#As long as you are okay with pathetic basketball throws

[dangerpronebuddie]

hi maggie 🥰

70 for the 100 kiss prompts please!!

Hi Nolan 🥰

I loved this one! Hope you like it darling 💕

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night 30/?

70. An accidental kiss that confuses you both, but only a moment passes before you crash your lips back against each other's

Summary:

“Actions speak louder than words,” Eddie shrugs. “Goodnight,” he smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Night,” Buck says softly, meeting him in the middle.

Wait a minute.

Eddie pulls back like he's been shocked. And he has. In way more ways than one.

(read below!)

They're sitting on Eddie's couch, talking over some (admittedly dull) action movie Chim recommended, one night they both managed to have free.

Eddie had ended things with Marisol at the makeshift wedding in the hospital, and hasn't been eager to "get back out there." He still doesn't know why he decided then was the best time, but it was for the best. When you spend the entire day wishing you could marry your best friend and not your girlfriend, there's something wrong with the relationship.

Buck and Tommy had decided to stay friends, and the three of them still got together often for fights or a beer, (no basketball. Not again), and Buck hasn't jumped back into dating yet.

And, with Chris being the social butterfly Eddie never was, the kid was at yet another sleepover, leaving Buck and Eddie without any plans.

So, pizza and about three beers later, Buck is deciding whether to stay the night. Something he hasn't done in months. Not since he came to Eddie after the lightning.

“Come on, do you really want to drive home at one in the morning?” Eddie reasons. He pretends his reasons for offering the couch are noble. They're actually… kinda pathetic. Be in love with your best friend and try to keep your dignity, or your sanity.

Buck smiles and sips his beer. “If I didn't know any better I'd say you've missed me.”

I always miss you when you go, Eddie doesn't say. “Oh yeah. I don't know how I manage to sleep without your snoring as a lullaby,” he says instead, tugging on a curl behind Buck's ear.

Buck gently elbows him in the ribs. “If that's your way to convince me…”

“I never said my negotiation techniques were good,” Eddie shrugs.

“They're terrible,” Buck scoffs, earning himself an elbow to the ribs right back. He giggles and ducks his head with a smile, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. “Okay, I'll stay. Wouldn't want you to have to sleep without my snoring as your white noise machine.”

“What do you know? My negotiation techniques worked!” Eddie grins.

Buck rolls his eyes and shoves at his shoulder. “I will never admit it.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” Eddie shrugs. “Goodnight,” he smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Night,” Buck says softly, meeting him in the middle.

Wait a minute.

Eddie pulls back like he's been shocked. And he has. In way more ways than one.

He has no idea what made him do it.

Maybe the box holding his feelings for Buck had finally exploded. Maybe his brain got up the courage without telling him the plan. Maybe it was the easy affection they'd been exchanging recently. Shoulder touches, lingering hugs, knees pressed together in the engine or on the couch.

Maybe it was just Buck.

Either way, Eddie feels like he's been struck by lightning again.

Judging by the wide eyed stare he's getting from Buck, he's at least not alone in his confusion.

“Eds,” Buck whispers, glancing at Eddie's lips.

“I'm sor-”

Buck surges forward, stealing the words from his lips and cupping his cheek. Eddie sighs into the kiss and melts against him, reaching up to card his fingers through soft curls.

Buck grips Eddie's hips, nudging him until he gets the message. Eddie throws a leg over Buck and straddles him, never once breaking their kiss.

He has no idea what's happening. But there's no way he's going to stop it.

Buck slips his hands beneath Eddie's henley, splaying his palms on his ribs as he teases the seam of his lips apart. Eddie makes a soft noise as Buck licks into his mouth. He tangles his fingers in Buck's curls and settles more firmly in his lap.

They kiss until the need for oxygen separates them. Eddie rests his forehead against Buck's. Buck traces nonsensical patterns on Eddie's lower back.

“Guess actions really do speak louder than words,” Buck smirks. Eddie kisses the expression off his face.

“Stay,” Eddie whispers, and it feels right. Asking Marisol to stay always made something sour twist in his gut.

All he feels now is butterflies, giddy and fizzy like champagne.

“That was the plan,” Buck says with a cheeky grin.

“Stay,” Eddie says again, pouring everything it's too soon to say into the word.

I want you, stay. Don't sleep on the couch, stay. I love you, stay.

Buck presses a soft kiss to his lips, just like their first kiss and yet somehow completely different. “Okay. I'll stay. For as long as you want me.”

“Forever,” Eddie whispers before kissing him again.

From 100 kiss prompts

[giurochedadomani]

Mungrove first meeting!! In which Eddie is the nicest dude Billy finds at a party, but at the same time a little bit of an acquired taste.

"Blondie".

Eddie shakes the newbie's shoulder. Then again, stronger. Poking his face insistently earns Eddie a fastidious grumble.

"Hooray, you're alive. You got me worried for a minute there". The newbie makes a poor attempt to push him away, which Eddie frankly ignores. "You're on the floor, you know that?", he takes on the beer stains of the other's jacket as the blond curls against the wall, hidden away from the party's music. God, how many drinks has he had? He gets a tighter hold on the other's shoulders and hoists him up--

"Tell you what, how about we sit up--"

--Or at least attempts to do so. It's kind of hard to fight against gravity and the pull of a jock who has suddenly decided to behave like a sack of potatoes.

Eddie thinks about going back inside to search for-- someone. He ponders how truly long could it really be until blond fury, new and shiny basketball team whatever, is missed. He thinks about the warmth of his van, the comfort of its old seats-- and kneels back on the hardboards of the Holloways' back porch with a sigh.

"Dude you're going to have to help me out on this one".

Newbie mutters something that might resemble 'Sleep', if Eddie's feeling generous.

"You don't want to sleep here. It can't be comfortable", he answers. Newbie's got the deepest blue eyes Eddie has seen in his entire life, and they're locked on him as if he had personaly offended his mother. He snorts. "You look like an Iron Maiden cover".

He has been pondering if he could approach the guy, and if so, how, since he caught sight of the blond blasting Metallica in the school's parking lot. It's just his luck that the first time he can actually exchange words with him without his entourage around is when the other's so drunk he's half out of his mind.

"Shut up", manages the newbie, pathetically.

Eddie shrugs, "get up", and then chuckles when the newbie groans like some overgrown five years old, and very slowly starts sitting up. "Get up, and I'll shut up. I promise. It's either that or freezing, really, or getting the worst kink of your life in your neck. It's-- isn't life better from this angle?", he grins at the blonde's half hidden scowl as the other attempts to stabilize himself by putting his head between his legs. "Do you want me to call someone?"

Newbie looks like a deer in headlights in a way that pulls Eddie's heart strings. He ducks his head further, hands on that blond mane of hair.

"Or not", continues Eddie, changing tracks fast. "We can stay here, just the two of us. How about--", he takes a look around, grabs a bottle from a nearby table and takes a sip. Thank God, it's water. He offers it. "Drink".

Blondie throws him a look. Then to the bottle. Then to him again.

Okay.

Okay. Maybe the rumors have already reached California dreaming. Maybe the basketball team has told him who's the classroom's social cyanide. It'd be dissapointing, but not enterily unexpected.

"I promise you're doing a much better job tonight than I could ever do with the whole, poisoning yourself thing", he says before he can think better of it, and once he's said. Well, he's said it. "Besides, you've just seen me drink from it, do you think I can down a gulp of, I don't know, vodka, with a straight face? Although you don't look like a first timer, so perhaps Holloway has gone cheap with the alcohol this time", oh god, shut the fuck up. "There was the party they did in-- in..."

Blondie's looking at him with a little, incredulous smile. Eddie hopes it's incredulous, though. He's always been the worst at interpreting this kind of thing.

Newbie ends up taking the bottle, though, and drinking a bit.

"Name's Billy".

[blondiest]

What is “angry as hell” about?? :)

both you and @152glasslippers asked about this one!! 🥰

the core concept was for chrissy to learn to tap into and let out some of her anger / frustration... i think originally this was going to be an AU where she became a punk singer? lol. it more or less was the spiritual precursor to call it what you want, though a lot was changed between the two.

i think the following is literally the first thing i ever wrote for hellcheer (and sorry it's mostly unedited lol):

A month before graduation, after the championship game, Jason asks Chrissy the question she's been dreading, gets down on one knee in front of the whole school and makes a big speech— things haven't been easy since last year, I know, he says, but I never quit on you, because I love you, babe. Will you marry me?

She chokes on tears, face bright red as she shakes her head, panicked. No.

A hushed gasp from the crowd of students. The rush of blood in her ears. Chrissy turns and flees. Jason stays glued to his spot, frozen in disbelief as she runs harder than she ever has.

She should want it. It's what's logical, what's right. It's everything that she should want. There's something under the fear, the shame, the despair, though, something that blooms in her chest as she bursts through the doors of the high school, growing as her feet carry her into the darkness of the parking lot.

It takes a few moments to realize it's relief. Profound relief.

As her tears cool on her cheeks, the sound of a door swinging open and a chorus of voices sounds from across the lot. She hastily wipes at her eyes. Not people from the basketball game, of course, they're coming from the next building over— they're easily recognized by the shirts, emblazoned Hellfire Club.

She stands watching, unnoticed by the joyful younger members as they run off, still laughing, and paid no mind by the other older students, who retreat to their cars.

Only not everyone fails to see her. Chrissy locks eyes with the head of the club, Eddie Munson.

Insanely, she raises a hand to wave. He freezes, points at himself, eyebrows raised. She nods.

Behind her, there are muffled voices, students about to emerge from the game. Eddie jerks his head towards his van. Before she can think too much about it, she darts over and climbs into the passenger side as Eddie throws himself in, shutting the door behind him.

"Uh," he starts, glancing over at her nervously. "You... okay?"

It isn't the first time they've been alone together, but it's been a very long time. He sold her weed once, in the woods behind the school, less than a month after her mom died. He was friendly, kind. Easier to talk to than she had thought he would be. Still, they hadn't spoken since.

"Can you... um... sorry, can you get me out of here? Please?"

Her voice is thin and trembling, pathetically weak and pleading to her own ears. Eddie, for his part, nods jerkily and starts the car without another word.

Distantly she realizes there's a significant chance some of the students from the game see her leaving with him. Somehow she can't muster the energy to care, though.

Eddie drives in silence for several minutes, the streetlights illuminating his pale face as they swerve through streets lined with homes and businesses before eventually pulling onto the long, dark road between the central area of Hawkins and the sticks.

"So, uh," he starts, clearing his throat. "I'm... I'm mostly driving to my place now, but I can turn around and drop you off wherever—"

"I'm," she starts and then stops. "Um. Can I... I don't want to be a bother, just... I— I don't want to be alone right now." Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence.

"Sure. Yeah, okay. You're okay with going to mine, though?"

She nods. He turns his face back to the road and keeps driving.

— - — -

"Do you, uh... wanna talk about... whatever's going on...?" Eddie finally asks, eyebrows raised as he glances up at her, carefully rolling the joint.

Chrissy licks her lips. "Um," she says, unsure where to start. "Jason proposed to me, after... after they won tonight's game."

Eddie's eyebrows crawl further up his face.

"What with the crying and the uh, being here, I'm assuming congratulations aren't in order."

She laughs, a little humorless huff, and nods again, shifting to move her legs out from underneath her. Eddie's eyes follow the motion before tearing away again. It makes her feel a little warm despite herself.

"I said no," she confesses.

Eddie lights the end of the joint and inhales deeply, letting the smoke stream back out of his nostrils. It's wrong, and a little pathetic, wanting him— a sad little rebellion for a squeaky-clean head cheerleader. And as far as she knows, Eddie has no interest in her beyond basic kindness, and he probably knows girls ten times more beautiful, tattooed and confident and worldly instead of naive and scared of their own shadows.

Still, she watches his mouth as he takes another hit before passing her the joint, and relishes the brush of their fingers a little.

Thirty minutes later, Chrissy is sprawled out on the bedroom floor, staring at the water-stained ceiling, happier than she's been in years. Some hard rock music is playing kind of low in the background— when Eddie turned it on, it was at full blast, but when she jumped at the noise he quickly lowered the volume. The sensation of the carpet against her bare legs is somehow wonderful, every feeling vivid and intense. She runs her hands over it and says as much to Eddie.

He laughs, glances over at her. "Yeah, it'll do that. Music sounds better, food tastes better, stuff that feels good feels even better."

She hums.

[bxct-it]

could you pls do 58 and 24 with fem!reader and inexperienced! sapnap <333

..-> "no one's ever touched me like this, fuck." + "god, you feel amazing."

[-] prompt list

cc!sapnap x fem!reader

[-]

you smiled down at the brunette as you palm his hard cock, legs on either side of his waist as he sits in his chair at his desk, his hands gripping your waist while his forehead rested on your chest, panting as soft whines left his mouth. "no one's ever touched me like this, fuck..." his voice was deeper than usual, sending shivers up your spine and making your hair stand on end.

"hmm... is that so?... good, you're mine. okay, baby?" you gently whispered into his ear, leaving kisses along his jawline as your free hand ran through his hair. "mhm... i'm yours, princess." his words brought joy and warmth to your chest and made your cheeks heat up, your eyes watching him fondly.

"you feeling good, baby?" you had now taken his cock out of his basketball shorts and was pumping the long length in your hand, a line of spit falling from your puckered lips to the red tip of sapnap's cock. to say he was sensitive was understatement, he was whimpering and his thighs were shaking, precum leaking from his tip as he moaned your name.

"mhm... wanna feel you... wanna-.. wanna be in you..." the green eyed man looked up at you and shyly mumbled, tightening his grip on you as his hips thrusted up into your hand, his eyes watching you desperately. grinning down at him, you nod your head and stand up from his lap, listening to him whimper pathetically as you let go of his cock.

"shh, baby, i'm just taking my panties off." chuckling at his eagerness, he blushed in embarrassment, his hips still thrusting up, looking for some friction against his needy cock. reaching under your skirt, you pulled your underwear down your legs and went to throw them to the side, only for the male to stop you.

looking at him in confusion, you held your panties on your index finger before the blushing sapnap reached a hand out, his hips wiggling in his chair. "can... can i have those?" shocked struck you as you stare at him with wide eyes.

"you... you want?... you want my panties?" a grin was pulling at your lips as you climbed back into his lap, grinding your unclothed and wet cunt against his hard cock. he moaned as he feels your warm, wet pussy grinding against him. "god... you feel amazing and i'm not even in you yet."

[xpeachesncream]

it takes two | one shot (myg)

summary: min yoongi was the one who came to understand you and took you for you. but, when boundaries start getting crossed and priorities begin to change, you start to question if your relationship with your bestfriend is strong enough to make it through.

pairing: athlete!reader x athlete!myg

genre: bestfriends to lovers au, basketball au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 12.3k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, protected AND unprotected sex (later on), slight breast play, oral (f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, missionary, riding/straddling, mentions of alcohol consumption, dancing, mention of marijuana, sex on the beach kinda?, some heavy angst, insecurities, crying, injuries (like a cut/ankle sprain), yoongi is just kind of an idiot at one point

note: heavily inspired by the movie love and basketball. unedited for the most part, pls excuse any spelling/grammar errors.

tags: @ggukkieland​ @miinoongi​ @bluesharksandfish​ @unicornbabylover​

⏏︎ now playing: triggered - jhené aiko ; sorry enough - chris brown

First Quarter: 6th Grade

You didn't really have a lot of friends in elementary school. Any, actually. Hell, the girls in your class purposely ignored you because you acted different. Dressed different. Enjoyed the shit boys liked, like playing ball and video games. You couldn't relate to their gel pens, Lisa Frank folders, cute binder stickers and bracelet charms. None of that shit was you. But you didn't care, you were fine by yourself. Nobody to please, nobody to care for.

The only person that came to understand you was Min Yoongi and that's because you played basketball with him and his friends during daycare. At first, it came as a surprise because truthfully, you felt like Yoongi only let you play because he felt bad for you. Which, okay, whatever— so be it. But, after the last round during a game of two versus two, you found yourself on the ground, huge gash on the knee from chasing after the ball before it could go out of bounds.

"Ouch! Crap!" You groaned as you sat up and checked out your knee. Yoongi walks towards you and crouches down, examining the bloody gash.

"Come on." He says, holding out a hand to help lift you up. He swings your arm over his shoulder, already knowing that any sudden movements to your knee can make the wound sting. He takes his time and walks with you as you hop on one leg towards the office, not really saying much. Yoongi wasn't the most talkative in class. He hung out with two or three other boys in your class on the daily, but they were quiet. Weren't much troublemakers, didn't cause ruckus like the other boys did. But, he was still popular among the girls because he was a little cutiepie. You remember walking into the bathroom, hearing Angie and her friends tease her about her crush on Yoongi. Then, the following week, one of her friends also ended up crushing on Yoongi and they bickered [weirdly] in the bathroom about it.

Getting to the office, he sits you down on the bench before approaching the office admin to grab some bandaids and ice for you.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Min?" Mrs. Yao comes over to greet him.

"Y/N's hurt. Can I get a bag of ice and a bandaid for her, please?" Mrs. Yao looks over her shoulder and does a head tilt before sighing. She knew you weren't like the girls in your class, always getting hurt one way or another, being more hardheaded and stubborn than the usual. She grabs a bag of ice and hands the supplies over to Yoongi before placing her hands on her hips.

"You think you can take care of Miss Y/N, or do you need me to help?" He shakes his head.

"I got it, thank you Mrs. Yao." He politely says, giving her a small toothless smile. You silently watch as he walks over, crouching down once again to tend to your wounds. "I don't think this will hurt, but stay still so I can put this bandaid on." He says softly as he spreads the small Neosporin packet across your wound. He wipes his finger down on his pants before removing the back of the bandaid and pressing it against your knee. "There. You should keep the ice on it so it doesn't bruise and stuff." He stands.

"Thank you." He nods as he watches you stand and slightly limp before you adjust your steps to the right pressure. He follows you out, coming back to your side with his hands in his pockets.

"Why don't you act like the other girls?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow at you.

"What? Not liking all the girly stuff that they like?"

"Sure, or you playing basketball. You know girls are usually like cheerleaders and cheer the guys on instead."

"Well, I don't wanna be a cheerleader. I just would rather play. What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, it's just weird to see."

"You're weird." You snapped back.

"How am I weird?"

"You shoot weird."

"And you don't? I shoot better than you." He furrows his brows.

"No you don't."

"Fine, wanna play one more time? Unless you're a wuss and can't play cause of your knee." You rolled your eyes at the sudden change of events.

"I'll play you, I'm not a wuss. Unless you're afraid to lose to a girl." You taunt him as you both walk back to the court.

"Whatever, I'm not afraid cause I won't lose." He grabs the ball and checks it in. "My ball first."

"Sure, if you think that'll help."

And that's how Yoongi lost to you, busted knee and everything. From there, it was history. You became inseparable, Yoongi becoming a large part of your days and vice versa. His parents eventually became close to yours after the numerous times you both have been dropped off to hang out, or catching rides home after school. Yoongi lived in a nearby neighborhood, only being a good 7 minute walk, to be exact.

Second Quarter: High School, Senior Year

In high school, it became a little different. Yoongi grew up, played varsity basketball and became a fucking jock even though he claimed he would never. Yeah, bullshit. You too, played on the girls varsity basketball team, and surprisingly, you two kept each other close. It was a blessing and a curse though, because you couldn't see your life without Yoongi. He's been there since the 6th grade. However, girls took note of that shit. Trying to use you as their way in to Yoongi's heart, or pants, or both. You made it very clear though that you weren't interested in being a fucking messenger. Girls thought you were mean, but really, they just couldn't handle you. Hence, why you really couldn't relate and be one of them.

Yoongi was still the only person who could understand you and handle you, bad attitude and all. Tomboy habits and all. Not wanting to make friends and all.

"Jesus fucking christ, the day just started." Yoongi says as he watches you toss your duffle bag and backpack aggressively in the back seat of his car. "What's your deal?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired." You slump in his passenger seat after buckling your seat belt.

"Chill, don't start your day like this."

"Whatever, dad." You rolled your eyes, causing him to let out a pathetic chuckle.

"Are you coming to my game later?"

"Yeah, if I'm not too tired from practice."

"Y/N, I always make it to your games even if I'm tired."

"Do you?"

"The fuck? Yes I do. When haven't I?" His tone raises with yours. "Don't try and justify your shit by coming up with lies."

"Yeah, yeah bighead. You'll have plenty of cheerleaders there for you."

"Yeah and?" He smirks. "You're the one I'll be looking for though." He caresses your chin, making you smack his hand away while he laughs loudly.

"You're stupid." You groan as you sink lower in his seat. The rest of the ride to school, you shut your eyes and enjoy the peace before you're having to walk down those annoying, congested hallways.

People rave a lot about senior year, but it honestly hasn't felt special to you. Maybe because you kept the same routine since freshmen year, or maybe you really just didn't care as much as everyone else did about how "special" it was. You've always been locked in to basketball even if your mom wasn't a big fan of it. She wished you were more into cute, girly shit, like makeup, shopping, manis and pedis and dresses and heels, but she came to accept this was the way it was going to be. Especially because your dad was your biggest fan. You came to love basketball, more than just a side hobby. You joined the varsity team and practiced day in and day out. When basketball wasn't in season, you'd play with Yoongi at the park or sign up for camps and tournaments. You just wanted to keep bettering yourself so that you could play in college and get into the league post-grad. Yoongi was the same, and he may or may not have influenced your passion for ball. Either way, he was always supporting you and cheering for you even if the other females hated it.

His ex for sure hated the relationship you had with him even though you really steered clear when she was around. Wasn't your fucking problem or responsibility to take care of her insecurities. Same with his flings.

"Hey, so later, yeah?" He asks in between throwing nods and smiles to girls passing by.

"Mhm." You hum. "You gonna be free for lunch later?"

"I don't know. I know where to find you though if I am."

"Have a good day, punk."

"You too, bub. See you in English." He turns on his heel, walking towards his friends, aka his team members. Aka his jock ass group. Aka the ones females flock to.

Namjoon, Jimin, Eunwoo, Lucas.

They were all pretty boys who knew they were pretty boys and used that to their advantage to make big asshole moves. You hated that Yoonks got pulled in from time to time, but shit, it wasn't your life, you were only a small part of his. Sometimes, they also pulled in the football boys, Jungkook and Seokjin. Even the baseball boys, Hoseok and Taehyung. It was all a huge pretty boy, jock, asshole group in the making outside. A big fucking party for a lot of the girls at school, though.

So even if Yoongi was really the only one in your life, you weren't the only one in his. It is, what it is. As long as he doesn't go switching up on you, then whatever, so be it.

The first half of your classes go by quick, being that you enjoyed your chemistry, french and english classes. You had your english class with Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok. You had gotten to know Namjoon and Hoseok a little through it, and it was enough to know that they weren't all that bad. At least in this classroom setting.

"You two going to prom together?" Namjoon asks, making Yoongi snort.

"No, what the hell?" Yoongi responds.

"You guys can have fun at prom." You roll your eyes.

"You're really not gonna go?" Joon bites on the end of his pencil.

"No? The fuck I look like?"

"Y/N, I know it'd be weird as fuck to see you in a dress, but it's senior year. You didn't go last year, did you?" Namjoon asks from Yoongi's other side.

"Really, Namjoon?" You give him a look as if it could state the obvious.

"Well shit, I don't know. I know it's not your thing but can't really say I would have noticed either way." Hoseok laughs, causing you to throw your pen at his head before flicking him off.

"Miss Y/N!" Mrs. Maxwell calls you out mid-movie, eyes wide and in disbelief at how you're acting.

"What?! He started it." You slumped back in your seat and let out a sigh.

"Not another word." She says sternly.

"Not another word." You mock her under your breath.

"Aye, stop. You and that attitude boutta get in some trouble the last weeks of senior year." Yoongi puts his hand on your wrist, causing you to shake your head and click your teeth.

"Anyway, you should go." Hoseok whispers as he leans over on the table to look at you.

"No. Besides, with what date?"

"Take the basketball." Joon snickers.

"You're a complete dumbass, Namjoon. Stop talking." You snap.

"Maybe they're right, bub. It's senior year and it's coming to an end quick. I'd hate for you to regret it." Yoongi turns to you and says lowly.

"You know that won't happen." But really, part of you did feel a little bad. You knew it wasn't your scene, and you really didn't care what people thought of you when it came down to it. However, you always wondered what it would be like if someone liked you. If someone wanted you. Crushed on you so hard that they couldn't keep their hands off of you, couldn't stop thinking of you. Your first love. To feel pleasure, pain. Mixture of emotions simply by being in love. You wondered what it would be like to lose your virginity and have good, good sex. Besides, you were a human with needs. But the only person you have ever been close to was Yoongi. For the most part, you didn't see him that way because you knew he definitely didn't. But, you also couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to take your relationship to that point. If it was anyone, he would be the one you'd have feelings for. He would be your first kiss, your first everything. Because Yoongi was comfort and security for you.

But you valued your friendship more than anything.

