#Shove him in a locker (affectionately) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strawberry-hachi · 1 year ago

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Nekoma falling head over heels for their manager? Yes.

It was just a coincidence that you were transferring to a different school in the Tokyo area. It was just a coincidence that you happened to like volleyball. It was just a coincidence that the school in question was Nekoma, which was closest to your guardian's work.

What wasn't a coincidence however, was getting kicked off the girl's volleyball team for retaliating against some girls who were picking on you for coming into the school year late.

So now your only way to really do anything volleyball related was to do it outside of school or become a manager for the other team.

Nekoma hasn't had a manager in who knows how long so of course they jump at the chance when you are somehow brought along as one of Kuroo's many friends.

He was able to convince you with the allure of skipping class for games as well as more help with homework and who would pass up good grades and the chance to play volleyball? Not you.

Kuroo has always had an eye for you, believe it or not. He is a logical person, even underneath all that mischief and wild flair. He had a way with words and an even better way with figuring people out. So it's no wonder he would attempt to talk to the new person who suddenly appeared at Nekoma one day. Even less surprising was him falling face first when talking to you.

All you did was help him when his school supplies got trashed from a particular nasty fall he took early in your time at Nekoma, and that was it for him. He was stuck to you like a parasite despite the different classes and year. He was hooked.

He was a logical person until he wasn't. Such as when Kenma oversleeps on purpose to avoid playing games, or when Yaku gets on his nerves for the nth time that day. He was logical with certain people, and perhaps a bit of a menace with others. He isn't really sure where you fit in his us vs them mentality and he isn't sure if he wants to find out. Not when you glance at him while walking through the hallway that sends a chill up his spine, or when your arms or legs brush together when you are studying together that has him shoving his head into his pillows at night, or even that one time when you had shoved him and you into a locker that was much too small for both of you so you could avoid the girls on the volleyball team. Yeah. Perhaps it's better if he doesn't figure you out just yet.

And it wasn't long till he began bringing up the idea of manager, even more so since you got kicked off the girl's volleyball team.

So now you are being introduced to the team as Kuroo practically vibrates with joy because his favorite people are coming together for something he loves.

And it's not long till Yamamoto tries to approach you. Despite his rather intimidating demeanor, he is a sweetheart and a bunch of nerves at heart. He could only keep his eyes off the ground when talking to you once and so you simply gave him the space he needed. He was obviously overwhelmed and somehow, this was all he needed to have confirmation with himself that he liked you.

Just like the Humpty Dumpty duo at Karasuno, he can be a bit overbearing at times. You can't seem to exactly shake him off even when he is practically dying on the floor.

You need to refill the water bottles? He can help if you let him! You need to help plan the team schedule? He has the entire night! You need to pick up some groceries? He's already got it!

You know who is just like Yamamoto but x10? Lev. He is such a sweetheart but goodness gracious sometimes he needs to take a step back otherwise he will take all your personal space.

He first approached you about a week after you joining the team and it was because he almost fell onto you while trying to get his water bottle. He had apologized, of course, but not without taking note of how nice it felt to hug you.

Lev, as you learn later, has always been the affectionate sort and it grew from his older sister, Alisa, who would constantly dote on him. You met her much later during nationals, which you had attempted Lev to try and set her up with you but it resulted in absolutely dreaded failure because Lev immediately passed out upon the request and Kuroo, upon hearing said request, attempted to take Alisa's place.

Lev, as he later learns, is that he developed much more than a stupid puppy crush. He isn't sure exactly when it started. Maybe when he first met you and how he almost crushed you under himself, or maybe a bit later on when you two accidentally got locked inside the gym because you were practicing late together, so you two talked until dawn. It could've even been the instance when you taught him how to do a floater serve and he clearly remembers how your hands held his and your body up against his back as you focused on the ball instead of his red face.

It was from then on you didn't escape practice without Lev trying to glomp you at least once, and you aren't entirely sure if you hate it or not.

