in as commanding officer; technically, we already have a sharpshooter on 141. But we could use a hand, just until we sort out our bearings. Then, if you'd like, I can transfer you back to your current teamâŚâ
You'd raised an eyebrow, âLaswell, you're acting like I'm the only one who can fill these shoes. Why don't you hire a private contractor from KorTac? I'm sure they have more experience anyway.â You heard her blow out air from her nose, amused. â[Name], I don't think I have to tell you how much these guys hate private contractors. We need someone who can work as a collective team, you know⌠integrate themselves for the time being.â
You pursed your lips together, weighing out the pros and cons. However, Laswell was one of the best people you had ever met, a long-time friend since the baby days of your recruitment. She was a woman of her word, and she had your back. And if she said this team needed someone, she was being serious. You sighed, leaning back, âOkay, send me the details, Laswell. I'll think about it.â
âŚYou read the contract one last time; it was simple enough. You would be transferred to 141 at the end of the month; it was a year-long contract. Which, in a way, made you a private contractor, too. The rest of 141 was under the impression that you were there to stay, everyone except the Captain and, of course, Laswell, not that she was on 141. If they decided they didn't need you before the contract ended, you could pick to stay for the remainder of the year or transfer back to your original task force.
A sigh left your mouth; you picked up your pen and flipped to the last page. Etching your signature into the blank line. You had till the end of the month; as of that moment, you were officially a member of 141.
Ë˰â˘*ââˇ
Well, you had to give Laswell credit where credit was due. It had been a few weeks since your arrival and you fit in quite smoothly into 141; you believe she called it âintegrating.â To nobody's surprise, the team was almost entirely men, aside from Ferrah, who was stationed elsewhere. It hadn't been long since your arrival until you were bound to run into someone; Jhonny was the firstâŚ
It was later in the day and you were wandering about; transferring to a new location was something you never got used to, so you tried to get a head start on mapping out the place. Everything was similar to your last base, but you still felt a bit alien. A small room tucked off to the side caught your eye, and you followed in that direction. It was a small break room, a kitchen, and a fridge tucked away in the side; there were a few cupboards and a single run-down couch.
You mosied over to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside drawers. You found the usual silverware, mugs, napkins, junk, and tea bags. You stopped; tea actually sounded pretty good. Sitting on the counter was one of those electric tea kettles; you reached for it.
Waiting until the water was boiling, you grabbed the first mug you saw in the cupboard. As you dipped one of the tea bags into the scalding liquid, the door handle jostled across the room. You heard him before you saw him; his voice was deep, a bit raspy, with a thick Scottish accent. Walking through the door came a man dressed in sweatpants and a military-issued shirt. His head was shaved aside from a cropped mohawk of brown hair. His face was pulled into a subtle frown with his eyebrows furrowed. A phone pressed against his head by his shoulder.
You locked eyes with him, the pale spheres of his eyes boring into yours. You could tell he was studying you, maybe trying to deduce if he had seen you before or if you were a stranger. Suddenly, you heard muffled talking coming from the receiver of his phone. You looked down at your tea, not wanting to be considered rude for staring.
The man's voice came again, but it was almost unreadable. It was like a different language, probably Scottish, and then it stopped. When you looked back up, he was standing a few feet away from you, reaching into one of the cupboards.
âSisters.â
You blinked; it took you a moment to understand he was talking to you. âI-What?â You asked, caught off guard by his comment. He looked back at you, holding up his phone. âSâwho I was talking to.â Your eyebrows furrowed, and you nodded slowly; it was an odd way of making conversation. âOh, okayâŚYou uh- don't look too happy about it, family troubles?â You asked, his lips cracked into a soft smile, and he shook his head. âNah, she's just a bit dafty. She's auld, so she feels the need to boss me around from time to time.â
You nodded along, trying to use context clues to understand some of his choice words. You watched him fill his mug with some water you had just boiled. âAh, I see. I'm not sure I can relate; I'm the oldest sibling, so maybe I do all the bossing around.â He nodded, one of his thick eyebrows rasing, âHow many siblings?â
You smiled, âJust two, a brother and sister.â The man hummed, looking down at his tea. âGotchaâŚâ A silence enveloped the room, and after another agonizing moment, he spoke up again. âYou a new hire around here? Can't say I would forget a face like yours, lass.â You nodded, glad that the silence had been put to rest, a smile growing on your face at his comment. âYeah, new transfer to 141.â Suddenly, his eyes grew more comprehensive, âYou're the newbie?â He said, astonished.
You chuckled softly, âI wouldn't say newbie; I'm just a transfer from another unit.â His face cracked into a grin, âNo kidding, apologies, didn't mean to come off as rude.â He held his hand out to you, âJohnny McTavish, team calls me Soap.â
Your eyebrows raised, âYou're a part of 141?â His smile didn't fade as he nodded, âAye, sharpshooter and sniper.â You felt a grin creeping up on your face; this Soap guy was friendly. Way friendlier than you thought the people on 141 would be. âIâm [Name]. I'm also a sharpshooter, but I also work with mechanics and firearms. Soap isâŚuh pretty interesting call sign, any meaning behind it?â You saw something in his eye; maybe it was pride, or perhaps something more sinister, âWell, when you clean out a room as fast as I do, people notice. You ain't got a callsign, Bonnie?â
You shook your head, âNo, I guess my name has always just done the job.â Soap pat you on the shoulder, âDonât worry, weâll get you one.â You and Soap just talked for the next few minutes; it was nice. The conversation ebbed and flowed without problem; he nodded to the door after your tea was nearly empty. âAye, Bonnie, why donât I take you to meet the rest of the team? Give you a head start on the meet and greet.â
You smiled, âYeah, why not?â
âŚThe more time you spent with the team, the easier it got; it helped that they made good conversation. Jhonny wasâŚwell, Johnny, good sense of humor but never knew when to quit. Ghost was quieter; he didn't trust you immediately, but you'd managed to pull a few chuckles from him and the occasional polite conversation.
Kyle Garrick, or âGaz,â was an all-around good guy, funny, polite, and incredibly talented. You could never get over the time that you had gotten drunk off your ass, and Ghost told you a story of when Gaz fell out from a helicopter and was shooting at people while he was swinging from the airborne vehicle.
And then there was Price. Captain John Price, you'd met Price a day after Soap introduced you to the rest of the boys. To say the atmosphere was tense between you would be an understatement. From the minute he laid his eyes on you, they went stiff. His whole demeanor around you reminded you of a rock; it was like he didn't even want you on the team. His voice went curt, and whenever you spoke, his eyes bore holes into your head like he wanted to shoot lasers into your brain by just staring.
You'd talk about it to the rest of the team, but they shrugged it off. âMaybe he ain't used to you yet; it takes a while for the lad to trust anyone. He usually puts on the tough guy act for new recruits.â Ghost had said; Jhonny snorted at that. âTough guy act? Dinnae, nothing bout that; when I first joined, the man made me want to pull out my hair. Think that's more than a tough guy act L.T.â
Usually, this wouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. But for some odd reason, he got under your skin like nobody else could. And believe, you were no stranger to difficult co-workers and bosses. Even worse, your first interaction with him was incredibly awkward, and you couldn't have left a good impression even if you had tried. It was almost etched into your mind like a stone tabletâŚ
It was your last day to set up, get used to the team and your surroundings before you started working. The three days you had to relax were mostly spent either in the base gym, or eating in the cafeteria. What could you say, you were a creature of habit.
Until this point, you had met almost the entire team besides the captain. Technically, you werenât required to meet him until you started working, but you'd already met everyone else. So, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. You pried the information about Priceâs whereabouts from Gaz: âI haven't seen him up and about today; usually, he's around. It probably means he's hauled up in his piss-poor office. The guy hates it there but usually locks himself up there when he's in a bad mood or has paperwork.â
Despite his warning, you went ahead and searched for Priceâs office. That was mistake number one. After a minute or two of searching, you came across a door with the engraving âPriceâ carved into the wood in neat lettering. You reached for the door and tried to turn the handle, but nothing. It was locked; you frowned and tried again. But to nobody's surprise, the door remained shut.
So, you resorted to the next best thing. You knocked a few times but were met with radio silence. Maybe he wasn't in there, you chewed on your lip, thinking. There was a small window in the door, but it was covered by blinds. You squinted, pressing your hands to the wood and moving your face inches from the glass; you tried to peer inside despite the closed blinds. That was mistake number two.
âCan I help you?â
You jumped. The voice came from behind you. It was deep with a smooth British accent; you whirled around to face the person. Your eyes met what was possibly, in your opinion, sex on two legs. The man was tall and built like a tank, judging from how his biceps and chest filled out his cotton shirt. His face was stern, with short-cropped brown hair and a muttonchop beard. His eyes a deep shade of blue, you swallowed.
Damn.
You didn't believe you had a type, but this guy probably would've checked off all the boxes if you did. You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment; when he raised his eyebrow, you snapped out of your trance-like state. âIâm-uh looking for Captain Price. I thought I'd check his office, but I don't think he's there.â You cringed; your voice was rushed, a pitch higher, too.
The man crossed his arms; god, he could probably pop your head like a balloon with those things alone. âWell, you found him.â He said plainly. You stared at him briefly; of course, he was the captain. Why else would he be here? You wanted to punch yourself in the gut. âOh,â you breathed, âgreat then. I wanted to introduce myself; I'm the new transfer.â You tried to muster up a confident smile, which most likely had the opposite effect, given he was looking at you like you'd grown a second head.
â[Name], I know. I read your file.â He deadpanned. His voice caught you a little off guard; he wasn't irritated per se, but he didn't seem happy about this introduction. You cleared your throat, âGreat then, I'm sure Laswell told you I was coming?â You were grasping at strings here, trying to prolong the conversation.
âYes. I'm well aware you are here. Laswell has a way of inserting help into my team.â You paused; well, that wasn't meant to be a compliment. Your smile faltered, and you looked around the room like this was some prank. âShe said you guys needed someoneâŚ?â
Price nodded, his demeanor unsettlingly calm, âThatâs her opinion. Now, I respect Laswell; she knows what she's doing. That doesn't mean I always agree with her; 141 was just fine, this is just a precaution on her part.â
You felt your eye twitch a little; you transferred from your other unit, the unit you were extremely close to, mind you⌠for this? You joined out of the kindness of your heart, only for this jackass to say you were âjust a precaution.â âWell, I hope you won't hold a grudge.â You said a bit curtly. Price pursed his lips together in a tight line.
âWouldn't dream of it; a year is an awful long time to hold a grudge.â He said, the malice and ego coming off his tongue so strong you could almost taste it. What was this guy's problem with you? You did the nice thing and took time out of your day to introduce yourself to him. And he was treating you like you'd personally wronged him. âGood, then I won't either.â You breathed, frustrated. Price looked down at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. âWell, that's good to hear; now, are you going to let me into my own office or keep standing there like a human blockade?â
This guy.
Your palms squeezed into fists, shooting him a nasty glare. You forgot you were standing right in front of the door, the embarrassment making the tips of your ears heat up. You pushed yourself to walk away, âIt was nice meeting you, Captain.â You spit, venom in your tone, walking away like a wounded animal.
Suddenly, you somehow forgot about how hot he was; at that moment, you wanted to smash his gorgeous face into a wall. You liked your new Captain a lot more when he didn't speak. But the reality set in: John Price hated you for some unknown reason, and you were starting to hate him back.
âŚYou had calmed down since that first encounter. Maybe it was a one-off thing; after all, you did go when Gaz warned you that he may already be in a bad mood. Maybe you had jumped the gun? and Price didn't hate you.
News flash: He hated you, and it was not a one-off encounter.
You were now a month into your new job, and if it weren't for Price, you would've actually been enjoying your time with 141. Everyone else was great; they were warming up to the idea of having you as a teammate. The training was hard on you, but you expected that, you were improving day to day. But no matter how well you did, you always had Priceâs voice in your ear telling you that you could've done better. The man was running circles around you.
Slowly, you started to lose patience with him; when he laid out the bait, you bit. It was getting easier to react instead of keeping calm and passive-aggressively telling him you were grateful for the friendly criticism.
Even the team started to watch every interaction you had with the Captain keenly. They would tease you ruthlessly, saying his name while your back was turned just to laugh at the way your whole body seemed to go as stiff as a board.
âI swear the two of ya seem to bicker like an auld married couple. It's like watching my parents fight.â Soap had said to you once after an agitated conversation you'd had with Price moments before.
Was it your fault for causing some of the arguments between you two? Possibly. But he instigated just as much as you did; it was like a competition of who could get under the other's skin the most. And you couldn't even avoid him; Gaz wasn't kidding when he said he was out and about when Price wasn't in his office. He was like your shadow.
You were in the cafeteria? Oh, so was Price. You were in the gym? That's funny; Price was just about to do his workout. Training? He was practically glued to you and nitpicking everything you did. You were trying to go for a fucking walk around base past lights out? Price couldn't sleep, and as your captain, it was his obligation to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.
Intrusively, you wondered if he had implanted a tracker into you while you were sleeping. That had to be it; there was no way you just happened to experience so many âcoincidencesâ back to back. ďżź
Eleven more months, you had eleven more months stuck with him. Maybe in that time, you could come up with a detailed plan on how you would murder, hide, and successfully get away with killing your Captain.
Ë˰â˘*ââˇ
It was one of those off days where you didnât have much to do. Like the calm before the storm, 141 had an incoming operation; plans were laid out, and everyone knew what to do. All that was left was playing the waiting game before you loaded into the helicopter and landed in a checkpoint base in Urzikstan.
With nothing to do, you figured it wouldn't hurt to hide away in the break room with some tea and scroll on your phone. You rarely had time to yourself, so you might as well make the best of it. You peeked into the break room and smiled when you found it was empty. You made a beeline to the small kitchen counter; you'd managed to snag some different types of tea for yourself over the few weeks you had been at base. It was the floral and sweet kind that nobody touched, despite Ghost's comment that: âIt's not real tea.â You found it incredibly enjoyable.
As you turned on the electric kettle, the doorknob jostled. You looked up, and your eyes met Price. Well, shit. He made eye contact with you. Obviously, the feeling between you two was mutual based on how his lips dropped into a frown when he saw you. You stared at each other for a beat before you turned your head away.
You weren't doing this today; you were too tired to bicker with your captain over something useless. You stared at the counter, waiting for him to leave or speak. But he did neither. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug. The silence between you was so loud that the room might've been quieter if you were arguing.
He was close, not enough that you were touching, but enough that his presence almost tickled your skin.
You just continued to watch the counter and your mug. Glancing at the kettle, you almost grimaced; it was barely bubbling. When did boiling water take so long? The tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. But, Price was the first to crack.
âInteresting mug,â he commented, his voice as it always was when he spoke to you. Dry. You debated not responding, but the silence was killing you just as much. âIt's my favorite.â You said back, matching his tone. However, your eyes were soft as you looked at the mug before you. It was ceramic, with hand-painted fish drawn onto it. Cod, salmon, tuna, and swordfish, too, their colors vibrant compared to the barren beige of the rest of the cup.
He made a low hum sound, almost like he didn't believe you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you finally turned to look at him. You stopped briefly; his eyes had heavier bags than the last time you'd seen him. He didn't look as stern or unshakeable as usual; rather, he looked more weary, human. You forgot you were going to say something to him, âWhat?â You said, suspicious.
His eyes broke away from yours, looking down at his hands as they tore away the top of an instant coffee packet. Price emptied its contents into his plain white mug and cleared his throat. âNothing, sâjust that's my mug.â He said; his voice wasn't mad or accusatory. Instead, it was just like he was stating a fact.
You frowned, your eyebrows sinking further down your face. What was he talking about? You'd been using this mug for weeks; in fact, this was the first mug you'd used here, back when you first met Jhonny and the rest of the team. âThat's not true; all the mugs in the cupboard are communal.â You pointed out, looking at him like you'd caught him in a bad lie.
He looked back at you, an almost smugness to his gaze. âLook at the bottom of the cup.â He said plainly. Your frown deepened, but you grabbed the mug and turned it over in your hands out of curiosity.
JP. It was painted in small lettering in the middle of the circular bottom. Your face dropped. Oh. JP, standing for John Price. It was his mug. Your face reddened as you realized you had been drinking out of his cup for the past month. Why hadnât he said anything about it to you before now? He obviously knew, considering he'd seen you drink from it before.
You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a good defense. âBut- Jhonny told me all the mugs in the break room were for everyone. Including this one.â You said, pointing at the mug in your hands.
Price raised one eyebrow, âAnd you believed him?â He said. The gears in your head started to turn; the guy had a point. Why had you trusted him of all people? You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, âfucking christ Soap.â You muttered, primarily to yourself.
The steaming whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought, and your head snapped in its direction. You looked from the boiling kettle to the mug in your hand, a sigh exiting your chest. You held out the mug to him, âHere. It's yours, I'll get another one.â
Price looked surprised for a beat before his face went neutral again. He shook his head, pushing the mug back towards you. âNo need; I've already got this one.â He grunted, nodding to the plain white mug sitting on his side of the counter. Before you could protest, he grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into his mug. Your nose scrunched as the aroma of instant coffee hit you.
He raised an eyebrow at your visceral reaction, âNot a fan of coffee now, are we?â
You cleared your throat, looking away from the blackening devil concoction. âI like coffee-â You clarified, â-just not that instant crap; it tastes like sewer water.â The curve of his lip twitched into a half-amused smile. Bringing the mug to his lips and taking a hearty sip, ânoted.â Price hummed. You reached out to grab the kettle, but he handed it over to you before you could.
You raised your eyebrow; this was the closest thing you'd ever had to a friendly conversation with your Captain. You skeptically took it, breathing a âthanksâ to him. A comfortable silence fell on the both of you; Price could drink his coffee while you waited for your tea to brew.
Your eyes seemed to pull towards his direction as you waited, observing the curve of his lips, his nose that was just a bit crooked, and the coarse hair of his beard that thinned into stubble the further down his neck it went. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed his drink and how his large hand seemed to make the mug seem small. He somehow pulled off looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, which ticked you off somewhat.
He shot you a sideways glance, âYou're staring.â Price said flatly; you looked like a deer caught in headlights. âI wasâŚzoning out. And for the record, I was looking at the-uh wall behind you.â You cringed at yourself; the long pauses and uhs weren't adding to your credibility.
Price gave you a funny look, turning to look at the refrigerator behind him, which was most definitely not a wall. He turned back to you, âThe wall you said?â
Well, shit, thanks, captain obvious. You frowned, giving up, âIt doesn't matter-â you huffed, âPoint is, I was zoned out.â
That answer seemed to satisfy him or at least force him to drop the subject; Price shrugged and took another sip from his mug. âLet's hope you don't make a habit out of it. Wouldn't want to add that to the other list ofâŚqualities you have.â Here we go again. You raised an eyebrow, the edge in his tone all too familiar. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, âWhich are?â
Price cleared his throat, gesturing his mug to you and your tea. âTheavory, for one.â Well, he got you there. You blew out air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you'd let him pull from you.
âFunny.â You said sarcastically.
A small smile tugged at his lips, âYeah, well, just trying to lighten the mood between us.â
There was a pause.
The way he said âbetween usâ didn't sit right with you; what he said had undertones of bitterness, almost similar to the layers of an onion. Now, was it possible that you were reading too much into this? Yes. Was it also a tone-deaf thing to say, considering he was the primary reason you two didn't like each other in the first place? Also yes.
Don't bite the bait; don't bite the bait, âThe mood you created?â You bit the bait.
He glanced at you, one of his eyebrows arching. For a second, it was silent, like he was mulling over whether it was worth it to engage. Price sighed, setting his drink down. âLook⌠[Name], if this is about that time when we first met, I was in a bad mood. I wasn't trying to be harsh; I'd just had a shit day. Nothing personal on you.â He craned his neck to the side, sliding a hand over his nape.
You crossed your arms. âYou could've apologized,â you pointed out. Price paused, staring at you quizzically, âWhy would I need to apologize?â
You almost gaped at him; his ego seemed to know no bounds. If it wasn't so irritating, it might have been comical, âYou called my job a âprecaution,â and me, a âhuman blockade-ââ You deadpanned, â-I don't like when someone downplays my whole career.â Price just stared at you blankly, his face morphing into more confusion.
âBut you are a precaution.â He said, âThat's the whole reason why Laswell put you here.â It was like he was explaining something to a child.
You huffed, âCaptain. With all due respect, I'm a part of this team whether we like it or not. I don't want to be treated like an outsider- everyone else here seems to treat me like I belong here so why don't you? What's not to trust?â You questioned, your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pressed into a not-so-subtle frown.
âYou don't belong here, though,â Price said frostily. âYou're here for a year [Name], no more, no less. You belong to a different task force, so excuse me if I treat you as such.â
You stood there, stunned for a moment. A familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside you like the electric tea kettle. Your hands squeezed the ceramic of your mug, âJust because I'm not here to stay doesn't mean I'm any less committed to my job. I work my ass off every day to show you that I belong here. I just donât understand why youâre too stubborn to even see that.â You huffed.
Price pursed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. âI don't have time to micro-manage everything you do. That's not stubborn; it's having other responsibilities besides making you feel included.â
Well, if he hadn't made you feel like a toddler before, he definitely was now. âWell, that's funny because you seem to do a perfectly good job at micromanaging everything I do despite your âlack of free time.â And- Iâm not asking you to make me feel included; Iâm not an infant. Iâm asking you to treat me with the same respect you treat everyone else with.â You hissed.
It didnât surprise you how quickly the polite interaction with him turned into another bitter argument. When it came to Price, emotions ran high. Higher than you would like to admit.
âMaybe if you stopped acting like a child, I would respect you more.â He bit back, and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air.
âIâm not though- Iâm clearly telling you the problem between us. But since you have thisâŚthis grudge against me you wonât even listen to me.â You huffed.
Price shot you a look that said, ' I'm winning this argument, and there is nothing you can say to stop that.â ďżź
Internally, you wondered if getting dishonorably discharged was worth throwing hot tea into your captain's stupid face. Instead, you decided to look away, setting your mug on the counter with a sharp âclank.â âFine then, don't listen to me. That works, too.â You breathed through your teeth.
Price downed the rest of his coffee, throwing his head back and then setting his mug upside down in the small sink. He turned his whole body to you, crossing his arms. His blue eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows pinched together in scrutiny. âYou want me to listen? Go ahead. Say what you want; I'm all ears.â
Your voice died in your throat. As much as you wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you didn't put up much of a fight against him, especially not with his âI'm the Captain, and you are one word away from cleaning toiletsâ voice.
You pressed your lips together in a tight line, and the silence between you hung dangerously quiet for another moment. âNothing, Captain.â You said through your teeth.
Price nodded, his eyes drilling holes into you, âThat's what I thought. Now, it better stay that way for the duration of the next week or so help me; I will take away every privilege you have.â With that, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out. Leaving you, a seething statue.