"Just saying, think about it." He follows up.

"Think about getting an expensive dress and painful ass heals to wear for one night, just to dance around in 'em and take one professional pic with a date? Maybe get railed if I'm lucky?" You playfully wiggle your eyebrows making Yoongi shake his head.

"Don't be such a party pooper for once."

"Mmm. Great reasoning. Really convincing me here." You laugh it off even though in all honesty, you were thinking about it.

The bell rings and thank god it's finally lunch because you were fucking starving. Appetite and attitude on na-na, no doubt. You silently part ways with Yoongi to stop by your locker and grab your lunch. You make your way to the rowdy ass cafeteria, quickly scanning the room to catch a sight of Yoongi. You see him sitting on top of one of the lunch tables with Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin and Taehyung sitting around him. Clearly, Yoongi wasn't free today.

"Wassup baby? Wanna trade that ball in for me?" Jimin says as you pass by their table to make your way outside to the bleachers. You flick him off before rolling your eyes and pretending to gag.

"Fuck off, Park." The group laughs except for Yoongi.

"Wonder if she's got that bad attitude in bed, too." Yoongi doesn't hesitate to smack Jimin upside the head because yeah, no matter what, he was gonna protect you as much as possible. "Owwww, I'm just kidding Yoongi."

"Don't let me hear you say that shit around me ever again."

"Fuck, I'm sorry. It was just a joke." Jimin winces as he rubs the back of his head.

"Damn Min Yoonks, why don't you take her ass to prom if it's like that?" Taehyung says, chewed up food coming into full view as he smacks loudly.

"Why don't you learn how to close your mouth first?" Yoongi spits back.

"Y/N is really rubbing off on you."

"It's manners, idiot. You should've been learned that." Namjoon says, laughing.

"But foreel, why won't you take her? You both are close, you've never seen her that way?" Hoseok asks making Yoongi shake his head in response.

"She's my bestfriend. I value her just the way she is, no more no less."

"Ah, you must have thought about it at least once." Yoongi keeps silent. Luckily, the group easily gets distracted and starts paying attention to Seokjin and Jungkook coming over as they talk about the dates they've scored for prom.

Yoongi has thought about it. Still does. Just like he is for you, you're the only one who understands him and takes him for who he is. You know the real him besides basketball player Yoongi. You're the only one who keeps it real. But he would rather keep it this way than ruin things between you and him. He'd hate to fuck up with you because he knows he can fuck up, there's no hiding from it. He'd never forgive himself if he lost you.

Practice is hell today for you and fuck, you really wanna just go home and lay down for the rest of the evening. Coach had you all running suicides and conditioning drills on the courts outside and pulling scrimmages against each other left and right. Let's not forget how coach is always on your ass right before a game too. Hell, she catches an attitude way worse than you before game time and after a loss. You wanted to avoid that at all costs. But, to avoid taking the bus home and instead hitching a ride with Yoongi, you throw on a hoodie and haul your ass to the gym in some nike slippers. You take a seat on a free end at one of the bleachers, holding Spalding in between your legs with your duffle next to you on the floor. The game is off to a start in about 5 minutes, Yoongi catches sight of you on the bleachers and nods. You give him a small smile as a gesture of good luck, which he reciprocates.

The game starts off intensely, both teams scoring closely even with the boys putting straight pressure. Towards the end of the first half, Yoongi and Eunwoo are the leading scorers, putting their team up by 10. Halftime is a bunch of hoo-haa, with cheerleaders in their itty bitty skirts, trying to shake their asses as they cheer for the boys. The boys don't even hide the fact that their ogling, and it's clear as day they all want some pussy. Quite frankly, they walk around thinking they deserve it cause of how hard they try to pull some wins and put the school on the map. Student government comes up for a bit too, pulling some kind of skit to weirdly promote prom. It makes you cringe and in all honesty, it makes you not wanna go even more, but it is your senior year. If you can snag a date, then maybe.

"Hey." Terra [not a cheerleader but still a pretty, popular chick] plops next to you with a smirk on her face. Immediately, you want no part in it because you already know what she's trying to do.

"Hi?"

"I'm just gonna cut straight to it. Do you know if Yoongi is seeing anyone?"

"How the hell would I know, Terra?" You furrow your brows at her.

"Because you're close to him, aren't you?"

"And? Doesn't mean I'm telling people his business. Besides, he's not obligated to tell me everything just cause we're close." She rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Look, can you do me a favor and give this to him?" She tries handing you a little ass piece of paper folded neatly with a pink heart decorated on the front.

"Why don't you give it to him yourself?"

"That's no fun." You scoff and roll your eyes. Really, miss girl? "Be a doll for once, yeah?" She winks and slips the note in between your wrist and Spalding so it stays put. You take the note and eye it, letting out a deep sigh as you shove it into your pocket. You weren't in the mood to be extra rude today so you'll give it to him later when he drives you home.

The game finally finishes with Yoongi making a final three, the boys keeping their lead up by 10. Everyone cheers and showers the boys with love after the team has finished shaking hands and high-fiving their opponents. You stick around until the crowd dies down, watching Yoongi flirt with Terra as you swing your duffle bag strap onto your shoulder before slowly heading down the bleachers.

"Hey bighead, good game today." You lightly punch him against the chest.

"I knew you'd come."

"Shut up. I'll be at your car."

"For what?"

"Cause you're taking me home, punk."

"No please?"

"Please." He shakes his head and chuckles before you part ways to let him gather his things in the locker room. When you finally catch sight of his teeny head coming towards you from the gym, you hear him unlock his car to let you in while he continues to walk over.

"Fuuuuuck." He says, throwing his things in the back before buckling his seat belt and switching the gear into drive.

"You have fan mail." Yoongi looks over and sees you clutching the note Terra gave you.

"What's that, a condom?"

"You're sick. It's from Terra."

"Who's that again?" You make a face at him.

"You were just telling her sweet nothings earlier after the game?"

"Oh, Terra with the tig o' bitties. Got it." He shakes his head. "I wasn't telling her sweet nothings."

"Right. You're an absolute dipshit, you know?" You prop up a leg on the seat while you unfold the letter.

"Give it!" You move it away from his grasp and begin to read it out loud.

"Yoongi, you're honestly so hot. If you don't have a date for prom, I just want you to know that I'm free, and I promise I'll give you a good time if you take me." You cackle. "Boy, what the fuck is this? Ew."

"Shut up." He blushes before laughing along with you.

"Look at her, writing her coochie out on paper."

"She isn't."

"Oh, really? Pfft." You softly scoff. "So, are you taking her or what?"

"I don't know? Maybe, damn. What about you?"

"What about me, fool? I told you I'd think about it."

"Go with Jimin. He still doesn't have a date." He hates to say it with how much of an asshole Jimin can be, but if it meant you'd be at your senior prom then Yoongi will let it pass. He'll make sure Jimin doesn't try any slick shit.

"Ew, god no."

"Look, I'll make sure he doesn't go overboard. I promise."

"Why do you want me there so badly, Yoongi?"

"Because it's our last year in high school together and I'd really like to celebrate with you somehow." You sigh heavily.

"Fair enough. Let me sit on it."

"Better hurry and stop keeping that seat warm."

"Don't rush me." You punch his arm, causing a groan to erupt from him.

- - -

Really, you'd rather be anywhere than at prom with Park Jimin holding onto your waist the way he is for the pictures you're taking with him, Yoongi and the rest of their group and dates. After all the pictures and fake smiles, you feel him slowly slip his hand down your dress to try and get a grip on your ass, but before you could do so, you're grabbing his wrist with full pressure and making him wince.

"Don't you fucking dare or else I'll cut your dick off and throw it in a blender."

"Aish, ah, fuck! Okay, I'm kidding, let me go!" He whines lowly. You let go of his wrist after one more good squeeze, causing him to wiggle his hand to get the feeling back.

"Get me some punch, will you? My mouth is dry."

"You know, I might know something else that can help." Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he continues to hold onto his wrist.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Or not. I'll be back." He accepts defeat by smiling from ear to ear before walking off. You sit off to the side, the heels a huge pain in the ass on top of Jimin already being a huge pain in the ass. You lean over on your knees, completely forgetting you have a short dress on, causing boys passing by to whistle and eye at the easy access.

"The fuck are you looking at? Keep it moving." Yoongi says pushing the guys forward before shooting you a look. "Y/N, really?"

"Shit sorry, I forgot. I'm not used to this." You sit up and adjust your dress before rubbing your arms at how self-conscious you suddenly [and unexpectedly] feel.

"Are you having fun at least?" He sits next to you, manspreading on the seat in the navy suit he has on.

"Mmm, sure." You slightly smile at him. "What about you? You actually took Terra, huh?"

"Yeah, it's pretty fun." He chuckles. "Don't lie, I saw you dancing a bit earlier."

"That's when the alcohol hadn't worn off yet." You snort, remembering Seokjin's older brother giving the group alcohol after all the parents were done taking their pictures of you all. Yoongi laughs along with you before he looks over and simply stares at you, hair all done, makeup done perfectly without it being too much. You in a dress.

"You look beautiful tonight, bub."

"You don't look too bad yourself, bubby." You blush before Jimin interrupts the moment with your cup of punch.

"Here, princess."

"You better not be trying anything slick, punkass." Yoongi says.

"Mm, don't worry. I haven't been able to." You kick his shin as you chug your punch, causing him to cough and choke on his own words. "I'd like to peacefully have this slow dance with you at least, damn." You swallow the last bits of punch before you're taking Jimin's hand to the floor. Yoongi watches as you two make your way to the dance floor for a slow dance, slightly regretting that he didn't just ask you to dance.

"Let's dance, babe." Terra's baby voice comes out as she pulls him up from the seat to find a spot on the dance floor. Yoongi is honestly tired of having to keep up with Terra's energy and her clingy ass, but nonetheless, he was happy you were around for prom.

He was really happy you were around for prom, even though you hated this shit more than anything.

He had you in full view ahead, and so did you. He couldn't help but direct his attention towards you and keep his eyes on you. Fuck, he has never seen anyone so beautiful until you walked through Seokjin's doors with Jimin. Look, let's get this straight. Even though you had your own way of expressing yourself, he always loved your natural beauty, your natural glow. He loved watching you on the court and how happy it made you to play ball. He remembers every accomplishment, every milestone you've reached. How you've grown tremendously as a ball player. He would never admit it to you in person, but he definitely admires how you push yourself and how you always do what you can to improve. Hell, you might just be the better player between the both of you. And when you catch him looking over, he doesn't even try and hide it. He doesn't even care that he's still holding onto Terra and slow dancing with her.

Something within you flips. You feel that shit in the pit of your stomach, at the heat of your core.

But, you brush it off and break eye contact first, even if he doesn't stop staring. This couldn't happen, no. This was your bestfriend. You weren't gonna let the things you felt get in the way of that.

Nope.

Suddenly, the song changes to something more upbeat and twerkable, Jimin taking the opportunity to spin you around and grind on you. You really need a distraction anyway, something to rid you of those god awful thoughts about your bestfriend, so you let him and you have fun with it. Everyone around you is having fun anyway, and fuck, you wouldn't have to do this ever again so fuck it.

"Let me get a dance with my bestfriend." Yoongi says to Jimin.

"Go dance with your date!"

"Shut up and switch for a second!" Yoongi says, pushing him off of you so he could get behind and dance with you.

"Yoonks, what the hell?" You laugh.

"Go with it, bub. It's fucking senior year, we're graduating soon." You go with his movements, having the time of your life with everyone around you as prom quickly comes to a close.

When you get into Jimin's car, you knock off your heels as he continues to talk nonstop about the night. Jimin was a cutie but god, you could not stand his mindset for the life of you. You were grateful he had agreed to take you to prom, but damn. Prom was done and all you wanted was some peace and quiet.

"I hope you had fun with me tonight." You give him a toothless smile before slipping your heels back on.

"I did, thank you for taking me. Really." He smiles from ear to ear before leaning over near your seat.

"Can I get just one good smooch for the night?" You look at him before you smirk and lean over near his lips.

"Sure." You whisper.

"Oh fuck, this is actually happening."

"Close your eyes, I know you don't fucking kiss with your eyes open. What are you doing?"

"Right. Sorry." He closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You lean in a little closer, feeling his breath against your lips.

Then you flick his nose.

"Ouch!"

"Peace out, Park." You throw open his door to step out and shut it behind you to quietly walk into your house.

The lights are off and your parents are already tucked into the room for the night, leaving you a note on the fridge reminding you to make sure all the doors are locked before retreating to your room. You do as you're reminded before quietly shutting your door and tossing your heels to the side. You let the pins down from your hair, ruffling it around a bit and relieving any pressure on your head. Before turning away from your dresser, you notice a letter from the one university you had been waiting on. You had been waiting to hear back from Stanford for the longest time, and quite frankly, you had been upset you hadn't heard especially when their scouts were at your game awhile ago.

You had broken down to your parents, to Yoongi, automatically assuming the worst when you heard that other people had already been accepted and scouted for Stanford. Suddenly, you found yourself working harder and harder because you felt like you were lacking in so many areas. You felt low, and like your dream was running miles and miles away from you. Faster than you could keep up.

You take the letter in your hand, but don't want to open it because you don't feel ballsy enough [surprisingly]. You call up Yoongi, not caring that he could possibly be in the middle of getting his dick wet.

"Sup?"

"Are you busy?"

"I was just about to walk into my house."

"Oh, nevermind."

"Need me to come by?"

"I got a letter from Stanford."

"Shit, I'll be there in 2 mins."

And in 2 minutes, he surely was knocking at your window. You slide it up enough for him to climb in, Yoongi still in his prom get-up as well.

"Here." You instantly hand him the letter.

"What, why me? It should be you."

"I can't, I really can't." He sighs.

"Are you sure you won't regret this?"

"No, bub. Please." You sit on the bed and fiddle with your fingers as you watch him rip the envelope open and tear out the letter. You can't even keep your eyes on him as he reads the letter and starts backing away from you.

"Shit."

"What? What?!" You stand, trying your best to keep your tone low. He covers his mouth, causing you to pinch his bicep at how dramatic he was being. "Just say it!"

"You're not going." Your heart sinks, but before you could process it, Yoongi speaks up again. "To any other college because Stanford wants you."

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" You whisper and shove him.

"Congrats, bubby. Guess we'll be together in college too." Your eyes widen.

"Y-you're going? T-to Stanford?" He smiles and nods.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Look, I just wanted to give you your space. That's all. I found out before you went all cry baby on me."

"Shut up." You say before laughing and jumping into his arms, throwing your legs around his torso while he swings you around. As he sets you back down onto your bedroom floor, your hands linger around his neck, gently tugging on the hair that rested there. He keeps you close, his hands resting around your waist as your chests are still touching. You honestly have no idea what takes over you— perhaps all the feelings you felt tonight at prom taking over, or feeling overjoyed from finally hearing back from Stanford, you couldn't decide. But you crash your lips against his, immediately pulling back after you realized you've just kissed your bestfriend.

You just had your first fucking kiss through accidental causes.

Well, shit.

Was it accidental or no?

Mind is going off on a tangent.

"Woah. I'm so sorry, Yoonks, I—" He doesn't allow for any space between you two, keeping your body flush against his as his lips crash onto yours again to cut you off. To be quite honest, things are moving fast and the kiss deepens quick. You follow his motions, gaining some rhythm as your tongue dances along with his in the [now] wet, sloppy kiss.

"Wait, Y/N." He pulls away as the moment intensifies. "A-are you sure you wanna keep going? To be honest, I don't know if I'll be able to hold myself back and I know you haven't exactly—" He knows it would be your first time and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. I mean, sure, he loved you. You were special to him. But he wanted to make sure your first time was also special, whether it be him or whoever else.

"Please. I want this. I wanna do this with you."

By the looks of tonight, it seems like it's meant to be him.

You press your lips back onto his with the same intensity and start to unbutton his shirt when you feel his hands hike up your dress. He gently pushes you on the bed, crawling over to you as he kicks off his shoes and finishes ripping off his shirt and tie. He slowly removes the straps of your dress down your shoulders and undoes the zipper on the side before slipping it down and leave you in your panties.

You had no bra on.

Yoongi's eyes widen when he realizes such, your cheeks heating up while you watch him stare down your body. You begin to feel incredibly self-conscious so you cover your chest with an arm. Yoongi senses your uneasiness, your confidence shooting down below zero.

"You're beautiful, bub. Don't." He says, gently tugging your arm away and letting it fall limply to the side. You simply nod and let him take the reigns because you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. So many emotions were flooding your mind— you were nervous, you were scared, you were shy, you felt lost and too innocent under Yoongi, even if he knew you like the back of his hand.

And because of that, he could pick up on it with the way your body continued to tense up. He shook off his pants, leaving on his boxers until you were ready for him. Cause fuck, he was ready for you, but he had to take this slow. He had to take care of you.

He lowers himself onto you after the two of you have climbed under the sheets, lowering his head against your neck to press light, feathery kisses along the surface. You felt the tingles shoot down your spine every time his lips made contact, causing you to softly gasp and arch your back at how sensitive you were already feeling.

"If you ever feel uncomfortable, just tell me to stop okay?" He says lowly. You nod in response, Yoongi taking it as leverage to plant a kiss on your lips before moving down to your breasts. He keeps his eyes on you, making sure you don't seem uncomfortable in the slightest bit. But you don't, and it's indicated in the way you bite your bottom lip and arch your back at the way his tongue wraps around your hardened bud. He does the same on the other breast before peppering kisses down your stomach and abdomen.

"Yoongi." You slightly gasp, shy at how unusually close he is to your lady friend.

"What's wrong? Want me to stop?" His thumbs gently caressed your thighs as his head hovered over your pelvis. You shake your head and nervously swallow before speaking once more.

"I-I'm just scared, what if you don't like—"

"Shh." He shushes you. "You're everything to me, you know that. You don't have to change just so I could enjoy you in bed. I'll take good care of you, bub. I promise."

"O-okay." He nods, placing a kiss over your clothed clit before pulling them down to get lost within your sheets. He swipes a finger down your folds, causing your breathing to hitch slightly. You watch as he slowly inserts the same digit inside of you, biting onto his bottom lip watching your facial expressions turn from uncertainty to straight pleasure. "Another." You moan.

"You sure?"

"Yes, please." He inserts another digit, curling his fingers upward as he starts to finger fuck you at a steady pace.

"Shit, you're so wet Y/N." He says lowly before lowering his mouth onto you to get a taste and tease your clit. You gasp at the overwhelming sensation, feeling the pleasure bubbling in your core and you had no idea how to deal with it. He picks up his pace while tonguing your clit and sucking at the right pressure until suddenly, you short circuit and tremble under his grip. You purse your lips together to prevent yourself from moaning too loud with your parents at the other end of the hall [jesus fucking christ], knuckles turning white as you grip the sheets tightly.

Your first orgasm came and washed over you quick.

"Did you just—" He removes his digits from inside of you, drooling at your cum accumulating all over his fingers.

"Holy fuck." You whisper as you regulate your breathing, twitching when Yoongi places a quick kiss on your pussy before coming back up to you.

"How was that?"

"So good. Wanna feel you." You whine, tugging him down towards you.

"I got you, bubby." He says, kissing your jaw, cheek, nose and lips. He reaches over into his pants on the floor, grabbing a condom out of his pocket. You furrow your brow and chuckle, confused if this was something he always did.

"You just carry that around?"

"The guys and I split on a box and carried one each for tonight. Just in case."

"Total fucking assholes." He chuckles.

"Better safe than not, right?" He rips it open with his teeth, spitting the wrapper out onto the floor before rolling it down his cock. He was perfectly thick and long, and it made you a nervous wreck all over again thinking about how this could feel. "Ready? I'll go slow." You nod. You immediately felt immense pressure when you felt Yoongi dip his body and slowly enter you. You winced, Yoongi immediately pausing until you tapped his arm to continue. And so he does, and you continue to breathe through it until he bottoms out and lets out a soft groan against your neck. "Fuck, you're so tight bub. God, you're gonna make me cum quick." He slowly pumps in and out, steadying his pace when he feels you buck your hips up to go along with his motions.

The pleasure skyrocketed; You shut your eyes, letting yourself be in this moment. Feel this moment.

He picks it up a little faster, careful not to bang your headboard against the wall. His forehead is pressed against yours, watching as you let out soft whimpers against his lips.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Yoongi-Yoongi—" You whispered. "You're gonna make me—" It was becoming overwhelming, your clit rubbing against him as he steadied his pace and continued to fuck into you. He nods, pressing a kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, that's it. Let go. It's okay." And that was enough for you to reach your second orgasm tonight. Quick, but fuck. Yoongi made you feel so good, and you wouldn't want it any other way. You shut your eyes as you hurdled over the edge, mouth open with silent, inaudible moans being released. "So fucking pretty." Yoongi says as he feels himself reaching his high with the way your walls pulsated against his cock.

God. So, so good.

He holds onto the headboard and quickly fucks into you until he's spilling his seed in the condom, muffled moans being released against the crook of your neck. It takes a moment before Yoongi raises his head, your hands running through his black hair while he presses a tender kiss against your lips. He slowly removes himself, wrapping the condom in a tissue before tossing it into your trash can. He plops next to you and welcomes you into his arms, caressing you to soothe you from your first time.

"You okay?"

"More than okay." You say, the both of you trying to savor the moment before trying to navigate where to go from here.

What now?

Third Quarter: College, Junior Year (Present)

You bent down, hands resting against your knees as you tried to catch your breath during the timeout Coach Chu had called with 5.2 seconds literally left on the clock. He laid out the play he wanted you and the team to pull off in order to gain the win over Berkeley.

It had to be executed perfectly. No flaws.

Coach Chu had been riding your ass since you were a freshman. But, over the years, you've learned how to work through his tough love and turn it into positives, bettering yourself on and off the floor. It paid off, and he saw the fire in you, finally moving you up to starting point guard right before the season ended. Some team members hated it at first, but eventually, grew to work with it as well.

The plan was to have you come down into the paint and lay up the ball or take a shot at the very last second to avoid Berkeley from getting another chance at scoring. Sometimes you hated the pressure, but you've also learned that a big part of playing ball was thriving under pressure.

Your team closes up the huddle before you and your teammates are heading back out onto the floor to try and get this win. You shake off the nerves, bouncing the ball out of bounds until you check it in with your teammate. After that— it was like a blur. Shit happened so quick, you couldn't even process it. You passed the ball and dashed over to the other side of the court while your teammate put up a screen. You rose your hand as you ran into the paint, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you awkwardly lay up the ball in the position you were in and stumble onto the ground from losing your footing. You turn your head as the buzzer went off, noticing that the ball had bounced off the rim.

You missed a fucking lay up.

How could you miss a fucking lay up?

"Fuck!" You cry as you sit up and smack the floor.

"Aye, it's all good girl! Ain't a big deal! You win some, you lose some! We still got a ways to go!" Your teammate [roommate, and closest college friend] Clarice said as she helped you up. She was right, but every loss to you was a big loss no matter what. Coach was for sure gonna drill you about this too, and you were already mentally preparing.

"Thanks." You mumble. You look out at the disappointed crowd slowly dispersing, wishing you could still catch a familiar face in the crowd.

But, Yoongi hadn't been to your game in years. So you thought. You never caught him if he ever stepped foot into your game.

Your head hung low as the familiar feeling of pain and loneliness came rushing back while you headed to the locker room. Too bad you didn't see him hiding out on the side of the bleachers with Lucas.

"Y/N, a word." Coach Chu says, leading you into his office.

Fuck, here we go.

You shut the door behind you and stand awkwardly in front of his desk, fiddling with your fingers.

"Look, I just want to say that you put on hell of a show tonight, win or lose. We still have plenty of games left, plenty of opportunities to lock in play-offs. Alright? Don't be upset."

"Thanks Coach." You give him a tiny smile.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing coach, just been a hectic couple of weeks." In which, it was no lie. You crammed for test after test, project after project. You barely had any time to breathe this year.

"Well, my door is always open if you need to chat." You nod. "I'll see you at practice. Enjoy your night."

"Thanks again." You say as you exit his office and get yourself showered and into comfier clothes.

Meanwhile, Yoongi heads back to his dorm room alongside Lucas, hands dug deep into his pockets while his head hung low.

"You ever gonna talk to her?"

"I don't know." He sighs. "Pretty sure I fucked up any chance of that."

"Look, dude. You haven't really been the same since you and Y/N fell out." Yoongi stays silent as they slowly climb the steps up to their room. "Why are you just gonna leave it like this? It's been so long already. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Positive she doesn't want me around." Lucas shakes his head.

"You haven't even tried. You just gave up and that shit is cold, to be honest. I know Y/N always held it down for you, I would have expected you to do the same." The words cut through Yoongi so deep, he doesn't even know how to respond and leaves it at that.

As you heavily dragged your body back to the dorms and took your sweet ol' time, your mind began to wander back to Yoongi as well. After he had taken your virginity that night, things took a turn for the worst.

He treated you differently, created this distance that allowed you to grow farther and farther apart from each other until he was no longer in your grasp and vice versa.