Someone who does hate it would be Yaku, who can't seem to stop yelling at Lev each time he goes rushing to you for help with his spikes and receives.

The first time Yaku interacted with you was a little after Lev did, with Yaku scolding the boy for trying to "run you over" (you could probably tackle and eat Lev alive if you really wanted to but you didn't mention it).

Yaku has told you that you are too soft on the boy and he needs more discipline if he wants to be good, but you honestly don't have the heart to be as mean to him as you would be with actual teammates.

Yaku, quite frankly, finds it infuriating how soft you are with Lev, and the team in general, but he won't say anything about it if it means that he gets to call you in the middle of the night after a particularly rough practice to hangout. If it means he gets to see you look at him with such a soft smile on your face that he seldom sees during school, he is more than willing to let it slide.

And if you two accidentally get trapped in the storage room one day, it isn't exactly his fault if you two decide to use each other as warmth until they unlock the door. His face was red anyway, he's sure that you won't think twice about it.

Fukunaga on the other hand, is someone who probably over thinks every single little thing you do in relation to him.

It was around the time you met Inouka that you met him. You were helping Inouka with rounding up the stray balls when you had responded to one of Inouka's questions about your volleyball skills with a joke (as you often do because why go into detail about how often you had beef with your own teammates?!). It was then that Fukunaga had fired a quip back and turned the question once more onto you had you two finally learned of each other's existence.

Perhaps it's why you two are so aware of every little thing either of you say.

You said hi to him, does that mean anything? Oh you helped him with his serves, that must mean something right?

However, just because he is prone to overthinking (just as you are with him) doesn't mean it's his whole character. More often than not he is trying to come up with jokes for you and is probably the one you talk with the most if Kuroo wouldn't constantly stalk (he doesn't actually and he swears by this but Yaku and Kenma find it funny as it is something to hold over his head) you.

It's odd to say the least. He is usually the most detached of all the people in Nekoma's team and yet despite this, you find yourself absorbed in conversation after conversation with him. It was a matter of time till he started looking for you in every single room, unconsciously or not.

Liking someone is a foreign concept, especially in the way Fukunaga sees you and so you can't blame him when his jokes slowly turn to pick up lines every so often or he replies to your quips with compliments to throw you off. It's not like you can blame him either when he decides to try and plan your conversations ahead of time so he can catch you at every single front. Perhaps even get you flustered in the same way you do to him he so often finds.

Someone who doesn't show his emotions, however, is Kenma, who you've never really gotten a good read on.

He was perhaps one of the last ones that you had truly met before things kicked off with the team.

You'll admit, the way you met him wasn't the best. It was after practice and it was particularly stormy that night. You had an umbrella but a certain somebody didn't.

Kuroo, bless his heart, had left earlier before the storm came full blast to get something back home, and so Kenma was planning to walk through the rain until you offered him your umbrella.

You had more than once ran through the rain because of practice running late and so you thought nothing of it, but instead of him going with it, he simply took it and glued next to your side until you got home yourself.

It was an awkward walk as you stood shoulder to shoulder, and even more awkward when you got home as he bid you goodnight like some boyfriend and walked home; umbrella still in hand.

It was a Friday and so you did not see him or your umbrella until Monday, and so when he gave it back during class it was quite the sight. Yet, he did not seem fazed from all the stares and whispers. Not a bit.

You don't think you'll ever be able to read his expressions.

Him on the other hand, finds you quite the enigma. You were known as some wild dog since you had attacked three of the members on the volleyball team at Nekoma your very first day, and yet had acted so kindly, if not reserved, as a manager.

Even more so when he saw the way some other members looked or spoke of you.

He caught on quickly with the other's feelings for you, and he wasn't sure you'd ever come to realize, but that's okay. It's perfectly fine if it means he can take you to the rooftop to hangout without any pressure of another. The moment he perhaps truly fell head over heels, however, was during their summer camp that Karasuno was invited to. You had met Shoyo and hit it off, and he, somehow, was able to convince you to teach him how to serve. Something perhaps all of Karasuno + Kenma knew how bad Shoyo was at it.