You looked down at his mug, still held tightly in your hand. You glared at the painted fish, âFuck you.â You whispered to the watercolor salmon. Your frown deepened, substantially disappointed that whispering âfuck youâ to your Captain's mug didn't carry the same satisfaction you'd feel if you said it straight to his face.
Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall. Scratch that. Arguing with Price was worse than arguing a brick wall, a brick wall wouldn't intimidate you and then storm off.
You didn't feel like finishing your tea anymore. You grit your teeth together, dumping the liquid into the sink and watching as it slides down the drain. You had a few days before the mission, and you were going to make sure that you didn't fuck anything up. Lest you suffer the wrath of Price and your own self-doubt.
Ë˰â˘*ââˇ
âShit!â
Your head snapped toward the voice, even with the night vision gear you had everything was difficult to identify. It was safe to say you weren't a fan.
It had been 72 hours since you landed in Urzikstan, and 4 hours since you left the checkpoint base. If you had to guess, it was most likely around 0300 standard military time. Which meant you and the rest of 141 only had another two hours before you had to evacuate and hop on the trucks back to the checkpoint.
Your orders were simple enough, break into the compound and locate the underground terror group that was allegedly creating a bio-warfare laboratory. While it wasn't concreated information British and American SAS couldn't risk not sending a team to see if the tip was accurate. Being the genuine pigs of the situation didn't sit right with you but you weren't employed for your opinion on what the government chose to do and not do.
Still, being sent on a wild goose chase or worse into a trap made you more on edge. Everyone had paired up in case this was a setup and because the universe could never let you win you were grouped with Price. Which brought you back to the present moment.
âPrice whats going on? talk to me.â You said in response to his curse. Trying to keep your voice as low as you could while still being audible. You weren't an expert but typically someone hissing âshit!â wasn't a good sign.
In the split second before he could respond you heard the click. Along with the sound of Priceâs footsteps trying to get out of the way, then came the sharp boom of a gun being fired. Only after the sound had left the barrel of the gun did you see it. The building wasn't finished, half of the construction was halted, leaving rooms unfinished, walk-offs, and random piles of rubble. Hidden behind a cement pillar a floor above, looking down at you was a person. More importantly a person behind a giant ass gun.
Shit!
You immediately threw yourself out of the way, ducking yourself behind a large amount of rubble. Your eyes scanned for Price in the darkness, frantically making sense of the objects around you. Another fire. Followed by another one. You didn't have time to look for Price. You turned your body, shielded by the debris, and pointed your gun up. It didn't take long before you locked onto the figure, you drew your breath in and pulled the trigger. The firing stopped.
You peered up over the rubble just in time to see the limp body flop over the drop-off and slam into the concrete. You were met with a deafening silence, âPrice you copy?â
After a moment you heard someone move, âYeah-â Your shoulders dropped, a breath you didn't realize you were holding escaped. You never thought hearing that deep British voice would ever make you this relieved. âYeah, I copy.â He breathed. You stood, carefully making your way over to the corpse of your attacker. Looking down at the body, their face hidden by a cloth and glazed-over eyes looking up at the ceiling.
You grimaced, it was like looking at a dead fish. You looked up, nobody else was above. The only thing remaining was the unaccompanied sniper.
âThis guy was alone.â You said, eyebrows furrowing. âAnd his aim was shit.â You deadpanned. Your head turned, expecting to meet Price. But were only greeted by an empty space, âPrice?â You asked looking around.
âOver here.â He gruffed, you turned around. Price was standing next to a wall, his palm flat against its surface. It was like he was leaning against it, your eyes narrowed. His left leg was slightly raised off the ground, something wasn't right.
You jogged over to him, âWhat's the matter?â you asked, because of the night vision goggles coupled with the amount of gear he was wearing you couldn't see his face well. However, you didn't miss the way his jaw flexed. Before he could respond you pinpointed the issue. The leg that was raised had a small bullet-sized hole in his boot.
âShit.â You breathed.
This really wasn't what you needed. You and Price had to be out of the compound in the next hour and a half, being shot in the foot was a major problem. At least it wasn't an organ, you thought. âCan you still walk?â You asked.
Price put his foot on the ground, putting his weight on it. You cringed as he let out a quiet hiss, âYeah just fuckinâ hurts like hell.â He took a step, he was limping but he could walk. Which was a small win for both of you. Just as you opened your mouth someone spoke in your ear piece.
â[Name], Price, you copy? We heard shots.â The voice was grave, deep, with a thick British accent. Ghost.
Price answered, âWeâre fine. Bastard with a sniper nicked my foot. Did any of you find the lab yet?â He said through clenched teeth, despite your dislike of your captain you felt a little guilty. If you'd seen the shooter before Price would probably be fine.
âWe just found it, nobodyâs here. Sâa fuckinâ ghost town⌠no pun intended.â Ghostâs staticky voice rang in your ear, if you were in a better situation you might have laughed. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned.
âThat makes no sense.â You chimed in, âIf this guy was here there should be more people. It doesn't make sense for only one person to be set up here.â You looked at Price. His head was already turned to look at you. It was a beat before anyone spoke again.
âPrice.â A raspy Scottish accent this time. Soap. âThe labs empty, no inventory at all. Everything is sterile.â You felt your throat run dry, the silence on the radio spoke louder than anything you or anyone else could say. Either they evacuated before the team had gotten there or the whole building was a ruse.
You looked back at the corpse lying a few feet away from you and Price. âThey knew we were coming.â You breathed. The weight of your words seemed to carry for miles, but the implications might have been worse. You looked at Price, the same thoughts you had probably already running through his head. âWe need to fucking leave, right now.â
Price gave a small nod, âEveryone get out. Gaz, call for emergency evac now. Leave the same way we came do not under any circumstances go further into this building.â Price demanded. Which was followed by a series of âcopies.â You started for the way you entered, just as you reached the empty doorframe you heard a grunt behind you. You looked back, fuck. You forgot Price was hurt, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could walk but there was no way he could run with his foot.
You doubled back, and as you ran to him Price raised his hands. Almost in protest, âI can keep up, I'm not immobile.â He exhaled, and you shot him an unimpressed look. The situation was bad enough, you weren't going to deal with this. You couldn't waste time and walking on a bad foot would only worsen it for Price in the long run.
You grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulder, one arm grabbed the back of his vest, holding his side up so his injured foot didn't hit the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable but it worked.
Price opened his mouth but you spoke before he could get a word in. âYou can't keep up and you know it. Whatever problems we have don't matter right now, we've got to get out of here. God knows what the people who were here before us did to this place. But we don't have time to think about that-â Your eyes met his, the red hue of the night vision goggles making his navy eyes seem black. â-Iâd much rather keep you alive but I would gladly die with you than have it be my fault that you die. So shut the fuck up and move.â
That seemed to do the trick because Price did in fact, shut the fuck up. You quickly exited with Price. It wasn't as fast as you would've liked to leave but it was the best you could do with a six-foot tank of a man leaning against you.
A few minutes later you and Price successfully made it out. The rest of the team was already waiting a ways away from the building, you let out a relieved sigh. Just being out of the compound seemed to lift a weight off your chest and calm your racing heart. Price seemed to feel the same way judging by his taunt muscles relaxing slightly.
You made your way over to the team, Ghost was the first to notice you. He did a slight double-take as he saw Price, âThought you said the bloke nicked you?â He commented, you gently released Price letting him lean against the outside wall of an abandoned house.
Price grunted, âYeah well he nicked me good.â He said back, Ghost nodded. Soap and Gaz peered at the bloody hole in his boot, âThatâs gonna be a pain to heal Iâll tell you that.â Soap commented, and Gaz nodded along. âNo kidding.â
Priceâs frown deepened, and he let out a breath. âGaz how long till evac trucks pick us up?â Gaz looked out at the open area then looked back, âIâd say twenty minutes give or take.â That answer seemed to give Price a little peace.
A few minutes had gone by, and Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all talking with you while Price leaned against the wall silently. You glanced at your Captain, gingerly making your way over you leaned against the wall a few inches away from him. You didn't know what to say if you should say anything for that matter. Making conversation with Price wasn't your strong suit, but you felt bad.
âSoâŚyou okay?â You asked dumbly, Price gave you a look that made you want to go right back to the others. He was silent for a beat before speaking. âI got shot in the foot [Name], you tell me.â He deadpanned.
You swallowed, nodding. Asshole. No matter, you decided to take it in stride, âRight.â You breathed, âI just⌠wanted to check.â On second thought maybe you really should leave, it was like you were communicating with an alien. And after your last argument with Price, you walked on eggshells whenever you were around him.
The stretch of silence between the two of you lasted longer than you would've liked. But after a moment Price cleared his throat and nodded, âThank you.â He said.
You did a bit of a double-take, thank you? Price never thanked you. It was like he was allergic to congratulating or acknowledging you in any form that wasn't to reprimand you. You must've looked as confused as you felt by the way he glanced at you and then went on. âFor helping me out of there, you were prepared for the worst back there and you still had my back. I appreciate that-â
â-you uh, you did good.â He clarified.
Your mouth was probably hanging open at this point, âyou did good.â The words hung in the air around you, filling your ears with cotton. Price your captain, Price your mortal enemy had praised you. He gave you a sideways glance, âDon't look so shocked [Name], you're still on thin ice.â
Ah, there it was, your shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing though, âRight, uhm thank you.â You said a bit awkwardly, Price gave you a small nod in return. It wasn't much, but it was acknowledgment.
After some time passed by you and the rest of 141 loaded into the trucks, starting the long drive to the checkpoint base. You tried to lean your head back and get just a little bit of rest, but after thirty minutes of failing to do so, you gave up. There was just too much in your head, too many unanswered questions. You thought about the man you'd killed, why was he there? What was the use of evacuating a building if you just left a single sniper with terrible aim lying in wait for someone to come looking around?
Did that mean they didn't know 141 specifically was coming? The question that worried you the most was the fact that if they did plan for you to raid the lab, who on the inside was feeding these people your team's operations? You shuddered. It was bad enough that commanding officer Shepard went rogue a few months prior. The SAS really didn't need another mole. Especially considering the amount of enemies the American and British military had made.
Your shoulders slumped, it didnât really matter, what mattered was that everyone made it out. You didnât want to think about what wouldâve happened if the previous occupants had left explosives inside the building. It was better to just be thankful that nothing happened.
Your first operation with 141 had been a bust, but considering the circumstances you thought it went as well as it couldâve. Not counting Priceâs foot.
Subconsciously your eyes drifted over to Price, his boot had been taken off and his foot was wrapped in white garb. Just until someone could look at it properly, everyone had taken their night visions and helmets off to get some shut-eye. Your gaze drifted up until they met his face, navy eyes met yours. You froze, you hadn't realized Price was awake. The two of you didn't break eye contact for a minute, almost like a challenge of who would be the first to look away.
âYou make a habit of staring at people or is it just me?â He deadpanned. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, he could never let you catch a break, could he?
âI wasn't staring, and you were looking at me too.â You defended, it didn't matter if you were staring, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you confess that. One of his thick eyebrows raised, âI glanced at you. There's a difference, you just happened to look up at the same time.â He said back, calm as ever.
You half rolled your eyes, he could word it however he wanted to, but in the end, it was pretty much the same thing. âOkay, keep telling yourself that.â You hummed, matching his nonchalance. Your gaze dropped back down to his bandaged foot, âHowâs the foot?â You asked, hoping he wouldn't catch you changing the subject.
Price grunted, his head lulling back onto the seat. You shot a glance at his adamâs apple as it bobbed up and down before averting your eyes. âFeels like I got shot in the foot, soâŚnot great. It's better than an organ so I won't complain that much.â He breathed.
You nodded, âYou ever been shot before?â you asked, what could you say? You were curious. He nodded, clearing his throat he cast his head down to look at his chest. One of his hands pulled up his bullet vest and shirt revealing the beginnings of his abdomen, right above his hip bone there was a small scar. âTwo years ago, caught me while I was down. Took forever to heal, fuckinâ hurt like hell too.â
You zeroed in on the exposed skin, it was all muscle, no surprises there. The man was built like a 4x6 brick, his skin was shiny with sweat, and from what you could see his bullet scar wasn't the only one that littered his skin. Just below the dipped fabric of his shirt was the start of a happy trail. You swallowed.
What the fuck was wrong with you? A few days ago you were plotting how you could murder him and now you're ogling a sliver of his stomach like a horny teen girl.
You absolutely did not find a single part of your boss attractive. Forget your first interaction with him when you were practically gaping over him like a fish. That didn't count. This was Price you were talking about. Sure, he was conventionally attractive with just the right amount of ruggish charm to make him mysterious. And yeah, he was built like a tank, so what? And you couldn't forget about his stupid fucking British accent, who the hell was into British accents anyways? (You were. Embarrassingly so.)
Price looked up at you, the silence making you raise an eyebrow. âSee something you like aye?â He said, amusement dripping from his voice. Your eyes immediately snapped back to his face, embarrassment churning away at your insides.
âYou wish,â You said back. So maybe you found some parts of your Captain hot, that didn't matter. In the end, it was still Price. And the flames of hatred don't die out just because one's enemy is a little (a lot) attractive.
Price breathed out what sounded like a laugh, he dropped the shirt. âKeep telling yourself that [Name].â Your fists squeezed together as he threw your words back at you.
You glared at him, âYou're so full of it you know that?â You breathed, which only seemed to pique his interest further. You were glad the rest of the team was either sleeping or so used to your fighting that at this point they tuned you out. Jumping off a cliff seemed nice in comparison to the ruthless teasing that Soap and Ghost would enact if they found out you'd been caught ogling Price.
âDidn't realize this would strike a nerve, any particular reason why?â He said, you grimaced. You could almost taste the smugness from his tongue like syrup, âIt didn't.â You said through your teeth, âThen again, egotistical men are a pain to be around. Especially ones that think everyone around them wants them.â You grumbled.
Your words seemed to have the opposite effect, Price straightened. A small tug at his lip made you want to slap that smirk right off. âI never said you wanted me, but liars always do have a way of telling on themselves don't they?â He grinned.
Something flashed in his eyes, you didn't have time to see what it was. But right now, all your willpower was devoted to not picking up your gun and giving him a matching hole in his right foot. âI think I'd rather shoot myself than be anything but professional with you.â You said frostily.
Price hummed, the smirk never leaving his face and he leaned back. âGlad the feeling is mutual.â He spoke calmly.
Your eye twitched, he was pulling that card now. Reverse physiology or whatever it was, the âI don't have to want you but you have to want me.â Well too bad you didn't care, you couldn't care less. If Price didn't want you that was great-better even.
âYeah,â You huffed, âSuper glad.â You turned your head away so you didn't have to look in his direction. Maybe you should've left him in that building, it was a tempting thought. The rest of the drive back to the checkpoint was spent in silence.
Ë˰â˘*ââˇ
The base felt dreary, everyone was still in a funk from the previous night. Everything felt just a bit more surreal, nobody was talking about what happened either. Not that there really was anything to discuss.
The checkpoint base wasn't as nice as your previous base. It wasn't even a full building, there were a few small ones but those were mostly used to store weapons. Everything else was industrial-sized tents, making privacy a luxury. It didn't even have a proper barracks, just a large tent with several stretcher-like beds placed in rows. To be completely honest the entire thing was a pile of shit. But it was a roof over your head so there was that.
You sat at a bench in the âcommons,â a poor excuse for food sitting in front of you. Gaz sat next to you while Ghost and Jhonny sat across from you. They all had similar grimaces plastered on their faces as they ate their protein paste.
âIf I have to eat this shite for another day I'm going to go into that food storage room and light the thing up. They got us eating like dogs.â Ghost said after draining the last of his rations. You half-heartedly agreed, humming a sound of approval that was accompanied by Gazâs small chuckle.
Soap grinned, âDon't get yer panties in a twist just yet L.T, heard they're serving dessert paste too. Courtesy of Priceâs injury.â
You shivered, it sounded just as bad if not worse. Then a thought popped up, you looked around the common space. âHey, you guys seen Price? Isn't he eating?â You hadn't seen him for almost the entire day, which was a blessing for you but it did strike you as odd when normally you couldn't get rid of him.
Gaz shrugged, âHe was in the medical tent last time I saw him. The guy was getting his foot looked at, heâll probably show up soon.â
Ghost turned his head to face you, while it was a little hard to tell with his balaclava, one of his eyebrows raised. âAwful concerned about Price aren't you? Thought you hated the man.â Your lips curled into an exasperated frown.
âI'm not. And I do hate him. I was just curious.â You brushed him off, trying to avoid his stony gaze. Soap and Gaz exchanged looks that made your eyebrows furrow.
Gaz looked at you, âWhat about the other day when you helped him out of the building?â Soap was next to chime in, âOr that you use his mug all the time and he lets you?â
You shot Gaz a glare, âFirst, he's still my Captain I'm not going to leave him in a building where I think he's going to die.â Then you directed a similar glare at Soap, âSecond, I didn't know it was his mug because you tricked me into thinking the mugs were communal.â You said through your teeth.
Ghost smirked, âSounds like you care.â
Your hands gripped the table with unnecessary force. âI do not.â You defended, the looks exchanged between them made you want to crawl into a hole. Suddenly you weren't as inclined to finish your meal. You stood, grabbing your tray of half-eaten food and trash. âI'm not hungry anymore.â You said dryly.
Soap laughed, faking a disappointed frown. âCome on lass we were just getting started with ya. Where's the fun in leaving before the real jokes start?â You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the bench and walking towards the trash.
âJokes are supposed to be funny,â you replied as you dumped the remanence of your âlunchâ in the trash. Just as you were exiting the tent Soap's voice called out to you.
âOh, if you see the old fart, tell him his dessert paste is waiting for him!â That earned an amused tug at the corner of your lips, shaking your head in exasperation as you pushed past the floppy tent entrance.
You didn't even make it a foot outside before your momentum was halted by a larger mass. Your face met something hard, but also somehow soft at the same time. You stumbled back, gaining back your balance from the force of running into something. Or more specifically, someone. You looked up in dismay to see what kind of idiot ran into you.
It was Price, because of fucking course it was.
But it was Price with the addition of a single crutch and a newly wrapped foot. Your eyes slowly crept up to his face, the mortifying reality that you slammed right into his chest setting in. Whatâs worse was that the previous conversation with the guys was still very fresh in your mind.
âSounds like you do care,â Ghostâs words echoed in your mind, haunting you like aâŚwell a ghost. Ironic.
âDo you mind?â Price's words snapped you out of your trance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was silent for a moment before your vocal cords decided to actually comply and let you speak.
âYou ran into me.â You said lamely, the tips of your ears felt hot. Like lava was slowly being poured onto your head. Priceâs eyebrows furrowed, his navy eyes studying you. Even on one crutch, he seemed to tower over you in a way that made you antsy.
âWhy are you red?â He asked, the question caught you off guard. Making you falter for a second time, âI-What?â
Priceâs eyes narrowed a bit, a finger pointed directly at you. âYour face. It's red,â It wasn't a jab, more like he was observing a simple fact. Suddenly you became hyper-aware of the heat spreading across your face. You touched your cheek, and the pads of your fingers burned at the touch.
Oh my god.
Your face was hot, it was flushed. You were blushing. Blushing. In front of Price.
You swallowed, feeling a bob in your throat. It was like you were in one of those dreams where you showed up to school naked. âI'm allergic-â You blurted out.
A beat of silence ensued, and Price raised a single brow. âAllergic?â He said, to which you responded with a hard nod. Think, think- what was a believable lie? âYes⌠to the dessert paste.â
Price didn't look skeptical now, he just looked downright confused. âWhat the hell is dessert paste?â He questioned, while a good question, you didn't want to stand around to explain it to him while your face looked like the cover of a period ad. You shook your head, steering around him like a robot.
âAsk soap.â You said as you made your escape, âI'm going to the med tent so I don't go into anaphylactic shock.â
That was a lie, you were going to the bathroom to rethink your career and splash cold water on your face. Leaving Price a standing statue, a perplexed look on his face.
Ë˰â˘*ââˇ
A pack of 8 beers was slammed down onto the small table in front of where you were sitting. The bottles lightly clanked together, you looked up. âWhatâs this?â You asked, Soap stood in front of you with a confident grin.
âThis is how weâre going to make it through our last 10 hours in this shit hole.â He proclaimed, his hands on his hips.
It was late, everyone but Price was in the sleeping tent. True to Soapâs words, in 10 hours you and the rest of 141 were finally going to load up into the heli and return to the original base. Thank goodness too, you didn't think you could stomach another meal here. Ghost looked over from his cott, âThe hell did you get that from?â
Soap waved him off, smoothing over his poor example of a mohawk. âA magician never reveals his secrets.â He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, grabbing one of the bottles he flicked the cap off with a soft popâ âSince it is our last night, why not celebrate?â He went on.
You eyed the pack suspiciously, if it came from here it was probably shit beer. But it was still something, you shrugged. You reached for one, âI'll take what I can get.â You sighed.
Grabbing a bottle you snatched Soapâs knife to knock off the cap. Throwing your head back as you took a generous swig, it burned down your throat. The pungent flavor making your nose scrunch and your mouth curl. Soap did the same, smacking his lips as he swallowed. âWellâŚIt could be worse.â He muttered.
Ghost and Gaz followed suit, walking over to your space and grabbing two bottles. After some time had passed the four of you had settled into a sort of circle, you were two beers in and things were already getting fuzzy. You didn't normally drink, mostly because you were a lightweight. But when you did drink, you got drunk. You were tipping your head back with laughter at every story, the warmth in your stomach making the tent somehow feel cozy.
Soap reached for his third bottle but Gaz swatted his hand away, âLeave some for Price Jhonny.â He scolded, Soap simply rolled his eyes and groaned. âThe old man won't care, he only drinks at those shitty pubs. He's a stickler bout not drinkinâ on base, something about ânot mixing business with pleasureââ He mocked, doing in your opinion, a decent Price impression. You chucked.
âI don't think Price takes âpleasureâ in anything, he's such a stick up the ass he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face.â You breathed, and while not the most articulate thing to say, your tongue and thoughts were loose enough that you didn't care.
Ghostâs mouth curled into a knowing smirk, âFor someone who hates Price, you sure do love to talk about him any chance someone brings him up.â He said smugly, earning snickers from both Soap and Gaz.
âOh fuck off will you?â You grumbled to Ghost, this whole teasing you about Price thing was getting old fast. âI say one thing and you guys act like I have some schoolgirl crush on him.â
Soap grinned, âYou said it lass, not us.â He coughed abruptly when you smacked him in the stomach, making him lean forward to catch his breath. You glanced at Ghost whoâs hands were now raised in surrender.
âCome off it [Name], weâre just teasing, you're not doing yourself any favors by acting with him the way you do.â He commented, which only confused you. All you did was argue with him, where was there room for speculation? The look on your face must've told them everything they needed to know.
âWhat do I do that gives off that impression even remotely?â You said defensively, they all exchanged looks.