You went from Yoongi being a part of your every day to nothing. And fuck, did it hurt you. You cried and cried, until you were so tired of crying. You had to pick yourself up and keep it moving no matter what. Life waits for nobody.

You reminisce on those days of debating over who could really be considered the greatest. Although, you did pay your respects to the bigs, the greats— Kobe, Magic, MJ, Lebron— you paid respect where it was rightfully due. However, Derrick Rose at his prime? Rajon Rondo? Chris Paul?

Hell, even Baron Davis, Monte Ellis. Rookie Steph Curry? Shiiit. They were it for you, and Yoongi used to dog your ass on how unrealistic you were being.

That was all gone.

He must be having a ball watching Steph climb up those charts now, though. You wonder what he would say to you.

The days of going to basketball games, to each other's basketball games, to ordering hella pizza and creating chaos in either house over the dunk contest during the NBA All Star Week or yelling all around the living room and jumping on couches during the NBA playoff season and championship games— All gone.

If you knew this would drastically change you and Yoongi, you would have never let that night happen. You continued to put on your brave face, your thick, tough skin even though deep down, it took everything in you to suppress the hurt, betrayal and confusion. Even after all these years.

He meant everything to you. Did you not to him? You could never understand until this day. How could he dispose of you so, so quickly?

You see him on campus and quickly break any eye contact, or run the opposite way. You were tired of doing this even though you felt like you needed closure. Some explanation. You deserved it. But you weren't gonna initiate that. Even if Yoongi did, you don't even know if things could ever go back to the way it was. He promised he would never hurt you, but he has. He still is hurting you. The wounds— it cut deep. Deeper than he could ever imagine.

"Hello?" You smile, hearing your dad on the other line.

"Hey dad."

"Hey baby! How was your game? I'm sorry I couldn't catch it tonight, work kept me behind." You sigh.

"Eh, it's probably good you didn't. Didn't turn out so well." He picks up on how your voice cracks ever so slightly, enough to indicate that you were trying your hardest not to break down about your performance. "I missed the winning shot."

"Oh sweetheart, you'll get 'em next time. You always do. You still have a couple of games left don't you?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't change the fact that I played shitty as hell tonight."

"There's always room for improvement, only way to go is up from here right?" He says softly, making you smile. "You'll get 'em next time, I have no doubt. You always know how to better yourself even when I think you've already reached your highest potential."

"Thanks Dad. You always were my number one fan."

"I still am." He chuckles. "How's everything else? School?"

"Fine." He always has to stop himself from asking about Yoongi, even to ask if there's been the slightest change to your relationship.

"You sure?"

"Course." You lie.

"Alright, well you know me and your mom are here for you if you need anything."

"I know."

"I'll let you go and get some rest, alright? Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Mmm, I'll try." You chuckle. "I love you."

"Love you too. And hey, baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Always remember that you deserve everything good in this world. If someone can't handle you at your worse, they sure as hell don't deserve you at your best."

"Thank you." You smile as if your dad can see you through the phone before hanging up and unlocking your dorm door.

"Sigma Nu party going on tonight, wanna come and slide through?" Clarice asks as she watches you toss your duffle aside.

"I'm tired, not in the mood."

"So aren't I, but I think we both need it. Come on girl, just for a little." You sigh. Clarice had also been there by your side since you both were freshmen recruits. One day, she came into the room and found you a crying mess, causing her to wrap her arms around you and craddle you until you calmed down. You had spilled the beans about Min Yoongi, especially when he quickly became the talk of the campus as a ladies man and one of the best freshmen recruits Stanford has ever seen. You hated it, but a part of you still found yourself happy that he was getting the recognition he deserved as a ball player.

He wasn't the tallest, or the biggest, but boy had heart and played every game like it was his last. You had been his number one fan, and even though you hated him, that fact would never change.

Anyways, without Clarice, you weren't sure where you'd be. Definitely not here because you'd be too busy running away from your past and all the issues that came with it.

Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and say it. You would be stupid enough to not go to your first choice just because of a stupid boy.

"Fine, fine. I'm leaving as soon as someone wants to start acting up and getting all crazy though."

"Deal." She chuckles. You've learned how to dress up a little more— and by a little we mean baggy sweats, a crop tight fitting tee and chapstick. No way in hell you'd get dolled up for a party. Out of the years you've already been here, you probably went to two parties. One being the party Coach Chu threw at his house for a record-breaking season. The other was a legit party that you stepped foot in for all of 2 seconds before you figured it was time to head home, especially after seeing Yoongi hugged up with some chick and disgustingly tonguing her down while groping her ass.

Shit, you were never gonna get used to it.

The frat house is fucking packed and wreaks of weed even down the corner. You and Clarice push your way through, greeting people who were acknowledging your presence and waving at your other teammates that were also present.

"More basketball babes have arrived, let's go!" One of the frat guys cheers as you and Clarice make your way to the kitchen where all the alcohol is laid out.

"One shot?" She asks as she already has her hand wrapped around the Svedka handle.

"One and done." You tell her. You shouldn't have let her pour the shot though because now, you're stuck with nasty ass vodka near the halfway mark of the cup. "Clarice, what the fuck is this?"

"It's called savoring our one."

"You're fucked up." You joked as you tap your cup against hers and take the shot in three chugs. "Really fucked up." You wince.

"Come, lets go see what the other girls are up to and hang out for a bit." You follow her lead to the corner of the living room, chatting it up with your team before dancing around in the little corner you all occupied— keeping as far away as possible from sloppy and messy dudes.

You turned to eye the crowd at some point, catching Yoongi coming down the stairs, a female following from behind holding his hand. Then, they disappear to the outside of the house. You swallow the lump in your throat, the room feeling hotter than it already was.

Why he still had this affect on you, you had no idea.

Clarice and your teammates are too busy cracking jokes that they don't realize you've slipped away to get some air. You're finding that the crowd has come bigger in the short amount of time you've been here and navigating through it has become difficult. You're having to bob, weave and shove your way out, letting out a sigh the closer you get to the front of the house. You're also really glad you've been able to steer clear from—

"Shit, my bad." You unintentionally bump into someone making your way to the front from the side of the house due to you keeping your head low.

"Y/N?" You whip your head around to see Yoongi raising a brow, dropping his arm from the same chick's shoulders.

"Hi." You give him a fake, tight-lipped smile and rush your way to the front of the house. Thank god you finally make it because you were starting to feel claustrophobic, even being outside. However, you weren't prepared for Yoongi to come after you and grab your wrist the way he did.

"Wait, I didn't expect you to be here." Out of defense, you quickly snatch your wrist away from his grip and furrow your brows at him.

"Yeah, and now I'm leaving."

"Why, hang out for a bit—"

"And what, Yoongi? Watch you be the life of the party? Watch you walk around all fine and dandy like shit never happened between us?" You feel the tears welling up on your bottom lids, but you promised yourself you would never cry over him again. You refuse to. He had already taken up so much of you that you refuse to give him any more.

"Is that what you really think?" He says, the hurt apparent in his expression. To be frank, no. Yoongi really, really never meant to hurt you. And just like he had mentioned before, he would never forgive himself if he ever hurt you. He hasn't forgiven himself. He hasn't forgiven himself for how he let you slip out of his grasp when it was his own fault for pushing aside his feelings for you. He thought the world of you, the only woman who kept it real with him and stuck by him through the highest of highs, lowest of lows. There was no one as special as you, no one who could ever be as special as you, no matter how many times he tried to sink his dick into other females.

No one was real like you.

But, he was also conflicted because of that. He felt like he couldn't give you the love you rightfully deserved, he didn't think he could love you properly. He had so much to learn and he didn't wanna hurt you in the process. It sounds so fucking stupid [because it is] that he thought distancing himself was better than just being honest. He was a dumbass high schooler, he didn't know any better. But, he never meant to make you feel special for one night, then run from it. You were always special to him. You had always been. You always will be. And these past years hurt like a bitch, but he coudn't find the words to explain. Eventually, he just believed he would do less damage if you both remained distant this way.

Although, he longed for you. He really needed you just as you needed him. He always has, always will.

So when the two of you bump into each other tonight, he felt like maybe, it was a sign. Maybe it was time to stop being childish.

God, he missed your face.

God, he was a fucking asshole.

"No, I'm not doing this shit." You shake your head. "Just— continue to stay away from me, okay? I'm better off without you." The words sting you, but it doesn't sting you as much as it stings Yoongi. You glare at him once more before you turn on your heel and begin walking down the street to head back to your dorm.

"Y/N! Wait up!" Clarice calls for you, eyeing Yoongi as she passes him to catch up with you down the street. "Hey, hey. You okay?" She swings her arm around you when she catches you silently crying to yourself. "What did he do, Y/N?"

"He fucking exists, that's what." You groan. "Ugh, fuck! I'm not supposed to be crying over his dumbass, I'm better than this Clarice— Why the fuck am I crying over it?" You break down, crouching down to your knees, causing Clarice to hover over you and pull you into a hug.

"Maybe you just need to let it out and stop forcing yourself to not feel anything."

"I hate him, I hate him, I hate him." You bawled into your arms. "I hate him so much." She caressed your back. "But he still finds a way to mean so much to me."

"I think it's time for you two to talk."

"I can't. It's just better this way."

"Are you sure? Because look at you, Y/N. You're a mess, and this hasn't even been the first time you broke down about him. As much as you want to believe that you're fine without him, you're not. He was your bestfriend and I think you need him more than you even know yourself."

"He's doing fine without me."

"You don't know that, baby. Dudes are annoying as fuck because they can literally go on about their day and mask that shit well. If he's ready, let him explain. Hear him out. You both may be misunderstanding the entire situation." It takes you a good minute before you can finally gather yourself and make it back to your dorm room with Clarice.

She was right.

But you were so angry more than anything. You were angry and you weren't sure how you could get past it.

He left your side. 

And so the next day, you go about your day in class, staying quieter than usual during practice. For the most part, Coach Chu was always on your ass because of how vocal you were and how much you caught an attitude when things didn’t go the way you'd like it to. So, to see you this quiet, almost sullen even, concerns him. But, he already pressed you once and he wasn't gonna do it again to avoid irritating you any further.

You run the usual conditioning drills, practicing play by play before a final scrimmage game for the night. You push yourself hard like you always do, almost coming out of practice dry heaving from how tired you are. It was your bad habit though, you wouldn't quit until you got it right. Until you felt right. And unfortunately, it's another one of those nights where you feel unsatisfied with your performance. So, you take it upon yourself to continue practicing in the empty gym that was set to close within the next hour. You're tired out of your mind, and you know this is probably a bad idea, but you can't shake off the feeling of dissatisfaction. To you, that was the next worst thing. Right behind Yoongi.

You begin to work on your three pointers, lay ups and shots out of range before you start to play a scrimmage game with yourself.

"I'll play you." You suddenly hear, the sweat beads dripping down your forehead at this point. You watch Yoongi as he drops his water bottle off at the side of the court before walking over to you.

"Go away."

"Afraid you'll lose?"

"No, I just don't wanna play your ass." You shot up the ball, only for it to bounce off the backboard and land in Yoongi's hand.

"Ball up. Let's play till 10."

"Why the hell do you wanna play me, Yoongi? Don't you have a random chick to bone?"

"I'm clearly standing right in front of you aren't I? Quit fucking talking and play." He aggressively passes you the ball to check it in, you following suit, making the ball damn near bounce off of his chest with how hard you pass it back. He knew exactly how to rile you up.

You get into the zone quickly, trying to find some kind of redemption for the way you had been feeling lately. Redemption, validation, way to take the edge off— anything, really. It was only until the first person scored to 10, but Yoongi was putting up one hell of a fight, jet black hair parted down the middle and matted to his forehead from the sweat building up. You take the lead, sitting at 8 while Yoongi sat at a sad 6 points.

"Ball." You call out as you scored a layup, ramming yourself against the padded wall with the force you had put up.

"That's 10."

"Ball, Yoongi." You huffed and puffed.

"Stop, don't overwork yourself. You just got—"

"Suddenly you care? Stop being a pussy and pass me the goddamn ball." He furrows his brows as he passes you the ball, crouching down to meet you at eye level to try and guard you. You run towards the right of the court, pulling a pump fake before you pivot to get away from Yoongi's guard. You pivot hard and drive it up to the basket, only to fall on the wrong footing and twist your ankle on the way down. "Ouch, fuck!"

"Shit, Y/N!" Yoongi comes to your side, hand supporting your back as the other is on your ankle.

"I'm fine, leave me—"

"Stop being so fucking stubborn and let me help you." He says angrily. You don't say anything else while you fix your position on the floor. "Can you wiggle it at least?"

"Y-yeah." You wince as you wiggle your foot and roll it around a couple of times. Phew, at least this shit wasn't gone for good. But Coach Chu still wouldn't be happy to hear you sprained your ankle releasing your anger on Yoongi during a dumb game. Yoongi helps you stand, arm around your waist as he throws your arm around his neck and holds you steady by the wrist.

"Try walking on it."

"I can, but it hurts a little." Yoongi sighs.

"You just sprained it. Let's go get you some ice or something at the nursing center before going back to your dorm." You silently nod as you hang onto Yoongi for extra support, careful not to make the situation any worse than it already is. He has you sit on the chair within the nursing center, the nurse coming over to wrap your ankle nicely before giving you crutches and some instant hot compress to pop onto it. She orders for security to drive you two over to the dorm building in their go-cart so that you wouldn't have to do much walking on your foot while you focused on healing.

Yoongi doesn't leave your side, even after you've walked into your dark, empty dorm room, not really knowing where Clarice is at right now [possibly library]. He shuts your door and sits you on the edge of your bed, setting your crutches near your bed side and your instant hot compress.

"You need anything else?" Your head hangs low as you slightly chuckle and shake your head.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask him lowly before looking back up at him, tears clouding your vision. "Hm? Why, Yoongi?"

"You're hurt, why wouldn't I—"

"Hmm." You hum. "I'm hurt? So where the fuck were you after prom night? When I was hurt then, where the fuck have you been?" You began to cry.

"Y/N." His tongue swipes over his lips before he sighs. "I'm sorry." He says, close to a whisper.

"Are you? Because I don't think you really understand how bad you hurt me." You aggressively wipe away your tears while continuing to look at him, his body language soft and full of regret. "You didn't care about me."

"How could you say that? I cared—" He sighs as his head drops for a second. "I care about you more than you know."

"If you did then why the fuck was it so easy for you to drop me the way you did?!" You yelled. "You just don't do that to the people you care about, especially if it’s your bestfriend."

"Look, you're right. I have no excuse for the way I acted, and if I could turn back time to re-do it, I would. But I can't, and the only thing I can do is apologize and do my best to make it up to you." His bottom lip trembles as he steps closer to you, a small frown forming at the corners of his mouth.

"Yoongi." You cried. "I did everything for you, I stuck by you through everything, even during the times you didn't deserve that shit from me. But I stayed! I stood by you because you meant everything to me and god—" You groaned. "I needed you. I needed you and you weren't there! I fucking hate you for doing this shit to me but part of me will always have love for you no matter how fucked up the situation is. I will always drop everything for you. I will always care about you, and it's so unfair." It broke Yoongi's heart and he didn't know what to say, but he wraps his arms around you anyway, keeping you in a tight hug against his chest. He's surprised that you let him, even more surprised at how he feels your body soften under his touch.

"Fuck, I'm so, so sorry bub." He says lowly as he presses a kiss on top of your head. "I'm so sorry."

"Please don't ever go again." You cry against his chest.

"No, I'm not. I'm gonna be right here." He says hugging you tighter. "You're the only one who's ever understood me, who's ever kept it real with me. I don't deserve you, but I know damn sure I'll work hard to make up for letting you go in the first place." He places another kiss on top of your head. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere. I'm so sorry."

- - -

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

"THE STANFORD BOYS TAKE THE CHAMPIONSHIP!" The commentator screams into his mic, Yoongi running a lap around the court before he's cheering loudly with his teammates and joining the group hug. You run down the bleachers, dashing straight into Yoongi's arms while he swings you around.

"That's what I'm fucking talking about!" You squeal and giggle as Yoongi places you back down and plants multiple kisses around your face, hands resting on the small of your back.

"Let's get out of here." He whispers in your ear.

"I'll wait at your car, bighead." You wink, causing him to smile that gummy smile of his that you adore more than life itself.

There's obviously a huge party going on tonight to celebrate this huge achievement, but Yoongi says he doesn't wanna join for once. He's happy, yeah. But the way he wants to celebrate is in peace. After so long, he feels like he can finally say he's content with where his life is at and where it's going. He drives over to the nearest beach, backing into a space so the both of you could sit in the back and try catching all the shooting stars up above. Yoongi leans against the side of the trunk, allowing you to lay your head on his lap while you curled up beside him listening to the waves slowly crash against the sand.

"Saw one." He says, looking up at the sky.

"You're a punk, no you didn't."

"What?" He laughs. "How are you about to say that? I caught it with my own two eyes."

"Oop! I saw one!"

"Now that's a lie. I was looking up too."

"Shut up." You laugh, causing Yoongi to tickle you along the sides before he stops and plants a kiss on your lips. It's silent for a minute while the two of you take in the night view— The sky and ocean coming together as one, forming a view that seemed endless.

"Hey."

"Hm?" You hum as Yoongi's fingers gently brush through your hair.

"You know I love you right?"

"Ew with the sappy shit, Min Yoongi." He laughs.

"Seriously."

"I know." You smile up at him. "I love you too."

"Come here." He says softly, tugging you upwards. You sit up, allowing Yoongi to press his lips against yours. He pulls you in by your shirt, having you straddle his lap while he grips onto your hips and immediately grinds against you. You let out a small moan feeling how quickly he hardened, his cock hitting you in the right places as you continue to grind on him. "Fuck, wanna feel you babygirl."

"Here?"

"Yeah." He chuckles and bites onto his bottom lip.

"What, all of a sudden you're scared?"

"Fuck off." You fire back, releasing his hardened member from its confines as you stroke him gently. He tilts his head back in pleasure before tugging your shorts and panties to the side, enough for him to cop a feel of how wet you are.

"Baby's all wet."

"What're you gonna do about it?" You whisper against his lips, biting onto his bottom lip and pulling back slightly. He hisses at the sensation before he moves your hand from his cock and takes control. He pushes you upward, positioning you enough to line up with your entrance.

"Take this shit off."

"Yoongi, we're in public."

"So, you're all talk and no play."

"I hate you."

"Nobody's here." He groans. "Just take off your shorts, pleeease." He begs as he slowly strokes himself. You toss aside your shorts, Yoongi immediately hooking his finger at the bottom of your panties and tugging it aside in order to push himself into you. He does enough before he lets you do the rest of the work and sink down on his length, a gasp leaving your throat as you take all of him in. He grips your hips tightly, setting the pace as he groans into your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair resting at the nape of his neck.

"Shit, babe." You moan as you tilt your head back.

"Fuck, you always ride me so well." He presses light kisses against your neck before he's nipping at the surface.

"Godddd why do you feel so good?" You whimper.

"You like how I feel inside of you?" You nod. "Yeah? Like how my cock fills you up?"

"Never gonna get tired of it." You moan, Yoongi making you pick up the pace aggressively. Besides the waves crashing, the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin fills the car, along with your soft moans and Yoongi's groans. Your clit is constantly rubbing against him, causing the pleasure to build so quickly it becomes overwhelming. You try to hold off as much as you can but—

"My pretty baby. All I fucking need." He almost growls, the words enough to send you over the edge. You let out a loud moan, not even caring for the houses nearby as your orgasm hits hard and ripples throughout your body, sending aftershocks. Yoongi continues to have you ride him fast and hard, the overwhelming sensation causing a hint of pain to mix with more pleasure until  you feel him feel you up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He groans as his nails dig into your skin, giving two good thrusts upwards into you to help ride out his high. You both sit in the position for a minute, trying to come back down from your highs. Yoongi gives you a delicate peck on the lips, smiling into the kiss before he pulls away. "Swear you're all I need."

"See, I don't know if I could say the same." He smacks your ass as you hike up and off of him to put on your shorts.

"Take it back."

"I'm kidding." You blush.

"My ride or die. Are you with me?"

"Always have been. Are you?"

"You know I am."

"Good. You know it takes two." He smiles before pulling you into another hug and pressing a kiss against your temple.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 4: Man Pouts on Couch

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder is not feeling lucky.

In hindsight, he should have suspected something was off today; Scully kept looking at her watch.

It’s Friday, March 13th, and he thought it’d be cute to invite Scully out for a drink again, make a little joke about it becoming a Friday the 13th tradition. This could work, he thinks. His plan is simple; ask her out every once in a while, for some reason or another, with the intention of eventually coming clean and setting up a proper date.

At five o’clock he stands up and stretches with performative nonchalance. “Buy you a drink, Scully?” he asks, cocking his head towards the calendar pinned to the office wall, surrounded by newspaper clippings and grainy photos.

She pauses with her arm halfway into the sleeve of her coat. “I…” She falters and presses her lips together, looking suddenly guilty.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, a pit growing in his stomach.

“I’d love to, Mulder, but I actually have a date tonight.”

The earth stops spinning and Mulder is thrown off balance, hurtling through the atmosphere.

“Oh,” he says softly. “That doctor guy?”

Scully nods, not meeting his gaze. “His name is Mark,” she says. “We’re getting sushi.” She looks up at him then, big blue eyes soft. “A rain check?” she asks hopefully.

She owns him; one look like that and he’d sell his soul to buy her a cup of shitty coffee. “Sure. Another time, then,” Mulder says, gathering up every scrap of composure he has left, patching together a smile for her. “Have fun.”

He goes home and throws himself face down onto the couch.

She has a date. A real date, with a presumably mentally stable human man with a high-value job. And a daughter. A ready-made family, just add water and stir. This Mark guy probably calls her Dana, asks her how her mother’s doing, feeds her bits of sashimi with no threat of aliens or shadow governments in sight. Maybe he’ll kiss her at the end of the night, softly with closed lips like a gentleman.

What stings the most is the fact that this Doctor Mark had the balls to tell Scully outright that he’s interested in her romantically, something Mulder has yet to do.

Mulder knows he should eat, but his stomach is churning and the idea of food sickens him. He’s being dramatic and irrational; it’s just one date. But the implications are weighty, the potential enormous.

He feels bad for being upset. This is good for her; she needs to get out of the basement, connect with other rational people, find some normalcy and balance in her life.

You need those things too, he hears her say in his head.

He brushes it aside. It’s different for him; he created this life for himself. He’s a collapsed star, a black hole of conspiracy and paranoia that sucks in everything that gets too close. The last thing he wants is for her to get lost in his darkness, swallowed by the void like some interstellar debris.

She’d told him that night in Rock Creek Park that she does’t blame him for what’s happened to her, but that doesn’t assuage his guilt. He carries the weight of what she calls her choices, a load she has no intention of sharing with him, awaiting no acknowledgement or thanks.

He’s doing it to himself.

Mulder whiles away the hours on the couch, gazing up at the constellations of pencil marks on his ceiling, tossing his basketball above his head. He drops it on his face twice.

He knows it’s probably only going to make him feel worse, but he’s a glutton for punishment; so at eleven-thirty that night he picks up the phone and calls Scully.

He waits for her to answer, his heart sinking lower with each ring. She’s not picking up. Is she still out? he thinks anxiously. The guy has a kid, so it’s unlikely that they’d stay out too late unless he’s arranged it with his babysitter…

“Hello?” Scully’s slightly husky voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Scully,” he says, tentative relief creeping into his body.

“Mulder, what is it?” she asks. “It’s late. For normal people, anyway. Are you alright?”

“‘M’ fine,” he assures he. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

He hears her hum in understanding. Late night phone calls between them aren’t uncommon, after all. “Have you tried counting sheep?” she asks, not unkindly. “Or slowing your breathing down, focusing on the cadence of inhales and exhales like I showed you?”

He’s wide awake, sitting upright on his couch, still in the slacks and wrinkled button-down he wore to the office that day. “Yes,” he lies. “It’s not helping. There’s too much going on in my head right now.”

“You work too much,” she says gently. “And yet not enough, when deadlines are involved. We’ve got an impressive paperwork backlog-”

“Can we not talk about work right now?” He reaches down and unties his shoes. “Otherwise I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Right.” There’s rustling on her end. She’s in bed, he realizes.

“Did I wake you, Scully?” he asks, trying to hide his surprise.

“It’s fine, Mulder, I was only dozing,” she replies.

“Oh, how was the date?” he asks, as though it only just occurred to him, instead of being the only thing he’s thought about all night.

“It was nice,” she responds, and he drops his head onto the back of the couch in defeat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit-

“We talked about medicine, about cancer, loss. His daughter’s name is Amanda,” she continues. “Her mother - his wife - died when Mandy was only two, so he’s mostly raised her alone.”

“That’s rough,” Mulder says softly. Please don’t make me feel bad for this guy, Scully, I can’t bear it, he thinks.

“Mhm,” she agrees. “And his work at the hospital is pretty grueling, so his mother helps out a lot. I… I told him about Emily.”