It was then he fell, he thinks. To see someone so straight laced and aggressive during school hours willingly help someone with a smile on their face? Yeah. He fell hard.

And he struggles to show this to you and not others, especially considering how Kuroo has attached himself at your hip and Lev at your arm. Especially considering how Yaku always tries to find time to hang out with you and Fukunaga talks to you all the time. It infuriates him to no end but yet you still have patience for him even after all that socializing. You still have time to watch as he beats a level you were stuck on. You still have time to get him that game he has been looking at and for once, he doesn't mind the company.

He really doesn't mind, even if the side effect comes with wanting to kiss you breathless and have you look at him the way he looks at you.

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thollandsgirl2013 · 7 months ago

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𝐁𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → embarrassing situation

Summary → Peter and you get caught by May.

Peter’s sixteenth birthday had been awkward, to say the least.

May had tried her best to make it memorable—she’d baked his favorite cake, gifted him a new Lego set, and even made sure his friends came over earlier to celebrate with him. Everything seemed to be going fine, that is until the last gift came, when everyone left and it's just May and Peter.

“Happy birthday, Peter!” May beamed as she handed him a small, neatly wrapped box. Peter furrowed his brow, curious, looking up at her suspiciously.

“Uh, thanks, May,” he said slowly, already a little concerned. He tore open the wrapping paper and lifted the lid, only for his face to instantly turn beet red.

“Oh my God, May!” He groaned, his eyes wide as he stared down at the contents of the box—condoms. His whole body felt like it was on fire from embarrassment.

May, leaning casually against Peter's study table, had the audacity to smirk. “What? I just want you to be prepared, Peter,” she said, entirely too calm for his liking. “You’re sixteen now, you’re growing up, and I’m not dumb. Boys your age—”

“May!” Peter flailed, waving his hands as if he could physically stop the words from coming out of her mouth. “Please! I don’t even have a girlfriend!”

May tilted her head and gave him a look, one of those all-knowing, teasing looks that made Peter feel like she could read his mind. “Really? You don’t? So, what about Y/n? Weren't you crushing on her? I literally saw you stutter in front of her when she came over at the party.” Her eyebrows wiggled, and Peter wanted to sink into the floor.

Peter’s face turned an even brighter shade of red—if that was possible. “That’s different! I mean… I haven’t even asked her out yet!” He stammered, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he tried not to make eye contact with May. He glanced at the box in his hands and quickly shoved it behind his back, as if doing that would make it all disappear. “This is... so weird.”

May chuckled, walking over to him, and affectionately ruffling his curly hair. “It’s not weird, Peter. It’s called being responsible.” She softened her tone, looking at him with sincere eyes now. “I just want you to be smart about these things when you’re ready. You’ll thank me later.”

Peter groaned, turning away from her as he tossed the box into the drawer of his nightstand like it was a hot potato. “Yeah, yeah. But for the record, I’m not using them anytime soon. Seriously.”

Exactly one week later, Peter found himself standing beside your locker, nervously shifting from one foot to the other as he finally worked up the nerve to ask you out.

---

Now, five months had passed since that nerve-wracking moment when Peter had stammered his way through asking you to be his girlfriend. His hands had been clammy, he couldn’t stop fidgeting, and the carefully rehearsed speech he’d prepared had completely fallen apart when he saw your smile. Somehow, though, despite his stumbling words and flushed cheeks, you’d said yes.

He was convinced his heart had exploded when he heard your response. But there was just one problem.

He still hadn’t told May.

Peter wasn’t actively trying to hide it from her—well, not exactly. He just hadn’t found the right time to bring up the fact that he has a girlfriend. May was great, but he could already imagine the look of teasing glee on her face once she found out, and that thought alone made his stomach twist into knots. So, for now, sneaking around felt… easier. Plus, it wasn’t like he was lying. Well, not much. May thought he was out on patrol today, but instead, he was spending the afternoon with you.