Soap spoke up, âIt's not just you bonnie, Price acts differently around you too. It just gives off a certain impression. Some people just take it the wrong way.â There was an underlying uncomfortableness to his words that you didn't miss. And who were âsome people??â
Ghost smacked him upside the head, earning a startled grunt. âFuckinâ twat, Soap doesn't know what he's saying.â Ghost said facing you. âHe's already tipsy, don't take what he's saying to heart.â Soap was holding his head, shooting a glare at the lieutenant.
You shook your head, not ready to let it go. âNo, who's some people? And what did you mean when you said âtaking it the wrong way?ââ Your eyes narrowed in on all three of them, waiting for someone to speak first. Gaz looked away, immediately giving him away as the weakest link. âGaz what's he talking about?â You asked firmly.
He tensed up, glancing at Ghost and then back to you. âIt's really nothing, it's just a silly rumor.â Ghost shot him a firm look, âKyle-â He warned.
A rumor? What the hell was there to talk about? The last time you'd heard of a rumor going around about yourself was in high school, it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. Your lips pursed into a tight line, something about how secretive they were being set you off. âWhat rumor?â You said, after a minute of silence, you slowly got more frustrated. âIf it's about me I deserve to know.â
Ghost didn't speak, neither did Gaz, but Soap did. He blew out a sigh, glancing back at Ghost who was maintaining strict eye contact with you. âThere is a bit of a widespread rumor back at base that you've been shagginâ the boss. People started calling you Captainâs Girl.â
The pit of your stomach dropped.
You felt dizzy, looking between the three of them. Waiting for one of them to break, to smile and say âgot you!â but it never came. âYou're joking right?â You said, laughing nervously, the longer the silence the more nauseous you became.
Ghost shook his head, his eyes hard but his demeanor a bit solemn. âWe didn't want you to know for obvious reasons. Thought it would make things worse between the two of yaâ and it was just too far.â You swallowed, this was a joke. This was a joke and they were just teasing. When nobody spoke after the reality set in.
Of course, this would happen to you, you worked your ass off just to be respected in a field dominated by men. You were asked to be a part of 141. But all people saw was a slut who worked her way up the ladder by playing Miss âHard to Get.â
âWe tried to stop it as best we could trust us, it's just a little hard to keep quiet when word spreads fast,â Gaz interjected, his eyebrows scrunched inâŚguilt? Second-hand embarrassment? Sadness? You couldn't tell.
You sat there in silence, processing everything. âBut- but I'm not. I'm not sleeping with him.â You sputtered.
Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, âWe know you ain't. You don't need to listen to those people anyways, it's just barrack talk, people needing a story to make their lives more interesting.â A well of emotions started to flood your senses, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the gravity of the situation hitting you.
Captainâs girl.
What. The. Fuck.
This was Priceâs fault. It had to have been, Soap said he was acting weird. Maybe this was all his elaborate plan to destroy your career and kick you off 141 for fraternization. It had to have been him, right? You weren't thinking as clearly as you would have liked considering you were borderline drunk, but that didn't matter. You shot up from where you were sitting, making Soap jump.
Stumbling you started to make a beeline for the entrance, Gaz also got up and followed you, much to your chagrin. â[Name]? Where are you going??â He called after you.
âTo find Price!â (And kill him.) You shouted back angrily, storming outside before Gaz had the chance to stop you. Obviously, you didn't think this through enough because it was pitch dark outside. And Price was nowhere in sight, fuck.
Whatever, you could search this place for hours if you had to. He was bound to pop up somewhere, like how the tide is drawn to the moon you and Price always had a way of being pulled into each other. You stormed through the dark, almost tripping on your own feet once or twice in the process.
You'd been there long enough that you could tell what area was what. Even in the pitch-black cloak of the dark, you could feel your heartbeat in your head. It was like your body was pulsing with the rhythm of your anger. Just as you were about to start shouting his name a light caught your eye. You swiveled your neck so fast it burned the muscles in your nape. Low and behold it was Price walking out of the medical tent with his single crutch.
He stopped when he noticed you, his face a mix of confusion. âWhat are you doing? I thought I told you guys not to go outside after lights out?â
You felt every emotion rush back to you at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the fucking absurdity of the whole situation. Your hands clenched into fists, âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought you sucked before but I underestimated how much of a jackass you could be!â
Price stood there like a deer caught in headlights, so baffled he couldn't even speak. âExcuse me?â
You marched straight up to him, âYou heard me. Apparently making my life a living hell wasn't enough for you was it? You sadistic fuck. Do you get off on torturing me? Is that it?â You spat. The heat in your face rising with each word.
He didn't say anything, his navy eyes looking at you like you belonged in an insane asylum. After a minute of silence, he breathed, â[Name]. Realistically I should be laying into you right now and giving you every single punishment there is for the rest of your stay here for cursing me out after lights out with no provocation on my end. But, I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you're acting like a screaming banshee before I send your ass straight to the bins.â
His words only ticked you off further, well two could play dumb. âYou know exactly why I'm angry! No provocation is such bullshit. You- You just think I'm so stupid don't you?!â You were stumbling, your mouth felt heavy. It was like your mind was moving faster than your body could keep up with.
âAre you drunk?â He asked incredulously. You shook your head, âNo! I mean yes I had a few drinks but I'm not drunk. Stop deflecting-â You rambled on.
His eyes turned to narrow slits, âI don't even know what I'm deflecting- you can't just start making a scene and expect me to know why you're angry. I'm not a mind reader.â He groaned.
âThe name! The rumor- whatever you call it. You spread a rumor about me to the entire base that I'm sleeping with you! People are calling me your girl! The guys told me, everyone thinks I'm some slut because of you!â Everything in your body was burning, it felt good to finally yell at him but the words hit you hard.
You were labeled as the slut. No matter what you did there was always going to be a man overshadowing you just because of a preemptive notion that you were weaker. Something you'd spent your life fighting was now your reality.
Priceâs eyes went wide, he almost resembled a wooden board. For a moment his eyes softened, like he was taking pity on you. âThat's what this is about.â He breathed, âLook, Iâm just as upset about that rumor and the name as you are. I don't know who started it but I can give you my word it wasn't me. You can ask any one of the guys and they will tell you the same thing.â
You started to speak but he raised a hand to stop you, â-I know it's not fair. But the damage has already been done, the thing about rumors is that they pass. And nobody thinks you're a slut. You're just as capable as anyone else on this team.â He said calmly.
It was silent for a moment. You didn't really know what to do or what to believe. All you had to go on was his word, which wouldn't normally hold much weight but something about him seemed so genuine. âI- how do I know you're not lying to my face? You hate me. And Iâm just supposed to believe a random person made this rumor up when you've been trying to kick me off the team from the start.â
Price halted for a moment, his face reflecting a series of conflicting emotions. âI don't hate you, and I am not trying to kick you off.â
âWell, it sure as hell doesn't seem that way, even Soap said you act differently around me. I don't understand why you fucking hate me so much when almost all I ever do is try and suck up to you!â You shouted, your voice slightly slurring with how fast the words escaped your lips.
A vein bulged in Priceâs temple, his jaw working with his growing temperament. âI don't know how often we have to go through this same conversation before you get it through your thick head. I don't hate you, I'm hard on you. There's a difference.â
âWell, that's not what it looks like to me. Especially not to the mystery person who just conjured a rumor that weâre sleeping together out of thin air.â You seethed, until now you'd been standing a few feet away from him. But somehow, amid the argument, you found yourself now uncomfortably close.
Price scowled down at you, âWhat do you want me to say to you?! That I'm sorry I also got caught up in some dumb rumor. That I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt because I was a little harsh.â
Your mind was telling you to communicate your feelings like a normal person. The alcohol and your heart told you your fist connecting with his face was the better option. And right now, your heart (plus the alcohol) was winning.
âI want you to fucking show me you don't hate me! You can say all you want that I'm just being dramatic but there's obviously a reason why I think you hate me.â You fired back.
The two of you stood there for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours. A scowl on Priceâs lips and his eyebrows pinched together, there was something about the heat of the moment that made you more on edge. You were hyperaware of everything around you, most importantly you were hyperaware of your proximity to him. The night air was cold but you were on fire.
âYou want me to show you? Fine.â He grit out, and before you had time to react he was on you.
His hand was on your neck, thick and warm. Pulling you close so that his lips captured yours in what you could only describe as âa hungry kiss.â The coarse hair of his beard tickled your skin and before you even knew what you were doing, you started kissing him back.
Fuck. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, a woody smell clung to him like sap. Greedily your hands pulled at him, your fingers bunching the cotton of his shirt like he'd disappear. You'd kissed men before but never in your life had anyone kissed you like this. The kiss was hot, desperate, almost angry. His tongue slid along yours, you felt the drag of his teeth nip at your bottom lip and his throaty groan when you only pulled him closer.
You couldn't remember why he was kissing you, or why you started kissing him back. You didn't know why you were so angry, nor did you pay mind to the chance that anyone could walk outside and see the two of you.
You heard his crutch absentmindedly fall to the ground, clattering against the hard dirt. Price's other hand snaked to the back of your head, curling his thick digits into the locks of your hair. His nose brushed against yours, he felt so warm. Asshole or not this man knew how to kiss.
â[Name]!â
Gazâs voice broke you out of the trance you seemed to have been under. Immediately you and Price tore apart, your heart jackhammered in your ribcage. You looked at Price, he looked at you.
His blue eyes were blown wide, his lips parted and shiny with the reminisce of your spit. A reddish tinge colored his ears and cheeks. He looked horrified.
You didn't fair much better. You probably looked like a gaping fish. You'd just kissed Price. Price had kissed you. You two had been kissing. Holy shit.
Footsteps snapped your attention away from him, Gaz ran to meet you. His breath heavy like heâd been running around for a good amount of time. â[Name] Price didnât start the rumor- you left before I could tell you. I-â He stopped, his eyes darting between both you and Price. You probably looked as guilty as you felt. âIâŚuhm I guess you two worked it out?â
There was an awkward silence before anyone spoke, Price cleared his throat, quickly wiping his lips. âSheâs aware⌠You two go back to the tent, itâs late. We leave early tomorrow so get a good sleep.â
You were still in shock, could you even move your limbs? Another silence hovered over the three of you like a looming dust cloud. Gaz awkwardly shuffled to you, patting your shoulder as if to say âparty's over, letâs go.â He nodded at Price, âRight, see you in the morning Cap.â
Before you knew it, your legs were moving as Gaz led you back to the tent. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, âYou alright?â He said hesitantly. You didn't know what to say to him, you didn't even know what you were feeling. And you doubted saying, âHonestly I don't know because two seconds ago Price's tongue was down my throat and I can't tell if I'm turned on or horrified,â was appropriate.
So, you settled for a simple: âIâm fine.â Gaz gave you a skeptical look, but he chose not to comment on it. Once you got back to the tent Soap and Ghost had already started to get into their respective cots. Soap gave you a funny look over his shoulder, âWhat happened to you? You look shell-shocked.â He laughed.
You didn't even have the energy to respond, giving him a disgruntled grimace in return. You fell into your cot, burying your face into the thick sleeping bag. Your cheeks burned, and the taste of Price still lingered on your lips.
Apart of you wished that you were blackout drunk, then maybe it would be easier knowing whatever happened would disappear by the morning. But his groans, his hands in your hair, his lips, they were carved into your brain. And they weren't leaving.
You had to grapple with the reality that Price had kissed you. And you had kissed him back.
.ăťăăăťăăăťăăăťďź.ăťăăăťăăăťăăăťďź
Hey, wait! Don't go!
Well⌠hello there. It's me again! To those of you who aren't familiar, you can call me Baebae. And to those who are welcome back! I've written fanfiction a bit before (check out my other stuff on my home page) but nothing like this. So that makes this special, and I'm happy you can join me while I embark on this new journey.
There is no spice in this chapter but it is coming in the next part. There are only two parts to this so you wonât have to wait that long. Trust me I am trying my best to crank out the next one so Iâll try my best to be quick!!
I would be so, so, so, soooo grateful if you would like, follow, or repost. Don't feel any pressure but I love hearing any feedback you can provide as I am relatively new to this and it spurs me on to know people enjoy what I put out. If you so choose you can message me or comment if you'd like me to @ you in the next part so you're notified. <3
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you in the next part. Toodles! á( á )á
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Part II of Captains Girl!
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Office Hours
Pairing: student-athlete!Paige x tutor!reader
Genre: enemies to flirting to losing your mind, paige is a little shit, slow burn but not really, tension so thick itâs basically a third character, paige is failing bio and somehow itâs your problem, cocky athlete x academically unhinged girl, tutoring sessions turned emotional warfare, dirty shirley temples, smut incoming
Description: Paige Bueckers is failing biology, and you're the unlucky tutor assigned to drag her out of academic disaster. What should be a simple arrangement becomes anything but, thanks to her complete lack of focus, relentless flirtation, and the infuriating way she manages to get under your skinâand into your head.
Between chaotic study sessions, surprise bar encounters, and more sexual tension than should legally exist between two people trying to discuss mitochondria, itâs clear that the real test isnât the midterm. Itâs whether you can make it through the semester without either making out with herâor killing her.
One thingâs for sure: Paige isnât the only one getting schooled.
WC: 9.6k (and growing)
Notes: im back?
The library is way too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your own breathing sound deafening, where every shuffle of paper or tap of a pen echoes like a gunshot. Itâs the kind of silence that should be perfect for studying. Should be.
Except Paige Bueckers is sitting across from you, and Paige Bueckers doesnât give a single shit about studying.
Instead, sheâs leaned back in her chair like sheâs lounging courtside instead of being one bad test score away from academic probation. Sheâs got her long legs stretched out beneath the table, sneakers tapping lazily against the floor. Her hoodieâway too oversized for someone whose entire existence is dedicated to agility and precisionâis slouching off one shoulder, and sheâs twirling a pen between her fingers like sheâs dribbling down the court with a shot clock winding down. The sleeves are bunched up just enough to show her forearms, strong and lined with faint muscle from years of training, but the only thing working right now is her mouth.
Grinning. Smirking. Teasing. Doing everything but reading the goddamn textbook in front of her.
âAlright, Paige,â you sigh, pushing your notes toward her for what has to be the third time. âWe need to focus. You will fail this class if you donât start studying.â
Paige doesnât even blink. Doesnât move an inch beyond a lazy stretch that makes her hoodie ride up just slightly, flashing the waistband of her shorts. Her smirk deepens like she can feel you noticing.
âYeah,â she drawls, tilting her head, âbut then Iâd have to take it again next semester. Which means more quality time with my favorite tutor.â
You stare at her. She stares back. The kind of look that feels like a staredown before tip-off except way less athletic and way more are you seriously this insufferable?
She holds the eye contact, easy as anything, while you struggle to remind yourself that she is only your student, not a professional flirt sent to ruin your life. Her eyes gleam in the dim library lighting, playful and sharp at the same time. Her lashes are unfairly long, brushing against her cheeks when she finally blinks.
Your heart rate picks up. Not from that. From the academic crisis happening right now. Obviously.
âYouâre not failing on purpose, right?â You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
Paige tilts her head, pretending to ponder, lips pursing slightly. âHmm. No, but if I did, would that be kinda cute?â
You groan dramatically, dragging a hand down your face. âI am this close to committing academic misconduct and just taking the test for you.â
Paige gasps. Actually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest in faux offense. âWow. I knew med school was intense, but I didnât realize you were out here ready to commit federal crimes for me.â
âThatâs it,â you announce, pushing back from the table. âIâm done. I quit. Find someone else to teach you about mitochondria.â
You barely make it an inch before Paige reaches across the table and hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you back down like you weigh nothing. Her grip is firm, all strength and controlâlike sheâs grabbing a rebound, like sheâs got her hands on the game ball in overtime. Your pulse jumps again, this time definitely because of that.
Her fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before she releases you. But sheâs still watching you, expression softening just slightly around the edges. âCâmon, stay,â she says, voice lower now, like a secret. âI promise Iâll actually pay attention this time.â
You cross your arms. âOh? And what changed?â
She leans forward this time, elbows on the table, chin propped on one hand. The lighting catches the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the curve of her jaw. Sheâs smiling, but itâs something different nowâsomething slower.Â
âFigured out that if I fail,â she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, âI wonât have an excuse to see you anymore.â
Your brain does a full system reboot. Error. What the fuck did she just say?
âWhâPaige.â
She just winks, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip for half a second before her grin spreads, slow and satisfied. âWhat? That was cute, right?â
You grab your pen and point it at her accusingly. âYou are so goddamn lucky youâre good at basketball, because if you had to rely on your brainââ
âIâd still get by,â she interrupts smoothly, shooting finger guns at you. âPeople tend to go easy on the charming ones.â
Your mouth actually falls open. Not on purposeâjust an involuntary reaction to the sheer, unbelievable audacity of this girl. Sheâs failing biology, hasnât written down a single note, and still has the goddamn nerve of a mathlete coasting through an easy A.
You snap your jaw shut, you refuse to let her see how flustered you are. You refuse. âOkay, charming one, then explain the process of cellular respiration.â
Paige squints, lips pressing together as she sucks in a breath through her teeth, nose scrunching like sheâs really trying to make something shake in that head of hers. âUh⌠itâs when cells⌠respire?â
You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly through your teeth. âWe are so, so fucking doomed.â
She just laughs, kicking her feet out beneath the table, accidentally knocking her knee against yours. âRelax,â she says, her grin widening. âYou love tutoring me.â
âDo I?â
âYeah,â she nods, completely sure of herself. âYou totally have a little crush on me.â
You let out a dry, incredulous laughâone of those sharp, breathy ones, all eyebrows raised and head bobbing. âYeah, sure.â
She shrugs, tapping a finger against the open page of her biology textbook like she might actually start paying attention. Then, without looking upâ
âNah, I know.â
You blink. Paige blinks back.
The air between you tightens like a taut shoelace, pulling, pullingâdangerously close to snapping. You could be the bigger person here. You could roll your eyes, let it go, return to the noble pursuit of keeping Paige Bueckers from academically imploding.
But something about the way sheâs looking at youâtoo smug, too sureâstrikes a competitive nerve in you. And youâre not about to lose anything to her. Not a game, not a staredown, and sure as hell not a battle of wits.
So you shift in your chair, tilting your head, letting your lips curl just slightly. âOh, you know?â
Paige leans back again, arms crossed, shoulders loose. Sheâs cocky, sure, but thereâs something anticipatory in her gazeâlike she knows youâre about to challenge her and sheâs thrilled about it.
âMhm.â She nods, casual as ever. âCrystal clear.â
You hum, feigning thoughtfulness, tapping a finger against the open textbook. âWow. Must be nice. I thought you struggled with retention, but here you are, remembering things that have literally never been said.â
She gasps. âRude.â
âYouâll get over it,â you deadpan.
Paige, of course, does not let it go. She tips her chin up, meeting your gaze with something wicked and playful tangled in the blue of her eyes. âOkay, fine. You donât have a little crush on me.â
You exhale, relieved.
âBut you definitely think about me when Iâm not around.â
Your breath catches. Paige sees it. Her grin stretches wider, knowing, smug.
Oh, you are not letting her have this.
You scoff, shifting back in your chair, fighting the warmth creeping up your spine. âPaige, you are in my life solely because you canât pass basic biology. I think about you in the same way people think about a fire alarm that wonât stop beeping.â
âAh, so constantly?â
You scowl. She beams.
âThatâs fair,â Paige shrugs, stretching her arms over her head, and the movement makes her hoodie ride up again, flashing a sliver of tanned stomach. âI am pretty unforgettable. Even when Iâm annoying.â
âEspecially when youâre annoying,â you mutter.
Paige smirks, but then, as if sensing your growing frustration, she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and dragging her textbook closer. âAlright, fine. Iâll study.â
You narrow your eyes. âFor real?â
She winks. âScoutâs honor.â
âPaige, you were never a scout.â
âProve it.â
You sigh but relent, watching as she flips open the book and actuallyâmiraculouslyâstarts reading the page in front of her. You take a sip of your now-cold coffee, reveling in the small victory.
For a blissful forty-five seconds, Paige is silent. Thenâ
âSo, like,â she starts, âmitochondria. Thatâs the powerhouse of the cell, right?â
You pause. Blink. Lower your coffee. âYes?â
Paige throws her hands in the air. âLetâs gooo. Iâm a genius.â
You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. âPaige, you have three weeks until your exam. We need to cover way more than that.â
âOkay, okay,â she soothes, putting her hands up in surrender. âNext question.â
You flip to another page, glancing up briefly to make sure sheâs paying attention.
Sheâs not. Sheâs looking at you.
You pause, caught off guard by the way sheâs watching youânot with teasing amusement or lazy smugness, but with something softer. Warmer. Curious.
âPaige,â you warn, shifting uncomfortably.
She blinks, then grins again, but thereâs something slightly less sharp about it now. âNothing, nothing,â she mutters, shaking her head, flipping a page in her book. âJust thinking.â
You hesitate, unsure if you want to ask, what about? But you donât.
Instead, you clear your throat, turning your attention back to the book. âOkay. Explain the process of osmosis.â
Paige tilts her head dramatically. âIs that, like, when you just chill through life and things come to you naturally?â
âOh my god, no,â you deadpan.
She grins. âDamn. Thought I was onto something.â
You sigh, rubbing your temples. âWe are so fucked.â
Paige just laughs, bright and easy. âNah. Youâd never let me fail.â
She says it like itâs a fact. Like she knows, without a doubt, that youâd never let hers fall behind. And the worst part is sheâs most definitely right.
She twirls her pen between her fingers, spinning it effortlessly like a basketball rolling off the tips of her hands. Itâs hypnotizing, actuallyâthe smooth rotations, the lazy way her fingers flick with just enough control to keep it from dropping. Sheâs been doing this for the last ten minutes, and not once has she even pretended to read the page in front of her.
Meanwhile, youâre hunched over your notes, taking deep, steadying breaths. You tell yourself you wonât let her test your patience today. You wonât get dragged into her game. You wonâtâ
âPaige,â you say, voice strained.
âHm?â she replies, still flipping her pen effortlessly.
âPlease read.â
Paige hums noncommittally. Turns a page without reading it. You inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. âPaige.â
She finally looks up, resting her chin on her palm, eyes bright with amusement. âWhat? Iâm absorbing information. Through osmosis.â
You close your eyes, count to three. Consider what your life would be like if you had literally any other tutoring assignment.
âYou are so lucky youâre athletic,â you mutter, flipping the page back to where she was actually supposed to start reading. âCâmon. Photosynthesis. What do you know?â
Paige stretches her arms behind her head, her hoodie riding up slightlyâdistractinglyâbefore she drops back down with a smirk, looking at you like sheâs about to deliver the most groundbreaking scientific revelation of all time.
âPlants⌠make food?â
Your eyelid twitches.