“How’d that go?” Mulder asks, concerned. “It’s not the most… plausible-sounding story.”

“I was vague,” she replies. “All I really said was that I had recently reconnected with a child I’d been separated from, right before she died. He didn’t ask for details; he could probably tell it was a fresh wound.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Do you think you’ll see him again?” Mulder asks quietly. Somehow he already knows what she’s going to say, and he braces himself for the sting of her words as they pierce his heart.

“I… I think I will,” Scully says, sounding distant. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”

She deserves this. She deserves a chance at something ordinary, safe, comfortable.

“Maggie Scully didn’t raise a quitter,” he says with a watery smile she’ll never see.

She chuckles. “No, I suppose she didn’t,” Scully muses. He hears her yawn. “I’m tired out, Mulder. Think you can sleep now?”

“I’ll try,” he says. He’s surprised to feel his eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears. “Thanks for talking to me,” he adds.

“Anytime. Sleep well,” she says warmly, and the line goes dead.

He supposes he brought this on himself by keeping his feelings hidden. He waited too long, playing it safe. He wanted to gauge her feelings before he made any overt moves, and someone else beat him to it.

It’s just one date. But there’s going to be more. By the sound of it, she wants there to be more.

There’s no way he’s going to sleep well tonight.

He’s in a sour mood when he’s summoned to the Gunmen’s… den? lair? headquarters? the next afternoon, by way of one of their patented cryptic phone calls.

Byers unfastens the dozen locks on the door and lets him inside. “Mulder,” he says, ushering him in. “Good to see you.”

Mulder flops down in a rickety desk chair, exhaustion permeating his muscles. “I’m not up for being social today, boys,” he warns. “You said you had information for me?”

“We took the liberty of looking into Agent Scully’s new… uh, friend,” Byers says.

“For safety reason,” Langly adds, seeing Mulder’s lips purse.

“She’s precious cargo,” Frohike says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“How did you find him?” Mulder asks. “I didn’t even know his first name until yesterday.”

“Don’t insult us with your surprise,” Frohike mutters. “We’re experts.”

“We knew he’s a part of the parish Scully attends-“ Byers begins.

“And we knew he’s an ER doc, has a 6 year old daughter, and a dead wife,” Langly cuts in. “That’s plenty to go on.”

“I don’t need to know more than that,” Mulder says, suddenly feeling guilty. “It’s not my business.”

“Maybe not, but we have the info,” Frohike says. “Look, all you need to know is that he seems legit. Name’s Einolander, if you were curious.”

“I wasn’t,” Mulder lies, taking a sunflower seed out of his pocket and biting it pensively.

“Of course not,” Byers says, sounding completely unconvinced.

“You alright, Mulder?” Langly asks. “You look rough.”

“Of course he does,” Frohike hisses in the least subtle whisper of all time. “Scully’s dating someone that’s not him. Cut the guy some slack.”

“You guys don’t know shit,” Mulder grumbles, then backtracks, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. I, uh... didn’t sleep well.”

“It’s okay, man,” Langly says.

Frohike nods sagely. ”We know how you feel about her. This can’t be easy for you.”

Mulder wilts in his chair. “How did you know?” he asks pathetically, realizing the jig is up. Has he really been so obvious this whole time? Fucking hell.

“Look, knowing things is our business,” Byers explains. “And we know you. We’ve been around the block with you a few times, and nobody’s meant this much to you. Not even Diana.”

“Plus, Agent Scully is a smokeshow, and you have eyes,” Frohike adds. Byers gives him a jab with his elbow. “Hey, I stand by that,” he declares, rubbing his arm.

“Well thanks anyway, fellas,” Mulder says, standing. “I should get going. The walls in my apartment won’t stare at themselves.”

“Do you want the file we put together on the guy?” Byers asks. “We can make copies.”

Mulder shakes his head. “Keep it. Draw a mustache on his photo or something.” He picks up his coat and slings it over his shoulder. “You kids have fun.”

“If you need anything, just flag us down,” Frohike says, patting Mulder’s back before unlatching the door.

Mulder steps out the door, then turns back. “How old is this guy?”

“Forty-one,” Byers says, flipping through the file. “Five-foot-ten, dark blond hair, brown eyes. Blood type-”

Mulder holds up a hand. “I don’t want to know. Bye, guys.”

He gets a petty, juvenile satisfaction from the fact that he’s two inches taller and four years younger than Dr. Einolander. It’s short-lived, but at this point he’ll take what he can get.

Because he can’t get Scully.

[paperrretro]

got a whole lotta love (for them city streets)

Pairing: Aaron Z. x Reader

Word Count: 2,062 words

Warnings: None

The sun hangs full and yellow in the clear June sky, sweltering on your skin and rendering your Hershey’s bar a gooey, sticky mess.

You squish the unopened chocolate in between your thumb and index finger, watching idly from the bench as the ball flies upward in a tall, smooth arc. It bounces off the hoop for the third time.

“Book, you shoot like my grandma!”

“Shut up, man!”

Sneakers scrape against the asphalt, and the basketball is scooped up again.

Sweat trickles down the back of your neck the same time Book wipes underneath his nose. You’re two years younger than him and the farthest thing from an athlete, but even you know that your brother sucks at basketball. It was funny at first. Then it was embarrassing. Now, you’ve learned that everybody knows, and nobody really cares outside of some good-natured heckling because the others like Book too much.

Book yells your name, and you look up, slow as molasses. “Water,” he calls, hand held up expectantly.

With a sigh, you grab the plastic bottle and lob it at him, cheek pressed against your fist and eyes half-lidded. The throw is pathetically short, and Aaron ends up catching it and tossing it to your brother. Geez, it’s hot. You don’t even want your chocolate anymore; you just want to sink into a bathtub full of ice cubes.

“What kinda throw was that?!”

“’M tired,” you complain.

“You’ve been sitting on your butt the whole time.”

“’Cause it’s freakin’ hot, Booker.”

“It’s pretty hot,” Kev agrees, airing his T-shirt out.

“Your mom’s pretty hot,” says A.J.

Kev jumps up and puts A.J. into a headlock. Book cackles.

While the two boys break into a scuffle, basketball forgotten for now, Aaron heads over to grab his own water bottle. You perk up.

“Hey,” you say courageously, ankles crossing and the toes of your shoes tapping against the ground.

Aaron nods at you, neither smiling nor frowning, and your face warms for reasons unrelated to the weather.

You try again. “Who d’you think’ll win?”

You don’t get a reply for a few seconds, and you deflate at the thought that Aaron’s flat out ignoring you. But then he gulps down some water, narrows his eyes at Kev and A.J. in contemplation, and answers your question in a low voice. “Kev.”

“But A.J.’s taller.”

“Kev’s stronger.” A pause. “And smarter.”

You let slip a mortifying wheeze. Cheeks flaming, you cough and try to school it into a more attractive laugh – but the damage is already done. Aaron turns away slightly to stifle a snort, and you wish the sun would melt you into a puddle and then vaporize you.

Great, [Y/n], now he thinks you’re a complete weirdo. And gross and sweaty.

(Aaron’s also sweaty, but he’s one of those guys that looks great when they’re sweaty and –)

“Okay, okay, chill! She’s not hot, or whatever!”

True to Aaron’s prediction, A.J. caves, struggling out of Kev’s hold and unfolding back to his full height. Aaron glances down at you with a raised eyebrow, and you snap out of it long enough to return the gesture.

“How come you’re always right?” you ask.

He shrugs, wiping his forehead.

“Aaron!”

The two of you turn towards Kev. The next thing you know, the ball is headed straight for your face at the speed of light.

Book probably yells at you to move. You can’t, in any case.

But just before the basketball smashes your nose in, a hand – Aaron’s hand – shoots out and catches it. You flinch a second too late, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp puff soon after.

“Watch it, man,” Aaron calls out to Kev sharply, who calls out an apology. He adjusts his hold on the ball with both hands and glances down at you with a furrowed brow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, staring up at him. (You can see his freckles.) You clear your throat. “Y-Yeah! Thanks.”

Aaron jerks his chin up in a silent response, then turns and dribbles back to Book and the rest of his friends on the court.

They resume the game, and you resume watching, no longer as tired as you were before. A rare breeze passes by to cool your skin as Aaron makes a basket, then another, a rare grin on his face as the others start to yell at him for showing off. The basketball bounces off the sunbaked asphalt. Thud, thud, thud.

He looks over at the bench, sometimes. You hope that it’s to look at you.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.

—

Book, Kev, and A.J. had first met Aaron in middle school when he joined the basketball team, and the rest was history. Some people just click. You guess Book and the guys had been a four-piece puzzle all along.

Aaron was different, in a good way. Balanced them out. Where your brother and the others were brash, he was witty; where they were loud, he was quiet. The first time you’d even heard him speak more than one sentence at a time was three months after meeting him. But the cool thing about Aaron was that he didn’t really need to talk to get his point across – and when he did talk, he never wasted words. You know your brother respected him for that.

Anyway, Aaron had always been a cool guy. Good at basketball. Good at dancing. Good-looking. And nice.

You’ve probably crushed on him since the beginning, to be honest.

“Yo, Aaron Z.!”

When he left for Florida to break into the pop music industry with some other guys, none of you had doubted that they’d make it big. But MTV big? Seeing him on teen magazines at the store not even two years later? It’s weird. And awesome. You’d missed him, and now he’s finally back.

Aaron takes Book’s hand and brings him into a hug. He does the same with A.J. and Kev. You linger behind your brother, trying not to look like you’re waiting your turn or anything.

Eventually, the two of you meet eyes, and as Aaron lets go of Kev and approaches you, you notice several things at once.

Had he gotten taller? More muscular? Was his jaw always that … defined?

Aaron smiles. He offers a hug.

Your arms feel like lead as you accept it.

Why does he smell so nice?!

“What’s up?” Aaron asks you.

“Nothing,” you say, because what are you supposed to say that would be even remotely interesting to him now? “Just school stuff.”

“‘Just school stuff.’” Book grins, catlike. “I’ve been hearing 4*Town from someone’s room since you sent us your album in February,” he croons, throwing his arm around Aaron’s shoulder and leading him toward the house. “[Y/n]’s a biiiiiig fan.”

You could strangle him.

“No, I’m not,” you mutter. (It sounds like a big fat lie.) “They’re – they’re good songs.”

“Okay, 4Townie,” drawls A.J.

“Shut up.”

Aaron just raises his eyebrows. You feel like you’re thirteen all over again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Book brushes you off and pushes everyone into the house. “Ma! Everyone’s here!”

It’s the last summer before Book and A.J. head off to college. They’ll both be close enough to Glendale to visit on the weekends, but things have been changing, and everyone can sense it. Four had become three, and three will become two. There’s no recreating how things were. Ma says that it’s what’s been putting Book into sour moods lately.

So for the rest of the day and deep into the night, they do the best they can, and you sit along for the ride like you’ve always done.

“You get along with your bandmates?” you ask, flipping through the school yearbook that Book had left on the living room table.

It’s almost two in the morning now. Your brother’s snoring in the beanbag across from the couch that you and Aaron are sitting on. A.J.’s half-asleep (or fully asleep? You can’t tell) on the carpet, six feet and two inches half-covered in a Lilo and Stitch blanket, and Kev had left earlier because his grandma had called him to come back home. Ma’s been in bed since ten. So, really, the two of you are basically alone. Together.

“Yeah.” Aaron finishes off his root beer and sets it down on the coffee table.

“Y’all must be pretty close, huh?”

“Not like this.”

He means Book and Kev and A.J. He means Book and Kev and A.J.

You chew the inside of your cheek. Turning another page, you spot a familiar face that makes your gut twist in jealousy. “Hey, it’s Penny Nguyen. Didn’t you guys date your sophomore year?”

Aaron leans over to see where you’re pointing, and you hold your breath as his arm presses against yours. “We did,” he replies, eyes tracing her name.

“Bet she’s kicking herself now.”

He shakes his head. “Penny ain’t like that.”

She really isn’t. You hate that she isn’t. Staring at Penny’s picture, at her perfectly winged eyeliner and toothpaste-ad smile, you blurt out the question you’d been sitting on for too long. “Why’d you break up, anyway?”

“I stopped liking her that way, I guess,” Aaron says.

“Why?”

All he does is shrug, not meeting your eyes.

After a few more minutes of disinterested reminiscing, you close the yearbook with a soft snap, tossing it back onto the table. High school had never been your thing. You had gotten through the past three years with few friends that you never hung out with during breaks, pushing through each class and trailing after Book and his friends down the city streets like a lost puppy. They had been pretty popular. You know a lot of girls liked Aaron, not just Penny. But she was the only one that he had dated.

“You talking to anyone?”

The question startles you enough to make you snort. “Pfft, me? Nah.” And because you’re dying to know: “Are you?”

“No.”

“A million chicks lining up for 4*Town, and you don’t have any of their numbers.”

He shakes his head.

“Wouldn’t go out with a fan?”

“Nah.”

You know that he wouldn’t. (Good thing you’re not a fan. It’s different. It’s different, because you’ve always liked him.) “Okay,” you say. “Then you’d rather date someone who doesn’t know who you are.”

“No,” Aaron says, scratching the back of his head. Then he mumbles, “Probably someone who already knows me.”

“Oh,” you say.

Oh, you think, followed by, [Y/n], he is not talking about you.

The last thing you want to do is point out that, hey, you already know him. That would sound so desperate. And presumptuous, because you’re just the annoying younger sibling that Book’s had to bring along because your mom forced him to – and fine, they never treated you like a chore, they bought you Slurpees and eventually taught you how to shoot baskets and you think that they all had come to like you at least a little bit – but still. Aaron’s too good for you. He had always been too good for you, even before he got to show the entire world why.

“Not surprised,” you end up saying in the end, grinning wryly.

As per usual, you have a hard time gauging Aaron’s reaction. But it’s late, and you shouldn’t keep talking when your brain-to-mouth filter is dangerously close to breaking, so you stand up to clear your head before you say something stupid.

“You staying?” you ask. He stifles a yawn and nods. “Night, then.”

“Wait.”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn to Aaron as he reaches over the arm of the couch to grab his backpack. He fishes something out and gets up to hand it to you.

You take the chocolate bar into your hands, staring at the little swirling designs on the paper wrapper.

“Got it at the Seattle airport for you,” Aaron tells you quietly.

Your throat nearly closes up, and you figure, vaguely, that your heart suddenly must be too full of something else to save room for embarrassment.

“Cool,” you murmur. “Thanks, Aaron.”

He smiles, patting your shoulder.

“’Night.”

“’Night.”

As you head to your room to put the gift on top of your dresser, a silly little hope is planted in the warm and fuzzy space in your chest. And, oh, how silly it is. It’s just a chocolate bar.

But still.

[misslilli]

Thank you to the lovelies who are still here ❤️

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 22 - B Is For Basketball

[ DS ]

October has faded into November, pumpkin-spiced latte has been replaced by peppermint mocha and plans for Thanksgiving break have been secured, my mom beside herself with joy that Bill Jr. will be returning from his assignment overseas just in time for the holidays.

At school, we’ve made paper turkeys for our window decorations in school, and slowly, I’m beginning to get into the holiday spirit myself. I stay late on this Friday afternoon to put the finishing touches on the turkeys, cutting out paper candy corn and taping everything to the insides of the windows that line our classroom. ‘Looks pretty good, the kids finally got the hang of cutting paper along the lines neatly.’

I exchange my heels for my gym sneakers after a long day, grab my book bag and head out, locking the door behind me. The eery calm of an empty school building soothes me and I turn out the lights of our hallway. When I look out into the school yard, I notice that someone has left on the lights in our gym and I roll my eyes. That someone might have been me forgetting after my lesson today, so I cross the yard quickly to turn them off before I head home.

When I enter the gym, though, I freeze at the top of the bleachers. The floor is empty safe for one Fox Mulder, dribbling a basketball and shooting hoops. I know I should just turn around and leave him to it, but I just can’t help watching, slack-jawed, as the muscles of his back ripple under that tight t-shirt. It’s not often that I get to watch him without getting caught, so I allow myself to stare for just a little bit longer, heart hammering in my chest.

I only realize that my hands have gone limp when my keys hit the floor with a deafening crash and I almost jump out of my skin. ‘Run! Move! Now!’ My legs are not cooperating, damn them, and I see to my horror that he whips around and spots me standing on top of the bleacher’s stairs.

“Jesus, Scully! You trying to kill me?” ‘Those damn forearms of yours are what’s killing me…’

His surprised expression morphs into a smile. “Skinner said it’s okay if I used the gym for practice in the winter. What are you still doing here?”

“Uh... I was hanging turkeys … and I noticed the light on … and I thought that I had left them on after my lesson … and yeah…” ‘Stop rambling, you idiot!’

Now he’s grinning even wider and I can tell he’s going to tease me mercilessly. In my head, I start a list of ‘10 things I hate about you.’

“Didn’t know you hang your own turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, Scully, that’s pretty badass of you!” ‘I want to smack that smirk off your pretty face right now, how’s that for badass?’

I roll my eyes at him and he has the audacity to look incredibly pleased with himself. “Have you ever shot a three-pointer, Scully?” ‘What now?’ I take a moment to contemplate what to say next.

“No. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m only a few inches taller than a yardstick, so I guess I have found more necessary things to do with my time than fail at basketball.”

He jerks his head holding up the basketball. “Get over here, Scully.” The tone in his voice makes my skin tingle.

I’m almost 100 percent sure he thinks I won’t do it, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of backing out now, so instead of shooting him down, I walk down the stairs slowly until I’m standing in front of him. I have to tip my head pretty far back to give him a blank look and the eyebrow and smack the basketball out of his hand, sending it bouncing on the floor a few times. Now it’s my turn to smirk at his surprised expression.

Laughing, he goes to pick up the ball and I think of other things I’d like to smack as I get a good look at his backside when he bends down. “Alright sassy lady, you stand here and I’ll try to get around you to the hoop. You need to block me and take the ball from me, okay?”

We move into position and he dribbles the ball a few times. “Okay. Just don’t body-check me!” ‘Oh yes please, body-check me. Tackle me. Wrestle me down to the ground.’

“Body-checking’s for hockey, Scully, so don’t worry!” He moves suddenly, to pass on my right side and I follow, trying to get the ball out from under his hand but he turns and twirls around me and in three long strides, he’s jumping up to the hoop, sinking the ball into it with a satisfying swoosh. Color me impressed.

“You want to try?”

“There was some talk about shooting three-pointers, I think I’ll stick to that for now. Where do I start, here?”

“No, that’s the free throw line. Back there’s the three-point line. Now don’t be nervous, I know for a fact that you can take a shot. Or three…” He looks so pleased with himself at the hint, but it only makes me flash back to Halloween night. Steve. Easy lay.

Shaking the thought from my head, I take the ball he offers to me and bounce it a few times.

‘Oy that’s pretty far away from the hoop, crap. Too late to back out now, Dana.’

I move to stand at the indicated line, holding the ball between my hands and concentrating hard on the hoop, I throw it. The ball sails forward in a pathetically low arc, missing the hoop for miles. If he laughs now, I swear to God, I’ll hang his ass from the backboard.

Thankfully for him, though, he bites back the teasing and instead, moves around me to stand against my back. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up at his proximity. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Reaching his arms around me, his front pressed against my back, he holds the ball in front of my face. ‘He’s too close, damn it! Houston, I have a problem!’

He nudges my foot outward and forward a little with his and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. “Legs shoulder width apart.” Next, he takes my wrist, raising my arm to 90 degrees and places my hand underneath the ball. “Spread your fingers and rest the ball on your palm. Only touch it with your fingertips.” I swallow hard around a lump in my throat, nodding. ‘Mayday, mayday!’

My left hand is placed on the side of the ball. “Don’t grip the ball with your left hand. Now you need to bend your knees and jump.” I start to hyperventilate when it dawns on me where exactly my ass will be pressed against when I bend my knees. But his hands leave mine as he steps back and the loss of warmth on my back makes me shiver.

I jump and make my shot and while it’s infinitesimally better than my first shot, I still miss. I groan in frustration, I hate being bad at something.

“I’m just too short, damn it!” ‘If I start to cry now, I’ll hang myself from that backboard.’ Now I’m not only agitated and nervous, now I’m frustrated on top of it all.

He gets the ball back and hands it to me, a thoughtful look on his face and I wonder what he’s up to now. “Hmm… okay, let’s try something else.”

I almost jump out of my skin when his hands grab my waist just below my ribs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, Scully, I’m giving you height.” I’m feel lightheaded. “Okay, on three you jump and make your shot. 1, 2, 3!” I follow his orders and he lifts me over his head as I shoot for the hoop, my heart going a mile a minute, a faint ringing in my ears.

This is all so perfect and romantic and sexy all at the same time.

No, wait.

It’s too perfect, too romantic, too sexy, too close, too much. too soon. too many unknowns. too scary.

When he lowers me down his front slowly, I stumble forward as I regain some footing under my feet, whipping around and breathing hard. I don’t even hear the swoosh of my money shot.

Only managing to choke out a strangled “I gotta go!” before ripping up the stairs, through the doorway, into the chilly November night.

Leaning my head back against the teacher’s bathroom door, my mind flashes back to the night on Halloween, bits of conversation reverberating in my head. “Not relationship material. Hot teacher. Catholic girl. Golden Retriever. Easy lay.”

I go back in history to all the times I’ve found myself curled into a ball on the floor of my bathroom, my living room, my kitchen, in my bed. Crying so hard that no sounds left my mouth, all the pain in my chest making it hard to breathe.

I knock my head backwards into the door once, frustrated.

I’m just too broken. Damaged goods.

I wait for what feels like hours but is probably just a few minutes before turning off the lights and heading home.

----------

[ FM ]

‘Shit. You overstepped. You made her feel uncomfortable. Unsafe.’ I want to slap my stupid-ass self as I watch the doors close after her. ‘It seemed like she was having fun, what happened? Should I go after her? Does she want me to?’ After a long while I put the basketball where it belongs, turn off the lights and leave the gym in search for her. I have no idea where to look and if she even wants to be found, but the thought of me causing her pain sends me running through the dark school anyway. I stop to listen for sounds several times, but everything’s deadly quiet. I can’t find her.

Shit.

[batterycityghoul]

Boys Like You (Steve Harrington/Reader)

Summary: You’re sure Steve Harrington will never notice you. Billy Hargrove sets out to prove you wrong. 

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Inspired by the song Boys Like You by Kids at Midnight. This is my first Steve Harrington fic, so I’m a bit nervous about this. If you like this, then letting me know would make my day. 

Masterlist / Read on AO3 / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

"Harrington again? Really, Y/N?"

"Shut up," you muttered, clutching your journal closer to your chest.  

Billy shot you an unimpressed look before glancing pointedly at the journal. Or maybe he was looking at your chest. With Billy, it was always a little hard to tell. 

"He's never going to stop sniffing after Wheeler," Billy pointed out as he dropped down into the seat beside you. "So, you should probably stop pining away for him in your little diary."

"Shut up," you repeated, shooting him a glare before you turned to drop your journal into your backpack.  

"I'm just saying," Billy started as he leaned closer to you. "I wouldn't mind helping you get over your broken heart."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, unaffected by his attempt at a come-on. "Just get your textbook out. We've got work to do," you reminded him as you flipped open your math notebook.  

You weren't really thrilled when Mrs. Green asked you to tutor Billy Hargrove. It wasn't even because you knew he was a shameless flirt and would attempt to get in your pants at every turn. It was because he was truly apathetic about the subject and you knew you would have your work cut out for you.  

After the first few sessions, you were more than a little surprised to realize that you were bonding with Billy. He always came off as a smart-ass who couldn't give less of a damn about school or anyone in it. It didn't take you many after-school tutoring lessons with him to realize that it was mostly just a façade. He acted tough and gave everyone shit, but there was something else going on with him. You just weren't quite sure what it was yet.  

When he caught you watching Steve and Nancy do their little heartbroken dance around each other, you were more than a bit worried that he would use your pathetic crush against you.  

Instead, he scoffed and shook his head before slinging his arm around your shoulders to steer you away from the former couple. "You can do better than Princess Steve, Y/N."

"What?" You were shocked by his words. He almost sounded like he cared.  

"Harrington has his nose stuck so far up Wheeler's ass," Billy continued with a roll of his eyes. "You deserve someone who's going to give you every ounce of their attention," he purred, a smirk forming on his face.  

"And there it is," you muttered before shaking off his arm from around your shoulders. "You're shameless," you told him before you walked away from him, ignoring the sound of his laugh as it followed you down the hallway.  

Now, Billy was considering you with an expression on his face that nearly had you concerned.  

"Okay," he drawled before he nodded his head.  

"Okay?" You couldn't help but wonder what he meant.  

"Okay," he confirmed before he opened his textbook and began to idly flip through the pages.  

"Okay?" You repeated, worry leaking through in your tone.  

His pleased smirk did nothing to reassure you about his intentions.  