Meanwhile, May was blissfully unaware of Peter’s real plans for the day. She was lounging at home, sipping coffee, when she decided she might as well tidy up his room. After all, Peter was always too busy with school, work, and Spider-Man duties to keep up with it himself. Humming to herself, she stepped into his messy room.

“That boy never cleans,” May muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she picked up discarded clothes from the floor and tossed them into a laundry basket.

As she straightened his bed, something caught her eye—something dark and out of place, sticking out of his closet. Frowning, she walked over to investigate, pulling the item free from the shelf.

A black lacy bra.

May blinked. “What the…?” She stared at it in confusion, her mind racing. When did Peter start collecting bras? No, that can’t be it. Does Peter have a girlfriend? She squinted at the bra, trying to piece things together.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but as she processed it further, her eyes darted toward Peter’s nightstand. A sudden memory surfaced—the box of condoms she’d given Peter on his sixteenth birthday. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she pulled the drawer open, her stomach in knots.

There it was.

The box, which had once been full, now contained only two condoms. May stood there, staring down at it in disbelief.

“Oh boy…” she muttered to herself, exhaling sharply. She didn’t know whether to be angry that Peter hadn’t told her or relieved that at least he was being safe. Either way, her emotions swirled between concern and amusement. He’s really growing up, she thought, but her protective instincts kicking in.

May sat down on the edge of Peter’s bed, running a hand through her hair. “We’re going to need to have a talk,” she whispered to herself, trying to think of how to approach the conversation. She didn’t want to embarrass him more than necessary, but she also couldn’t ignore this.

Just as she was about to step out of the room, she heard the front door creak open. Voices, low and hushed, floated through the hallway.

Peter and you stumbled inside, locked in a heated kiss. Peter’s hands were wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you giggled into his lips. You barely broke away long enough to whisper, “You sure May isn’t home?”

“She’s at FEAST, don’t worry,” Peter reassured you, his voice rough and breathless as his lips moved down to your neck.

You chuckled, running your fingers through his curls. “Good, because I’ve been waiting all day for this…”

Suddenly, a voice boomed through the house, cutting through the heat of the moment like a knife. “PETER BENJAMIN PARKER!”

Both of you froze in place, your lips barely an inch apart. Peter’s eyes widened in horror as he recognized the voice.

“May,” he whispered, his blood running cold. You quickly pulled away, your face flushed with embarrassment.

May stood at the doorway to Peter’s room, her hands on her hips, her expression a mix of fury and disbelief. The bra dangled from her hand like a smoking gun.

Peter gulped. “I-I can explain.”

May raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “But first, care to explain this?” She held up the bra, her gaze shifting between you and Peter.

You winced, your cheeks turning bright red as you avoided eye contact. Peter, however, was already spiraling into full-blown panic mode.

“Okay, okay, listen, May! It’s not—it’s not what you think!” Peter stammered, holding his hands up defensively. “We didn’t… I mean, it’s not like… we just…”

May crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. “Oh really? So you’re telling me this bra just magically appeared in your closet? Why didn't you tell me?”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make things awkward. Y/n and I have been dating for five months, but—”

“Five months?” May interrupted, her eyes widening. “Five months, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

You finally found the courage to speak up. “It’s not Peter’s fault, May. We just… wanted to keep things low-key.”

May’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Low-key doesn’t mean sneaking around behind my back.” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “And don’t think I didn’t notice this either.” She motioned to the condom box.

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh God, this is the worst day of my life.”

May shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her frustration. “It’s not the worst, Peter. Trust me, I’ve seen worse. But we’re going to have a conversation about this.”

Peter’s head shot up, his face paling. “Oh no, not the talk. May, I’m almost seventeen, please—”

“Exactly, you’re almost seventeen, and that’s why you need this talk.” May’s tone was firm but caring. She turned to you with a sigh.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, glancing toward the door, clearly wanting to flee. But before you could make your escape, May held up a hand, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/n, stay,” May said firmly, though her voice softened a little. “You’re a part of this too, and I need to make sure you’re okay as well.” She glanced between you and Peter, concern etched on her face.