âCorrect,â you deadpan. âAnd they do that throughââ
âThe power of love,â Paige interrupts, placing a hand over her chest. âAnd sunlight.â
You grip the edge of the table. Consider flipping it over. âYes. Because thatâs what biology is. Disney magic and good vibes.â
Paige grins. âExactly.â
You open your mouthâprobably to unleash a scathing lecture about the sanctity of scienceâwhen a shadow hovers at the edge of the table. You glance upâbecause you always have to glance up when people stop by your study sessions with Paigeâand find a girl, probably a freshman, clutching her phone like itâs a sacred artifact.
She shifts on her feet, looking like sheâs debating whether she should even speak to Paige. You can already see where this is going.
âUh, sorry to interrupt,â the girl says, eyes darting between you and Paige, before ultimately landingâunsurprisinglyâon Paige. âCould I, um, get a picture? If thatâs okay?â
Paige doesnât miss a beat. She shifts effortlessly from Slacker Paige to Cool Superstar Paige, flashing an easy grin as she leans back in her chair like she expected this. Like this is as common as someone asking her to pass the salt at dinner.
âOf course,â she says, voice warm, inviting, polished. She stands smoothly, rolling her shoulders back, exuding that same relaxed confidence she has right before sinking a step-back three.
You, meanwhile, remain seated, taking a slow sip of your coffee, already resigned to your fate as Paige Bueckersâ unofficial designated library bodyguard.
Itâs routine at this point. The public adoration, the excited stammering, the sheepish thank you so much before they rush off like they just met royalty. And then Paige slides back into her chair, knocking her knee against yours like she doesnât have an entire fan club scattered across campus.
âWhere were we?â she asks casually, flipping her pen again.
You donât even blink. âYou were pretending to study, and I was contemplating my life choices.â
Paige snorts. But before she can respond, another person approaches. You glance up again, already prepared, already so tired. This time, itâs a guyâtall, student-athlete vibes, definitely not looking at you.
âHey, sorry,â he says, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly nervous despite the fact that Paige is already smiling at him like theyâre old friends. âCould I get a picture real quick?â
Paige grins. âYeah, of course.â
You take another sip of your coffee. Stare blankly into the abyss. Same process. Paige stands, poses, flashes her million-dollar smile. The guy stammers out a thanks and hurries off.
You exhale. Set your coffee down. âYou done?â
Paige barely has time to smirk before two more people shuffle up, practically vibrating with excitement. She notices your unimpressed expression and loses it, biting her lip to keep from laughing. âOkay, now itâs funny,â she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.
âNow itâs funny?â you echo flatly.
She grins. âYeah. You look miserable.â
You scowl. Paige beams. Another five minutes pass before the final wave of admirers disperse, and Paigeâfinallyâsinks back into her chair, looking far too pleased with herself.
âI should start charging,â she jokes.
You arch a brow. âShould I start charging? Iâm the one sitting here like an unpaid security detail.â
Paige grins, drumming her fingers against the table. âYou could be my manager, you know. Weâd be an iconic duo.â
You scoff. âWeâre not even an iconic study group.â
âYet,â she corrects.
You roll your eyes but, reluctantly, glance at the time. The session should go another thirty minutes, but between Paigeâs inability to focus and her impromptu meet-and-greet, youâre pretty much out of patience.
âFine,â you sigh, shutting your book. âWeâll pick this up next time.â
Paige fist-pumps like she just nailed a game-winner. âLetâs go.â
You raise a hand. âButââ
Paige groans.
âYou actually have to study next time,â you warn, pointing a finger at her like a parent scolding a child. âNo excuses. No distractions. No impromptu fan club meetings.â
Paige nods solemnly. âOf course. One hundred percent. Fully locked in.â
You squint at her. âYouâre lying to my face.â
She grins. âYeah. But I did it really well.â
You let out a slow breath, collecting your things, already knowing that next time will be just as chaotic. But, somehow, you donât hate the idea.
You barely make it two steps out of the library before Paige falls into step beside you, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie, head tilted toward you like sheâs waiting for something. You donât say anything. Neither does she. But sheâs still there, walking at your exact pace, still spinning that damn pen between her fingers like sheâs making it her personal mission to erode the last of your patience.
After half a block of this nonsense, you finally huff. âWhy are you still here?â
Paige smirks, eyes twinkling. âWow. I thought we were friends, and you hit me with why are you still here? I think I need to sit down. That was devastating.â
You resist the urge to shove her into a trash can. âYou should sit down. With a biology textbook.â
âThat,â she sighs dramatically, âsounds like a you problem.â
You groan, but the corners of your lips twitchâjust slightly. She glances at you again, side-eyeing, like sheâs waiting for you to say something else. You donât. So, instead, she nudges your arm with her elbow. âYou heading back to your dorm?â
âYep,â you say, adjusting the strap of your bag. âWhere some people go to actually study.â
Paige grins. âFun. I was gonna hit the gym.â
You pretend to be shocked. âNo way. The gym? You? Unheard of.â
She chuckles. âYeah, yeah. Crazy concept. Gotta keep these knees in top shape so I can keep playing dumb for you in the library.â
You roll your eyes, but your lips do twitch again. When you reach the intersection where you usually part ways, Paige hesitatesâjust slightly. Her foot taps against the pavement, and she glances at you, like thereâs something she wants to say but doesnât.
But then the crosswalk light changes, and she just flashes her usual grin. âAlright, Iâll see you next time. Canât wait to waste more of your valuable time.â
You shake your head, already walking away. âYou are a waste of my valuable time.â
Paige calls after you, voice dripping with smug amusement. âAdmit it! Youâd be bored as hell without me!â You donât respond. Maybe, just maybe, she has a point.
You barely manage to kick the door shut behind you before dropping your bag to the floor, the weight of the entire goddamn week peeling off your shoulders like an old sticker. Your body feels wreckedâlike you just played all four quarters of a game you werenât even supposed to be in. Midterms, tutoring, the endless cycle of pretending you have your shit together when in reality, youâre two missed assignments away from a full-on breakdown.
Your roommateâs bed is empty, the perfectly made sheets an immediate giveaway that sheâs already at her boyfriendâs place for the night. Which means the dorm is yours. Finally. A rare and precious occurrence, like a solar eclipse or a professor canceling class with a two-minute email. You grab your laptop from the desk, already knowing exactly how youâre gonna spend the next five hours: Desperate Housewives. Your guilty pleasure. Your lifeline. Your emotional support chaotic suburban drama. You settle onto your bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket cocoon, cracking your knuckles in preparation for an evening of zero responsibilitiesâwhen your phone rings.
You groan dramatically, not even bothering to check the screen before answering. âNo.â
Thereâs a pause, then Jordanâs voice comes through, unimpressed. âBitch, you donât even know what I was gonna say.â
âYes, I do,â you sigh, rolling onto your back. âAnd the answer is no.â
âYouâre being difficult,â she complains. âCome out with me.â
âNo.â
âCâmon. Itâs Friday night. You have no excuses.â
âI have the best excuse. Iâm too fucking tired.â
Jordan makes an exaggerated scoffing noise. âTired from what? Sitting across from your little basketball girlfriend and watching her pretend she doesnât know how to read?â
You freeze. âSheâs not myââ
âUh-huh.â
You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. âJordan.â
â[Redacted],â she mimics in a deep, mocking tone. âCome out. Iâll buy your first drink.â
âYou say that like youâre doing me a favor. Itâs literally one drink.â
âOkay, and? Youâre broke.â
Sheâs got you there.
âI have plans,â you try again.
âWhat plans? Watching white women commit crimes in wedge heels?â
You frown. âThatâs oddly specific.â
âBecause I know you.â
You press your lips together, because yeah. She does.
Jordan senses weakness and pounces. âYou never go out anymore,â she whines. âItâs tragic. Iâm watching my best friend turn into a sad little academic goblin. Whenâs the last time you flirted with someone for fun?â
âIââ You pause. And thatâs enough for Jordan.
âOh my god.â
âI donât need to flirt with random people, Jordan,â you argue.
âOkay, then come to keep me company. Emilyâs bringing her crypto bro boyfriend and I need a buffer. You owe me.â
âFor what?â
âFor being my best friend, dumbass.â
You let out a long, slow exhale. Your bed is so soft. Your show is right there. Your roommate isnât gonna be back till morning, which means you could fall asleep watching hot moms commit felony-level fraud and no one would judge you. But Jordan is relentless. And also, maybe, just maybe, sheâs right.
âUgh, okay, fine, one drink,â you say finally.
She screeches. âIâLL BE THERE IN TWENTY.â
âWait, what theâ twenty?!â
âYou donât get time to back out, babe. Love you! Bye!â
The call disconnects. You stare at your ceiling for a long moment before groaning into your pillow. Guess youâre going out. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your closet like it personally wronged you.
Twenty minutes. Less than that now. Jordan is on time when it comes to dragging you out of your self-imposed hibernation, so you donât have the luxury of procrastinating. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you debate your options.
Jeans? Safe. A dress? Too much effort. Skirt? Trying too hard.Â
You pull open a drawer, fingers brushing over the usual suspects: black tank, oversized tee, hoodie. The same exact shit you wear every day. You tug at the hem of your pajama shirt instead, already debating if you could get away with staying in. Jordan would literally break into your dorm if she had to.
You settle on something in the middleâblack jeans that just hug your waist enough to be flattering without suffocating you, a tight long-sleeve that makes your arms look good, and sneakers. Cute but low effort.
Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror above your desk, and your mind does that thing. That thing where you start thinking in spirals, words layering on top of each other like a too-thick coat of paint. Jordan always looks good when you go out. The hot friend, effortlessly wanted. Guys slip her their numbers, girls compliment her makeup, and you? Youâre there. Background noise. The best friend, the safe choice, the one people never approach first.
Your hands move on autopilot, pulling your hair into something presentable, smoothing out wrinkles in your shirt. Your brain moves just as fast, thoughts piling up. Whenâs the last time someone wanted you? Really, genuinely wanted you?
Not for help on an assignment. Not for a favor. Not as a buffer against some awkward third wheel situation. Your fingers tighten around the mascara wand as you swipe it over your lashes, the thought hitting heavier than it should.
And then thereâs her. Paige. Paige, who everyone wants. Paige, whose name alone makes people light up, whose smile makes the world lean in closer. Paige, who has the kind of effortless pull that shouldnât be real, the kind that isnât real, except it isâbecause itâs her.
You imagine what it must be like. To be wanted by everyone. To have people go out of their way just to see you. To be loved by an entire fucking world that doesnât even know you. To have that kind of pull. You shake your head, dabbing concealer under your eyes, fixing nothing. Paige doesnât have to think about this. About being ignored. About whether or not someone is really interested or if they just need her for something else. Paige is easy to love.
Your hands are steady as you apply lip gloss, but your thoughts arenât. Because you know whatâs worse? Worse than not being wanted? Feeling like you could beâif only you were someone else. A sharp knock-knock-knock at your door makes you jump, snapping you out of whatever existential spiral you were just sinking into.
You check the time. 7:59. Jordan, always on time when it comes to dragging your ass out of the house.
âBitch, open up,â she calls through the door, impatience already seeping through her voice. âI know youâre in there, donât make me break in.â
You roll your eyes, grabbing your phone off the bed before opening the door. Jordan doesnât even wait for an invitation. She just steps in like she owns the place, eyes immediately scanning you up and down.
âOh, thank god,â she exhales dramatically, throwing herself onto your bed like she just finished a marathon. âFor a second, I was scared you were gonna pull some bullshit and answer in sweats.â
âI was considering it.â
âAnd I wouldâve dragged you outside as is.â
She props herself up on her elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. âYou look good, though. Like, sexy but nonchalant. Very âI donât try but I still eat men alive.ââ
You snort, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull your sneakers on. âThatâs exactly what I was going for.â
Jordan flips onto her back, legs kicking lazily. âHot girl vibes activated. Iâm proud.â
You ignore the way that your brain still insists on running her words through some dumb internal filter. Hot but? Sexy but? Thereâs always a but. Still, you appreciate the compliment.
Jordan rolls onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. âOkay, so whatâs our game plan?â
You raise a brow. âGame plan?â
She grins. âAre we flirting for fun tonight? Making out with strangers? Taking free drinks and saying thanks but no thanks?â
You scoff, standing to grab your jacket. âYouâre doing all of that. Iâm drinking one drink, pretending I enjoy being in public, and then leaving.â
Jordan makes a dramatic gagging noise. âYouâre so lame, it physically hurts me.â
âYeah, yeah.â You throw on your jacket, checking yourself one last time in the mirror before turning back to her. âLetâs just get this over with.â
Jordan squints. âYou know, for someone who never goes out, you could at least try to fake some excitement.â
You sigh, grabbing your phone. âFine.â You flash her your most half-assed smile. âYay. Alcohol.â
Jordan stares at you for a long beat. Then she cackles.
âI hate you,â she wheezes, hopping off the bed and slinging an arm around your shoulders. âCâmon, grumpy girl. Letâs get you drunk.â
You let her steer you out the door, already bracing for whatever the night has in store.
The bar hums with low conversation, the steady pulse of bass from the speakers vibrating against your ribs. The air is thickâspilled beer, cheap whiskey, the faintest trace of cologne as someone brushes past you. Itâs crowded, bodies pressing in too close, the kind of warmth that clings to your skin, dampens the edges of your sleeves.
You plant your elbows on the bar, exhaling slow. Jordanâs already disappeared into the crowd, her voice lilting somewhere behind you, laughing too loud at something she probably doesnât even find funny. You donât bother looking back. You just need a drink, something cold in your hand, something to make this whole night feel less like a mistake.
The bartender moves in front of you, nodding once in acknowledgment, and you orderâautomatic, easy, something you donât have to think about. While you wait, you glance around, taking in the room.
Itâs packed, but thatâs expected. The usual Friday night chaosâpeople gathered in clusters, leaning into one another to be heard over the music. A group near the dartboard erupts in laughter, a guy raises his arms in exaggerated victory, another flips him off good-naturedly. At the other end of the bar, a girl tugs her friend closer, whispering something into her ear, their giggles swallowed by the noise.
And thenâ a flash of blue. You donât think anything of it at first. Just a hoodie, nothing more. But then thereâs another. And another. A guy walks past, a UConn logo stretched across his chest, the lettering cracked and faded from too many washes. At a nearby table, someoneâs peeling the label off their beer bottle, the cuff of their UConn crewneck pushed up to their elbows. A girl at the bar turns her head, revealing the unmistakable emblem stitched into the side of her cap.
Your drink lands in front of you with a soft clink. You reach for it, fingers curling around the condensation-slicked glass, but your eyes are still moving, scanning. Near the pool table, someone slams a cue stick down, shaking their head. âBro, that was insane.â
âI told you,â another guy laughs, taking a swig of his beer. âThey were fucking unstoppable.â
A bartender walks by carrying a tray of shots, and someone calls out, voice sharp with excitementâ
âTo the Huskies!â
A cheer rises, loud and immediate, glasses raised, grins splitting across faces. Your fingers tighten around your drink. Another voice cuts throughâcloser, rough around the edges like itâs been shouting for hours. âBueckers was on fire.â
Your stomach tenses. A television flickers in your periphery, mounted above the bar, the broadcast running highlights on a loop. A flash of white jerseys, a blur of movement, the unmistakable arc of a three-pointer sinking clean through the net.
Your gaze catches on the name emblazoned across the back.
BUECKERS. 5.
Your drink sits untouched in your hand. A hand lands on your shoulder, nails cool against your skin. Jordanâs voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright, energized.
âThere you are,â she says, leaning in so you can hear her. Her breath is warm against your ear, smelling faintly of whatever sugary drink she got roped into first. âWhy do you always ditch me the second we get here?â
You lift your glass, taking a slow sip before responding. âI didnât ditch you. You ran off.â
Jordan grins, squeezing your shoulder before letting go. âDetails.â
She slides onto the stool beside you, propping her elbows on the bar, the sheer confidence in her posture making it clear that sheâs already in her element. You can tell from the way her shoulders are loose, from the easy way she scans the roomâsheâs here to enjoy herself. She tugs at the collar of her cropped tank, a calculated movement, and you donât miss the way a pair of eyes flicker toward her from across the bar.
Of course. It never takes long. The girl is prettyâhigh cheekbones, sharp jaw, hair spilling in soft waves over her shoulders. Sheâs nursing a drink in one hand, the other tracing idle patterns into the wood of the bar. Sheâs been looking, you realize. Long enough for it to mean something. Long enough for it to be deliberate.
And Jordan? She notices. She always notices. You watch as she tilts her head slightly, lips curling at the edges, all slow-building amusement. Not an invitation. Not yet. Just an acknowledgment. I see you seeing me. And just like that, the girl moves.
She slides closer, just one seat between her and Jordan now, her presence a hum of subtle perfume and confidence. You feel the shift immediately, the way the space around them tightens, charged with something unspoken. You take another sip of your drink, eyes flicking between them. Jordan doesnât look over right away. She lets it build, that delicious tension she thrives on, makes the girl wait for it. And when she finally turns her headâslow, purposefulâitâs a hook.
âHey,â the girl says, voice smooth, honeyed.
Jordanâs lips part slightly, amused. âHey yourself.â
There it is. The shift, the moment the conversation has already decided what itâs going to be. The girl twirls the stem of her glass between two fingers, considering. âYouâre a little hard to miss.â
Jordan lifts a brow. âYeah?â
The girl nods, a smile playing at her lips. âSaw you the second I walked in.â
You huff a quiet laugh into your drink. Jordan flicks you a glance, but she doesnât look away for long. Sheâs locked in now, her full attention settling on the girl beside her.
âThat so?â she murmurs.
The girl leans forward slightly, just enough that Jordan can smell whatever floral-citrus perfume sheâs wearing. âMhm.â
Jordan takes her time responding, letting the moment stretch, her fingers tapping lazily against the bar. âAnd whatâd you think?â
The girl laughs, low and knowing. âI think I liked it.â
Jesus. You shake your head, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. This is Jordanâs playground, and sheâs barely even started. Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts in.
âThere you are, finally.â
Emily. And, by default, her crypto bro. You turn just in time to see her sliding in beside you, her expression teetering between fond exasperation and mild relief, like she was worried you wouldnât actually show. Her boyfriendâgod, whatâs his name again?âis hovering a step behind her, already half into whatever overpriced IPA heâs nursing.
âThought you were gonna bail,â Emily says, bumping your arm.
You shake your head. âAlmost did.â
She laughs. âWouldâve sent Jordan to physically drag you out of bed.â
âShe already threatened to.â
Jordan, not even looking at you, raises a hand and flicks her wrist. âAnd I wouldâve done it with love.â
Emily grins before turning to Jordan, about to say something elseâuntil she sees the girl. And immediately, her expression shifts.
âOh,â she says, blinking once. Then, lips curving slightly, she leans in, dropping her voice just enough for you to hear. âSheâs hot.â
Jordan doesnât turn her head, but her smirk deepens. âI know.â
The girl doesnât flinch, unfazed by the blatant cockiness, the sheer Jordan-ness of it all. If anything, she looks more intrigued.
âGod, youâre unbearable,â Emily mutters, sipping her drink.
Jordan, at this point, is fully ignoring all of you. Sheâs gone, deep in the slow back-and-forth of a conversation thatâs teetering right on the edge of something. You watch, mildly entertained, as the girl tucks her hair behind her ear, as Jordan lets her gaze flick lower, just for a moment, before meeting her eyes again.
Classic. Youâre about to tune them out entirely, return your focus to the drink in your hand, whenâ
The door swings open.
And just like that, the energy shifts. You donât see them at first. You feel them. A ripple through the crowd, a flicker of awareness in the way people turn their heads, in the subtle glances exchanged between strangers. The volume dips for half a secondânot silence, just a shift, a momentary lapse before everything surges back up again.
Your eyes track toward the entranceâtoward the new arrivals pushing through the threshold, stepping into the bar with the ease of people who know theyâll be noticed. White sneakers. Loose sweatpants. Jackets slung over shoulders. And that unmistakable color.
UConn blue.
Jordan is still locked in, her conversation with the pretty girl unfolding in the slow, deliberate way that only happens when both people know exactly what theyâre doing. Itâs all prolonged eye contact, subtle shifts in body language, the kind of flirting that exists in the pauses as much as in the words. Emily is barely paying attention, absorbed in some argument with her boyfriend about blockchain or whatever the hell it is he does. Youâve stopped listening.
Which means youâre just⌠there. Third-wheeling at a bar, drink half-finished, barely contributing to the conversation. The worst part is, no one even notices. Jordan, obviously, is in her own world, and Emily is too preoccupied with rolling her eyes at her boyfriend to remember you exist. You take another sip of your drink, letting your eyes wander.
The UConn girls have spread through the bar now, weaving into the crowd like they belong there. You recognize a few facesâplayers youâve seen on highlight reels, names you donât know but should. Thereâs a looseness to them, an ease, the kind of relaxation that only comes after a win.
You wonder, absently, if Paige is here. Not that it matters. The thought makes you shift slightly, pushing down something vague and uncomfortable. You finish off the last sip of your drink and set the glass down a little too hard, the soft clink barely audible over the noise.
âI need to piss,â you mutter, mostly to no one.
Jordan doesnât react, too busy letting the girl touch her arm in that slow, lingering way that means sheâs definitely coming home with her later. Emily gives a halfhearted wave, her focus still locked on her boyfriend, who is currently explaining something with way too much hand movement.
You slip into the crowd, navigating the maze of bodies with the kind of single-minded determination usually reserved for final exams and finding your phone when itâs on silent. The bass from the speakers vibrates through the floor, thrumming up through your sneakers, settling somewhere in your chest. Every step feels like walking through molassesâpeople shifting, swaying, arms brushing against yours in that careless way that comes with alcohol and too many bodies packed into one space.
You make it to the hallway leading to the bathrooms and nearly sigh in relief. Itâs quieter hereânot quiet, but enough that you can hear yourself think. The walls are still pulsing faintly with the music, the distant echo of a chorus threading through the air, but itâs a reprieve from the chaos of the main bar.
And then you see the door. Locked.
Holy fuck, youâre about to piss yourself. You try the handle anyway because maybe the universe will be kind, but noâsolid, unmoving. Leaning against the opposite wall, you exhale sharply, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. Fine. Youâll wait. Not a big deal.
Except time starts dragging. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, tapping your fingers against your thigh. One minute passes. Two. You check your phone, even though you just checked your phone.
Okay. You can handle this.
Exceptâfive minutes in, itâs not just uncomfortable. Itâs annoying. Who the fuck is in there? Writing a novel? Performing a one-act play? Curing a disease?
You knock once, firm but not aggressive. Just enough to remind whoever is inside that thereâs a whole world out here.
No response. Another minute passes. You cross your arms, shifting again, foot tapping against the floor. Seven minutes.
You knock again. Harder this time. âYo.â
Nothing. Oh, come on. You glance toward the menâs bathroom. Itâs right there. Completely open. No line. Just an empty doorway leading to salvation. Wouldnât be the first time. But before you can talk yourself into it, you knock again. Hard. Impatient. At this point, youâre not even polite about itâyou just hit the door. âHurry up, Jesus Christ.â
The lock clicks. A second later, the door swings open, and out stumbles a coupleâdisheveled, flushed, and absolutely not here to use the bathroom for its intended purpose. The girl giggles into her boyfriendâs neck, her lipstick half-smeared, while his hands are still gripping her hips like theyâre considering going back in for round two.