You really should have known that he would find a way to fuck you over, though. It didn't happen until your third period math class the next day. Billy had taken to sitting in the seat next to yours. He claimed it was because he wanted to copy your work, but you couldn't help but start to suspect that Billy might actually think of you as a friend.  

You were waiting for him to drop down into the seat next to yours, but instead you noticed he took Steve's usual seat near the front.  

"Billy," you hissed in an attempt to get his attention.  

Billy glanced at you over his shoulder before sending you a wink. He then leaned across the aisle to start talking to Steve's usual neighbor, feigning interest in her backpack of all things.  

You were going to attempt to drag Billy to his rightful seat before you noticed Steve walk into the room. You felt your face flush as you dropped your gaze down to your notebook. You toyed with the cover, nearly ripping off the corner in your desperate bid for a distraction.  

"Move it, Billy," you heard Steve demand as he pulled to a stop near his desk.  

"Don't be rude, Harrington," Billy told Steve as he gestured towards the girl across the aisle from him. You noticed she looked nearly dazed at having Billy Hargrove's attention solely on her. "We're talking. Just take my seat today."

You shook your head and wished that you were brave enough to fling your notebook at his head. You really didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, though.  

You heard Steve huff out a defeated sigh before he continued down the aisle in your direction. You noticed Billy track his movements, a satisfied grin on his face, before he nodded at you.  

You bit your lip, burying the urge to yell at him as Steve slid into the seat next to yours.  

"That guy is a real asshole," Steve grumbled as he slumped further down in his seat. "How do you stand him?"

You froze for a moment as you racked your brain for a witty reply. Wasn't that why Steve liked Nancy? She was clever and funny and intelligent and beautiful. Even though she was with Jonathan Byers, he still seemed to be so smitten over her. What if you didn't quite measure up?  

"Uh," you managed to get out before glancing quickly to him. "By only listening to about ten percent of what he actually says?"

Steve studied you for a moment before he snorted in approval. "He's lucky you give him that much," he observed before he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the front pocket of his coat and slipped them onto his face.  

You weren't sure if you were meant to say anything else, so you turned your attention towards the front of the class. You were aware of Steve twirling a pencil between his fingers as he waited for class to start. You wanted nothing more than to reach into your backpack and grab your journal. You had started a sketch of Steve the day before that you wanted to finish. There was an expression on his face now you longed to capture, but you wouldn't risk it with him sitting right next to you.  

It was bad enough that Billy had caught a glimpse of the sketch, but if Steve happened to see it?

You didn't think you would manage to live through that kind of humiliation.  

You were distracted for a moment by the sound of Billy's laughter. You couldn't help but wonder if he had another motive besides playing wingman for you with Steve as he leaned in closer to the girl next to him.  

You rolled your eyes before you shot a helpless glance at Steve.  

You were surprised to see that he was already considering you.  

"Sorry," he told you when he realized you caught him staring. "It's just..." he trailed off before shooting a look at Billy. "Aren't you two together?"

"No," you hastily denied with a quick shake of your head. "I'm tutoring him," you simply offered as an explanation. That wasn't really the right description for your relationship with Billy now, but you were hesitant to throw the 'friend' title around. Billy Hargrove didn't really seem the type to have friends and you didn't want to assume you were anything more to him than a way to get a better grade.  

"Huh," Steve breathed in acknowledgement.  

When he didn't offer anything else, you tried to think of a way to further the conversation. You longed to talk to Steve. You didn't really care about anything trivial like his previous status as high school royalty or his looks or perfect hair.  

No, your crush reached all the way back to elementary school when Tommy Hagan accidentally bumped into you at recess in second grade and sent you sprawling on the asphalt of the basketball court. You had tears in your eyes as you looked down at the scrapes on your knees, blood beginning to well in the cuts.  

Steve had been there to pick you up and escort you to the nurse's office. He stayed with you until the nurse assured him you would be fine.  

It only took one act of chivalry to spark a crush that would persist for ten long years.  

Over the years, you shied away from Steve. He had everyone wrapped around his finger and you couldn't help but think that you were nowhere near cool enough to warrant his attention. You spent so many afternoons in your kitchen lamenting your crush on Steve to your mom. She always tried to console you with a promise that you were far too special to hide from a boy you would forget about once you graduated high school.  

You knew better, though. You didn't think there would ever be anything or anyone capable of overthrowing Steve's reign over your thoughts.  

It didn’t help that things had changed. Steve had changed. He shook off his ‘King Steve’ status during junior year after he started dating Nancy Wheeler and started an unlikely friendship with Jonathan Byers.  

You knew you still didn’t stand a chance, but once word of Nancy dumping Steve started circulating around school, a foolish little flame of hope started to spark within you.  

You never would have thought that Billy Hargrove would be the one to try to keep it lit.  

When class started, you thought you lost the opportunity Billy had gifted to you. You were sure that Steve would zone out during class or attempt to listen to Mrs. Green’s lesson.  

You startled when the paper ball landed on your desk just a few minutes into Mrs. Green's lecture.  

You glanced to Steve in question, but he had his head tipped back as he seemingly stared at the ceiling.  

You slowly uncrumpled the piece of paper before reading the note scribbled on the page.  

You getting any of this?

You couldn't help the tiny smile that stole across your face at seeing Steve's message.  

You carefully wrote your own reply before slipping the paper back onto his desk once Mrs. Green's attention was back on the chalkboard.  

You managed to keep a conversation going with Steve for the whole class. You felt a little thrill whenever he chuckled or grinned at whatever you had written in response to his words.  

A part of you couldn't help but think that this was finally it. Steve had noticed you and you were finally having a conversation. Better yet, Steve seemed invested in what you had to say.  

By the end of class, you were starting to crave his responses. You hated that you had managed to go from hopelessly crushing on Steve to hopefully anticipating more of his attention.

You took your time packing up your things in a vain attempt to stall. Your next class was sadly Steve-free and you wished for one sign that you weren't being misguided to think that Steve wanted to keep talking to you.  

"So, hey," Steve started as he turned towards you. "I think..." he trailed off, his focus turning towards Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers as they passed by the doorway of the classroom.  

"You think?" You prompted when he didn't seem like he planned on elaborating.  

"I'll see you later," Steve mumbled before he hurried from the room. You felt yourself practically deflate at the sound of him calling Nancy's name.  

"Come on," Billy coaxed as he grabbed your backpack. "I saw you passing your little notes to Harrington. Fess up, Y/N. You got a date yet or what?"

"No," you answered as you reached out to try to take your backpack from Billy.  

Billy carefully held your backpack just out of reach as he turned towards the door. “Well, something must’ve happened,” he pointed out as you trailed dejectedly after him.  

“Nothing happened,” you told him before you finally managed to pull your backpack from his grasp.  

"Ah," Billy mused when he led you out into the hallway and caught sight of Steve talking to Nancy. Billy clapped a hand to your shoulder and began to lead you away from the pair. "Tough break, kid," he muttered, completely ignoring the fact that you were the same age. "We'll just try harder next time."

"Please don't," you pleaded as you tried to forget how mortified you felt in that moment. You didn't think you could take more heartbreak or a possible rejection from Steve. You would simply live out the rest of your senior year with your head down and ignoring your feelings for Steve Harrington. They hadn't gotten you anywhere in a decade and you doubted they would be much use to you now.  

"Too late," Billy responded with a shake of his head. "I can't take you moping about anymore, so if it's Harrington you want, then it's Harrington you'll get."

You considered Billy for a moment, wondering why he was so adamant about fixing you up with Steve. As far as you were aware, they hated each other. But one look at Billy's earnest expression had you caving.  

"Fine," you finally conceded with an exasperated groan. "Do your worst."

"Oh, I plan to," Billy assured with you a smug grin that did nothing to quell your nerves.

Author’s Note: Part 2???

[sunflowersteves]

Unforgivable || ch. two

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Your life with Natasha seemed like pure bliss until the team mistakes you for an agent gone rogue. 

Word count: 2K

Author’s note: Cliff hanger, I knowwww. There will be one more part! I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: angst, fluff!, swearing, angsty plot, basically the whole team is a dick

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Your feet start to ache as you continue to walk on the dirt road that led from the compound. You honestly had no idea where you were going, your phone was at five percent, and the Avengers had just threatened your life. Tears started to prick your eyes as you thought about Natasha. Anger consumes your thoughts, hot tears, and furrowed eyebrows. How could she not trust your love for her? How did the Avengers even have any information like that?

You blamed her for not trusting you. You blamed her for not trusting her love for you. You blamed her friends for not looking into it more. You blamed her for-

You just sigh and shake your head. A part of you wanted to give her a chance, to go back and see if she believes you. The other part never wanted to see her again, ever. Another part of you growled at the side that wanted to go back; you were almost ashamed of it. The Avengers had threatened you. They threatened your life and never once believed you over some paper.

But you were so confused. Your heart clenched at the thought of never seeing her face again or never having her fiery hair tickle your cheek.

You abruptly stopped as the road split into two. You tried checking the map on your phone but it acted like there were nothing here but fields. You sigh, sitting on a large rock near the road. You felt a vibration from your phone and quickly looked at it.

Hot RedHead: It’s over. I never liked you anyway.

Tears started to fully flow now, your chin wobbling. You started to chew on your lower lip to help stop the raking sobs flowing out of your body but it was no use. You were now leaning against the rock and pulling your knees up, resting your hands in your head. God, this all seemed so pathetic. You really love Nat, you can’t get her out of your head but what does she think of you now?

Natasha’s POV

Natasha was going as fast as she could, turning corners on her motorcycle it almost fell over. She had no idea how far you had gone. She was hoping you were still walking along the road. She knew you would push her away right when you saw her but can she blame you? Her friends made her believe you were a Hydra agent. But all she could think about was cradling you in her arms and telling you she’s sorry, hoping you’ll forgive her.

She knows it’ll take time. However long it’ll take, she doesn’t care. She’ll wait until you’re both 60 and a little wrinkly if she has to. But Nat also understands if you don’t choose her. With the amount of damage, she and her friends caused she doesn’t blame you if you never wanted to see you again. She would definitely respect that choice.

Fire burning anger ignited in herself. She can’t believe how shallow it was to believe her friends who stupidly mistook you for someone else. She felt so much anger towards them, convincing her that you were with her for information. How could they be so stupid? How could she be so stupid to trust them?

She came to a screeching halt as she spotted you leaning on a rock. She propped her motorcycle and carefully walked over. She practically whimpered as she could hear your soft snores. She could see the tear-stained cheeks and her heart constricted. Your nose looked stuffy from all the crying and your eyes had a slight puff to them. 

She presses a hand onto your forehead and could feel the heat radiating off of you. It had been quite a hot day in New York and she didn’t know how long you had sat out here. She sighed and picked you up, laying in her arms you subconsciously snuggled into her. She feared that if she took you on her bike, you would end up falling off. So, walking it is.

Natasha marched along the dirt road, tears flowing down her cheeks. Some dripped down onto her shirt as she couldn’t wipe them. She just whispered “I’m sorry,” over and over again and carried you to the nearest bus station. 

After about an hour of walking, Natasha had finally made it to the bus station. She paid for your ticket and sat you on the bus, head leaning on the window. She looked around and saw that only an old woman sat on the other side. She told the bus driver to keep an eye out for you and she nodded, telling her that no one would touch you. Nat just nodded and started to trek back to the compound.

--

Reader’s POV

It had been a couple of days since Nat broke up with you. You kept telling yourself that you were...handling it but in reality, her leaving had hit you pretty hard. You hadn’t really left your apartment, only going to the store for groceries. You called in for work telling them that you were sick but they knew you were lying. Especially your best friend, Shuri. Right when you called in sick, she immediately asked what was wrong but knew you needed time off. 

You sat on the couch and sadly ate ice cream and started watching The Lovebirds. You would be drowning in your favorite wine but they ran out so you turned to tubs of ice cream. As the movie progresses, you find yourself crying with some tears dropping into your ice cream as Issa Rae and Kumail Nanjiani realize they’re still in love with each other. 

You turned off the TV as the movie was over and was about to get ready for bed, especially since you’ve run out of sick days but something caught your eye. Your bag had sat on the dining room table, completely untouched. A little note stuck out of one of the pockets. You walk over and carefully take the note out.

Meet me at the blockhouse in central park on the 7th, 9 pm.

You sigh, that was tonight. But you knew exactly who it was. You knew Natasha wanted to speak with you, maybe she changed her mind? That definitely explains how you don’t remember ending up on a bus.

You just shook your head, crumbling it up, and tossing it in the trash. There was no way you would fall for that, right? I mean, it’s just the Avengers wanting to throw you in jail or maybe that’s just where they wanted to kill you. You and Nat had met there, her asking you for your number and you had many dates walking around central park. 

They just wanted to reel you in. They were smart, you’d give them that but there’s no utter way you’d go. So, you got ready for bed and fell right asleep. The next morning you had to go to work, as much as you trudged along, groaning loudly as you got dressed. You stayed quiet on the subway as your friend talked your ear off.

You walked into the International Rescue Committee, slightly waving at some of your co-workers. You sat at your desk, doing some paperwork before visiting some of the kids you’ve helped. You especially couldn’t wait to see Peter, who has been attached to your hip since you arrived. You’re typing away, sipping on some coffee until you jumped a bit from a voice behind you.

 “Oh shit, you look awful.” You roll your eyes and give a look at Shuri who’s snickering at your reaction. You and her both turn a bit more serious as you sigh and turn to her small tears forming in your eyes. She wraps her arms around you into a full hug. “Nat broke up with me. Her friends saw my name in a Hydra file and thought I was out to get her.” 

Shuri gasped, hugging tighter. “Did they believe you?” You shook your head and ignored the stares you were getting from you crying in Shuri’s arms. “I see why you took some days off. Don’t worry about it. I’ll fill out your paperwork. Go see Peter.” She smiled brightly as you thanked her, kissing her cheek. “You’re the best boss ever!”

You walked next door to a large and fancy apartment complex where most of the refugees stay. You knew he was playing sports with some of the other kids so you walked past the complex and to the basketball court. “Y/n!” Peter ran towards you, locked you into a huge as you giggled and ruffled Peter’s hair. “Good to see you, kid.” He goes on to ask a bunch of questions, wondering where you’ve been and why you weren’t there. You explained some of it, to which he nodded and then declared to hate the Avengers now.

You laughed but you knew he was serious. He meant well. You and the rest of the kids start playing some basketball, laughing and playing around. What you didn’t notice though was the Avengers walking up to the basketball court. Before they reached you and notified you of their presence, one of the kids fell onto their knee and scraped it pretty bad. 

Loud cries and sobs filled the air and you ran over, inspecting the wound. “Sh, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Peter! Get the aid kit!” He ran into the complex to grab one from the front desk while you rub circles into the little girl’s back. Peter came running back and you took some soap and water, cleaning the wound. “See that bird over there? I want you to look at it okay? See it? It told me the other day that it likes your paw patrol shoes.” 

The little girl cried out only a couple of times as you cleaned the wound and put a power rangers band-aid on her, which you knew was one of her favorites. She clung to your leg asking if you can get her ice cream because it still hurts. You laugh and nod, holding her hand.

“Y/n.” Your whole body froze, slightly turning to see the Avengers standing before you. You gripped the little girl’s hand while pulling a frown on your face. “Peter, take her to get ice cream.” He just nodded and gulped, taking the girl’s hand and walking to the ice cream shop next door. He gave you a concerned look but you nodded, making sure he knows you’re okay. 

You open your mouth to speak but Clint just shakes his head, the rest of the Avenger’s head hanging low. You were honestly scared shitless, you tried not to give it away. However, it was pretty obvious as your hands were trembling and your breathing was fast. They were here to end it, weren’t they? I mean, sure you’ve stayed away from Nat so what could they possibly want?

“You should know that we’re sorry.” Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. Sorry? Huh? “The person on that file wasn’t you. The picture was the exact opposite. We shouldn’t have reacted that way. We’re very sorry and hold us accountable. If you can, please forgive Nat.” And with that, each Avenger apologized for what they did and asked you to consider taking her back.

You would just raise your eyebrows but then they told you that she feels horrible, not sleeping or eating. She feels like shit for not trusting you, the love of her life, and trust them instead. You couldn’t speak, just shaking your head as tears threatened to fall. They nodded and walked away going back to the compound.

Now you had to make a choice. Forgive Natasha or never see her again? On one hand, you wanted to be back in her arms again. Smelling her shampoo and kissing her temple all while that passion and love fill your stomach. But on the other hand, the Avengers had threatened you and your life. Natasha thought they were right. Natasha believed them, believed that you used her for information.

Although, you know you’ve already made your decision.

~~

Unforgivable Taglist: @messuhp​ @dark-heart-no-soul​ @jenny-song​

Taglist: @hailmary-yramliah​ @kitkatd7​

[fanfic-requests]

The Angel Next Door - Chapter 2

8:15 am…

“Good morning. Sleep well?” My mom is way too chipper in the morning.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Wow. Very detailed answer.”

“What? Do you want me to tell you how I drooled on my pillow and rolled off the bed twice?”

“Actually, kinda.”

“You’re weird.”

“What’s up slugger?” Dave walks in.

“Nothin’.”

“Wow babe, you’re kid’s quite the wordsmith.” I’m about to respond in a not-so-nice way, but I hold it back.

“When’s the pool gonna be ready?”

“It’ll be a few weeks.” My mom hands me a glass of orange juice.

“Thanks.” I start walking away.

“Hey! No food or drinks upstairs.” I turn to face Dave, really tempted to throw the OJ in his face.

“So no water? What about vitamins? Technically they’re food.”

“Haha, smart aleck.” He turns away from me and I flip him off.

My mom gives me a look that says “stop it!” and I just turn away, leaving my OJ on the nearest table.

When I get to my room I am very tempted to slam the door, but somehow manage to not do so. I open my window and just step out onto the deck to get some fresh air for the moment. And yet again there’s Asher. He seems to be playing some video games. So I reach into my room, grab a sock, ball it up, and throw it at his window. And he doesn’t notice. Son of a bitch. So I grab a pen and throw it. This time he notices and walks over to his window.

“What you doing?”

“Just playing some Madden.”

“Sounds fun.” I stand up, run across the roof, and jump across the gap between our roofs, landing directly in front of him.

“Shit! Dude!” He looks freaked out and I just start laughing.

“It’s all good. Now, are you gonna let me in and get destroyed in Madden? Or are we gonna just stand here like some weirdos from a 90s rom-com?”

“You’re crazy.” He steps back to let me in.

“I take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.”

I sit on his bed while he grabs another controller.

“I can’t believe you’re even awake right now. Did you even sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

“So you’re super athletic and don’t sleep. Are you sure you’re not Spiderman?”

“Nope. Just a retired gymnast.”

“Gymnast?”

“What? You didn’t get gymnast off me?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

“How are you already retired?”

“Well I guess retired isn’t the right word. Just the one my mom uses.” I spot a photo on Asher’s desk and walk over. “It’s more that I got sick of it and left.” The photo is of him and what I’m assuming are his mom, dad, and younger brother and sister. “This your fam?”

“Yeah. From our trip to the Bahamas last summer.”

“Looks fun.”

“You’re parents seem nice. Saw them unpacking yesterday.”

“Dave’s not my dad.” I make sure to emphasize that.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No problem. Most people assume that.” I sit back down next to him. “My dad’s out of the picture now. Dave’s the evil stepfather.”

“Sorry.”

“He’s just the stereotypical evil step-parent. It’s actually his fault that we moved here. Some business opportunity or whatever.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry about that.”

“You say sorry a lot.”

“Sor… Oops.” We both laugh.

“Now can we just play or are you scared of losing?”

“What? You’re the one that started talking about Dave.”

“Oh shut up!” I shove him and he shoves me back as we laugh.

“That was just dumb luck.” I stand up, throwing the controller on the bed.

“Dumb luck? 12 times in a row?”

“Oh fuck you.” Asher laughs. “Let’s do something else. Go out or something.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Out.”

“You sound like my mom.”

“I haven’t met her, but I’m assuming she’s amazing.”

“Eww.”

“Let’s go.”

“Wait. Let me at least tell my parents.”

“Fine. Come on.” I open his bedroom door and standing right there is his mom.

She smiles at me, looking very confused.

“Hi. I’m Spencer.”

“Hey.” She looks very confused, but luckily Asher comes walking up.

“He’s the new neighbor.”

“Oh! Really good to meet you. I was planning on dropping by to say hi to your parents later.”

“Oh, they’d love that.”

“I didn’t even hear you come in earlier.”

“Oh… yeah… I’m very quiet.” Asher and I share a funny look.

“Well, Spencer and I were just about to go out. Can I borrow the car?”

“Sure. Where are you guys going?”

“Oh… um…” Asher is nervous and part of me doesn’t want to save him.

“He’s going to show me around town.”

“That’s nice. You guys have fun.”

Asher and I run out to the car.

“Do you need to go and get shoes? Maybe tell your mom and Dave that you’re going out?”

I look to the house for a second.

“Nah.” I jump into the car and I just see Asher smirk at that.

“Is he really that bad?” He asks as he drives out of the driveway.

“Worse. But everyone loves him. He’s only awful to me, and never in public.”

“Like… is he…”

“No. He’s not physical. He wouldn’t even dare. I would knock him out with one hit and he knows it.”

“Damn.”

“Let’s move on to something else.”

“Like what?”

“Tell me a summary of your life… in 60 seconds.”

“Oh…”

“Begin!”

“Shit! My name is Asher Angel…”

“Angel?”

“Shh. Since I was a kid I’ve been very into acting and singing. Got my first big gig at the age of six. From there on I’ve done a lot of plays and then a few small gigs before getting a major role on Disney Channel’s Andi Mack. I’ve released multiple albums. Then I got the role as Billy Batson in Shazam.”

“Five seconds.”

“Oh, and I love Top Golf, basketball, and my sibling’s names are Avi and London.” I just look over at him, unable to speak. “You good?”

“Um… describe good.” We both laugh. “Well, now I feel ridiculous. How did I not recognize you? I’ve seen Shazam!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I liked it a lot too.” Asher can’t help but laugh. “Well, now I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.”

“And now my life story feels pathetic.”

“I doubt it. No way your life could be boring. The first time I saw you you were sneaking off your roof.”

“ It’s fine. Let’s move on.”

“Come on. I won’t judge.”

“Wait! Stop here!” I point to our left.

“What? The playground?”

“What? It’s empty.” He pulls over and I quickly get out of the car.

I rush over to the bars. I jump on them and just start swinging around.

“You’re crazy.”

“Come on. Who says a playground is just for kids?”

“Everyone.”

“Well, kids can’t do this.”

I know this isn’t the safest, but at this point, I don’t care. So I push with all my force and spin around the pole. I spin a few more times before letting go and doing a simple under swing dismount.

“Shit!” Asher starts clapping.

“Thank you. Thank you.” I bow to him.

“I think it’s so cool that you can do that.”

“It is pretty cool, isn’t it? Bars aren’t really my thing though. I’m more of a floor guy.”

“Floor guy? That sounds a bit gross.” We both laugh.

“Eww.” I step back and quick front handspring.

“Shit. Can you do the splits?”

“Of course. But not in these pants.”

“So why’d you quit? You’re so good.”

“Swings!” I run to the swings.

“You’re really good at avoiding things. You know that, right?” Asher sits on the swing next to me.

“I know. You got a girlfriend?”

“Wow. What a transition there!”

“And?”

“No. I don’t have a girlfriend. Well, I did, but we broke up a few months ago.”

“Bummer.”

“And you? You leave a girl behind?”

“Oh god no. But I’ve had a few boyfriends. Not a recent one though.”

“Oh... “ I love seeing people’s faces when they realize I’m gay. “Sorry I assumed.”

“It’s fine. Most people do.”

“So you’re out?”

“Yeah. For two years now.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, are your parents fine with it?”

I sit there for a second and just stare forward. Part of me just wants to run, but I’m honestly just too tired to keep running.

“Well, my mom was fine with it. She told me she knew for a long time.” I feel my heart racing, thinking about all of this. “As for my dad…” I literally begin feeling my chest moving at a dangerous speed.

“You okay?”

“Not really.” I find my eyes tearing up, but then I just laugh.

“You sure.”

“Not really.” I laugh again. “When I was six my parents divorced. And I was given the choice of who I wanted to live with. I choose my dad.”

“Oh…” I can tell he’s intrigued like it’s a telenovela… and it is.

“So I lived with him. But I still saw my mom every weekend. We were close. But I was much closer with my dad.”

“That’s nice.” I can’t help but laugh at that and he just looks at me confused.

“Two years ago I came out to my parents. My dad couldn’t handle it. He kicked me out. I didn’t even get to pack. My mom picked me up and she had to pack all my stuff.”

“Damn. I’m sorry.” It is a struggle to not let my tears out right now.

“It’s all good.”

“Have you talked to him at all?”

“Nope. Haven’t heard a single word from him for two years now.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“It’s fine. I’ve moved on.”

“There’s no moving on from that.” And then I snap, tears slowly falling down my face.

“God I wish I had my flask right now.” Asher and I both laugh a little. “Ugh, I hate this.” I wipe my tears.