Peter shot you a helpless look, his eyes wide and pleading. You swallowed nervously and nodded, stepping back to Peter’s side, feeling the heat rush to your face.

May took a deep breath, pulling out the desk chair and sitting down. “Alright. First of all, Peter, you should’ve told me about you two. I’m not mad you’re dating Y/n. What I’m mad about is the sneaking around.”

Peter winced. “I know, I should’ve… I just didn’t know how to bring it up, and I thought… I thought it might make things weird.”

May shook her head. “Peter, I’m your aunt, not your enemy. I’m not here to make things difficult for you. But sneaking around, lying about where you’re going… I’m not okay with that.”

Peter hung his head. “I’m sorry, May. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m not done,” May interrupted, raising a hand. She then turned to you, her expression softening. “And Y/n, I hope you understand that you’re important to Peter—and that means you’re important to me, too. I’m not mad at you either, but I do need to talk to both of you about… boundaries.”

You felt your face go hot again, but you nodded. “I understand. I just didn’t want to make things awkward with you.”

May gave you a small, understanding smile. “I appreciate that, but what I really care about is that both of you are being responsible. I see you found a way to use those condoms I gave Peter.”

Peter made a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, covering his face with both hands. “May, please, no,” he muttered, absolutely mortified.

May ignored his protest and pressed on. “Look, I get it—you’re teenagers, you’re curious, and you have feelings for each other. But I need to know that you’re both being careful and not rushing into anything you’re not ready for.”

Peter peeked through his fingers, his face still flushed. “We’re being careful. I swear.” He shot a glance at you, making sure you were okay with what he was saying.

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we are. We didn’t… it’s not like we’re rushing into anything. We’ve just been… taking our time.”

May looked between the two of you, nodding slowly. “Okay. That’s good to hear. But just so we’re clear, I’m always here if you have questions or concerns. I’d rather you talk to me about things than hide them.”

Peter dropped his hands to his sides, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Okay. We get it, May. No more secrets.”

May’s expression softened further as she stood and approached the two of you. “Good. I trust you, Peter. And you, Y/n.” She gave you a gentle pat on the arm before turning to Peter, raising an eyebrow. “But if I ever find something like this again without knowing what’s going on…” She held up the bra, waving it slightly. “…we’re having another talk. And it won’t be as nice.”

Peter winced, his face burning with embarrassment. “Got it. Loud and clear.”

May sighed and placed the bra back into your hands. “Here, you should take this with you, Y/n. I don’t think Peter needs to be holding onto it any longer.”

You let out a nervous laugh, grabbing it and stuffing it into your bag as fast as you could. “Thanks, May. I’ll… uh, make sure it doesn’t end up here again.”

Peter groaned, rubbing his face. “Please, can we stop talking about the bra now?”

May chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop torturing you.”

Just then, the sound of May’s phone buzzing broke the tension. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Looks like I’ve got to head back to FEAST. They need me for something.” She looked back at the two of you, her tone softening. “Just… think about what I said, okay? Be smart. Be responsible.”

Peter nodded quickly, clearly eager for this conversation to be over. “We will, May. Thanks.”

With one last look at you both, May gave a nod and headed toward the door. “I’ll be back later tonight. Don’t get into any more trouble while I’m gone.”

As the door closed behind her, Peter let out a long breath, slumping down on his bed in defeat. “Oh my God,” he groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “That was the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You giggled softly, sitting down beside him and nudging his shoulder. “Well… at least she wasn’t that mad.”

Peter looked at you, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah, I guess. But seriously, how am I ever going to look her in the eye again?”

You laughed and leaned over, kissing him gently on the cheek. “You’ll survive. Besides, now that she knows, we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Peter’s eyes lit up at the thought, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “That’s true. We could… take advantage of that.”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully nudging him again. “Oh really? After that talk we just had?”