You donât even react. You just shove past them, slam the door shut, and finallyâfinallyârelieve yourself. Blessed silence, aside from the muffled bass still thumping through the walls. You take a moment to breathe, running your hands through your hair, shaking off the weird tension thatâs been clinging to you all night. Youâre fine. Itâs fine.
When you step back out, the hallwayâs busierâmore people filing in, laughing too loud, waiting their turn. You navigate through them, dodging the wobbly, half-drunk girl clinging to her friendâs arm, sidestepping the guy trying way too hard to look casual against the wall. Youâre almost back to the main floor whenâ
A hand catches your wrist. Firm, deliberate. Enough pressure to stop you, but not enough to hurt. Your breath stuttersânot from fear, not exactly, but from the sheer certainty in that grip. Like whoeverâs holding you already knew they would.
You turn your head. And there she is.
Paige fucking Bueckers.
Loose hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing the lean muscle in her forearms. A chain glinting under the dim bar lights, catching for half a second on the sharp line of her collarbone before disappearing beneath fabric. Her hair is a little messier than usual, like sheâs run a hand through it one too many times. And her expression?
Smug. Smug as hell.
âWell, well, well,â she drawls, her grip on your wrist still firm, thumb brushing once over your pulse before she finallyâleisurelyâlets go. âFancy seeing you here, tutor.â
Her voice is low, teasing. The kind of tone that makes you want to roll your eyes and press your thighs together at the same damn time.
You exhale sharply. âOh, fuck me.â
Her grin widens instantly, wolfish. âI mean, if you insistââ
You smack her arm, and she laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a full-bodied, head-tilted-back, entirely too pleased with herself kind of laugh. Itâs obnoxious. Itâs attractive. Itâs exactly why you need to get out of this conversation immediately.
But Paige has other plans. She steps closerâjust enough that you feel the heat of her body, just enough that the crowd shifts around you, forcing you to stay exactly where you are. Her gaze drops, just for a second, flickering down your outfit before dragging back up, slow, deliberate.
âYou clean up nice,â she muses. âDidnât know you owned anything other than oversized sweatshirts.â
You narrow your eyes. âDidnât know you left the gym.â
She hums, tapping her chin like sheâs considering. âTrue. But, you know, when you drop thirty-six points in a game, you kinda have to celebrate.â
Of course she dropped thirty-six.
âAnd yet,â you deadpan, âhere you are. Bothering me.â
Paige grins, shifting on her feet so sheâs even closer, close enough that you can smell her cologneâsomething crisp, clean, expensive. Unfair.
âCâmon, donât act so surprised,â she murmurs. âYou knew weâd run into each other eventually.â
You raise a brow. âDid I?â
She tilts her head, amused. âYeah. âCause youâve been avoiding me all week.â
Your pulse skips. âI have notââ
âOh, you definitely have,â Paige interrupts, smirking. âDonât think I didnât notice you switching up your usual schedule. Skipping our tutoring session on Tuesday.â She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. âTragic. Really had me wondering if I did something to offend you.â
God, sheâs insufferable. And yetâ
âLike you care,â you shoot back.
Her eyes glint, sharp, knowing. âOh, I do.â
Something thickens in the air between you. Something tangible, humming just beneath the surface of her cocky smirk, her unwavering stare. Her fingers twitch at her side, like sheâs considering reaching for you again. You see it happen, the micro-movement, the shift of her weight like sheâs deliberating. And then, just as quickly, she exhales, straightening to her full height.
âWell,â she says, her voice dipping into something smoother, softer, âif youâre not avoiding me, then I guess you wouldnât mind grabbing a drink with me, huh?â
You blink. âWhat.â
She jerks her chin toward the bar. âDrink. You. Me.â
You hesitate. That same pressure returns, that feeling of everyone wants her, but somehow, right now, sheâs locked onto you. Paige watches you, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips. âWhatâs wrong, tutor? Afraid you might enjoy my company?â
Your jaw tightens. âI tolerate your company.â
She smirks. âThen come tolerate me at the bar.â
Your mistake wasnât stopping when she grabbed your wrist. Your mistake was letting her talk. Because now Paige fucking Bueckers is smirking at you like sheâs already won something, head tilted, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie like sheâs lounging through this entire interaction. You can already feel yourself being pulled into her orbit, and she knows it.
âA drink?â you echo, squinting at her. âYou? Drinking?â
Her smirk grows. âShocking, I know.â
âLemme guess,â you deadpan. âProtein powder with a splash of vodka? Maybe a nice gatorade-infused tequila?â
Paige gaspsâactually gasps, pressing a hand to her chest like you just accused her of a heinous crime. âWow. You think so little of me.â
âI think exactly the right amount of you.â
She exhales dramatically, shaking her head. âTragic. Here I am, just a small-town basketball star trying to enjoy a simple, wholesome night out, and my own tutor is out here slandering my good name.â
You raise a brow. âYour good name?â
She nods solemnly. âThatâs right. I am, at heart, a simple girl with simple pleasures.â Then, as if to punctuate the absolute bullshit she just said, she throws an arm around your shoulder, leaning in until her lips are a breath away from your ear. âLike dirty Shirley Temples.â
You choke. On nothing. Paige pulls back, just enough to see your reaction, the sharp glint of amusement in her gaze practically sparkling.
âNo fucking way,â you manage. âYou drink dirty Shirley Temples?â
She grins. âReligiously.â
âThatâsââ You blink, at a complete fucking loss. âThatâs the most unserious drink you could have possibly chosen.â
Paige winks. âAnd yet? It goes down smooth.â
âOh, I bet it does.â
She laughs, full and warm, tilting her head like sheâs considering something. âYâknow,â she muses, âI like this side of you.â
You narrow your eyes. âWhat side?â
Paige drops her voice, lowers it into something silkier, something that slides down your spine in a way that should be illegal. âThe one that flirts with me back.â
Your brain short-circuits. âExcuse me?â
âOh, donât play dumb now,â she murmurs, fingers tapping lazily against the side of your arm like sheâs keeping count of your heartbeat. âYouâre usually so good at keeping up.â
You hate that sheâs right. You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to regain some composure. âYou are so full of shit.â
Paige hums. âMaybe. But you seem to love it.â And then she winks. A full, obnoxious, Paige Bueckers-grade wink.
Oh, you are not going out like this. You lean in, just barely, watching the way her smirk twitches, the way her fingers still on your arm. âTell you what,â you say, keeping your voice light, casual, like youâre not insanely aware of how close she is. âIâll let you buy me a drinkââ
Paige perks up. âYeah?â
âIf,â you continue, âyou admit that Iâve been absolutely kicking your ass in our tutoring sessions.â
Her lips part. âOh, hell no.â
You grin. âWhatâs wrong? Afraid of the truth?â
She clicks her tongue, shaking her head like sheâs personally offended. âNo fucking way. Thatâs extortion.â
âThatâs accountability.â
She squints at you. âYou are so lucky youâre hot.â
Your breath catches. For a split second, you completely malfunction, and Paige fucking sees it.Â
She grinsâhuge, like she just sank a game-winner at the buzzer. âOhhh, that got you, huh?â
You snap back immediately. âDid not.â
âUh-huh.â She crosses her arms, rocking back on her heels. âYou were fully thrown off just now.â
You roll your eyes, trying to pretend like you didnât just combust internally. âYou gonna buy me that drink or what?â
Paige sighs like youâve personally exhausted her. âFine,â she relents. âBut Iâm getting you my favorite.â
You smirk. âA dirty Shirley?â
She grins. âExactly.â
And with that, she grabs your handâjust for a second, just to tug you toward the bar, just long enough to make your pulse spike before she lets go.
The bar is packed. Bodies pressed together, voices overlapping, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through the thumping bass. Paige moves through it like she owns the placeâshoulders loose, hoodie slouched just right, that damn chain flashing under the dim lights. You follow, pretending your eyes arenât tracking the way her sweatpants sit just low enough on her hips to be distracting.
She leans against the bar, elbow propped up, and tilts her head at you like sheâs studying something.
You squint. âWhat.â
Her lips twitch. âNothing. Just trying to figure you out.â
âYouâve had months to do that.â
âYeah, but you keep surprising me.â She drums her fingers against the counter, slow and rhythmic. âLike, for example, I knew you had some bite to you, but tonight? Youâre really showing your teeth.â
You cross your arms. âMaybe Iâm just extra annoyed by you today.â
Paige hums, tilting her head like sheâs considering. Then, before you can react, she leans inâclose, warm, too closeâand brushes her lips just against the shell of your ear.
âNah,â she murmurs, voice dipping low. âYou like it.â
A slow, rolling shiver spreads down your spine.
Paige pulls back, just far enough to meet your eyes, her smirk lazy and so fucking smug. She knows exactly what she just did. You hate that sheâs right. Before you can retaliate, the bartender appears. Paige turns, all casual ease, and grins.
âTwo dirty Shirleys,â she says.
The bartender raises a brow but nods, moving to make the drinks. You stare at Paige. She shrugs. âHey, a dealâs a deal.â
âYou actually meant it?â
âDuh,â she says. âWhat, you think I just flirt for fun?â
Your lips part, because yes, obviously, thatâs exactly what you think. Paige sees the way your expression shifts, and her grin deepens. âAw, babe, donât tell me you thought I was playing with you.â
You blink. âIââ
She tuts, shaking her head. âSee, now I really need you to drink this, âcause you need to loosen up.â
The bartender slides the drinks over. Paige pushes one toward you, watching expectantly. You hesitate. Paige lifts hers and clinks the rim of her glass against yours. âCâmon, tutor. Donât be scared.â
Scared? Oh, that does it. You grab the glass and take a sip, the sweet bite of grenadine and vodka coating your tongue. Paige watches the way your throat moves when you swallow, her lips parting just slightly.
Just like that, the game shifts. You lower the glass, eyes locking with hers.
âNot bad,â you murmur. Then, mirroring her move from earlier, you step in just enough to make her breath hitch, tilting your head slightly like youâre about to say something importantâsomething deep, something meaningful.
And thenâ you drag your tongue slowly over your bottom lip and the blondeâs eyes darken. You almost laugh, but her hand suddenly brushes against your waist, just a whisper of contact, the heat of her palm radiating through your thin shirt. Itâs briefâso brief you could almost pretend it didnât happenâbut the way your skin burns says otherwise.
âShit,â Paige mutters under her breath, just for you to hear.
You smirk. âSomething wrong?â
Her jaw tightens. âNot at all.â
She takes a sip of her own drink, eyes never leaving yours, throat bobbing as she swallows. The moment stretches. ThenâPaige exhales sharply, like sheâs shaking something off, and grins. âAlright, alright, you win this round,â she admits, nudging your arm with hers. âDidnât know you had that in you.â
You tilt your head. âGuess youâll just have to keep figuring me out.â
She chuckles, shaking her head. âGod, youâre fun.â
Then, so casually, she hooks a finger into your belt loop and tugs. Itâs playful. Itâs barely anything. But itâs also everything. Because she doesnât let go. You swallow. Hard.
Her voice is softer now, but the teasing edge is still there. âI like this side of you.â
You clear your throat, trying desperately to focus on something other than the warmth of her touch. âYou said that already.â
Paige smirks. âYeah. But I really like it.â
Paige is cocky. Too cocky. The kind of cocky that drips off her like itâs stitched into her damn DNA, like she was born knowing how to get under peopleâs skin, into their heads. And right now, sheâs looking at you like sheâs already inside yours, like sheâs set up shop in the most dangerous corners of your mind and made herself comfortable. She still has her finger hooked in your belt loop. Just resting there, like she belongs there.
âYouâre staring,â she murmurs, sipping her drink, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of grenadine before it can slide past her lip.
Your jaw clenches. You look down at her grip on your jeans, then back up. Blatantly.
She smirks. âWhat, this?â She tugs. Not hard. Just enough to make the fabric of your jeans pull against your hip, just enough to remind you sheâs right there.
You donât move. âLet go.â
She hums, tilting her head. âNah.â
Your fingers twitch around your glass. âPaige.â
She exhales, all mock exasperation, finallyâfinallyâreleasing her hold. But before you can celebrate your very minor victory, she leans in, voice dropping to something dangerously smooth. âRelax. You can touch me if you want.â
Your breath catches.
She laughs, tipping her drink toward you in mock salute. âYouâre so fun to mess with.â
You narrow your eyes, pulse still skittering from the low, teasing way she said touch me. âYouâre insufferable.â
Paige hums. âMaybe, you like it.â
And there it is. The line. The one sheâs been waiting to say, the one sheâs been circling since the second she grabbed your wrist.
You roll your shoulders, schooling your expression into something neutral. âYouâre alright.â
Her brows lift. ââAlrightâ? Wow.â
You sip your drink, unfazed. âI mean, you are failing bio.â
Paige scoffs. âUnnecessary.â
âJust saying. I donât think geniuses need tutors.â
Paige smirks. âNah, but they do need entertainment. And you, babeââ she tips her chin toward you, eyes gleaming, ââare so fucking entertaining.â
The casual babe nearly stops your brain completely.
You grip your glass tighter. âI should charge you extra.â
âFor what? Intellectual stimulation?â
âFor being exhausting.â
Paigeâs grin widens. âYet, here you are. Still talking to me.â She takes another slow sip of her drink, eyes locked onto yours over the rim of her glass. Watching you. Like sheâs waiting for something.
You shift your weight, feeling entirely too seen, entirely too open under that gaze. Paige notices. Of course she does. Her lips part, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek like sheâs considering something.
Thenâbefore you can reactâshe leans in.
Your body locks up.
She gets close. Not teasingly close, not almost closeâactual close. The kind of close that makes your heart trip over itself, the kind of close that makes your breath catch in the back of your throat.
Her lips hover right there, her breath warm against your jaw. Then, quietly, smuglyâobnoxiously:
âWanna make out?â
You freeze.
She grins. âWhat? You look like I just asked you to solve a physics problem.â
âAre you serious?â
Paige tilts her head. âNah, I just like watching you panic.â
Sheâs so fucking unbearable. You set your glass down with a sharp clink. âYou think youâre funny.â
âI know Iâm funny.â
âYouâre a menace.â
She beams. âYou donât seem to mind it.â
Maybe itâs the alcohol, or the heat of the bar, or the way Paige is looking at you like she wants somethingâlike sheâs daring youâbut suddenly, your patience snaps.
You grip the front of her hoodie and pull. She barely has a second to react before your lips crash into hers. Paige groans. A low, gravelly sound that vibrates against your mouth, sending heat shooting straight to your stomach. And fuck, she kisses back.
All cocky, eager pressure, her hands already gripping your waist, her fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt like she wants to feel more.
The bar melts away. The noise, the people, everythingâall of it fades because Paige is right here, kissing you like sheâs been waiting for you to do this since day one.
You tilt your head, chasing the taste of vodka and cherry on her tongue, and Paige makes this obscene little noise before she presses in, deeper, her teeth grazing just enough to make your knees buckle. You gasp, and she smirks into the kiss, like she knows, like sheâs already winning again.
Asshole.
You yank at the waistband of her sweatpants, a little revenge, a little fuck you, and Paige laughsâlow, breathlessâbefore biting gently at your bottom lip, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. Your grip on her tightens.
She hums, pleased. âKnew you wanted me.â
You pull back, just barely, panting. âShut the fuck up.â
Paige grins, lips swollen, eyes gleaming. âMake me.â
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ex-conomics | csc
you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now heâs back after an injury derailed his career, and thereâs only one problem: youâre the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.
â˝ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader â˝ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff â˝ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. â˝ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. â˝ word count: 13.4k â˝ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. â˝ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3
You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.
âYouâve got to be joking.â
The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what itâs like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.
âUmââ
You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. âIâitâs fine, donât worry about it.â Your words do little to ease Freshmanâs nerves. Heâs still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way heâs squaring his shoulders. âYouâre sure about this, though? Like, Iâm really not being set up?â
âI donât think so?â he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. âDr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I donât think he wouldâve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and confââ
Good god, this kidâs anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. âNo need!â you interject. âIâll justâŚâ Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker youâre losing your resolve.
TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)
You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Leeâs does not come as a surprise. Heâs a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rateâmost students donât last more than a week in any of his classesâbut heâs also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.
That, however, was two years ago.
âDoes he know I donât tutor anymore?â Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I donât know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. âIâm Dr. Ahnâs TA this year. Iâve got my hands full with her bullsh⌠stuffââ
Immediately, you know youâve said something wrong, because the kidâs eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. âWait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?â
âNo, that one died,â you say quickly. Kid deflates. âAnyway, I donât really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can seeââyou gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your officeââtheyâve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesnât sum up this university I donât know what does.â
You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. âLook, Iâm sorry I canât help you. I tutored Dr. Leeâs students for, like, three years in undergrad so Iâm sure they just⌠forgot that wasnât my actual job here. Whoâs in charge of tutoring these days? Iâll shoot them an email and explain all this.â
Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but heâs still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. âYes?â
The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. âI justâum. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?â
You blink. âDonât you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?â He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. âFine. Whatâs your name, anyway?â
âLee Chan. Iâm a sophomore. Do you know that guy?â
âOh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but youâre gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.â
âThe guy they want you to tutor.â You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor isââChoi Seungcheol,â Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you knowâknew, you correct yourselfâsomeone with that name, once upon a time.
But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. Itâs been years since youâve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when heâd broken up with you toââI heard heâs a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess heâs pretty famous, but I donât know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.â
You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks youâd share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Choisâ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheolâs dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, thatâs what youâll remember for the rest of your life.
You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didnât really know any different, just that youâd look at him and feel butterflies. That youâd hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That youâd watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.
You think about all the football jargon you didnât understandâthe academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, Iâm thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just donât think thereâs much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.
You remember thinking it mustâve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.
You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheolâs face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.
You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So youâre just giving up? Is that what youâre saying? Think about, I donât know what else to do. It doesnât feel fair to you.
You think about all the places youâve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.
You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.
So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you canât tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.
âNo,â you finally answer. âNever heard of him.â
For all intents and purposes, your rejection shouldâve been the end of it.
A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you canât help but feel like youâve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls whoâd gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.
But you donât hear anything at all about it⌠until you do.
Sunday evening. You havenât moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you donât write many papers these days, so youâre out of practice. Feels like you havenât done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so youâre about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.
You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.
Your stomach plummets to the floor.
You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor⌠friend of his father⌠urgent matter⌠and your hands start shaking. Whether itâs from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you arenât sure, but itâs not like it matters. There arenât a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.
âMotherfucker,â you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.
Where did you go wrong to wind up here? Youâd followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. Youâd fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but thatâd been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.
The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. Youâd planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.
âDid you spill onion dip on the rug again?â You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. âOh. Were you watching porn?â
Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. âIn a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.â
She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. âSee, thatâs what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.â She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. âYou think this is still good?â
âDunno. Whatâs it smell like?â
She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. âVanilla, I think, which is concerning because itâs supposed to be strawberry.â
You shrug. âWhatâs the worst that can happen, you get extraââyou pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirelyââ...biotics?â
âMm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?â
Nose scrunched, you wave her off. âCouldnât pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if itâs expired. All yours, babe.â
Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before youâre groaning and slamming the top closed.
You donât even need to look over to know Kaoriâs staring. âWhatâs up with you?â she asks. Before she can answer: âWait, is this serious? Because I canât have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.â You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. âDonât breathe at me, I lost a bet.â
âAnd continued wearing it?â
She jokingly rolls her eyes. âGod forbid a girl has hobbies.â Nudges you with her foot. âCâmon, spill.â
Kaori doesnât know about you and Seungcheol. Most people donât, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long youâd been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasnât any evidence to delete, and he wasnât following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.
So, yeahâeven though you hadnât met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows youâve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and itâs why sheâs none the wiser when you ask, âItâs nothing, really. Justâdo you follow football at all?â
âNah, not really. The new guyâs pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but itâs so fucking boring? I dunno, I canât get into it. Not in real life, anywayâI binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?â
âStudent Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just donât have the time, you know? This semesterâs already killer, and Dr. Ahnâs been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out itâs some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, Iâm now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.â
Her face distorts. âGod, that guyâs such a prick. Like wow, youâre good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why donât you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!â
You also wrongly assume thatâs the last youâll hear of it from Kaori.
Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times youâll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.
âYou didnât tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.â
The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but itâs not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.
âExplains this weird text Ken sent me.â
She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:
doesnât ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her âur roomieâ like you donât know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No đ fine. can i come over later? Starting to think youâre using me for my roommate. Get your own job đ
You hand her phone back. âI didnât think youâd know who Choi Seungcheol even is.â Itâs the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. âYou said youâre not into football.â
âIâm not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.â She sighs, wistful and longing. âBabe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.â
You hadnât wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university youâd gone to for undergrad.
Youâd applied to schools all overâJapan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasnât a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheolâs relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. Theyâd waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.
And itâd just been⌠a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so youâd stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.
But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave booksâold paperbacks littered with notes in your writingâor papers, just to see if they move.
They never do.
And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When youâre halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahnâs exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you donât even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. Youâve always sensed him before you felt him.
âThere you are,â Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame thatâs always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch thatâs triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright theyâre nearly blinding. âIâve been looking all over for you.â
This time it is an accusation.
Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak youâll summon him closer and youâll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.
You plaster on a polite smile. Say, âAh, here I am, kyosu-nim,â and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.
Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but thatâs not the reason it feels like all the airâs been sucked out of the room.
Seungcheol looks⌠different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like heâs trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.
You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you canât tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.
â...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expectâŚâ
You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dreamâone youâd always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, tooâand, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years wouldâve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurtâindifference, at the very least.
â...as many hours per week as you both can manageâŚâ
But you shouldâve known better. Shouldâve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Shouldâve expected everything to feel upside-down. You shouldâve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.
â...you are responsible for his academic progressâŚâ
And that simply will not do. Youâve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. Youâve purged the thought of him from your mindâlet his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt heâd left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.
You cannot go there again.
So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, âAh, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, Iâm sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, donât you think?â
Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like heâs all of a sudden remembered heâs late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then heâs halfway out of the library with a terse, âDiscuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,â thrown over his shoulder.
You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you canât even bring yourself to care about it.
Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since youâve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. âHereâs my email. I donât have time to discuss this right now.â Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but thereâs not much you can do about that. âWhat? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. Itâll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.â
He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, âYeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,â and if you hadnât gone years without speaking, you wouldâve seen right through it.
But you did, so it stings all the same.
As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.
You grade Dr. Ahnâs coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though itâs pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaoriâs maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.
Other peopleâs embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, youâve come to learn.
Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesnât mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when youâre sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the âRecommended Tutoring: Highâ part for good measure.