“It’s not a bad thing to cry.”

“I know…”

“Really. Emotions aren’t a bad thing. If you ever need to talk about anything just jump on over.”

“Thanks…” I look at him. “Are you sure you’re straight?” I laugh, but I notice he doesn’t.

“Wanna go get some ice cream?”

“Look who’s avoiding things now?” We both laugh. “Come on. Ice cream sounds perfect.”

[georgescatcafe]

heaven can wait (we’re only watching the skies)

rating: t warning/s: slight internalized homophobia pairing/s: dreamnap genres/tags: high school au, friends to lovers word count: 6,639 summary: Dream was initially going to go to prom with him. Not, like, as a date, but… as a friend. Just two guys hanging out together. They’d go together and hang out and make fun of the people there, maybe, and they’d eat food that neither of them trusted to be good and they’d see if the punch was spiked and they’d have fun. Together.

And then Sapnap had checked the school website to find the rules changed. Only students from their school allowed, no exceptions. And Dream was homeschooled in a program completely separate to the school.

It sucked.

And now here Sapnap is, emptily drinking soda and watching a basketball game featuring teams he honestly doesn’t even care about. And thinking about Dream.

+ao3

;;

“Dude,” Sapnap says into the phone, staring blankly at the school’s website, “I have, like, zero interest in prom now that you can’t come. That rule is so stupid.”

“It is, but you’re not sneaking me in and getting suspended,” Dream replies.

“That’s only if I get caught,” Sapnap argues, “which I won’t.”

“Don’t even risk it.” Dream sighs, and Sapnap lets out one of his own in agreement. “Just go, and think about what we can do the next day—ice cream, maybe a drive to the beach, hey! Monday is Skip Day, right? Let’s stay the night at the beach. That’s awesome, right? Prom and then all that?”

“Prom without you, though?” Sapnap isn’t convinced.

He can see Dream’s frown crystal clear in his mind. “Don’t throw away unforgettable experiences just because of me. Besides, aren’t some of your friends going?”

“Our friends,” Sapnap corrects, even though that’s not entirely true. In freshman year, before, they were always more Sapnap’s friends than Dream’s, and even then, there weren’t that many in their group—just Sapnap, Dream, a guy from chess club, and two guys from the egamer group that met once every too many months.

Dream lets out a breath. “Our friends,” he agrees, nonetheless. “So isn’t that enough?”

“It’s just not right,” Sapnap says. “You belong in my unforgettable experiences, Dream.”

“Don’t go waxing poetic on me, Pandas,” Dream scolds, though it’s hard to take him seriously with both the nickname and the fondness creeping into his voice. 

“I’ll do it,” Sapnap repeats, “sneak you in. I’ll do it and I’ll get away with it and it’ll be fun. For both of us.”

“Sapnap,” Dream tries one last time, and he sounds so tired, so utterly exhausted, that Sapnap cuts him off.

“Fine,” he says, “you win. You’re not going, and I’m going without,” Sapnap swallows, “without you.”

;;

Come the final day to buy tickets, however, and Sapnap is still without one for himself, and without a suit, and without a date, and without a plan on getting to prom. He eyes the ticket booth warily, knowing if he chooses not to buy one today, it’s over for him.

Janson, one of the guys from the egamer group, takes a seat at the lunch table next to him. “Are you going?”

Sapnap stares at the booth for another second before shrugging. “Not really my scene.”

“Your scene?”

“Loud,” Sapnap replies, poking halfheartedly at his soggy rice, switching to the fruit drowning in juice. “Lots of people. I don’t really care.”

“Is it ‘cause you don’t have a date?” Janson asks. “Because yeah, that sucks, but no one actually cares, dude.”

Sapnap glances over at him for a second before shrugging once more and finally taking a bite of his weird blueberry mush. “I know. It’s not ‘cause of that. I just don’t really want to go.”

Janson studies him before nodding and stirring his own blueberry mush around with a spoon. “Suit yourself. We’ll miss you, though.”

At that, Sapnap laughs. “You don’t have to lie for me. But thanks, man.”

Janson gives him an easy smile. “Any time.”

;;

The hardest part is telling Dream.

But Sapnap wasn’t lying when he told Janson prom isn’t his scene. It is a lot—lots of people, lots of noise, lots going on in general. He doesn’t care about nor want that. He’d rather take a quiet night at home watching basketball with his dad on the couch over getting knocked between sweaty girls and guys while bass shakes the floor beneath him. Maybe, if he doesn’t make him too angry, Sapnap can even convince Dream to come over before their scheduled meeting the next day.

He can only hope Dream understands as he types this all out in a late night Discord message explaining what happened. And then he tries to throw himself into a game of CSGO, and when that doesn’t work, a game of League. When that doesn’t work either, he just rises out of his chair and flops pathetically onto his bed, closing his eyes and praying for sleep to come fast.

When he wakes up, it’s to six new messages from Dream—a rare sight—and two missed calls. Sapnap stares at the notifications until his eyes sting.

Dream: i mean, it’s ur choice, but i rly don’t want u to regret this sap

He won’t. 

Dream: and as it turns out, my older sister has something going on this weekend, so we can’t meet up either :( sorry :(

That’s… okay. It’s fine. Sapnap gets it. Just a weekend for himself, then.

Dream: are u sure u don’t want to go? r u sure u’re sure?

Dream: i sound naggy ik i just don’t want u missing out on these things

Dream: ok?

Dream: sap?

Sapnap types his response—he won’t regret it, sucks about this weekend but it’s fine, Dream’s not being naggy, really, and sorry, he was asleep—then hits send and tries not to feel too bad about everything.

Unsurprisingly, “everything” doesn’t include the prom itself. Sapnap really couldn’t care less about the actual prom.

;;

The rest of the week passes by quickly, and before Sapnap knows it, it’s prom night, and he’s sitting on the couch next to his dad, basketball game on the TV and soda can in his hand. And then it’s time for prom to start, and the ball is tossed into the air. Briefly, Sapnap wonders if Janson scored a date—though he consoled Sapnap over his lack of one, he never talked about his own. 

Sapnap wonders what Dream is doing, why they didn’t decide to simply meet up tonight. Maybe he was sleeping? Playing Minecraft? Maybe he was thinking about Sapnap?

Maybe he was thinking about Sapnap.

Sapnap blinks, and the score changes from 12-8 to 12-11. From the other side of the couch, his dad leans closer to the TV. Sapnap sends a glance back to the kitchen, wondering if they still have those chips he likes. His dad crunches on cheddar Ruffles. 

Dream was initially going to go to prom with him. Not, like, as a date—not like that. That’s weird, but… as a friend. Just two guys hanging out together. Maybe they’d match, probably not, but they’d go together and hang out and make fun of the people there, maybe, and they’d eat food that neither of them trusted to be good and they’d see if the punch was spiked and they’d have fun. Together. 

And then Sapnap had checked the school website to find the rules changed. Only students from their school allowed, no exceptions. And Dream was homeschooled in a program completely separate to the school.

It sucked.

And now here Sapnap is, emptily drinking soda and watching a basketball game featuring teams he honestly doesn’t even care about. And thinking about Dream. 

Sapnap downs the rest of his soda. “I think I’m going to go play some League.” He stands and crushes his can in his hand.

His dad doesn’t look away from the TV. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” Sapnap says, but he doesn’t even know if his dad’s heard, since he’s already back in his room, door slammed shut behind him, can tossed into the trash and chair creaking as he falls into it.

Despite his dad’s words, Sapnap games late into the night, and when he wakes, his head hurts from the way he’s had it pressed to the desk, asleep for however many hours. He shakes his computer mouse till the monitor comes on and he stares at it blearily as he realizes he managed to close out of his games before falling asleep. His Discord is empty, no new messages, no missed calls, and he sighs before sending a message to Dream.

Long day?

He closes out of the app before spinning around and heading out of his room to scrounge for breakfast. His dad isn’t in the living room, though the bag of Ruffles he’d been eating from sits there on the coffee table, empty, and the remote still rests on the arm of the couch. Sapnap can only assume he headed to bed after the game ended.

Once in the kitchen, he searches through the fridge before deciding to just eat a bowl or two of cereal. Part of him is still into the fanfare of prom, and he’s filled with a quiet shock at how mundane Sunday morning feels, in comparison to what was likely a crazy night for a bunch of seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. Sapnap bites back a derisive snort. Last night was so crazy for him. Totally.

But it was his choice, and he doesn’t regret it. 

Now if he had gone, he’d regret that he’d gone without doing everything he could to get Dream there. And that’s a regret he just couldn’t live with. 

Sapnap sets his now empty bowl in the sink.

Skipping prom? Yeah, he doesn’t regret it.

;;

Come two weeks later, and Dream is sitting next to him on a park bench telling him about a different prom, one they can go to together, one without rules, without limitations.

Sapnap doesn’t even need to hear the rest of it before he’s agreeing, throwing an arm around Dream’s shoulders and talking quickly about how great the night will be. 

“It’s actually themed,” Dream finally interrupts him, holding a hand up and stopping Sapnap mid-daydream.

“Oh?”

Dream nods. “Decades. Got any ideas?”

He doesn’t. When he tells Dream as much, Dream sighs, staring out at the empty swingswet, the swings swaying slightly in the summer breeze. Sapnap sighs too, though he watches his friend, not the playground. “We could do, like, Dad Rock. Seventies, y’know?”

At that, Dream laughs, full and loud, and Sapnap smiles by reflex. Dream rests his chin in his palms, elbows digging into the tops of his thighs. “Remember when we read The Outsiders in eighth grade? What were they called? We could be those.”

“Oh,” Sapnap bites back a snort, “uh, greasies? No,” he and Dream speak at the same time, “greasers!” The laugh he’d been keeping down finally breaks free, spilling past his lips as Dream grins. “We could be those. We’re hot.”

“So hot,” Dream agrees, though he’s still giggling slightly, turning away from Sapnap so the other can’t see his smile, but his shaking shoulders give away his amusement.

Sapnap grins, bright, happy. “When is it again?” he asks.

Dream leans back, head tilting back so he can stare up at the clear blue sky. “A month from now. June 7th. Think you can go?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sapnap says, like it’s obvious. (Because it is obvious. Even if he couldn’t, he’d find a way to go. He’s just that loyal. To Dream, specifically, but that’s not important.) He clears his throat at his own thoughts. “I definitely can go.”

Dream looks to him, then, small smile on his face. “Awesome.”

Sapnap smiles back. Awesome.

;;

May trudges on like its stuck in the mud, Sapnap counting down the days until this rule-less prom. Dream was pretty sparing with the details, only saying it’s date and theme, and Sapnap can’t help but itch with the need to know everything. When he questions Dream for more info, however, the other shrugs him off, turning the tables and asking him if he’s settled on a decade yet.

“I thought we were choosing together,” Sapnap tells him over a Discord call one night, prom finally only a week away.

“So nothing?” Dream asks. “Let’s meet up tomorrow; we’ll figure it out then.”

It’s a plan, and come eleven in the morning, he and Dream are meeting outside of the city’s mall. “This feels kind of stupid,” Sapnap admits when they go through the sliding doors leading to Macy’s mens’ department. “Like, wow, we’re really putting effort into it.”

“Says you when there’s only a week left,” Dream replies. “Putting effort into it means having had our costumes in our closets since the day I told you about it.”

“True,” Sapnap replies, picking up a paisley tie from the clearance table. “What is this?”

Dream takes it from him, setting it back down. “Something we definitely don’t want.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap keeps his eyes on it as they walk away, “no shit.”

They don’t buy anything from Macy’s mens’ department. For an hour they wander aimlessly up and down the mall, more time spent talking rather than looking. It’s only until Sapnap’s stomach rumbles that the two of them realize they’ve gotten nothing done. Their feet finally take them to the food court.

“Shopping for a prom outfit is hard,” Sapnap says into his fries, while Dream nods in agreement shoving a chicken nugget into his mouth and staring down at a greasy spot on the table. “I mean, my feet hurt, and we haven’t even bought a t-shirt or something.”

“We haven’t even gone inside a store,” Dream replies.

Sapnap groans, shoving a fry in his mouth. “This is so stupid.”

They walk the mall again, this time going into various stores, pointing out ridiculous gag gifts and Sapnap picking up more hideous ties. Finally, Dream grabs a leather jacket off the Dillard’s clearance rack and tugs it on over his shoulders. It’s military-style, almost, the shoulders strong, and when Dream turns, it stretches broad across his back before tapering off at his waist. Sapnap swallows. It fits Dream well.

When Dream turns back around, Sapnap’s eyes shoot back up to his face, and he hopes his face isn’t as red as it is hot. He grabs the jacket next to it, also a large luckily, and puts it on. Dream gives him a thumbs up when he turns around to show it off.

“Looks good,” Dream says, and his cheeks aren’t red, and Sapnap isn’t disappointed about that.

They buy the jackets, think about what shoes they own, then buy some cheapy black shades.

“I don’t know if I can do my hair like they did,” Sapnap tells Dream when they go back through Macy’s and pass some grooming kits, jars of pomade on the shelf next to them.

“I might be able to,” Dream says, studying his reflection in the mirror on the post next to the grooming kits. He’s always kept his hair cropped pretty close, but Sapnap knows it’s been awhile since he’s gotten it cut, bangs starting to grow in the front, actually almost reaching his brows. Sapnap thinks it suits Dream, but he sees the way Dream always tries to push his hair back, though it always flops back into place.

“Maybe,” Sapnap agrees. “I think the glasses and jacket should be enough if you can’t though, right?”

Dream glances at the jars of pomade before nodding. “Right.”

;;

Dream and him got their licenses at sixteen, but Dream says he can pick Sapnap up Saturday, “don’t worry about gas money.”

“Are you sure?” Sapnap asks Saturday morning, both about the picking-up and the gas money.

“I’m sure,” Dream replies. “Just be out in front of your house before six, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Sapnap says. “You don’t think our parents want any pictures, would they?”

“Of course not,” Dream answers. “Your dad taking pictures of the two of us?”

“My stepmom maybe,” Sapnap laughs, but she left the house that morning, heading to the city to do her own business. She’s not going to get any pictures of them.

Dream laughs too before he finally says, “See you later then,” and Sapnap is left rushing to get dressed.

He feels giddy, almost, heart racing and stomach turning over itself. His hair has grown out much like Dream’s has over the school year, him never bothering to get it cut or trimmed, and he gives up on the pompadour when it comes out a wet looking lump on the top of his head, strings of hair falling in his face. He sighs and rinses out the product in the sink, leaving it to air dry and drip droplets onto his white t-shirt. By 5:45pm, he’s sweating, face flushed and chest tight, stomach still doing flips, and he ties his mostly dry hair back into a low ponytail, hoping it’s not too off-brand. Finally, he pulls on his jacket, though it feels restrictive and hot with the summer air and his nerves, and he has to stare at himself in the mirror for the next ten minutes repeating to himself that it’s just Dream and that it’s not romantic and that he’s acting like a freak, stupid and quite possibly into his best friend. (But he’s not.)

Then he marches himself out to his curb and sits.

Dream pulls up a couple minutes after six, his hair actually done Greaser-style, and damn it, he looks good.

(Sapnap can think that. He’s not blind. Anyone could see that his best friend is attractive. It’s just a general thing. Not a thing.)

When he gets into the passenger seat, Dream grins at him from behind matching dark sunglasses. “Looking good.”

“We look hot, man,” Sapnap says, a lot more casual than he feels.

The grin doesn’t leave Dream’s face as he puts the car in drive and takes off down the road.

Sapnap honestly doesn’t know where his nerves have come from—how is this prom any different from the school one, like, actually? How is Dream and him going to this one any different from them going to the high school’s? They won’t know anyone at this one, he’s pretty sure, but who cares? Isn’t that better for them? He glances over at Dream, who’s got his wrists crossed over the steering wheel as they speed down the highway to their destination.

It’s just Dream. Sapnap is just excited. It’s normal. It’s Dream.

He lets himself relax.

;;

“What the fuck?” Sapnap whispers to Dream when two girls pass by them looking straight out of some period piece. “I thought you said this was decades themed?”

Dream looks just as perturbed, brows furrowed as a girl and a guy dressed like pirates enter after the Victorian girls. “Guess they meant all decades,” he replies.

Sapnap stares at him before they reach the check-in counter where a woman with her face painted like a member of KISS checks their ages and directs them to the room where the prom’s held.

Madonna plays loud over the speakers, and Sapnap eyes a kid who spins his hands around his face while a small group of onlookers watch in awe. He glances over at Dream, who continues to face forward, leading him over to an empty table, undisturbed. When they sit down, Sapnap turns to the dance floor, where the Victorian girls are, twirling and laughing, and where a boy looking straight out of the 80s sways with another who wears a hat like Jamie from Mythbusters and suspenders attached to plaid, fitted pants. Sapnap watches them for another second before turning stiffly to Dream.

“Where are we?” he asks carefully.

“Sapnap,” Dream starts, but a look from Sapnap has his mouth shutting fast. He stares right back before sighing, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I mean, I knew, but I didn’t think it’d—look, we can leave. It’s fine.”

“Well,” Sapnap huffs, dropping his gaze to his lap, where his fingers grip the denim of his jeans tightly, knuckles turning white, “it’s not fine, but—I don’t really want to leave. I like—I wanted to go to prom with you.”

A laugh, and Sapnap looks over quickly to see the 80s boy tugging the Mythbusters hat’s jacket over his shoulders. Sapnap thinks he might be sick.

“Not like that,” he adds.

“Right,” Dream says.

The booming of the bass rattles Sapnap to his core, along with the table. Even the hand Dream has placed on it doesn’t stop it from shaking. Sapnap wonders what would happen if he were to take Dream’s hand. Dream pulls it back and drops it into his lap. Sapnap tightens his hold on his jeans.

“I am sorry,” Dream tells him. “But I didn’t really think you’d mind. We’re friends, Sapnap. Why does where we are have to change that?”

“It doesn’t,” Sapnap replies, but people can misunderstand. People will misunderstand. He tells Dream as much.

Dream frowns, leans forward. Sapnap doesn’t meet his gaze. “Sapnap,” Dream says, “why would they misunderstand?”

Because they match. Because, under the table, their feet knock against each other. Because when Sapnap looks at Dream, the rest of the world disappears, and he’s certain the rest of the world knows it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sapnap mutters. “They just would.”

Dream says something. It’s lost to the sound of Rihanna, declaring that a bitch better have her money. Sapnap’s foot taps quickly against the floor, and this time, when it brushes up against Dream’s, he readjusts, feet no longer under the table. Dream sighs, resting his chin on his palm. 

Finally, he looks to Sapnap again. “Does it bother you that much?”

“Does what bother me?”

Dream stares at him for a second before looking out at the dance floor. “Them misunderstanding?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Sapnap asks.

Dream is silent for so long after that Sapnap almost forgets he’s waiting for a response. “No,” Dream says at last. “It doesn’t.”

Sapnap doesn’t know how to reply to that.

They just sit there after that, watching the crowd wax and wane, change based on the song playing. Dream pushes himself up out of his chair when a familiar number starts. He holds out a hand. “Come on.”

Sapnap stares at the hand. “Dude, he says, “what.”

“Dance,” Dream replies. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“What the fuck?” Sapnap lets out a laugh, glancing over at Mythbusters hat and 80s boy. They’re laughing over something on 80s boy’s phone, foreheads resting close together, cheeks flushed pink in the dim light that hangs over their table. He looks back at Dream. “No way.”

“It’s ‘Come on Eileen,’” Dream says, but Sapnap is resolute, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. They hold a short staring contest before Dream sighs, looking away. Sapnap doesn’t even have the chance to puff up at his W before Dream is reaching forward and taking him by the arm, pulling him out of his seat and to the dance floor.

“Dream!” Sapnap argues, trying to pull away, but Dream’s hold on him is lethal and Sapnap is unwillingly pulled into the circle that’s formed, one arm tugged behind Dream’s back by Dream’s free hand, and the other tossed over a girl’s shoulder. She gives him a bright smile before the circle begins to move, slowly, ever so slowly, then quicker.

It’s like a treadmill, Sapnap thinks, watching his feet and making sure not to step on the girl’s sparkly slippers. Her laugh is loud even with the music blasting and Sapnap starts to gain some of her enthusiasm as the chorus hits. And then a laugh comes from behind him, and he can’t help but look over his shoulder. 

Dream is already grinning at him. Sapnap couldn’t stop himself from grinning back even if he tried. The circle speeds up, and soon Dream is a constant cackle in his ear, Sapnap joining in as the group turns this way and that, before they all jump to a stop and kick a foot in the center.

Sapnap is awkward, slightly off-balance the way he holds on to Dream’s back and leans towards the girl, her shorter than him. He’s running out of breath quick too, kicking quicker and quicker before they’re spinning again and again, all smiling, all laughing, some singing, some panting, and Dream brings their heads closer together as they share one more laugh before the song is fading out, and then it’s just them alone, the others retreating back to their seats or to their own friend groups, just Dream and Sapnap breathing in each other’s exhales.

“That was fun,” Sapnap admits, and Dream nods, arm still around Sapnap’s shoulders, his other one eventually coming up to join it. Sapnap still has an arm around Dream, though it’s slipped so his hand rests at the small of Dream’s back. He swallows.

Dream notices his discomfort, and the smile falls from his face. “Sapnap,” he says.

Sapnap shakes his head. “It’s fine.” His fingers curl into the soft leather of Dream’s jacket. “They can misunderstand.”

I want them to misunderstand.

Sapnap looks up at the same time Dream lets go. “What?” he asks. Dream starts to take a step back, but Sapnap doesn’t let go. “No, you don’t get to—Dream, what did you say?”

��I—,” Dream’s eyes are wide, startled, scared, and Sapnap can’t help but think this isn’t fair. He stares Dream down, and eventually, Dream stares back. When he speaks, he can barely be heard over the music, even with the minimal distance between them. “I want them to misunderstand.”

It’s like he took the words straight from Sapnap’s brain, putting them out there for everyone to hear. Sapnap feels sick, and the feeling only grows when his head falls forward to rest on Dream’s chest. “What the fuck,” he says.

“Sorry,” Dream apologizes above him.

“What—no,” Sapnap’s face screws up, even though Dream can’t see, “you don’t get to apologize, dude. What the hell.” Sapnap feels a weight then on his back, hesitant then heavier. Dream’s hands. He closes his eyes. “What the hell,” he repeats.

“Let’s go back to our table,” Dream says. Sapnap nods, standing up straight, but Dream just pulls him into his side then, and Sapnap thinks about resisting, thinks about getting mad, maybe even leaving (but without a car, without Dream, where would he go?), but in the end, he just lets himself fall more into Dream, the other bearing his weight easily, leading them over to the table they had left.

When they sit, Dream stares down at his hands. Sapnap stares at him. “How long have you known?” he asks.

“About what?” Dream replies.

Sapnap shrugs.

Dream studies him for a second before looking back at his hands. “About myself, since maybe always. About you…?” He smiles then, bitter. “Maybe just as long.”

Sapnap sucks in a breath.

Dream looks over. “What about you?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I think—I think I didn’t want to know.”

Dream snorts derisively. “With your dad, I wouldn’t want to know either.”

That gets a laugh out of Sapnap, but it’s dry, empty. “Hey,” he defends his dad halfheartedly, “my dad isn’t that bad.”

The bitter smile on Dream’s lips twists into downright acidic.

Sapnap sighs. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Dream looks at him. Sapnap stares back.

“You’re my best friend,” he tells him. “I can tell you anything.”

“Me too,” Dream replies. “I’m glad it’s you too.” And then he frowns, looking out over the crowd. “But I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

Sapnap is too, but he doesn’t tell the other that. Instead, he shrugs. “Could be worse,” he says. “I could hate you right now. But I don’t. I think I feel about you how you feel about me.” The last sentence is hard to get out, like bile in his throat. He hopes Dream doesn’t realize that.

When Dream smiles at him, then, he guesses he doesn’t. “I,” Dream looks back down at his hands, “like you, Sapnap.”

And that’s the truth, isn’t it? Dream likes Sapnap, and Sapnap likes Dream. Now Sapnap just needs to figure out what to do with that.

“I like you too,” he says, and Dream turns to him, eyes wide, as if they hadn’t established this already—maybe, for Dream, they hadn’t, “but I don’t know—I don’t know if this is good for us, Dream.”

“We’re best friends,” Dream starts to respond, but Sapnap cuts him off.

“Exactly.” He pulls his jacket tighter. “I don’t want to lose that.”

“We don’t have to,” Dream replies. “Why can’t we be both?”

“Why isn’t what we are already enough?” Sapnap argues. “I can’t afford to lose you, Dream. You’re my favorite person.”

“You wouldn’t lose me,” Dream denies. “You’re the one that was willing to cut me from your life for losing.”

“We were ten,” Sapnap scowls. “That’s not the same.”

Dream doesn’t reply. He knows it’s not.

The upbeat ABBA song playing does not match the mood that’s settled over their table. Sapnap drags his shoe along the floor. Dream drums his fingers against the table.