Peter chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. “Well, maybe not right after,” he teased, pressing his forehead against yours.

You laughed, resting your head against his chest as you both lay back on the bed. For a moment, everything was peaceful, the tension from earlier melting away. Peter stroked your hair gently, his breath steady and calm.

“Thanks for staying,” he murmured, his voice soft.

You smiled, your hand resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “Of course. We’re in this together.”

Peter pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Yeah. Together.”

“Oh no,” Peter muttered, his face paling.

You blinked, sitting up beside him. “What? What’s wrong?”

Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Did she take the condoms?”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “Why?”

Peter bit his lip nervously and looked at you, cheeks flushing. “She’s out… so, maybe we could c-continue what we planned.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. “Peter…”

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

#peter parker spiderman #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x y/n #tomholland2013 #tom holland #thollandsgirl2013 #tom holland spiderman #tom holland fanfiction #spider man

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justasecretflower · 10 months ago

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🥀Hello, I saw you’re eyeless Jack Dating before he was sacrificed. If you wouldn’t mind could you do Toby Rogers- before He went coo coo for cocoa puffs and Slenderman basically stole him. 😭😂 Please and thank you hope you have a good day. 🤍

I LOVE THIS REQUEST SM🤍

🥀- Dating Ticci Toby! Before he became a proxy!

~fluff, set before the accident:)

I won’t be able to post everyday, sadly. Since I’m starting school I’m also gonna start cooking club, national honour society then tennis:(. But please keep requesting I will not stop posting completely:).

____________________________________________

- you noticed Toby’s golden heart at first, how much he got bullied, everything in his life, yet he remained to have a soft expression.

- At first, he thought you were pranking him when you gave him the note, your cheeks flush. But when he looked at the note and thought it was a prank he didn’t miss the hurt on your face.

________________________________________

Toby’s dark hazel eyes scan the note, some tics jerking his neck and making him restart reading the note. Thinking it’s some sick joke, as if anyone like you would like anyone like him, his eyes narrow and he practically spits at you. “L- Let me guess. T-this was a sick joke w-wasn’t it?” He says seriously, his tics making him stutter a bit but his tone remained hurt, aggravated, and angry, all of the bullying he received callousing his heart and making him firmly believe that no one would even spare him a second glance. Your eyes fill with hurt and your stomach plunges from rejection, a little embarrassed and let down your voice shakes. “No it’s not. I really like you.” Toby softened a bit at your tone but then hardened again “you don’t know me.” You were fed up. Can’t he see you actually like him for him? “But I want to.” Toby’s mouth shuts and he shoves his hands in his pockets of his black hoodie and nods. “I’ll have my sister pick you up so we can go to the movies or something Friday..” he says reluctantly, still a little convinced that you wouldn’t ever like him.

_________________________________________

- his sister, Lyra, was absolutely glowing when you entered the car, sticking her hand out almost immediately and smiling widely, no one had taken her brother out before, not even giving him respect. So she was over the moon.

- you talked with Lyra a bit, and then turned your attention towards Toby, who was looking at you with softest, most affectionate filled earthy green eyes ever. Sparkling gently. It was like he lit up when he finally realised you were serious, not only serious but getting along with his sister.

- during the movie, you tried very very slowly to grab his hand. He immediately tensed and gasped a tiny bit. But only 20 minutes later he reached out, first with his pinky and then his whole, shaky, scarred hand.

- when you intertwined your fingers, Toby was convinced he never felt more happy, he didn’t even watch the rest of the movie, he was focused on you.

-how your features glowed in the dim light, how you smiled during a happy moment, or gently did your [enter your nervous fidget.] when a tense part came up.

____________________________________________

-when he’s tired of everything going on in his house he’ll bike ride or walk over to your house and taps on the window just to hold you.

- he’ll pull your waist in with his arms and bury his face in your shoulder. Gently kissing it sweetly mumbling “my y/n”

-genuinely wants to cry of happy tears whenever you defend him from bullies.