He doesnât take your baitâelectronically, at leastâbut he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.
Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, âThey spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.â
âI know,â you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. âWhat can I help you with?â
âDepends. How long do you have?â
âWell, considering youâve shown up to my office hours on time, Iâm assuming you already know Iâm here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. Soââyou glance at the clock above the doorââassuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.â
Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. âI looked over your syllabus. The good news is thereâs only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is thereâs only a midterm and a final so theyâre weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.â
âThatâs why youâre here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.â
You huff a breath through your nose. âIâm here as supplemental help. I canât take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?â
He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which⌠is unlike him, you think, if youâre even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. âBusiness Accounting and International Trade.â
âCould be worse,â you note. âAt least those three courses are tangentially related.â
Seungcheol rolls his eyes. âEasy for you to say. I havenât taken a fucking math class in years.â
You return it. âYou remember how to add and subtract, donât you?â
âI ruptured my ACL, not myâŚâ He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he canât name a part of theââBrain.â
Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injuryâthe first youâre hearing of it at all, actuallyâand he says it like itâs a joke, like itâs not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation heâs found himself in. The unfairness of it all.
And there are so many questions you want to ask that arenât your place: if itâs fixable, if heâll ever play again, how heâs coping. But you donât really need toâyou canât imagine how youâd feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.
Not that the man sitting across from you hadnât already done that, but.
âRight,â you continue, as if he hadnât said anything at all. You know Seungcheolâknow he wouldnât want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. âI want you to take a look at this,â you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. âTell me what looks familiar, what doesnât; what does and doesnât make sense.â
He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. âWhat the fuck is this?â
âIâwhat? Cheol, itâs my old notes on recitation. Surely youâve already covered thisâthe syllabus says this is week one stuff.â He looks down at the paper again, and itâs so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someoneâs eyes.
You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.
You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.
He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that itâs not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.
Itâs the first time youâve seen him so excited since your tutoring beganâthe first glimmer of hope youâve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone youâve ever met, so youâre not surprised heâs doing well, excelling, but you are surprisedâ
âCan I ask you something?â Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. âWhy are you⌠uh. Here?â
âAt this university?â
âNot exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess⌠why business?â
Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No oneâs using it, and truthfully the two of you probably arenât even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. Itâs nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.
âAh, I donât know. You know how it goes.â
You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years youâve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didnât want to do. All that grit and determination. âWhat about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. Heâs a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.â
Doesnât take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheolâs father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last youâd heard from your mother, Seungcheolâs brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.
So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You canât blame him, even if youâve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his fatherâs company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he shouldâve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.
Doesnât stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesnât stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.
But you also know this isnât something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a jokeââI mean, business. God, whoâd wanna go into that?ââand go back to what he was willing to talk about.
Youâve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.
Deep in the throes of tutoringâwhen you canât tell if itâs week two or week twelveâyou make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.
The door flies open just as youâre about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than youâve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if youâre being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.
âOh, hi,â you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. âEverything okay?â
He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually heâs a talkerâyou havenât been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeksâso youâre a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and thatâs where Kaori finds you a moment later.
âYou gonna stand out here all night, orâŚ?â
âOhâyeah, right.â
You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show youâll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.
You donât have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the nightâthe way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.
I, uh, have an early class, heâd said. You know how it is.
Maybe you shouldâve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. Sheâll get attached if you donât tell her. She should know itâs different for you, if it is.
But youâd convinced yourself it wasnât your place. Kaori wouldnât want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldnât have known he left at all if you hadnât been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.
So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.
âIâm a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,â you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. Itâs a lieâyouâve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to knowâbut she contemplates it nonetheless. âAlso, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think theyâre in the fridge.â
âWhy are there cookies in the fridge?â
You huff a laugh. âThey were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I donât knowâjust saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.â
She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesnât mention a thing.
The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.
âNot bad, actually.â
Her smile doesnât reach her eyes when she says, âThatâs good. Iâm glad things are going well for you two.â
Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.
âCan I help you?â
He doesnât answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. âMaybe,â comes his cryptic retort. âI was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.â
You narrow your eyes. âNo, you werenât.â
He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he canât believe that didnât work. âYouâre right, youâre right. I, umâI wanted to come say thank you.â He pauses. âYou know, for that⌠email you sent.â
You blink. âNo, you didnât.â
Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like heâs wailing when he says, âIâm sorry! They put me up to it!â
What youâre able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheolâs tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Mightâve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.
âThey want to know about his girlfriend.â
âHis what?â
What youâre able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you donât know anything and, even if you did, you wouldnât put his business out there like that.
But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say thereâs nothing to reportânot that you didnât know, not that he couldnât get anything out of you. Seungcheol isnât dating anyone.
You donât know if itâs true, but you figure that if it isnât, he still deserves privacy.
Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.
âWhatâs wrong?â
Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.
What you settle on is, âSorry, I just⌠had an interesting meeting before you got here.â
âOh. Are you okay?â
You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. âIt was about you, actually.â
Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you canât make sense of. Says, âMe? Why? I passed my last examâI mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasnât your fault! I didnât study enough! Iâve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucksââ
âIt wasnât about your grades, Cheol.â
âOh.â Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. âHavenât heard you call me Cheol in a while.â
âSeungcheol,â you correct.
He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say youâll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much sheâd loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.
They were, but you canât seem to tell him that, either.
Seungcheol: sorry itâs last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?
Seungcheol shared a location with you
Youâre halfway to replyingâI donât think thatâs appropriateâbefore you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you donât have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment thatâs where youâll meet him.
You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until theyâre nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your exâs swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldnât know where he lives. Maybe you shouldnât even have his phone number or answer his texts.
Not that thereâs much you can do about it now, two stops away.
Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although itâs less âmessâ and more âhavenât finished unpacking,â but thereâs enough clear space to study at the dining table, so thatâs where you set up, determined to keep things professional.
âSorry again about this,â Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. âI had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.â
âOh. Howâs he doing?â
Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. âSame as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Canât get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.â
âThe business is doing good, though.â You cough, clear your throat. âMy, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I donât know if your father told you that.â
You donât know why you say it, because itâs clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheolâs face that he hadnât known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.
âHe didnât,â he admits, âbut Iâm sure he was happy to see him. He was, uhâhe was glad to hear youâre my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.â
You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. âWell, no need to prove him right. Come on,â you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, âletâs get to work.â
Everything is alright for a whileânearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.
The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesnât know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first heâs able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.
He snaps, you snap back, and you canât figure out why. Youâve survived this long in Seungcheolâs orbit even though you never thought youâd be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, butâŚ
Itâs the familiarity, you realize.
You and Seungcheol arenât friends, though youâve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You donât belong here. You donât want to be his friendâyou canât be, not for real or pretend.
âThatâs not what Iâm sayââ
âThen explain it better,â Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. âYouâre the tutor here.â
You roll your eyes. âIâm trying, okay? All I meant wasâyour answer isnât wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and heâs going to want more than that in a response.â
âRightânot good enough, like I said.â
âIâm just asking you to expand on your answerââ
âAnd Iâm telling you thatâs all Iâve got. Iâm not like you, all right? I donât have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. Iâm not smart, I barely have any idea whatâs going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.â
You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.
So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichĂŠs.
The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.
Another clichĂŠ: that itâs starting to feel like that all over again.
Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Canât fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whateverâs there.
Stupid, you thinkâboth to do this and to think itâd play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.
âCheol,â you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. Heâs typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. âSeungcheol,â you try again.
Also fruitless.
You have no claim here, you remind yourselfânot to his time, not to him. Heâs only here because someone else mandated it. Youâre only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.
And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldnât gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.
But it isnât, and youâre not.
âIf youâre not going to listen, thenââ
âI am listening,â he interjects, but heâs not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and itâs sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomachâs been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you donât want to be here anyway, donât want to do this anymore, and youâre wasting your time on someone who doesnât appreciate it.
Perhaps he never did.
âWhat are we discussing, then?â
Still not looking up: âConsumer theory.â
You laughâmore a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. âWrong,â you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. âIâm gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.â
It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. Itâs clear heâs pissed you off, that youâre itching for a fight. Itâs clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.
âLetâs talk about ROI. You know what that is?â You barely give him a second. âReturn on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, letâs say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?â
He nods.
âGreat, now letâs try something a bit more hypothetical.â You suck in a breath. âLetâs say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Letâs say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he hadâwent to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, letâs say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Letâs say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.â
The thing about pain is itâs not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it canât anymore, and thatâs where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption youâd never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.
So you donât even notice youâre crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheolâs hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad youâre sure youâre either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.
Until you say, âWhat, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?â and he has nothing to say at all.
Kaori invites you to a party.
Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmateâs birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing thatâd earn a second glance from campus security. I wonât even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.
After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.
So here you are, nearly eleven oâclock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You arenât thinking about your classes or how youâve been prioritizing everyone elseâs academic success. You arenât thinking about whateverâs going on between Kaori and Ken. You arenât thinking about Seungcheol.
At least you arenât, until he walks through the door.
Youâre going to continue not thinking about him at allânot about the fact heâs alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt thatâs a little taut in the shoulders. Youâre not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows heâs important and is willing to accommodate. Youâre not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god heâs so beefy at you.
Youâre not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesnât know, because if you do youâre certain itâll take over.
You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because thereâs a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.
You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.
Seungcheol finds you in your office.
Itâs not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesnât even bother knocking before heâs barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.
You havenât seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasnât bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if thatâs how he wanted to act, but it isnât until heâs brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize youâre still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.
So you donât mean toâtypically have much more professionalism than thisâbut when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, âThis is your fault,â the words come automatically and without forethought.
âFuck off, Seungcheol.â Itâs not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. âThatâs what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because youâre a coward.â
He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. âIâm aâIâm a coward?â
âYes,â you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. âThis,â you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, âis all on you, but do please let me know if thereâs anything else youâd like to blame me for. Iâm all ears.â
You donât miss it: the way Seungcheolâs eyes grow wide at your âIâm all.â The way he thinks youâre going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, itâs that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from youâthe man that continues to leave before heâs left, always at your expense.
So, yeahâSeungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.
But he doesnât look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. Heâs always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasnât warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe thatâs why youâd thought heâd treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldnât just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and thatâs why it's been years and you still arenât over it.
Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.
Because not once since heâs been back have you been able to say what you mean. Canât seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that youâve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.
âI could never blame you for a goddamn thing,â he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.
You so desperately want to know. You donât want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if itâs guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first timeâyouâre not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because youâve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.
Today, though, it doesnât look like youâre going to get any answers.
Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then heâs gone just as abruptly as heâd arrived.
Again.
Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you canât come up with a good reason not to join her.
She doesnât mention Ken once. Not when sheâs sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when youâonly halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignmentsâsuggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Kenâs favorite place.
Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.
And thereâs respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever sheâs feeling is honest; at least she can admit sheâs sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, âCan I tell you something or is now not a good time?â
Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. âWell, I guess it depends,â is her answer, and she doesnât shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. âIf youâre going to tell me youâre a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if itâs anything worse Iâm not sure I could take it.â
âIâwhat? Who even are they?â She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. âItâs, uh.â Clear your throat. âDo you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasnât looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a hugeââ
She hides her face behind her hands. âEw, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.â
âRight. And I told you I wasnât looking for anything because Iâd just gotten out of something.â
âNot really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it shouldâve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.â
You nod. âIâyeah, that sounds like something I wouldâve said.â You suck in a deep breath. âListen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, butââ
âHey,â Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. âItâs okay. Thereâs a lot you donât know about me, too⌠most of which Iâm not sure you should, actually.â
A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation youâre about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe itâs not herâor anyone elseâsâbusiness, but you think youâve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.
Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.
You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didnât feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheolâs eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all youâd wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how youâd rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought itâd take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.
Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?
Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheolâs relationshipâthat youâd burned bright and fast, even though itâd felt like a million years. Hadnât dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.
Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?
Think about the way Seungcheolâs eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That theyâre always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadnât noticed.
You think about the explanationâisoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutableâand what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.
L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.
You know what your and Seungcheolâs graph wouldâve looked like back then.
So itâs easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheolâyes, that Seungcheol.
Sheâs able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she canât: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous youâd felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.
âCould you feel it was going to happen?â Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. âLike, did you know?â
âI donât know,â you admit. âMaybe I did? Itâs hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.â You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. âYou couldnât go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just⌠normal, you know? I wasnât some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?â
Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. âI donât think you were. Maybe thatâs why Seungcheol was worriedâmaybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.â
You want to push back, argue that you werenât, that you didnât, but the truth is that itâs possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheolâs dreams were so massive you wouldnât be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. âIt still wasnât his choice to make,â you say, voice barely above a whisper.
And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, âSometimes thatâs just how it goes, though, babe,â it doesnât feel condescending. âWe do the best we can with what weâve got at the time. You can say now it wasnât Seungcheolâs choice to make, because itâs been almost five years and youâve made a life for yourself separate from him. But theâgod, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorryâbut you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.â
She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. âShit, Iâm nearly halfway to thirty and I still donât know anything.â Adopts a frown. âWhat do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?â
âI donât know,â you admit, biting at a hangnail. âHe actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.â
âA USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?â A pause. âAre you gonna look at it, though?â
You do.
Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and youâve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never didâfair enoughâso you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.
It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of themâsome from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.
Youâre not sure what you expected, but it wasnât this.
You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. Heâs in his room back in Daegu, canât get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldnât name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes youâd written him in school, and theyâre all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.
The next: a few weeks after youâd started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like heâs telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I donât know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.
Thereâs a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers youâve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you canât bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.
You click on a different one at random. Seungcheolâs somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietlyâwhenever he filmed this, it mustâve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that itâs a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesnât tell you where heâs going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe heâs grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where heâs standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I donât know why Iâm telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. Youâd probably think that was funny.
(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)
One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than youâve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, Iâm so nervous. Iâm soâso fucking nervous and I donât. Fuck, I donât know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but thatâs so fucking selfish. God, we havenât spoken in years, and itâs myâthatâs my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.
Another from a week after that: the colorâs returned to his face, and heâs recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like heâs no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you donât understand.
Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-whatâwater, champagne, you donât know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.
You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.
âHi,â he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheolâs in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. âThis is going to be the last one of these I make. I donât know if you, uhâIâm sure you arenât paying attention to meâmy careerâanymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. Theyâre not sure IâllâŚâ A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. âThey donât know if Iâll ever play again.â
Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. âMaybe youâll be happy to hear that,â he continues. âMaybe itâll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.â
Cut to black.
The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video youâd skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.
I donât know why Iâm doing this. Itâs not like Iâll ever show these to you now, since IâŚ
Iâm sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I donât know what Iâm doing, I justâthings have been so hard, and Iâm still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now Iâm scrambling. I didnât think it was fair toâto drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I donât know, baby, I donâtâŚ
You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. Iâm so scared that the world will never see you for who you areâso beautiful and intelligent and kind. You donât deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know youâre gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think Iâm trying to be selfless and heroic, and youâd be right. Itâs not fair, and I wish I could tell you Iâm sorry.
I wish I could just⌠pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I donâtâI donât want you to think Iâm not hurting. Iâve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know Iâm making a mistake, I know I am, I justâhow do I do what I think is right in the long-run when itâs not what I want right now, or ever?
I donât want to get over you. I donât want you to get over me, and thatâs how you know Iâm not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just⌠wish it was with me.
So, Iâm going to keep making these. Iâm going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why youâre not. Iâm soâIâm so sorry, I donâtâŚ
Iâm sorry.
I love you.
You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.
The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.
âCould you send another container of yakgwa?â
On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. âWhat happened to the last container I sent?â
âAh, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.â
She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. âI remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.â
âWell, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.â
After haranguing you into admitting theyâre for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how youâre going to approach the man in question.
The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadnât even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment youâd been holding onto and set it free, and now youâre just left with⌠a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if itâs too late, but you donât let those thoughts get very far.
Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.
You worry if itâll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circleâŚ
And start recording.
He hadnât gotten it at first. Not really.
Thereâd been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No noteânot that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasnât sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?
Heâd just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didnât think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he justâŚ
Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and heâd rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?
Itâd been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasnât you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching thatâ
And then there it was.
All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadnât been recorded by himâ
Hi, Cheol, you say, and thatâs all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. Iâm not sure what to say here. I donât really record muchâsometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.
I wanted to tell you everything Iâve been up to since you left, but it hasnât been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergradâthe same thing Iâm tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. Itâs not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but itâs good enough.
I donât think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was⌠obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They arenât seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, butâspeaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.
Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didnât take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now⌠I donât know. Maybe thereâs a reason I stayed behind. Maybe thereâs a reason you ended up back here, too.
Whatever happensâI donât want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what weâve got at the time, and I understand now thatâs what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And Iâm sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I canât imagine how hard it mustâve been to go to all these places you didnât know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.
You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and thatâs all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.
Hereâs my address if you ever want to come by to talk.
I love you, too.
âand then heâd been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.
Felt like the drive took hours. Mustâve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.
Thereâs a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, âOh, you must be Kaoriâs ex,â he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.
He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, âFuck off, Kenji, I already told you sheâs not here!â
âItâs me,â Seungcheol yells back.
Thereâs quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaoriâs ex down the hall.
Then youâre yanking the door openâslowly, so slowly, like youâre scared itâs not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesnât let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.
Somehow you taste the same.
Somehow you taste like redemption.
You taste like home.
Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all youâre all he knows again.
When he pulls away, youâre gripping at his sweatshirt, donât want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says heâs going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, heâs such an idiotâ
And then you say, âYou came back,â and nothing else matters.
âI always will.â
(Later on, as youâre trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheolâs hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, âChoi Seungcheol, donât you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.â)
if youâve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. đ
i would love to hear your thoughts! <3
#seungcheol x reader#scoups x reader#seungcheol angst#seungcheol au#scoups angst#seungcheol imagines#scoups imagines#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen x reader#jewel writes
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The barracks were quietâwell, as quiet as it got on base. You were seated on your bunk, legs spread casually, gear peeled halfway off, and a massive combat knife in your lap. You werenât just cleaning it. You were meticulous, dragging a cloth down the blade like it had wronged you personally.
Soap hovered by the door, pretending he wasnât staring.
He cleared his throat. Twice. You didnât look up.
Finally, he stepped forward, trying to seem casual. Confident. Normal. Which he definitely wasnât, because you were still covered in dried blood and humming what sounded like a lullaby.
"Hey," he offered. "That the blade you used on the op today?"
You glanced upâslowlyâeyes sharp, assessing.
"Yeah," you said simply. "Took a piece of someoneâs skull with it. Clogged the hinge."
Soap blinked. âRight. Classic... hinge problem.â
He shuffled forward, hand rubbing the back of his neck. âListen, I just wanted to sayâI, uhâappreciate the compliment earlier. You know, about me beinâ cute and all.â
You didnât stop cleaning. Just stared at him with that unreadable look again.
He continued, because of course he did. âAnd if, uh, youâre still callinâ dibs, I wouldnât mind beinâ your problem.â
You finally smirked. A dangerous, lazy curl of your lip.
"Careful," you said, tilting your head. "You flirt like that and I might keep you.â
Soap swallowed. Hard. âNot the worst fate.â
Without warning, you flicked the knife shut with a satisfying snap, stood up, and walked past him, slow and close enough that your shoulder brushed his. Your breath was warm on his neck as you said:
âSweet talk me again when Iâm not covered in blood. Might let you hold the knife next time.â
And then you were gone.
He stared after you for a solid thirty seconds before whispering to himself, â...I think Iâm in love.â
Soap was still reeling from the encounter when Ghost cornered him outside the barracks, arms folded and mask low over his eyes.
âYou alright?â Ghost asked, voice even.
âYeah. Just⌠talkinâ to her,â Soap said, like it was no big deal.
Ghost tilted his head. âRight. Listen to me, MacTavish.â
Soap blinked. âWhat?â
âDonât. Fucking. Die.â
There was a pause.
âBecause she will kill you,â Ghost added flatly. âNot out of anger. Out of boredom. Curiosity. Or to see if she can bring you back. And Iâm not explaining that to Price again.â
Soap blinked. âJesus. You make it sound like sheâsââ
âShe once superglued a guyâs hands to his weapon because he didnât listen to her orders.â
Soap blinked harder. âDid it work?â
âYeah. He shot six enemies before he passed out from blood loss. She carried him back herself. Called him her favorite little experiment.â
Soap paused. Then grinned.
â...Kinda hot, though.â
Ghost exhaled. âYouâre already fucked.â
âYeah,â Soap agreed, smiling like a man who just met his end and welcomed it. âBut what a way to go.â
#cod#cod modern warfare#cod fanfic#ghost cod#soap cod#cod imagine#johnny mactavish#john soap mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x reader#gaz cod#price cod#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader
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Hi just first wanted to say I love ur writing, it's so nice to read as if am really seeing it physically. Anyways I wanted to ask if you could write a starfire type reader where she first meets mark and how their relationship grows . Exploring his friends and parents reaction to her power , tamaranean background and personality. I know damn well cecil will be exhausted finding out there's another alien race with so much power . thank you again for ur work in the invincible fandom cause there's so few amazing writers. đđ
Ahhh thank you so much!! đĽšđ That means the world to me!! I LOVE the idea of a Starfire-type reader I donât know much of her but I tried my best (âĄËÍ ęł ËÍ) hope you enjoy!!

Mark first meets you under a.. Chaotic circumstance. An alien attack and he is already in mid-fight when you swoop in. Blasting through enemies, striking, and flipping with this effortless grace. Mark is immediately like ÎŁ(°âĄÂ°Ëś) !! So powerful, he can't take his eyes off of you. He's already impressed but also slightly intimidated. âUh⌠who are you?â But you can't understand him yet, titling your head blinking in confusion. âYou don't understand me, do you?â
Without hesitation you float towards him, placing your hands gently on his cheek and kissing him. Mark freezes. His eyes widened. You pull back, lips turning into a bright smile. âAh! Now i understandâ
âWhat just happened?â
âIn my homeworld, Tamaran, lip contact is a simple custom to learn any languageâ
âsimple..??â Mark is completely flustered while you're acting like kissing him was the most normal thing in the world.
He starts seeing you around more often, you being curious about Earth. Everything from human customs to food. Mark ends up becoming your unofficial guide. Youâre fascinated by Earthâs food, the first time Mark takes you out for burgers, you literally hover out of your seat from excitement. âThis is delicious! May I try yours?â and before he could answer you, steal a fry from his tray. Acting like fries are the greatest discovery of your life. (Ëľ â˘Ě á´ - Ëľ ) â§ Mark becomes curious about Tamaranean culture and one day you got him to try something from your home plant â Zorkaberries. Presenting them to him proudly, a small bowl of deep purple berries in your hand, Mark would eye them suspiciously. He hesitated for a moment before picking one, and popping it in his mouth. The flavor being bittersweet âWhoa, this is really good?â
âOf course! They are Zorkaberries!!â giggling, floating closer and patting his back âdo you wish for more?â
Tamaraneans are naturally affectionate so you're constantly touching mark. Holding his hand, brushing your fingers through his hair, and hugging him from behind. It's second nature to you. The more you two hang out and go on dates the more you start falling in love, he loves how blunt you are and have no problem telling Mark exactly how you feel â even if it flusters him.