“Should we have not said anything then?” Dream asks. “Do we act like this never happened? Because I don’t know if I can do that.”

Sapnap doesn’t think he can either. Nonetheless, he shrugs.

Dream huffs. “Look,” he says, “you’re my best friend. I like you. If we stay friends, I’ll still like you. If we become more,” he swallows, squaring his shoulders, “and that doesn’t work, we’ll still be friends in the end. Okay?”

Sapnap doesn’t entirely believe him, but when he meets Dream’s gaze, Dream looks so determined, so resolute, that Sapnap finds himself echoing an okay. Then the clouds part, and Dream smiles. Sapnap tries to smile back.

The ABBA song ends and a much more recent pop song begins to play, but neither of them move, choosing instead to sit in a still silence that leaves Sapnap wondering what Dream is thinking.

Sapnap squeezes his eyes shut, shoving his curiosity aside to instead gaze out at the dance floor. The girl that was next to him in the circle bounces around three other teenagers, light-colored hair a kaleidoscope of colors in the everchanging club lights. When she spots Sapnap staring, she smiles, throwing up a peace sign. Sapnap gives her a small wave. Their eyes stay locked for another second before she makes a little motion towards Dream and Sapnap looks at him, only to find Dream already looking back. Sapnap sighs before rising from his chair.

“Your turn,” he says, hand already extended out towards the other.

Dream doesn’t hesitate in grabbing his hand and letting Sapnap pull him up.

Sapnap leads them to the dance floor, fully prepared to halfheartedly bop his head to the song playing, but then—and of course it’s just his luck—the minute he steps onto the wooden panels, the song changes to something mellow… and slow.

So very slow.

He turns to Dream, eyes wide in alarm, but all Dream does is smile.

“Don’t back out now,” he says.

Sapnap glares at him. “You wish.”

Dream laughs before putting a hand on Sapnap’s waist and an arm around his neck. Sapnap lets out a harsh breath but doesn’t pull away, just follows Dream’s lead, pulling him close. The emcee is saying something probably absolutely humiliating, but Sapnap ignores the queen (oh God, the emcee is a drag queen, how did he not realize that upon walking in?) in favor of focusing on Dream, on not stepping on his toes, on not bumping into other dancers, on not getting lost in the other’s eyes, however stereotypical it may be.

Dream lowers his head until their foreheads almost touch, and Sapnap is painfully reminded of 80s boy and Mythbusters hat. He looks down to the floor.

“Pandas,” Dream whispers, and Sapnap curses his heart for jumping.

“What?” he replies, still looking down.

“Look at me,” Dream urges.

Sapnap shakes his head, but then the arm around Sapnap’s neck becomes just a hand, and then that hand is traveling up, up over his neck, to his ear, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing Sapnap’s gaze from the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Dream says.

Sapnap finds himself stuck staring into Dream’s eyes. “Why?”

“You didn’t go to prom because I wouldn’t be there, and now we’re at a prom together, and you’re not having fun because I’m here.” His thumb strokes across Sapnap’s cheek—Sapnap hopes he can’t feel the heat under his skin. “So I’m sorry.”

“I’m having fun,” Sapnap replies, automatic.

“Because having me confess me to you and forcing you to dance with me and taking you to a fucking,” he breaks their gaze only to look around demonstratively, “gay prom is fun for you.”

But even with his reply being automatic, Sapnap finds it true. It’s not conventional, and he’s felt vaguely nauseous this entire time, but the dance circle was fun, and just standing here with Dream, swaying back and forth, it’s fun too. And there’s something nice about having everything out in the open. He and Dream like each other.

Wait.

He and Dream like each other. He and Dream like each other. Dream likes him.

“You like me,” Sapnap whispers.

Dream still hears him. “Yeah,” he replies, easy, “I like you a lot.”

“I think I missed that,” Sapnap says, louder. “You like me.”

Dream stares at him. “Yes,” he replies. “I like you.”

Sapnap stares back before he removes his hand from Dream’s waist to put it on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of Dream’s t-shirt as Sapnap tugs him down into a kiss. Dream’s lips are surprisingly soft for the amount of times Sapnap has caught Dream biting at them, and Dream himself is surprisingly gentle when he brings his other hand up from Sapnap’s waist to cradle his jaw. Sapnap lets out a quiet exhale when they pull apart.

Dream is looking at him, but his gaze is distant, his mind somewhere far away.

Sapnap lets go of his shirt to shove him slightly. “Dream?” he asks, wondering if he might’ve just ruined everything, despite Dream’s insistence that a change in their relationship wouldn’t affect their friendship.

“I think people might misunderstand us now,” Dream says.

Sapnap can’t help it—he laughs. “You think?” And then Dream is laughing too, pulling him in for another kiss even as the song changes and the floor becomes crowded with everyone else coming to dance.

The tension now broken, neither of them suggest leaving the dance floor.

;;

By the time the prom is ending, Sapnap’s feet hurt, and he’s sure his lips are red from the amount of times Dream has kissed him. They’re both giddy with teenage excitement, and Dream is singing a pathetic rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” words slurring together and pitch way off.

Sapnap laughs as Dream knocks their heads together, pushing him away with one hand while the other wraps around his waist to pull him closer. “You sound so bad.”

“You love it,” Dream murmurs into his ear, and Sapnap grins even as his cheeks flare red.

“You wish,” he replies.

“I most definitely wish,” Dream says, head now tilted to rest atop Sapnap’s own.

“Did you drink?” Sapnap asks, suspicious, though he’s pretty sure he and Dream only got water. “Are you drunk?”

“You know I’d never drink,” Dream replies before the most shit-eating grin takes over his face. “Actually, I’m just drunk on love.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “Now you’re just acting stupid.”

“But I mean it.”

Sapnap looks at him. Dream looks back. Sapnap shakes his head as they reach Dream’s car. “Don’t be dumb.”

“Okay, so maybe not like… love love, but I love you, Sapnap.” Dream leans against the door. “And it could turn into love love one day. If you let it.”

Sapnap stares at him. Dream stares back.

“It’s just a possibility,” he says, hand coming up to pat Sapnap’s cheek. Sapnap continues to stare until Dream leans forward to bump their noses together. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“Next month,” Sapnap finally replies. “Bring it up next month.” He pushes himself away from Dream to go to the passenger side. “Now unlock the car. It’s hot as fuck out here.”

;;

The car ride is spent in an easy silence, though Dream keeps glancing over at Sapnap every once in a while, always looking on the verge of saying something.

Finally, Sapnap snaps. “What is it?”

Dream has clearly been waiting to be asked. “You said next month.”

Sapnap frowns. “Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

“So we’ll still be together next month?”

Sapnap’s eyes narrow. “Are you assuming we’re together now?”

“Yes.”

Fuck. He’s right to assume that. So much for Dream being the one to forget their friendship in order to pursue a relationship. Dream knows him too well. (It’s perfect.)

“I love you too,” Sapnap says. “As a friend.” He looks out the window. “But it could be love love one day too.”

He doesn’t need to look over to know Dream is grinning, and when a finger brushes his own over the glovebox, not asking for permission but not not asking for permission, Sapnap can’t stop a grin of his own from spreading across his face and lets Dream lock their hands together.

;;

A knock on the door startles Sapnap in the middle of his studying. He looks up from his notes to see Dream leaning in the open doorway.

Sapnap raises a brow. “Since when have you knocked?”

“Since British exchange students started chewing me out whenever I’d come in without knocking.” Dream smiles at him before looking into the room, green eyes searching.

“George isn’t going to jump out at you from behind the door,” Sapnap says, stretching out in his chair before rising to properly greet his boyfriend. “Besides, he likes you; he’s just a bitch.”

“Of course a bitch like you would say that,” George interrupts, his small frame almost invisible behind Dream, who turns around with a guilty look on his face. “Hi, Dream,” George says, shoving past him to toss his bag in his desk chair and collapse onto his bed. “I don’t like you, by the way.” He lifts his head slightly to look between Dream and Sapnap. “Either of you. I hate you guys.”

“We hate you too,” Sapnap replies cheerily before grinning at Dream and pulling him down into a kiss that Dream eagerly returns.

“Can you not?” George asks, even though they all know he doesn’t really care. “I already feel single enough, thanks.”

“Like you could ever feel single,” Dream teases. “You know nearly everyone here is into you.”

George pushes himself up onto his elbows to stick out his tongue. Dream sticks his own out too.

Sapnap laughs before picking his keys up from off his desk and checking that his wallet is in his pocket. “We’re heading out,” he tells George, who hums and nods, flopping back onto the bed. “Let me know if you want us to pick you up dinner.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Sapnap,” George says, “to go out of your way just to get dinner for me. I didn’t realize I mean that much to you.”

“You mean the world to me, George,” Sapnap replies, even as his hand links with Dream’s and George flips him off. “But seriously, we’ll get you something if you want.”

“It’s fine.” George waves a hand. “Go be in love or whatever. Better somewhere else than where I can see it.”

“True, true,” Sapnap says, even though his favorite hobby nowadays is antagonize George, which sits right under spend time with Dream. 

They leave the Brit alone to head out to Dream’s car, and it’s there that Sapnap finds them imitating the pose they had the night of prom. He hides his smile in Dream’s neck as Dream wraps his arms around his shoulders.

“Hey, Sap,” Dream says.

“Yeah?”

“Remember how you said ‘next month’?”

Sapnap lifts his head slightly to look through the car window. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s been next month, and then it was the month after that, and the one after that, and then there was—”

Sapnap barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. “I love you, Dream. Now let go of me; I really am hungry right now.”

“Right, of course. Of course,” Dream releases him, “but for the record, I love you too. Like, love love.”

Sapnap shoves him even as a smile begins to show at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I love love you too.”

[novasintheroom]

Ooooo a fresh blog! Heyo there! So, my first request is some head canons, if you write them anyway, for the each of the turtles having a s/o who is usually the purest of beans. Like— she doesn’t get angry, usually shy when meeting new people, very humble, sweet and caring— but for the first time she does it’s like she realizes she’s frustrated and mad about something that happened during the day and it’s the first time she’s expressing it. the turtles notice her come in knowing something is off about her behavior when she’s usually so cheerful. Almost like “Sometimes it just makes me so— it makes me so... so...! Angry!” But she actually gets super surprised with herself realizing she’s actually venting just to say she’s fine in the end after bottling up for so long. The turtles just looking at her and asking if she’s okay 😂 If that makes any sense.. sorry if it doesn’t.

Oooooo my first ask!! I’m so nervous and excited! I think I got the gist of what you’re getting at. Thanks for sending this in, it means a lot to me! <3

Leo

·         Honestly caught off guard when you come in steaming

·         Your calm and sweetness is something he loves and looks forward to – it’s hard being the firm leader in his family when everyone pushes back, so you’re a pleasant break from the arguments and sassy remarks

·         Not today

·         It’s loud in the lair – Raph and Mikey are doing something with a basketball and hula hoop that’s got Raph raging and Mikey screaming, Donnie’s got a power tool going on the truck, and Splinter’s Celine Dion music is blaring to drown it all out while he works on pruning his plants

·         Leo’s up in the concrete rafters with a book, glancing down every other minute to make sure Raph doesn’t kill Mikey

·         He would have completely missed you coming in if Mikey hadn’t thrown the ball toward the entrance

·         You dodge the ball before it hits you, but instead of laughing it off like usual, you throw a dark look at his brothers and beeline toward the dojo.

·         Woah, that’s weird

·         Avoidance of his family = big red flag

·         You didn’t even say hi to him??

·         Hops down and follows, waving off Mikey’s calls to you

·         Finds you in the corner of the dojo, bag thrown to the side and hands smoothing out the sand of his small zen garden

·         Feels a bit awkward honestly

·         Listen, he’s getting better at it, but he’s not the best at feelings

·         Especially girl feelings

·         He knows something’s up though, and he wouldn’t be a good beau if he just let you simmer

·         Spooks you when he asks if you’re okay

·         Darn those ninja skills, how is someone as big as him so silent?

·         You sigh and just say you had a fight with your roommate and that it’s fine, you just needed some quiet before you went to his family

·         Okay, coolcoolcool. He can work with this. He and Raph fight all the time! “What was the fight about?”

·         Cue explosion

·         “She doesn’t pay her part of the bills on time, and she has her boyfriend over constantly and I can hear them through the walls when they’re screwing because the stupid cheap apartment has stupid cheap thin walls, and she leaves her dishes everywhere even when I ask her to not be a slob, and the landlord is getting after me for her rent when– “

·         W o w

·         He didn’t think you knew any swear words, but the names you’re calling your roommate would make even Raph blush

·         Your rant goes on and on

·         Anytime he tries to suggest a solution you get angry at him like why can’t he just listen omg

·         He shuts up quick

·         Somewhere in the process he sat down and your head moved to his lap while you laid all your problems out

·         By the time you’re finished your chest is heaving and it’s been an hour

·         Leo’s scared to say something in case you go off again lmao

·         He just plays with your hair and hums while you calm down

·         Finally you look at him with wide eyes, “Wow, geez, I didn’t think I was that mad.”

·         He can’t help but laugh, “Me neither.”

·         Your smile is back, though, and that’s the best thing he’s seen all day

·         “You feeling better now?”

·         You say yes, and give him a good hug and kiss as thanks for his patience

·         He asks you to come to him if things start building up again

·         Seriously, start talking to him – I don’t think the poor guy can handle another explosion like that lol

 Raph

·         Raph knows anger

·         Does he know how to deal with it? Ehhh that’s hit-and-miss

·         But he knows it

·         So seeing your tense shoulders, clenched fists, grinding teeth when you walk in – he knows you’re angry

·         It’s a bit off-putting tbh – you’re the calm to his rage, the quiet touch to wind him down when something gets under his skin

·         What happened to make his quiet girl so mad?

·         Did someone say something about your family?

·         Or something about your outfit?

·         Did a skeevy guy try to touch you?

·         Did someone try to kiss you?

·         Okay, now he’s getting mad

·         Decides to take a page from Splinter’s book and pulls you aside to talk

·         “What’s the matter?”

·         You pull at your sleeves, looking anywhere but him

·         You just mumble you’re fine, and that you’re hungry and try to move to the kitchen

·         Nuh-uh, that don’t work with him

·         Catches you by the arm and gives you a look, “Somethin’s bothering you, and you’re gonna tell me what it is.”

·         “And what if I don’t wanna talk about it?”

·         “Tough luck.”

·         Your glare could curdle milk, but you don’t say anything

·         Alright, you wanna play it that way? He’s got three brothers he grew up with; he can get it out of you.

·         Hauls you up and tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and takes you to his workout station

·         Ignores your screams of outrage and the beating fists on his shell

·         They’re like little kitten paw pats; he can’t help but smile at how small you really are

·         When he sets you down in front of a world-weary punching bag, he crosses his arms and waits

·         You’re red faced and snarling. “What are you doing?”

·         He raises a fist, and gives the bag a good punch – “That’s for when Mikey backwashed into my water bottle today.” He throws another punch, “And that’s for Donnie’s stupid snorts waking me up last night,” and another, “and now I’m back on Mikey’s backwash!”

·         He stops the bag’s swaying and gestures for you to take a turn

·         Realization dawns in your eyes. You look at your fist and throw a pathetic punch at it. “That’s…for my fifth plant…dying this week?”

·         He almost laughs, but nods encouragement

·         You punch again. “That’s for whoever stole my lunch out of the fridge at work.”

·         And again. “And for those kids who spit on that homeless guy!”

·         And again. “And for Gina’s face when she made fun of my teeth!”

·         Punch after punch, you let out your anger and frustrations that boiled over today

·         Raph’s impressed – not just with how much crap happened to you, but how long you held it in

·         You’re a lot stronger than he gave you credit for

·         He’s also a bit freaked at seeing the rage in your eyes

·         Is that what others see when he comes at them?

·         Yeesh

·         You feel a lot better after the session, if sheepish for letting so much anger show

·         But he brushes it off, “Hey, you see how I am. It don’t bother me none, sweetheart.”

·         He pinches your butt for good measure as you walk back to the lair and laughs when you punch him in the arm

 Donnie

·         The one that takes the longest to realize something’s up

·         He can’t help it! He’s busy making sure his family is safe and hidden! He’s gotta keep the firewall up-to-date from all the new viruses being put out, check the perimeter lasers so that no one sneaks up on them, change the oil in the Turtle Tank, and why is the computer sparking over here, he needs to ask Raph or Leo to come with him to get new parts at the junkyard, but if he –

·         Bumps into you and is like ‘oh. how’d you get in here’

·         Delighted to see you though! It’s like all his worries suddenly vanished when he realized ‘oh yeah! I have a girlfriend!’ and that’s you!

·         Missed you a lot since it’s been a few days since you could visit

·         Starts showing you all of the progress he’s made on certain things, asks you how school’s going, how was that group project you had, did you get that interview for work?

·         It’s your clipped and short answers that finally makes him take a step back and really see how you’re doing

·         You’ve always been enthusiastic about his inventions, even if you don’t completely understand every technical thing he talks about. He thought you guys were past the awkward conversations too.

·         Clipped answers are a big no-no – it makes him shrink inside, like his words and ideas don’t matter

·         Takes a few seconds to look you over – awkward seconds, ones where you look down and away and not at him

·         “Are you alright? Did…something happen?”

·         You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself, but then the words just start pouring out: “I’m sorry, it’s just, I can’t stop thinking about how my supervisors treated me the past few days. They scheduled me to work a triple shift! Without asking me! And I told them I had a date with you, and a million other things to do, but – “

·         You lay it out for him, apologizing every other minute for just putting this on him out of the blue, that you tried really hard to be happy coming to the lair but your boss just text you that you have another shift tonight instead of getting to hang out with Donnie, and –

·         Donnie sits you both down in a couple of chairs, his hands holding your own as you keep talking and venting

·         Rubs circles into your palm, eyes never straying from your own watery and frustrated ones

·         A breath out of the nose is the end to your rant, and you lean to put your head on his shoulder. “I just hate when people spring things on me! I just wanna stay with you and hand you tools to work on stuff.”

·         His heart warms at this, even if he’s sad at how sucky your job is

·         And it gives him an idea

·         He manages to hack into your work’s scheduling system and put your supervisors or fellow employees in your place for the night

·         Even sends out a text masked as your head boss to whoever he put, letting them know they’re on the job and that you had an emergency

·         You’re torn on this – those people had things they had to do too

·         But Donnie reassures you: “If they’re as bad as you say, then getting more people mad at them might just make them change. If not, we at least get to have our date night, right?”

·         Well, when you put it that way…

·         He gets a big, long smooch for pulling it off and for listening to you

Mikey

·         Listen, this boy is intuitive when it comes to emotions.

·         He kinda has to be with the type of older brothers he has lmao

·         Instantly knows something’s up by the sound of your feet coming down the tunnels – heavy, like you want to stomp them but don’t know how

·         He’s geared up though – his baby girl’s coming!

·         Hops off the couch and has the biggest grin for you when you walk in

·         Doesn’t even falter when he sees the glower on your face

·         Says something stupid to test the waters – “Woah, babe, I’m gonna have to call the cops – I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to be as fine as you are!”

·         Not even a smirk.

·         Okay okay. Obvi you’re not in a happy mood.

·         Man, he was hoping for a little blush at least!

·         Takes that heavy bag off your shoulders you’ve been lugging around all day and corrals you back to the couch

·         Grabs some sodas and a few chocolate bars from his hidden stash in the kitchen

·         He knows you need it more than him right now

·         Sits down and calls out to the lair that “we’re making out on the couch!!” Def keeps his family from coming in and interrupting lol

·         Isn’t even phased when you explode about your day – your coworker had it out for you, your professor told the whole class that your paper was what not to do if you wanted a good grade, etc. etc.

·         Mikey accents your day with “No!” and “He didn’t!” and “What a jerk!”

·         It’s cathartic to hear someone agree with you like that

·         He takes you in his arms when the frustrated tears start falling and you start to wind down

·         “It just makes me so angry, and I hate feeling embarrassed and…”

·         Rubs circles on your back to help calm you, just like his family did to him growing up

·         After a minute you’re better, and back to your sweet, happy self, if still a bit stuffy from the tears and snot

·         You’re surprised and apologize for your emotions, but he stops you

·         “Hey, everyone has their bad days! Sometimes you just gotta let it out, y’know?”

·         You give him a big kiss for being so sweet

·         Makes the day a lot better after that with the soda and candy and some video games

·         He’s a good turt <3

[cupofteaguk]

come over here and make me

FROM THE PETALS COLLECTION

[pairing] :: yoongi x fem!reader

[genre] :: best friend au + fluff

[word count] :: 2.1k 

[note] :: taken from my old nct blog. i don’t write for nct anything + i don’t see myself ever posting this fic under nct anymore but i have a soft spot for this story and still wanted to post it. 

.

It’s horrible. Disgusting, even. Dreadful and shameful and shocking and ghastly all at once. Seriously, the boy could not come up with enough terrible words to describe his feelings and the unpleasant sensation coursing through his body and hitting upon every nerve underneath his skin—the feeling of responsibility. The feeling of having to take care of someone just to avoid the guilt that usually accompanies leaving someone behind, not that he sees you as unnecessary baggage or weight or an obligation or a problem, it’s just that now you are completely and utterly—!

“Shitfaced,” Yoongi hisses, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you upright and grounded—okay maybe grounded was too generous of a world to describe you and your current state of mind, because you’re lopsided and rocky and he’s sure that if he left you on your own you would tip over and that would be a new problem in it of itself. “Absolutely shitfaced. How could you be so fucking stupid?” 

“I’m not stupid,” You manage weakly, stumbling on one of the steps and he has half a mind to just leave you at the base of the stairs and spend the potential two and a half hours it would take you to sober up from this mess. However, the thought of the alcohol poisoning your liver or sending bile upwards keeps him at bay, keeps him rooted to your side. Besides, he would never leave you to fend for yourself. Min Yoongi may be the star of the basketball team, easy on the eyes and the words and a certain disarming gummy smile, who fucked around and definitely did not do the whole emotions and feelings thing, but like most seemingly perfect systems, this one had a kink, a flaw. A weakness, one that takes the form of bright eyes, soft hair he loves to curl his finger around, cheerful smile, nerdy and unique habits that make his heart spike: you. 

He likes to think that he’s not soft without a purpose, likes to rationalize with himself that there must be some reason as to why you of all people continue to get under his skin time and time again, why he naturally gravitated back towards you. It might be time, how you probably knew him better than anyone else, how comfortable he felt under your presence. It might be reassurance, how being with you and talking to you and sitting with you are all just as easy as breathing. Most of all, it might be because he’s a tad bit too in love with you, but you’d have to get him very drunk to get him to admit that (which explains why a certain Jung Hoseok knows one of his deepest and darkest secrets). 

But the debate (or the discussion) regarding Min Yoongi being in love with you is far from the point of tonight, because the tables have turned and a dare has switched the roles and he’s been reduced to dragging your drunk ass up the flight of stairs to his apartment and god, you were so fucking heavy with all that dead weight. 

“Remind me to never let you get near Jimin again,” He sneers under his breath, mentally cursing out the boy who had offered the shot of vodka to you in the first place. “I swear to god, I leave you alone for two fucking seconds—!” 

“M’not my fault!” You whine, at least having the conscious decency to stay leaning against the wall that Yoongi has propped you against in order to dig around his pockets for his keys. “It was good…” 

“You’re stupid,” He repeats with a shake of his head, unlocking the door and kicking it open long enough to help you inside. You’re no stranger to his apartment, practically living in it on the nights you spend studying with him or playing video games or, once again, just being in each other’s presence. It’s one of his favorite ways to pass the time, but you’d have to get him drunk to admit that one as well. He distracts himself by dragging you towards the couch, easing you down onto the cushion. “You stay here, lemme grab you a sweater.” 

You hum, falling back against the surface. “I love it when you give orders.” 

Min Yoongi has only gotten you drunk out of your mind a grand total of three times within the long period of time the pair of you have spent growing up together, so how could he have forgotten that you’re the type of affectionate, say-whatever-the-fuck-is-on-your-mind type of drunk and it has a tendency to drive him crazy. Not bad crazy, but the kind of crazy that almost makes him want to kiss you and confirm the fact that your lips are even softer than he’s spent way too long fantasizing about. 

He swallows thickly to dispel himself of those thoughts. “Shut up,” He manages long enough to make his escape, disappearing into the hallway and reappearing a few moments later with a sweater from his closet. “Here,” He says, reappearing just to toss you the garment. 

He’s about to turn and go back to grab some blankets for you before your whining interrupts the thought process. He sighs, turning on his heel again to find you desperately trying to find the zipper of your dress, twisting your body uselessly and arms unable to bend back far enough to reach it. You make a face, scrunching your face up, nose wrinkling and in spite of his exhaustion and the alcohol overpowering the previous adrenaline, he can’t help but quirk up the corner of his lips. Cute. 

He approaches you, sitting next to you on the couch and turning your body to the side, making quick haste to unzip your dress—not that the gesture makes him uncomfortable and not that he’s never done it before, but the action seems so private and intimate and romantic, which would normally make him want to fling himself off a cliff but with you it’s different. With you, it’s clammy hands and racing hearts and shaky breaths and just so beyond the typical Min Yoongi image that he desperately longs to separate himself from it at every possible moment. Weak, that’s what he was. With you, he’s just weak and pliable and easy to manipulate and an idiot. 

Yoongi practically tears the zipper down, flinging himself off the couch as soon as he catches sight of the skin of your back, shutting his eyes as he throws his body down on the floor. “D-Did I get it?” He inquires shakily, actually super glad that you’re drunk and likely won’t remember any of the stupid shit he could potentially say or do during a duration of the night. Finally, he wills himself to look up at you. “Do you need help with—oh my god, Y/N!” He exclaims, throwing his hands over his eyes, the image of you stripping your dress off still very clear and very vivid in his mind. “A little warning next time, will you?” 

“Yoongi, I need help,” You manage, your voice muffled by what sounds like a pillow. “I can’t put your sweater on… Yoongi!” 

He grits his teeth together, repeating the affirmation of your current state of mind and how you didn’t know any better, and how you couldn’t have known about his own personal feelings for you when no one else knows—except him and Hoseok, but besides the point. 

“Fine, fine, you big baby,” He scolds, throwing his hands down at his side and gazing down at your figure collapsed on the couch. From the light of his apartment, it’s hard to miss the black undergarments you’ve slipped yourself into, the hemline where fabric meets skin, so he works hard on distracting himself by grabbing his sweater on the other end of the couch. “Sit up for me.” 

You groan, but follow his order by arising on the cushion, watching him with wide, glassy eyes. “Yoongi,” You start, continuing to gaze up at him as he busies with straightening out the sweater in order to make it easy to slip onto you. “You’re really pretty—did you know that?” 

He stiffens slightly, heart ramming as he swallows, pinning you with a confused stare that completely goes over your head. 

The corner of your lips turn up into a smile. “Like, really pretty. Your hair always looks soft, and so does your face. Your eyes get this little sparkle when you smile, and your jawline…” 

“Y/N,” He interrupts, approaching you and raising the sweater up, watching as you raise your own arms up to help him slip the material over your head. “Shut up.” 

“I thought you liked it when people complicated you!” You retort, your statement muffled by the sweater. “I know you pretend not to, but I see that little smile you get when you think no one is watching. You always try to look really cold and calculating in front of everyone, you try to look like nothing bothers you, but you’re just a dork.” Your head pops through the top of the sweater. “You smell really good too.” 

In spite of the words you say having an effect on his mind, his heart, his nerves, he can’t help the smile that spreads itself across his lips at your scattered mess of a brain. He reaches over, running his fingers through your hair. “Go to sleep,” He says instead, turning around to go into the kitchen, probably to get some medicine and some water for you for the morning after. 

“You smell amazing Yoongi,” You continue as if you hadn’t heard him at all. “Like, really good. Like a boy. Girls smell too soft and sweet most of the time, too floral, you know? But you smell sturdy. Sturdy and a little bit of pine. Outdoorsy. I didn’t know you went outside so much.” 

“Y/N, I say this for both my sanity and your own—but go to sleep,” He interjects just as he’s approaching you again to place the medicine and water on the coffee table. “Waking up might hurt like a bitch, you gotta just rest this off.” 

You laugh. “We should go outside more, like hiking or something. Or rock climbing. It could be a date!” You sit up, eyes widening. “We should go on a date, Yoongi.” 

“No, we shouldn’t.” The words, however, feel pathetic leaving his lips. It’s a very light-hearted retort on the subject matter. 

“Why? You don’t want to go on a date with me?” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes without contempt. “Shut up Y/N.” He turns to make his way down the hallway towards his bedroom, his mind set on adjusting his alarm to early morning so he could make you breakfast before you could wake up. 

You moan, still trapped in your spot on the couch. “Come over here and make me.” 

Yoongi freezes from his place in the hallway. Your voice seems to have lost its original innocent, light-hearted quality to it and is replaced with something darker, lower in pitch, husky along the edges, and his swallows. 

He turns around just in time to see you stagger your way back to your feet. Despite the swaying of your body, you look less drunk than you had been a few moments ago. Yoongi’s eyes roam quickly along your frame, taking in everything from the way you wear his sweater to the dark glint in your eyes, the red of your lips and the flush of your cheeks—you look so vulnerable and welcoming and warm and Yoongi would be lying to himself if he told himself he didn’t just want to take you and have you right there on the couch.

But the bigger part of him, the bigger part that loves you and is protective over you, who promises to himself that he would never let anything happen to you—wins. Of course it wins. Like he said, weak. You make him weak. 

He does manage a few steps towards you, reaching forward to grip your shoulders and setting you back on the couch. He kneels before you, leaning forward to kiss your temple, lips hovering your ear: “If you can say that to me while sober, we’ll talk.” 

You let out a sigh, leaning into him, and he can physically feel the air of liquid courage fading away from your body and being replaced with complete and utter exhaustion—at your ropes end, you are a sleepy drunk. 

He smiles against your skin, pulling away and readjusting you so that you laid horizontal on the couch. “Sweet dreams.” 

[rhapshie]

This was from a writing challenge I had in my discord server a while back. Never really shared it outside, so I thought I’ll throw it here. I don’t think I’ll ever post it on my AO3

Title: - Rating: M Pairing: Aomine/Kagami TW: Suicide. The other dies in the end too but due to an unrelated incidence.

17 January.

Am I okay? I feel like I'm falling back down. I never knew how much I like his presence until he's not there anymore.

.

Kagami was pretty sure he was in love.

But no one should take his word for it. After all, he didn't know the first thing about romance, so this could just be a stupid infatuation for all he knew, but he really couldn't help it. Aomine was... unreal. He was convinced that the Touou player wasn't human because how could someone be so dazzling? It didn't even matter that he had such a cocky attitude. If anything, it made everything that much better.

Because what was wrong with confidence when he had the skill to back it up? Besides, Kagami found that kind of sexy.

In fear of his own emotion, he hid.

Over the course of his second year, he slowly grew more and more distant from Aomine after convincing himself that this was for the best. It would be much easier on his heart if he never confessed, therefore he'd never get rejected.

That didn't stop him from pining from afar, though.

.

21 March.

Satsuki suspects that something's up but I really don't wanna worry her more than I already do.

.

It all happened too quickly and too suddenly.

Kagami was eighteen years old, attending the last year of high school in Seirin when he felt something was amiss. Initially, he ignored it, thinking that the sudden throbbing in his heart was just his imagination and he continued playing basketball. Interhigh was just around the corner and their first opponent was Touou, so he couldn't afford to get distracted.

However, the nausea persisted throughout the night. Kagami tossed and turned in his bed as he wondered what could possibly cause such agitation. Cold sweat ran along his back as he forced himself to get some shut-eye only to finally succeed at too-late o'clock.

Something was seriously not right, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly.

.

1 April

I hate this. I don't know what the point is anymore. There's only so much that basketball can numb and I'm fucking hurting all over. I don't know how to reconnect with Tetsu and the others and I damn well don't wanna go to Kagami. Where is he anyway? Haven't seen him around lately...

.

Aomine wasn't there for their match.

And he wasn't the only one absent either. The spot next to Harasawa where Momoi usually sat was empty and the entirety of Touou seemed extremely distracted. Their focus was at an all-time low and they looked uncharacteristically distracted. Was it simply because of their missing ace? Kagami had a feeling that it was something else entirely. Judging from Kuroko's body language that conveyed discomfort, the redhead grew more certain that something else was gnawing on them.

No one wanted to tell him where Aomine was. They all simply turned their heads the other way and walked away, frustrating Kagami to no end. While he knew that they didn't look like the best buddies, he respected the other power forward. Kagami would go as far as to admit that he had a massive crush on Aomine.

Of course, it wasn't something he'd say out loud. In fact, instead of acting on it, he chose to stay as far away as possible. He figured that if he never showed any affection, he wouldn't have to get rejected. Better safe than sorry. Aomine looked like he was far from gay, so Kagami wanted to spare himself the heartache.

He knew he had no right to pry, but he felt like he deserved to know why Aomine didn't come.

.

13 May

All I do is hurt everyone near me even when they're just trying to help. Maybe it's better if I don't ask for help... It'll just be a pain in the ass. At the end of the day, it's my problem. I got no rights dragging other people into it, especially after what I've done. I'm so fucking tired. I'm so sick of feeling like this. If it wasn't for basketball, I... maybe I'd be long dead or something. Guess I'll have no choice but to keep playing.

.

Gone.

He was gone.

There was a deafening ringing in Kagami's ears when Momoi broke the news that Aomine had passed away. He had overdosed on paracetamol the night before the match. His parents were away on a business trip, so he wasn't found until Momoi broke into her childhood friend's place and saw Aomine's unconscious body in the kitchen. His skin was pale, deathly blue and icy cold.

Kagami didn't know what to say or how to react, so he only stood there.

He didn't cry. He couldn't.

.

11 June

I can't sleep. My head hurts. It's so pathetic but I feel so lonely... I still haven't told anyone, but I think I really should see a psychologist.

.

In the coffin lied Aomine's dead body. His silky blue hair was neatly brushed and there was no crease on his forehead. It was an unfamiliar sight for Kagami who could only stare at the man who would never again look at him with his electric navy eyes. Kagami would never again face him in a heated battle, would never again scream or be screamed at. There would be none of that infuriating lopsided smirk, that mocking laughter or the obsolete 'the only one who can beat me is me'.

He should be happy to finally be rid of Aomine's cocky attitude, but he wasn't.

Because it meant he would never see Aomine in his raw form, glistening in sweat and the joy of a child as he played the sport he loved ever again, nor one of his rare sincere smiles. There would be none of that husky voice haunting him at night when he only had his right hand as a company. Soon, the seat that Aomine occupied in Maji burger when they had dinner with the rest of the Generation of Miracles would be empty.

Kagami once again stared at the man who'd never again open his eyes. He looked so peaceful in death, unlike how he usually carried himself when he was alive and breathing.

And that was what hurt Kagami the most.

.

19 June

I can't do this anymore. No matter where I look, I don't see anyone who can help me. Besides, it's embarrassing to talk to them about this... shit. And I don't have money for psychologists either. Why are they so expensive? I sure as hell can't ask mum and dad because they'll end up grilling me about it.

.

In the months following Aomine's death—suicide, Kagami felt empty.

They found a journal under the man's pillow that detailed his slow spiral into depression. While he had his good days and things looked promising a couple of years ago when he finally regained the love of basketball that he thought he had lost forever, it didn't last.

He thought about all the missed opportunities that metastasised into regrets. There were multiple occasions when he was able to lend a helping hand, but all he ever did was chicken out. He was too scared of his own feelings for Aomine that he ended up running away.

Kagami wondered if he had talked more to him, he'd still be here right now. Maybe he was part of the reason why Aomine killed himself.

.

1 July

I'm getting really worried... The voices in my head won't stop. Earlier I had to call Satsuki just so I can talk to someone. I don't wanna worry her... I really don't. But between her and my parents... I guess I don't have a choice.

.

They said time healed all wounds, but Kagami started to suspect that maybe some wounds were simply too deep to ever disappear.

It had been too many years since Aomine's untimely death and he could barely remember the guy's face or voice anymore, but it never hurt any less when he remembered the arrogant Touou ace.

"Papa!"

Kagami looked away from the newspaper on his hand when he heard his little girl running towards him with glee. Her fingers were stubby and she was still unbalanced on her feet. The sight never ceased to warm his heart.

Despite living with his beautiful wife that he didn't deserve, Kagami never really truly let go of his past. He'd done well concealing it, but he knew that his wife suspected that something was up.

There were lingering what-if's spinning in his head. If he had asked Aomine for a one-on-one that evening, maybe none of this would ever happen. Maybe right now, they'd be living together with a child of their own. Or maybe they'd still be friends, rivals, whatever. 

Maybe if they celebrated their birthdays together, maybe if Kagami gave him that box of homemade chocolate hiding in his fridge for valentine's, maybe if they spent one more day together in Maji's, maybe Aomine would still be alive right now. Even if they ended up drifting apart or hated each other's guts, it would be much better than this.

It was stupid to wallow in regret, he knew.

However, the diary that Momoi insisted he kept burned a hole in the nightstand. It was a grim reminder of his failure; of his cowardice that cost him the one person he wanted to see smile.

.

6 August

What would he say if he were here?

Where did he go, seriously... it's been so long since we've last met or talked.

I guess it's the interhigh soon. Maybe I'll see him again then.

.

He didn't even know when he started to grow such intense feelings for Aomine. For years he searched, but could never really pinpoint the exact time.

"Kagami-kun, it's time to go." Kuroko gently put a hand on the door and glanced at his old friend with a pair of sympathetic eyes that turned even more mellow when he saw the worn diary on Kagami's lap. "Don't you think you've carried this weight enough?"

The redhead stared at the wrinkly paper before he put it neatly in his suitcase on top of his clothes. "I'll carry it to my grave."

"It wasn't your fault." Said the lithe male with a monotone voice, but full of sadness for those who knew him.

Maybe if Kuroko actually read through the diary, he'd change his mind, Kagami thought.

.

12 August

I really wanna tell him how much I like talking to him.

This is so stupid.

I texted him but he never replied. It's been 3 weeks.

Maybe he hates me now.

.

He knew that one of these days, he'd get himself in a pickle he'd never get out of. Today so happened to be one of those days.

Regardless of what would happen, he was happy that he had divorced his wife and she had the custody of their daughter. As for his friends... well, they'd live. Everyone knew what being a firefighter would entail. Lots of rescuing cats from the tree, fetching lost keys from the gutters, running into a burning building and in some cases...

Death.

Yeah, that was a thing too.

With a forced laughter, Kagami curled his head under his chest to avoid inhaling more smoke than he already did. However, all openings were sealed and he had nowhere else to go.

He really should've chosen another path. NBA, for one. By now, he'd probably be past his prime. 35 years old. He'd be retired with a lot of money. Definitely more than he would ever get by working as a firefighter.

As the fire licked the space around him and burnt wood toppling down from the ceiling, Kagami waited for the moment when one would crush him and put him out of his misery. Or maybe his friends would come in and drag him out.

"...gami..."

The redhead lied on his stomach, eyes glassy as he watched the building structure crashed down all around him.

"Oi, Bakagami! How long are you gonna sulk for?"

"I'm not sulking..." He mumbled under his breath. "...Ahomine."

Ah, yeah. That was what he sounded like. Low, husky and seductive voice that he couldn't get enough of.

"C'mon, let's play." Those lips upturned into a grin and even though the rest of his face was obscured by the light, Kagami could clearly see beautiful deep blue eyes and frown lines on his forehead. "You were the one who bugged me, so just get up already."

"You're not an early riser, idiot. Why are you so—" he coughed after a particularly nasty inhale," so eager..."

"Hurry or I guess we won't play. I'll give you five minutes."

"Five minutes? I'll whoop your ass in three." He snorted inbetween his coughing fit.

"After all that talk you're just gonna lie there? I know you only had like, 3 hours sleep, but I thought you've been looking forward to this."

He felt his eyes slowly closing.

"Daiki..." He heaved tiredly. A piece of wood fell on his thigh and he bit out a scream when it charred his protective gear. Even through it, he felt the deathly heat. "I—Argh!" He didn't even know what the fuck that was but he was pretty sure it crushed his left leg. "I'm sorry. I'll be there soon."

"Fine," The light slowly eased as Aomine's head blocked the source of light to create a halo. Tanned skin, boyish grin and eyes that were positively brimming with life. "I'll wait for you."

.

15 August

If there's a life after death.

I wonder if they play basketball?

If they do, maybe I'll get to play with him again one day.

[blazinbeautywrites]

Fighter

Note: Due to the rampant uprising of plagiarism on this site and others I am stating once and once only that this is my ORIGINAL work. If I find out that you have stolen/taken any part of my work I will handle you and the situation the way I see fit.

None of the pics or gifs I use belong to me so full credit goes to the originators of said gifs and pics.

Summary: Boxer Zabdiel cuz why the fuck not!

A/N: First of all I’m tagging @flamediel​ cuz this shit wasn’t on my radar until it was brought up. This YOUR fault lmfao. Definitely didn’t intend for it to be this long lmfao. Anyways my laptop was being a bitch so I couldn’t post this but it’s here now.

Length: 1,926 words

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff

April was scared. Here she was in the front row watching Zabdiel fight against a man who was at least 100 pounds heavier than him. She told him he was stupid for going up against this guy but he didn’t care. His fearlessness was one of the many things she loved most about him. They’d been best friends for years, though she’d always wanted more. She never pursued him for fear of rejection so she settled for a friendship. She felt someone sit down next to her and she turned to see RIchard snacking on nachos.

“How can you eat right now?” April asked.

“I’m starving! And this shit is entertaining, how can I not eat?” Richard responded.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up. God I hope he doesn’t get too banged up.” April said. Richard notices that April is breathing heavy and realizes how worried she looks.

“Ay. Zabdiel is a lot tougher than you give him credit for. He’ll be okay. Plus he’s a fucking giant. If he lets this guy beat his ass, imma clown him for life.” Richard laughed. He nudged April’s shoulder, cheering her up a bit as they watched round after round of the fight. 

Zabdiel barely had a scratch and was very light on his feet. April took notice of how winded his opponent was when all of a sudden he lunged at Zabdiel, landing a hard blow to his rib cage. Zabdiel’s screams pierced through the tense air of the boxing venue. April, Richard, and Zabdiel’s trainer ran to his side. He was rolling around on the floor clutching his side but then out of nowhere he got up on his feet, walked up to his opponent and punched him dead in the face. He fell to the floor holding his nose and fainted at the sight of his own blood. Zabdiel was quickly declared the winner as his opponent was out cold on the floor. Both April and Richard looked on in bewilderment at what just happened. Zabdiel quickly left the ring and made his way back to the locker rooms.

“Zab? Zab? ZABDIEL! April called after him. She caught up to him as he started to examine his body. He took note of the giant bruise that was forming on his side.

“FUCK! What asshole takes a cheap ass shot like that?” He yelled.

“Zab calm down, it’s over. You won.” April attempted to reassure him.

“I didn’t win shit. I took a cheap shot just like he did. Had his dumb ass not been fucking squeamish, he wouldn’t have passed out. I won on a damn technicality.” Zabdiel spoke.

“Who the fuck cares? A win is a damn win.” April said. She took one of the many portable ice packs that the gym had and put it up against his rib cage. Zabdiel hissed in pain and yanked her hand away from him.

“What’s the matter with you? I’m just trying to help you. Your being a fucking asshole.” April yelled. Hearing the yelling, Richard ran in and saw them facing off.

“Yo what’s goi-” he was cut off by Zabdiel’s chuckling.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I basically got my ass beat out there and you’re yelling at me? I know you’re like, in love with me or some shit, but this is just pathetic. So thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want, nor do I need your help.” He said. April was completely caught off guard by that. In love? How the hell did he know she had feelings for him and WHY did he throw it in her face like that? Grabbing her purse she threw the ice pack at him then made her way towards the door.

“Fuck you Zabdiel!” April spewed.

“You fucking wish.” He replied. Yep that stung. April’s tears came flooding out and she ran out the door.

“Bruh that was so fucked up and you know it. That girl is one of the few ppl who loves and cares for you and THAT’S how you treat her?” Richard scolded.

“She’ll get over it. She always does.” Zabdiel said.

“You just shit on her bro. I doubt she’ll want anything to do with you now.” Richard said. Zabdiel looked at his friend and went to pick up th ice pack to place on his bruise.

                                                 ____________

It’d been 2 weeks since April has spoken to or even seen Zabdiel. She ignored all his calls, texts, and facetime requests. Though she missed him, he hurt her and she didn’t know if she really wanted to forgive him. She invited her best friend, Remi over for a girls night but she had to work. So here she was on a Saturday night watching low budget horror movies and eating takeout. A few minutes into the dumbest movie she’d ever seen, she hears her doorbell ring. She got up to open the door and immediately wanted to slam it when she saw who was on the other side.

“TWO FUCKING WEEKS APRIL?! Two weeks I’ve been trying to contact you and you just pretended I didn’t exist!” Zabdiel yelled.

“Ugh I thought you were someone else.” April said as she walked away, leaving room for him to enter her house.

“Someone else? What, a guy?” Zabdiel inquired.

“Maybe. Either way it’s really none of your business Zabdiel.” April was loving this.

“I mean if someone is trying to get with my girl-”he stops as he hears her cracking up.

“Your girl? Are you fucking serious right now? Yeah ummm please get the fuck out.” She said. She took him by his arm and tried to force him out of her door but he was way stronger than her.

“Look I love you. I mean I’m not in love with you but I do love you. I’ve always had feelings for you but I never wanted to acknowledge them. I mean you know I’m a player and I never want to hurt you or let you down in any way. Fuck I feel like this is all coming out so wrong right now.” Zabdiel said as he gauged her react. He sat on her sofa and rested his head in his hands.

“You hurt me. You weaponized my love for you and threw it in my face. Who does that Zab?” April asked. She took a seat next to him. He had no answer to give her. All he knew was what he felt in his heart. So he kissed her. She hesitated at first but quickly responded. She kissed him with so much passion it caught him off guard. Zabdiel tugged on her shirt and she moved to straddle him. She immediately felt his hardness and grinded down on him. She elicited a deep, needy moan from him. He gripped her ass and moved her against himself as they made out. He slipped his hand inside of her underwear and felt how wet she was.

“You’re wet already. I’m going to have so much fun wrecking you.” Zabdiel said.  April moaned and began stripping off her shorts. When she went to take off her shirt, Zabdiel stopped her and bit his lip.

“What? Is something wrong?” April asked.

“Nah. I want you to keep it on.” He spoke. He pulled down his basketball shorts enough for his dick to spring free. April stared at him, mesmerized by him. She kneeled down in front of him. And gentle took his tip into her mouth. She teased him with kitten licks as she looked into his eyes, Zabdiel was taken aback as he never expected this from her. He watched in awe as she took all of him down her throat. As good as it felt and as good as she looked blowing him, Zabdiel wanted to be inside her when he came. He helped her position herself above his hardened length and when she finally sank down on him they both let out sighs of relief.

“Jesus fucking christ.” April moaned. She kept her movements slow at first until Zabdiel smacked her ass, signaling for her to move faster. She started riding harder and harder, bringing pleasure to them both. Zabdiel pulled her in for another kiss, meeting her tongue as they made out. He started thrusting into her as he held her in place. April met his thrusts as they fucked each other. She pulled away from his lips and nestled her head in the crook of his neck. She trails kisses and multiple bites up the side of his neck, making him fusk her even harder. He lifted her shirt and began sucking her right nipple then gave the left the same treatment. Then to her surprise Zabdiel stood up, still inside her, and pressed her up against the wall. The new position and the coolness of the wall sent shivers down April’s back. She was in heaven and had no intentions of coming back to earth anytime soon.

“I wanna try something. Do you trust me?” He asked. April nodded and soon she felt Zabdiel’s hand wrapped around her throat. He squeezed a bit and it made her eyes roll back. The way he was fucking her and choking her was sending her to a whole other dimension.

“Yeah, mmmm just like that. Fuck right there right there!” She moaned as he continued to fuck her against the wall. He hit her g spot so effortlessly that she almost passed out as she came. Her orgasm had her spasming in his arms. Zabdiel kept fucking her as he chased his own climax. When he finally came he shot his load deep inside of her, their juices mixing together. He let go of her and April slid down to the floor. She felt their cum dripping down her leg as she tried to steady herself. Zabdiel ran to her bathroom and got a towel to clean her up.

“That was……..something.” He spoke, unsure how to fill the awkward silence.

“Yeah. We should probably uhhhh, shower or something. I mean I’m filled with cum.” She replied. They both laughed, breaking the tension and she led him to her bathroom where they showered, and then got ready for bed.

                                                ___________

The next morning April awoke to Zabdiel’s arms wrapped tight around her. She tried to move but he tightened them and she heard him mumbling in his sleep.

“Zab I have to pee.” She chuckled. He loosened his grip and let her climb out of bed. Once she’d done her business she came back to bed to see him on his phone.

“It’s Richard. Wanted to know where I’d disappeared to last night. Told him I was with you.” Zabdiel said.

“Speaking of last night, we sho-”

“I’m sorry.” Zabdiel cut her off.

“Zab, you don’t have to apologize.” April said, taking a seat next to him.

“Yes I do. I’m an asshole and treated you, my best friend, like shit. You didn’t deserve that. Can we start over?” He asked.

“I don’t know about starting over but, if you want to explore this new side of our relationship then we can.” She said.

“Okay I down.” Zabdiel said as he smiled. He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. She pulled away and gave him a genuine smile.

“Now get dressed. You’re taking me out for breakfast. I’m starving.” He chuckled as they both got ready to go out. Zabdiel had no idea what this meant for them but he was definitely excited to explore this new side of their relationship.