When you first met his parents, Debbie and Nolan. You were extremely polite, immediately hugging her and complimenting her home. Offering to help with dinner which she is surprised but pleased by. During dinner time you speak of tales of your planet, your people, how you come from a warrior race and noble family. Nolan, on the other hand, is suspicious of you. He recognizes how powerful you are and the fact that you come from an alien race puts him on edge. His Viltrumite instincts are definitely twitching, wary of you but you remain cheerful and unbothered.
Cecil is immediately rubbing his temples because 2 Viltrumites is already bad enough â now there's Tamaranean on earth? Just what he needed, but deep down he knows you could be an invaluable ally , keeping a close eye on you to ensure you're not up to something.
As for mark friends ? William thinks you're super cool, saved him from a villain once and he won't stop yapping about how you carried him bridal style. Amber loves how sweet and down to earth you are, obsessed with helping you pick out earth clothes and doing âgirl stuffâ together. Eve is immediately fascinated by you, she recognizes your power level and asks you about your planet and your culture. âSo you guys can fly and absorb sunlight? That's insaneâ
âIt is quite convenient!â
Bonus:
Afterward, Markâs brain is still trying to catch up. Mark (to himself): âSheâs a literal princess. And she kissed me. To learn my language. Okay.â (ęęá´Íďšá´Í)ęęę
#invincible#mark grayson x reader#invincible x reader#mark grayson#fluff#invincible season 3#reader#starfire reader#need more of mark grayson
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After the Summoning Incident: Justice League Debrief
part 1, part 2
The Justice League meeting chamber was quiet. Too quiet.
The heroes sat around the massive conference table, some looking contemplative, others still processing the absolute chaos that had just unfolded. The Batkids had scattered to their usual perches, some smirking, othersâlike Damianâstill scowling.
Batman, as usual, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.
Superman was the first to break the silence. âWell⌠that was unexpected.â
Wonder Woman nodded, arms crossed. âThe boy was not at all what we prepared for. He is young, brash, and clearly still learning. And yet, he succeeded.â
âBarely,â Damian muttered under his breath.
Jason grinned. âI donât know, Demon Brat, I think he did pretty damn well. Didnât even die or anything.â
âHeâs already half-dead,â Damian shot back.
âThatâs semantics,â Jason said with a shrug.
Constantine, who had been pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, finally spoke up. âRight, so hereâs what we learned, then: the summoning worked, but not the way we expected. We didnât get the Ghost King. We got the heir to the Ghost King.â
Flash leaned forward, confused. âOkay, but why does that matter? He still fixed the problem.â
âBecause,â Batman said, voice low, âwe summoned him by nameâmeaning heâs significant enough that the magic acknowledged him, despite him not being the ruler of the Ghost Zone.â
Zatanna frowned. âThat shouldnât have happened unless his claim to the throne is strong. Which meansâŚâ
âHeâs important,â Constantine finished grimly. âAnd probably more powerful than even he knows.â
There was a pause.
Superman, ever the optimist, offered, âWell, he did seem responsible, considering he handled the situation without any casualties.â
Aquaman, who had remained silent for most of the discussion, finally spoke. âThat is all well and good, but what concerns me is his guardian.â
The League collectively tensed at the mention of Pariah Dark.
Hawkgirl leaned back in her chair, frowning. âYeah. Not every day you meet a giant ghost warlord who decides world domination is off the table because heâs got a new kid to dote on.â
âThe real question,â Green Lantern said, âis why Pariah Dark, of all beings, chose him as his son.â
âThatâs what Iâm worried about,â Batman said. âPariah Dark isnât just a ruler. Heâs a conqueror. The fact that heâs abandoned his previous goals simply because heâs taken a liking to this âDannyâ suggests a level of attachment that is⌠dangerous.â
âI dunno,â Flash said, tapping his fingers against the table. âThe guy seemed weirdly soft on the kid. Like, full-on âoverprotective dad ready to murder anyone who sneezes at his sonâ levels of doting.â
Jason snorted. âCan you blame him? The kidâs hilarious.â
Damian rolled his eyes. âThat does not negate the potential threat.â
âWhich leads to our next problem,â Constantine interrupted. He gestured vaguely toward the space where the summoning circle had been. âThat was the third time heâs been summoned this week.â
Batmanâs eyes narrowed. âThree times?â
Constantine nodded. âFrom what I could gather, idiot cultists all over the place have been trying to summon the âGhost Kingâ for centuries. Problem is, it hasnât worked in millenniaâuntil now. Which means somethingâs changed.â
Green Arrow leaned forward. âAnd you think itâs because of him?â
Constantine sighed. âHas to be. That kid might not be the Ghost King, but heâs enough of a power in the Zone to be dragged here through the same ritual.â
Superman frowned. âSo youâre saying if people keep summoning himâŚâ
ââŚEventually, someoneâs going to do it with bad intentions,â Batman finished.
There was another heavy silence.
âI say we keep an eye on him,â Wonder Woman said. âNot as an enemy, but as a potential ally. He may not trust us now, but if he is being targeted, heâll need protection.â
Jason chuckled. âGood luck with that. Kid was practically begging to be sent home before his chem test.â
Hawkgirl smirked. âI still canât believe that was his biggest problem tonight.â
âTeenagers,â Flash said, shaking his head.
Batman didnât react to the lighthearted remarks. Instead, he turned to Constantine. âCan we track future summonings?â
Constantine exhaled a long breath, rubbing his temple. âNot easily. The magic is old, and the Ghost Zone doesnât follow the same rules as our realm. ButâŚâ He glanced at Zatanna. âWith enough prep, we might be able to set up a countermeasure. Or at least a warning system.â
âWe should also determine how much control he actually has,â Aquaman said. âIf he is an heir, his powers may be growing. We should be aware of what heâs capable of.â
Jason grinned. âSo what, weâre gonna test his power levels? Let me know how that goes when Pariah shows up ready to throw hands.â
Batman stood, effectively ending the conversation. âFor now, weâll observe from a distance. If he truly is being targeted, we may need to act sooner rather than later.â
âAnd if Pariah Dark takes offense to that?â Zatanna asked.
Batmanâs expression darkened. ââŚThen we prepare for war.â
Meanwhile, Back in Amity ParkâŚ
Danny groaned as he flopped onto his bed, exhausted beyond belief. âI hate magic,â he mumbled into his pillow.
Jazz, standing in the doorway with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. âRough night?â
âThe worst,â Danny groaned, turning onto his back. âI got summoned by the Justice LeagueâAGAIN. And Pariah nearly destroyed them before I could talk him down.â
Jazz sighed. âThatâs, what, the third time this week?â
âYes!â Danny threw up his hands. âI swear, if one more idiot cult tries to yank me across dimensions, Iâm going to scream.â
Jazz smirked. âAnd then what?â
Danny scowled. ââŚThen Pariah will probably destroy another dimension out of spite, because apparently, he thinks Iâm too stressed for a âmortal child.ââ
Jazz chuckled. âWell, heâs not wrong.â
Danny groaned again, grabbing his pillow and shoving it over his face. âI hate everything.â
Jazz patted his shoulder sympathetically. âWelcome to adulthood, little brother.â
Danny just let out a long, muffled scream into his pillow.
#DCxDP#DPxDC#Pariah adopts Danny#Stops his plans to take over the world by the ghost equivalent of a tiny baby holding ur finger for the first time ever#Aka new halfa child came at him swinging and thatâs utterly Adorable#To Pariah heâs just a lil guy- a lil baby boi#And since heâs still half alive he Supposes the city needs to still exist in the living world#Heâs just going to hold the lil child in his hands and marvel while Danny tries to gnaw a finger off#Fright Knight is his official babysitter & now lives in his shadow half the time#The crown only transfers through a mutual battle/challenge#Which didnât exactly happen#danny fenton#dc x dp#dc x dp crossover#danny is a little shit#batfam#jason todd#dps fandom#danny phantom#pariah dark#pariah is danny's adopted dad#danny being danny#danny phantom au#sassy danny#baby danny#tiny baby#ghost
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The Staring Problem
Eddie x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Eddie is pissed because he thinks you are staring at him and judging him like all the other students in Hawkins High. He doesnât know that you have a natural staring problem and frequent spacing out episodes that you cannot controlâŚAn enemy to lovers story.

Unâfuckingâbelievable.
Here you were again. Staring at him. Eddie was getting tired of those big googly eyes staring at him every time he had lunch with the kidsâŚThey were like two dark pits just staring straight into his soul. And quite frankly ? He would have been impressed by the power behind that unblinking ability of yours if it didnât seem to be used against him every single timeâŚHe was used to the judgmental stares and the dark glares. But yours ? It was on another level. Nobody had succeeded in holding his gaze so long before, in case he would âcurseâ them through his mind powers.
But then there was YOU. You. The damn girl he had been losing against in this recurring insane staring competition for the past few days.
Finally, he had had enough and spoke up.
ââŚHey. You. You got a problem with me or something ?â
That was the first sentence Eddie Munson had ever uttered to your humble person. You were eating your lunch in peace, staring into space as per usual when he suddenly spoke to you. You blinked. You looked around to make sure he was indeed talking to you. He snorted.
âYeah. You. Iâve been watching you for the past five minutes and you havenât stopped staring at me all this damn time. What ? Got a problem with my face, Gazer ?â
Gazer ? You blinked again and chuckled awkwardly before you tried to defend yourself. âIâŚNo. Not at all. I justâŚI wasnât staring at you I swear. I was justââ
âYeah ?â He interrupted you. âWell from where Iâm standing. It kinda looked like you were. And I donât like people staring at me. It ainât cool.â
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole when everyone at your table was suddenly staring at you. You pulled your cap down over your face in shame and begged for a reprieve of this moment of sheer embarrassment. And as if you had been heard, a voice raised behind you.
âMunson. Cut it out.â One of the school monitors spoke up and Eddie huffedâbut still complied. He sat back down with an angry thud and his arms crossed over his chest. Once the monitor was gone though, he glared at you.
âDonât think this is over. Iâm onto you, Poker Face. One more weird look from you and Iâm breakinâ out the tinfoil helmet, got it ?â
You were speechless. You hadnât meant to be staring at him. It was just that sometimes you had episodes of complete absence and you just started staring into space. It wasnât your fault. You swear you hadnât meant it. But before you could apologise, he was goneâŚYou stood up as well and walked towards the exit. You REALLY didnât want to run into him again.
âŚ
The next time you saw Eddie, it was two days laterâduring a fire drill. You were standing on the grass near the edge of the baseball field, biting your nails and trying not to look like a lost idiot in a sea of yelling classmates. Your class was grouped loosely together, but youâd instinctively drifted off to the side, head down, eyes fixed on the trees past the fence. Until someone bumped your shoulderâdeliberately. You blinked and turned. There he was. Eddie Munson. Same wild hair, same jean jacket, same permanent scowl. He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, tilting his head like he was trying to figure you out.
âYou doing it again.â He finally told you.
Your throat went dry. âDoing what ?â
He gestured to your eyes. âStaring. Spacing. Whatever the hell it is. JustâŚdo it somewhere else, alright ?â
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Where else were you supposed to do that ? Itâs not like the fire drill had been your idea. âI wasnât looking at you.â
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. âSure you werenât, Poker Face.â
You frowned. Why wouldnât he just leave you alone ? You had apologised. Multiple times. âWhy do you keep calling me that ?â
Eddie tilted his head again, then shrugged before taking a step forward. âBecause youâve got thisâŚblank look. Like youâre justâŚtrying to win at an invisible game of poker in your head.â
You took a small step back. âI justâŚsometimes I space out. Itâs not personal. I swear. I wouldnât be staring at you if I could help it. I really just space out and you happen to be in my line of vision often when that happens for some reason.â
He blinked. The hardness in his eyes flickered for a moment. ââŚYou for real ?â
You nodded, pressing your lips together, embarrassed again. âYeah. Iâm sorry. I canât help it. It just happens.â
âHuh.â He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. âWell. You should tell people that.â
âI tried to tell you,â you muttered and looked away.
He didnât respond for a second, then replied with a slight wince, ââŚYeah. Right. Sorry. Guess I kinda jumped the gun on that one.â
You lookedâreally lookedâand for a split second, he lookedâŚsheepish ? Before you could say anything else, the principal blew a whistle, yelling for everyone to get back inside.
Eddie gave you one last look and finally smiled. Then he playfully ruffled your hair and told you: âStill think Poker Face fits though. But I ainât upset anymore and I accept your apology. We cool, Gazer.â
And then he walked off. You were stunned by the unexpected exchange and it took you a second to get back insideâŚonly to have one of the monitors tell you something that you really didnât expectâŚ
That night:
You were already sitting when Eddie strolled in the detention room. He froze. He really didnât expect you to be there. But he then dramatically dropped into the seat beside you with a groan that was louder than necessary. The teacher at the frontâMr. Keller, who clearly didnât want to be there eitherâglared briefly, then returned to his newspaper.
Eddie leaned over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âSoâŚâ he whispered conspiratorially. âWas it you ?â
You blinked at him. âWas what me ?â
âThe fire,â he insisted, like it was obvious. âYou started it ? Iâve heard of love burning bright, but damn, Gazer.â
Your face dropped. âWhat ?â
He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. âIâm just saying, if this was all some Bonnie-and-Clyde way to get my attention, it worked. You even got us detention together. Real smooth.â
You narrowed your eyes. âEddie. It was a toaster short-circuiting in the teacherâs lounge.â
âOh, sure,â he said, nodding solemnly. âBut was it a metaphorical toaster ? Thatâs the question.â
You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âFlattered.â He shot back with a smirk.
You turned your head just enough to glare at him sideways. âYou do know why Iâm actually here, right ?â
Eddie blinked at you. It was his time to be surprised. But it quickly turned into amusement. ââŚBecause youâre a criminal mastermind ? No ? Enlighten me.â
You sat up, arms crossed. âParker. In biology. Said I was âoglingâ you during class. Then he told the teacher I was your stalker.â
Eddie stared at youâdumbfounded. âWaitâwhat ?â
You rolled your eyes. âYeah. Apparently, Iâve been âfollowing your every moveâ and âwriting your name over and over in my diary.â Which is funny, because I donât even own a diary.â
He leaned back slowly in his chair, eyebrows raised. âWow. So youâre my stalker and a pyromaniac. What a rĂŠsumĂŠ.â
You let out a heavy sigh. âEddie.â
He put his hands up. âKidding. Jeez.â Then, after a beat, âParkerâs such a dick.â
You blinked. He actually agreed with you. That was unexpected. He almost seemed to be feeling sorry for youâŚ
Eddie then sighed and tilted his head towards you. âAlright, Gazer. Poker Face. Whatever. For realâI didnât think you were, yâknow, actually stalking me. I just thought you wereâŚweird.â
âThanks,â you replied dryly.
âBut not in a bad way,â he added quickly and looked downâplaying with his rings. âLikeâŚyouâre weird the way Iâm weird. Which is probably why I reacted like a cornered cat.â
You eyed him skeptically and Eddie drummed his fingers on the desk, suddenly fidgety. âLook, Iâm not great at the wholeâŚbeing nice thing. But maybe I shouldnât have called you out like that in the cafeteria.â
You stared at him. âIs that an apology ?â
He winced. âItâs the Eddie Munson Special⢠version of one.â
You cracked the tiniest smile despite yourself and he grinnedâproud of himself for making you slip. âYouâre smiling. See ? Weâre bonding.â
You rolled your eyes and looked away. âI still donât like you.â
He smirked and nodded. âEven better. All the best friendships start with mild hatred.â
You rolled your eyes againâŚRight. As ifâŚ
The next morning:
Youâd barely stepped into the building when you heard the whispers.
âThatâs her.â
âNo way. Eddie Munson ?â
âI heard they did it in the chemistry closet.â
Your stomach dropped before you even made it to your locker. You could already feel itâthe way peopleâs eyes clung to you, half disgust, half fascination. The cliques didnât even try to lower their voices. You saw Parker leaning against a locker with his smug little smirk, whispering animatedly to a few wide-eyed girls.
And then you reached your locker.
Spray paint. Sloppy, red, and dripping.
Devilâs Whore.
You froze. Your mouth went dry. Someone behind you giggled. You didnât even turn to look. For a second, it was like everything slowed down. Your ears rang. Your fingers curled into fists.
I didnât even do anything.
I didnât even touch him.
You wanted to scream. Instead, you just stood thereâglued to the floor.
âHey.â
You turnedâEddie. Heâd just rounded the corner, binder under his arm, chewing the end of a pencil. His eyes landed on the locker and he immediately stopped chewing and straightened up.
âWhat theââ He stepped closer, his voice sharper. âWho the hell did this ?â
You said nothing. Couldnât. You were still frozen in place. Eddie looked at you. Really looked. And his usual teasing, cocky expression faded fast. You shook your head just a little, lips pressed together. He turned towards the hallway, eyes scanning the nearby faces like a wolf catching scent.
âWho the fuck wrote this ?â he barked and slammed his hand against the tagged locker. âHuh ? Parker ? Was it you, you little rat-faced shit ?â
Parker laughed. âMan, donât look at me. I just heard what everyone else did. Gazer over hereâs beenââ
Eddie was already moving. He was about to deliver a punch that would hopefully rearrange the idiotâs brain right. But you quickly grabbed his sleeve. âDonât. Please.â
He looked back at you, jaw clenched so tight it ticked. âThey donât get to do this to you.â
âThey already did.â Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. The hallway was starting to go quiet. Too many people watching. Too many grins. But you didnât want Eddie to get into trouble. He already had more than enough on his plate.
He finally glared at the students watching and raised his middle finger at them. âAnyone else wanna say something ? Huh ? Step right up. Come on. Iâve been dying to use my evil powers on all of you assholes.â
Silence. Everybody eventually looked away.
The bell rang.
Later, in the hallway outside the front office, Eddie leaned against the wall as you sat beside him on the floor. A janitor had painted over your locker in rushed, messy brushstrokes.
âYou know,â he spoke up, âif we had slept together, I guarantee youâd remember it.â
You shot him a look.
He smirked. âToo soon ?â
You huffed. âWay too soon.â
SilenceâŚThenâ
ââŚYouâre strong,â he complimented you suddenly, the teasing gone. âMost people would be crying in a bathroom stall right about now.â
âI wanted to,â you admitted. âStill might.â
He nodded once, slow. âI guess Iâll wait outside the stall today, just in case.â
You smiled and he smiled back at you. He then nudged his foot against yours.
âCome on. Letâs go. I suddenly got the urge to go to class.â
You were surprised, but smiled nonetheless and nodded before standing up and he smiled back at you before following you.
A few days laterâŚ
You were halfway through stabbing a sad excuse for a salad when she approached.
Marcie Winters.
Cheerleader. Always smelled like strawberries and money. She sat down across from you like you were already friends.
âHey,â she said, all faux-sweetness and sugar-coated venom. âYou donât mind if I sit here, right ?â
You blinked. âUhâŚâ
You were pretty sure she had never talked to you beforeâŚShe didnât even wait. Just plopped down with her friends and leaned across the table like she was about to share a secret.
âSo,â she started, voice dropping to a whisper. âHow big is he ?â
You stared at her with a confused expression. âW-What ?â
She smiled innocently. âMunson. You know. Big.â
Your stomach turned.
âI mean,â she continued, totally unbothered, âpeople say heâs crazy in bed, like wild. I just figured youâd know.â Her smile widened. âUnless the rumor was just fake and you didnât actuallyââ
âAre you serious right now ?â
She blinked at your defensive tone, as if you were the one being unreasonable.
âI didnât sleep with him,â you told her truthfully. âThat was a lie. Someone made it up. And even if I did, why would I ever share such an intimate information with you ?â
Marcie pouted. âThatâs a shame. I kinda liked the idea of him being as much a freak in the bed than in his everyday life.â
You stood up so fast your chair scraped loudly against the floor. But before you could say something that would land you in another detention, a familiar voice rang out behind you.
âWow. Really classy, Marcie.â
You froze.
Eddie.
Heâd shown up with a half-eaten bag of chips in one hand and a âdo not test meâ expression that was usually reserved for people who tried to touch his guitar without asking.
Marcie scoffed. âWhat ? I was just curious. Jeez.â
Eddie stepped between you and her, putting himself squarely in her line of sight. âYou wanna know how big I am ? Why donât you ask your boyfriend ? I hear heâs got a measuring tape and plenty of insecurities heâs trying to hide. SoooâŚinstead of asking the poor girl embarrassing questions, how about you take care of your own backyard for once, hmm ?â
The lunchroom snorted. Someone two tables over even clapped.
Marcieâs jaw dropped in shock before she scoffed. âYouâre disgusting.â
âNo,â he quickly answered, popping a chip into his mouth. âIâm selective. And you didnât make the cut.â
She was silenced and stormed off with a huff. You were still standing there, wide-eyed.
Eddie turned to you and his gaze grew concerned. âYou alright there, Gazer ?â
You blinked before sighing and huffing a bitter laugh. âWhy are you always showing up right when things get really humiliating ?â
He grinned. âMaybe Iâve got a sixth sense for it. Or maybe,â he said, lowering his voice as he leaned just a little closer, âI donât like when people talk shit about someone I like.â
Your heart skipped and your eyes widened significantly. âYou like me ?â
He raised an eyebrow and smirked at the shock on your face. âI was kidding. Donât flatter yourself, Poker Face. I just hate Marcie.â
He walked away, tossing the empty chip bag into the trash, but not before glancing backâjust onceâto make sure you were smiling.
You were.
A few days laterâŚ
You were nose-deep in a history book, fully zoned out whenâ
Tap.
You jolted so hard you knocked your pen across the table.
âJesusâ!â
Eddie was crouched behind your chair, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
âHi,â he said sweetly.
You slapped a hand to your chest. âEddie. You canât just do thatââ
He didnât move. Still crouched. Still smirking.
âIâve been here for five minutes,â he informed you. âYou didnât even notice me creeping up. I couldâve been a serial killer.â
You snorted. âI wish you were. Then maybe Iâd have peace.â
He gaspedâmock hurt. âGazer. Wounding me.â
You glared at him and turned back to your book, trying not to acknowledge the fact that your pulse was still hammering. But thenâ
Poke.
Your eyes went wide. His fingers had poked your ribs. Right under your arm. You stiffened.
âOh ?â Eddie exclaimed, leaning closer, mischief radiating off him like heat. âWas that a reaction ?â
You gave him a warning glance. âDonât.â
He wiggled his fingers again. âIâm looking for it. The tickle spot. I know itâs there.â
You tried to use the back of your chair as a shield against the assault. âI will kick you in the shin.â
âPromises, promises,â he sing-songed.
You glared at him and tried to focus back on your page, ignoring how close he was now, chin resting on the back of your chair. But he poked your side again and you yelpedâactually yelped.
âThere it is,â he grinned, triumphant. âBullseye.â
You shoved your book closed and gave him a half-hearted glare, cheeks warm. âDonât you have anywhere else to be ?â
âProbably,â he admitted with a grin. âBut I like bothering you more.â
You huffed and stood up to walk out. You then sat cross-legged under the old tree near the edge of the field, unmoving. Your eyes were fixed somewhere off in the distanceânowhere, reallyâand then you just went into one of your weird spacing out episodes.
From the path, Eddie spotted you.
At first, he thought you were ignoring him. Then he realized that you werenât.
He slowed as he approached.
âHeyâŚâ he said softly, crouching in front of you. No reaction.
He waved a hand near your face. âEarth to Poker Face.â
Nothing.
He paused. This wasnât the first time. Heâd seen it happen before, but never quite thisâŚdeep. Instead of pushing, Eddie exhaled through his nose and lowered himself into the grass beside you. He sat closeâbut not touchingâwatching you out of the corner of his eye. You were still breathing slow. Calm. Peaceful, even. His gaze wandered. And then he saw itâyour hand, resting lightly against your thigh, fingers relaxed. Something stirred in his chest. He looked around for any potential witnesses but no one seemed to be around at this hour.
Left. Right. No one watching.
His tongue poked out briefly as he wet his lips. He looked at your face again, searching for any flicker of awareness.
Still nothing.
So slowlyâever so slowlyâhe reached out. His hand hovered for a moment over yours like he was afraid youâd burn him. Then, inch by inch, he slipped his fingers between yours. His palm pressed against yours with the lightest pressure.
You didnât pull away. He wasnât sure that you were even aware that he had decided to hold your hand. So he stayed like that. Sitting beside you, hand in yours, heartbeat skipping like a stone across water.
A soft breeze rustled the leaves above.
He looked at you againâstudying the curve of your eyelashes, the calm in your brow, the stillness that always made people whisper, whatâs wrong with them ? But not him. He didnât think anything was wrong with you. He thought you looked like someone who justâŚlived in a different kind of quiet. And maybe, for once, he wanted to know what that quiet felt like. So he stayed. Just sat there. No jokes. No jabs. Just some guy with his hand in yours, hoping maybe when you came back to the world, you wouldnât let go.
A few moments laterâŚ
You blinked slowly and the haze lifted. Your fingers twitched and tightened slightly around a warmth you hadnât expected. Turning your head just a little, you saw himâEddie, eyes closed, head tilted back against the tree trunk, breathing steady and calm. He was asleep. His hand still held yours, fingers loosely intertwined. You hesitated for a moment, the instinct to pull away warring with something deeper. Then, instead of moving away, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder rest against his. The grass was cool beneath you, the sky above muted and gray, but in that instant, the quiet felt safe.
You closed your eyes.
The soft rise and fall of his breath was soothing to you. Minutes stretched and slipped by. And somewhere between the crunch of leaves and the distant chatter of classmates, you both drifted into a peaceful napâside by side, hands still touching, shoulders leaning in.
âŚ
The moon hung low and silver, casting long shadows across the empty field when you woke up. You stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the chill night air. Your heart jumped when you realized you were still pressed up against Eddieâs shoulderâand your hand was still in his. You jerked awake, coughing softly to cover your sudden fluster. Quickly, carefully, you slipped your hand out of his grasp, trying not to disturb him.
âSorry,â you whispered, voice barely audible in the quiet.
Eddie stirred too, blinking slowly as he registered where he was and who was beside him. He smirked, eyes half-lidded in that trademark devil-may-care way.
ââS fine,â he mumbled, stretching one arm above his head like it was the most natural thing in the world. The two of you then stood up and started walking towards the school ground exit. The street was empty, quiet but for the wind rustling through the trees and your slow footsteps on the pavement. Eddie shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.
ââŚYou wear that cap a lot,â he noted casually and gestured to the one you were wearing. âLike, a lot a lot.â
You looked down quickly, fingers twitching with the urge to adjust the brim again.
âYeah,â you acknowledged. âI know.â
He let the silence stretch, giving you the chance to fill it if you wanted to. You did.
âItâs not just because I like it. Itâs sort ofâŚa shield.â
Eddie raised a quizzical eyebrow at you. âA shield ?â
You nodded. âFrom people. From their eyes. I have aâŚhabit. Sometimes I space out and stare. It makes people uncomfortable. Makes them think Iâm doing it on purpose.â
Eddie tilted his head, quiet now.
You kicked a rock on the sidewalk. âSo I wear the cap low. It gives me something to look at. Lets me hide a little. I know itâs weird.â
Eddie was quiet for a second longer, then replied with a shrug, âThatâs not weird.â
You glanced at him and he looked away.
âI mean,â he shrugged again, âpeople stare at me all the time. But I guess itâs only cool when they do it.â
You smiled, surprised by his reassuring words.
He looked ahead again, a breeze lifting his curls. âSo what, the capâs likeâyour armor or something ?â
You nodded. ââŚKind of, yeah.â
He smiled. âWell, I dig it. Itâs got that mysterious âwho is she under that brim ?â vibe. Very mysterious and dramatic.â
You snorted despite yourself. âThanks, Munson.â
He was quick to retort. âYouâre welcome, Poker Face.â
And with that, the silence returned. You both kept walking, your cap tugged low and your secret out in the open. Eddie glanced down at his handâstill swinging loosely by his sideâand suddenly stopped walking. You paused too, watching as he wiggled his fingers, the silver of his many rings catching in the streetlight.
âYou knowâŚâ he began, quieter now, âthese arenât just for show.â
You tilted your head. âTheyâre not ?â
He held up his hand, turning it side to side, letting each ring glint like a tiny spotlight.
âMost people think itâs just part of the whole⌠metalhead, freak-show image. And I mean, yeah, sureâsome of it is. Gotta look cool when youâre scaring preps and failing math.â
You let out a small chuckle. He smiled faintly, but didnât drop his gaze from his fingers.
âBut I started wearing them when I was like⌠twelve. Found one in a pawn shop. Cheap as hell. Felt heavy. Solid. Like I had control over something.â He glanced at you now, his face more serious as he continued. âIt was stupid, but I used to think if I had rings on my fingers, no one would notice they were shaking.â
Your breath caught and your eyes widened slightly. He gave a nonchalant shrug. âStill do it. If my hands are bare, I feelâŚI donât know. Off. Itâs stupid really.â
You were quiet for a beat, then replied softly, âThatâs not stupid.â
He looked at you again. You hesitated, then tugged your cap a little higherâjust enough for your eyes to meet his. Eddie held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. You didnât look away this time. His lips quirked up into something real.
âWell then,â he said softly. âGuess weâve both got our special armor.â
You hesitated just a momentâthen, without a word, your fingers reached out and intertwined with his. The weight of his rings pressed softly against your skin. Eddieâs eyes flicked down to your hands, then back up to your face, surprised but not pulling away.
âIfâŚyou ever feel like your hand is shakingâŚyou can justâŚhold my hand.â You suggested and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, Eddieâs usual smirk softened into a small, genuine smile.
âThanks, Poker Face. I think Iâll take you up on that generous offer.â
You chuckled. âActually, the nameâs Y/N.â
He gave you a dumbfounded look. âYeah, I know. But I prefer Poker Face or the Gazer.â
You narrowed your eyes at him. ââŚWow. Thanks a lot, Munson.â
But you then both burst out laughing as you kept walking hand in hand.
The next morning:
You were walking towards the front steps of Hawkins High with a bounce in your step. The memory of yesterday still lingeredâyour hand in Eddieâs, the quiet promise youâd made. For once, school didnât feel so unbearable.
Then you saw them.
Eddie leaning against the side of the school, talking to Marcie Wintersâher laugh shrill and fake, her manicured fingers grazing his sleeve. He handed her something smallâprobably another drug dealâand for a moment, it was normal.
Until she looked up and spotted you.
Smirk.
Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. You froze. You knew she had probably done that to make you jealous. However, your stomach didnât twist with jealousy. It twisted with rage. You stormed forward, every step harder than the last. Eddie pulled back, clearly startled, but before anyone could speak, you ripped your cap off and slapped Marcie across the face with it.
Whack.
Gasps echoed from nearby students.
âYOU NEVER KISS ANYONE WITHOUT PERMISSION, BITCH !â you shouted, fury lighting up your face.
Marcie stumbled back, stunned, hand flying to her cheek.
âAND YOU GOT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND !â you continued, voice cracking from the emotion bubbling out of you after years of staying quiet. âLEAVE EDDIE ALONE !â
Silence. Eddie stood frozen, eyes wide, half in shock and half in awe.
Marcie sputtered, âWhaâare you crazy ?!â
You didnât even give her the dignity of a reply. You turned your back on her, shoved your cap back on, and looked to Eddie. Eddie blinked. Then grinned.
ââŚHoly shit.â
He then looked down at Marcie on the ground, then back at you, then at the students around with this look of âhave you seen that shit ?â.
You barely registered Eddie grabbing your hand. One second you were standing your ground in front of a gasping crowd, and the next, you were running away from the scene. He tugged you through the hallway, laughing breathlessly as you ran past lockers and students to finally slip into a dark, musty janitorâs closet. The door shut with a quiet click. You stood in the darkness, the scent of mop water and dust in the air, your chest heaving from the sprintâand from what youâd just done.
âOh my God, oh my God,â you whispered, pulling your cap low again. âI didnât mean toâI just saw her, and then she kissed you, and she has a boyfriend, and I justâshit, Eddie, I shouldnât haveââ
Your voice was rising, a full-blown panic rambleâUntil he grabbed your face and kissed you.
Full stop. No warning. No build-up.
Your breath caught in your chest and your pupils started dancing around in their eye sockets as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Your heart exploded in your chest and your hands flailed up and down in the air like a headless chicken.
When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like youâd just lit the world on fire.
âThat,â he breathed, eyes gleaming, âwas the sexiest, most badass thing Iâve ever seen in my life.â
You blinked, stunned into silence.
Eddie leaned in again, forehead resting against yours, breath warm. âYou really just smacked Marcie Winters with your damn cap, Poker Face ?â
You stammered and tried to justify yourself. ââŚIt-It was the only weapon I had.â
He barked a laugh, squeezing your hand tightly. âYouâre fucking insane. And I mean that in the best way possible.â
Your cheeks burned, but you didnât look away. Not this time. ââŚYouâre not mad ?â
He scoffed. âMad ? Iâm in love.â
Your lips were still tingling from the kiss. His wordsâIâm in loveâechoed in your head like a dropped match in a room full of fireworks. You blinked. And thenâ
Gone.
The janitorâs closet faded. His voice, the heat of the moment, the nearness of himâit all softened into static as your mind slipped.
Eyes open, but not seeing.
Still. Silent.
You were staring into nothingness again.
Eddie tilted his head. âHeyâŚ?â
No response.
ââŚShit,â he murmured under his breath, the playful spark in his eyes softening instantly. âYouâre doing the thing again.â
He didnât try to shake you. Instead, he sighed and crouched a little lower, gently resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your handâthe one still warm from his grip.
âItâs okay,â he said softly, âI got you.â
He glanced at your face. You looked calm. Peaceful, even. Like you were off somewhere far away where none of this mess existed. After a beat, he slowly moved to sit on the floor beside you, shoulder brushing yours againâjust like that day in the grass.
âIâll wait,â he whispered. And he did.
Suddenly, your lashes fluttered. The mop bucket and dim fluorescent light above came back into focus. The weight of the air shifted. You blinked, head turning slowly, and saw Eddie sitting next to you on the floorâelbow resting on his bent knee, eyes watching you carefully.
ââŚHow long was I out ?â you asked, your voice still distant, like youâd just woken from a dream.
âJust a couple minutes,â he replied with a smile. âNot too bad.â
You looked down at your lap. Embarrassment started creeping in again. âSorry.â
âDonât,â he cut in, his voice firmer this time.
You looked up at him with wide eyes when he cut you off and he smiled. He shrugged, fiddling with one of his rings absentmindedly. âI meanâŚI get it now. You werenât ignoring me. Or zoning out âcause Iâm boring.â He smirked a little, but it faded quickly. âYouâre just built different, huh ?â
A pause.
Then he asked. âIs it scary ? When it happens ?â
You hesitated. Then nodded. âSometimes.â
Eddie leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he was thinking hard about something.
Then, âWellâŚfor what itâs worth ? You donât look weird when it happens. You just look like youâre somewhere important. Like your brainâs off doing spy shit and forgot to bring the rest of you.â
You laughed, startled and warm. âSpy shit ?â
He nodded. âYeah. You probably know all the secrets of the universe and just canât tell me âcause Iâd freak out.â
He nudged your shoulder gently. âAnyway, Iâve decided Iâm gonna be your handler now. Like, your official lookout. You space out, I keep you safe. No questions asked.â
You tilted your head. âAnd what do I do for you ?â
Eddie grinned. âYou hold my hand when it shakes. Weâve already got a deal, remember ?â
You smiledâsmall, shy, and utterly real. ââŚOkay.â Then you let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. âWe shouldâŚprobably get back to class though.â
Eddie groaned dramatically, tilting his head back against the wall like youâd just told him finals were moved to today. âUgh, why ? We just committed a public slap. Shouldnât we be fugitives by now ?â
You stood slowly, brushing dust off your pants. âYou can go full fugitive if you want. I still have homework due.â
âGod,â he sighed, getting to his feet and stretching his arms overhead, âyouâre such a nerd.â
You shot him a dry look beneath your cap. âAnd you kiss nerds. So what does that make you ?â
He paused. Then grinned, stepping a little closer, his nose brushing yours. âA nerd lover, apparently.â
You blinkedâthen smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of your hand. âLetâs go, Romeo.â
As you reached for the doorknob, Eddie gently caught your wrist. âHeyâŚseriously.â
You turned back before he continued.
âThanks for what you did. With Marcie. No oneâsâŚever done something like that for me before.â
You felt your throat tightenâbut managed a quiet, honest: âAnytime.â
And with that, you slipped out into the hallway. Whispers were already crackling through it like staticâstudents leaning in close to each other, nudging shoulders, darting glances. You didnât need to hear the words to know what they were about.
You were walking beside Eddie Munson. And he was holding your hand.
You felt it thenâthat rising heat under your skin, the old instinct to shrink, to disappear, to pull the cap lower and pretend none of it was real. So you looked down. Your hand in his. His fingers tangled with yours.
Slowly, gently, you opened your handâleaving it there for him, but giving him the choice.
If he wanted to let go, he could.
For a second, nothing happened.
And thenâ
His fingers tightened.
He didnât let go. Instead, he laced your fingers together more firmly and lifted your joined hands a littleâalmost like a dare to the hallway around you. You looked up at him. He was already looking at you.
âPoker Face,â he whispered under his breath, leaning in just enough so only you could hear, âIâd rather be holding your hand than pretending Iâm not.â
The whispers got louder.
But suddenly, they didnât matter.
Not when his thumb brushed the back of your hand like it was second nature. Not when you realized he hadnât even looked at them. Not once.
Just you.
Always just youâŚ
You smiled and dared to stare into his eyes.
He smiled as his eyes met yours. âWelcome back to Earth, Y/N.â
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Cherry Lip Gloss
Summary: Eddie is madly in love with you and tries to shoot his shot.
Warning: some curse words
Word Count: ~1.8k
A/N: English is not my first language
If you enjoy the story; likes, reblogs and comments are really appreciated đ¤
Masterlist
You were straddling his lap, your lips brushing against each others, still catching your breath and your lips swollen from the make out session before.
A few drops of sweat glistened on Eddieâs forehead.
You wore a dress - too short and too tight. Eddie loved it. It was everything he had ever imagined.
âEddie?â you asked him quietly.
Your thumb running over his lower lip.
Your head fell back, revealing your neck, covered in hickies.
âYeah baby?â he answered, hypnotized by your beauty, not able to take his eyes off you.
âI want you toâŚ
beep beep beep
His alarm clock was ringing.
Fuck.
It was just another dream.
Another amazing dream.
But that didnât ruin his mood.
It was Wednesday, which meant he had math for the first two periods with Mr. Mundy - and, luckily, it was one of the classes he shared with you.
There you both were, sitting in math class, him a few rows behind you, watching you, his head propped up on his hand.
You were still chitchatting with your friend Stacy, but as soon as Mr. Mundy entered the classroom, you both went quiet and Stacy turned around.
He was madly in love with you.
How you just sat there, wearing your green and orange cheerleading uniform.
Your hair was pulled up in a perfect ponytail.
Makeup? Not too much and flawless as always. Nails? Perfectly manicured.
But one little thing was missing - his favorite part.
He watched how you rummaged through your backpack, pulled out a pink lipgloss and a little mirror and applied it.
Damn.
What would he give to just taste it.
One. Single. Time.
What flavor were your lips?
Strawberry? Cherry? Or maybe vanilla?
How soft your plump lips must feel.
He had to stop himself from drooling like damn fool.
He felt stupid for being jealous of a lip gloss.
You felt eyes on you and looked around, stopping when you met Eddieâs and looking him straight in the eyes.
He froze, - caught in the act.
He looked shyly away, a light blush creeping across his cheeks.
You just grinned.
He was not really subtle in observing.
He used to think you would be a rich, arrogant, stuck-up bitch, just like the other cheerleaders. But there was this one time where you and him got detention together.
Him for being late (and that happens a lot) and you for god knows what reason.
Ms. OâDonnell had to leave the room and ordered to do your homework.
He still remembered how sweet your voice sounded when you turned around and asked him for help.
How your bright eyes locked onto his.
He helped you, and for the first time, realized that you werenât like the rest.
You both talked for the rest of detention. You didnât see him as the townâs freak or a weirdo. No.
You showed honest interest in what he had to say - about his hobbies, his music and even hellfire club.
There wasnât any other way than to fall for you. You were the reason for his beautiful dreams. And the reason he couldnât sleep at all sometimes.
You were nothing like the others.
You even stood up for him against Jason when he made fun of Eddie one time. Telling him âjust leave him aloneâ and pulling Jason away on his arm.
He would do everything to be with you.
But there were only two problems.
The first one: you already had a boyfriend - Andy Johnson, one of the balls-into-laundry-baskets-jocks. He had seen you and him arguing and fighting more than once.
The main reason, according to Eddie, had to be your boyfriend being a douchebag and dumb as fuck for not valuing you enough.
Little did he know that he was the reason.
The second one: your cousin was Jason Carver. Your mothers were sisters. He was really protective, acting like your big brother, even though heâs younger than you. Everyone knew that him and Jason were arch-enemies. Eddie hates Jason. Jason hates Eddie. It had always been this way. And it would stay that way forever.
At lunch break, while walking down the hallway, Eddie saw you standing by your locker, putting your books away and checking yourself out in the mirror youâd hung on the locker door. Suddenly, he saw something fall on the floor. Without thinking, he walked over to you and picked up what he now recognized as your lip gloss.
Strawberry - he knew it.
âY/N?â He asked.
You turned around and looked at him, surprised.
âYes?â You replied.
Your beautiful eyes - oh god, he felt his legs turn to pudding, but managed to hold up your lip gloss to hand it back to you.
âIt fell out of your locker. That color really suits you, by the way. I.. uhm âŚreally like strawberriesâ he said shyly. Not a sign of the loud, confident, stand-on-the-cafeteria-table-and-scream-Eddie.
You looked at his hand and took the lip gloss - but not without noticing his rings.
A smile played on your lips.
âThank you so much, thatâs really kind of you. Normally, I buy cherry, but unfortunately itâs sold out, so I went with strawberry. I really like your rings, they are super coolâ you said, resting your hand on Eddies arm and giving him a loving smile.
Where you⌠where you blushing?
His heart did backflips.
âCherry huh?â He mumbled nervously.
You didnât notice someone approaching.
Until you heard a voice.
It was Jason.
âHey you alright? Is that freak bothering you? Want me to take care of it?â Jasonâs voice boomed. You just rolled your eyes.
âFirst of all. Cousin. Stop calling him freak âkay? And no, he is not bothering me. Just letâs go.â
You slammed your locker shut and sent Eddie an apologetic smile before turning around and following Jason to the cafeteria.
Eddie leaned against your locker, bumping his head against it, grinning like an idiot.
He high-fived himself in his mind for not making a complete fool out of himself.
You had talked to him.
You even touched his arm.
For a small second, he thought that maybe he had a chance. But he wasnât about to get his hopes up. Jason always appeared out of nowhere, and you had a boyfriend.
But he had an idea for how to get your attention once again.
Friday afternoon was hellfire club.
But as soon as he entered the theater room, he was able to hear only one topic - your breakup with Andy.
Eddie was so happy - it felt like his birthday and Christmas combined.
He grinned from ear to ear.
On Mondayâs, you two didnât share a class, and he could only see you at lunch or when you were standing at your locker.
So when lunch approached, he was the first to rush out of class.
He wanted to âbumpâ into you by your locker, accidentally, of course.
When he turned into the hallway he saw you standing there - but with you was Andy.
You were arguing.
Again.
But apparently you said something that made Andy so angry, he stormed off.
Thank God.
You turned back to your locker to shut the door. That was his moment.
His only chance.
He took a deep breath and walked towards you.
âHey Y/N. How you doing? Everything alright? I heard what happened.â
A smile spread across your face as soon as you saw him.
âOh hey. I didnât see you at first. Iâm feeling super duper. I finally got rid of that turd Andy. I couldnât feel better. Honestly, I shouldâve done it months agoâ You said.
Eddie chuckled âIâm sorry to hear it ended like that⌠but also kind of not sorry?â he said with an awkward grin, scratching his head.
âNot sorry huh?â You laughed.
âYeah, I mean.. I always thought he was kind of an asshole. But uh,âŚâ he reached into his jacket. âThatâs not what I came over for. I actually have something I wanted to give you.â
You looked confused âMe?â
He nodded, pulled something out of his jacket and handed it to you.
It was a lip gloss - the cherry one.
Your favorite.
Your eyes lit up.
âNo way⌠How did you even get this? Itâs out of stock everywhere.â
âLetâs just say I have connections.â
âThank you so, so much. What do I owe you?â
âNothing, itâs a giftâŚ. Go on a date with me?â Eddie fidgeted with his rings nervously.
You were surprised that he asked, but youâd always thought he was cute. And Andy is history. So, why not?
âIâd love toâ
âI would understand if.. wait.. really?⌠I meanâŚcool. Coolâ he tried not to freak out completely.
You pulled a pen from your backpack and scribbled something down on Eddies arm.
âThatâs my address. Pick me up at 7.â
Eddie starred on the part of his arm that now is covered with your handwriting.
âYeah, I can do that. Iâll be there at 7.â
You gave him one last smile before turning to walk down the hallway - the cherry lip gloss in your hand.
Eddie watched you walking away. When you were out of sight he let out a breath.
âHoly shit. She said yes.â
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