- finger tip kisses.

-while you two are sitting across from each other in somewhere public, or holding each other in the quiet night, he lifts your intertwined hands, frees your hand and gently kisses your fingertips.

-he can’t really buy you any gifts but he certainly makes you tiny doodles on sticky notes to put in your locker or room.

- his eyes got misty when you first told him you loved him.

-you got him a gold heart locket with your picture in it and yourself one with his picture. He never takes it off and kisses it whenever he misses you.

-late night talks on the rooftop, stargazing, after he ran to your house again in the middle of the night.

-You’re his angel; his light, the love of his life. He can’t stop the thoughts of running away with you whenever he looks at your pretty smile or hears your heavenly laugh.

- “My sweet y/n” “my y/n” “Angel”

-your first kiss is when you two were stargazing, the sweetest, most affectionate kiss ever. Putting your foreheads together first, lacing your fingers, then finally meeting for a soft kiss.

-he runs to you if he sees you in the hallways.

-so, in theory…Toby..💪

____________________________________________

Thanks for reading! I love all of your requests btw🤍.

Tags

#creepypasta #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you #tobias erin rogers #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta ticci toby #justasecretflower #i love you #reqs open #creepypasta headcanon

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fayelero · 4 months ago

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ⓘ 01. VALENTINE’S DAY !

⤷ FLUFF ﹫ valentine’s special ﹫ multiple

⌗ katsuki, kirishima, denki, shoto, keigo

⚠︎ fluff, jealousy (katsuki) .ᐟ.ᐟ

The halls of U.A. were buzzing with excitement as students exchanged chocolates, gifts, and heartfelt confessions. You weren’t the biggest fan of overly public displays of affection, but today was different—it was Valentine’s Day, and you had a certain explosive blonde boyfriend who, despite his brash nature, had a softer side reserved just for you.

You had been dating Katsuki Bakugo for a while now, and though he wasn’t the type to be openly affectionate, you knew he cared. He showed it in his own way—walking you home, making sure you ate enough, and protecting you in battle without hesitation. But today, he had gone out of his way to surprise you.

You were heading to your locker when suddenly, a firm yet familiar hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you into an empty classroom. You barely had time to react before the door clicked shut behind you.

“Katsu—?”

“Shut up for a sec,” he muttered, cheeks tinged with a faint blush as he dug into his pocket.

Your heart pounded in anticipation. Bakugo wasn’t one for grand gestures, and he especially hated anything that would make him the subject of teasing from his friends. But when he pulled out a small velvet box and a bouquet of deep red roses, your breath hitched.

“You better not laugh,” he grumbled, shoving the roses into your hands. “Here. I know you like this kinda shit.”

Your eyes widened as you took the flowers, the sweet scent filling your senses. “Katsuki… these are beautiful!”

He clicked his tongue, looking away as he popped open the small box to reveal a delicate silver necklace with a small charm—your initial intertwined with his.

“Got this, too,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured you’d like it, so… whatever.”

Your heart melted at his flustered demeanor. “Oh my god, I love it!” Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug.

He stiffened for a moment before relaxing into your embrace, resting his chin on top of your head. “Tch, don’t get all sappy on me now,” he grumbled, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

You pulled back slightly and cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He kissed back, albeit roughly, his hand gripping your waist possessively before he pulled away with a scoff.

“Turn around, dumbass. Lemme put it on you.”

You obediently turned, lifting your hair as he fastened the necklace around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Once he was done, you turned back around, your hand touching the charm.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly.

A smug smirk played on his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before those idiots come lookin’ for us.”

With your hand in his, you walked back out into the hallway, making your way to your locker. Students were still milling about, exchanging gifts and talking about their Valentine’s plans.

When you reached your locker, you carefully placed the roses inside, but as you did, your eyes caught something unexpected—a folded piece of paper resting on the shelf.

Your brows furrowed as you picked it up. “What’s this?”

Bakugo, standing beside you, peered over your shoulder. “Dunno. Open it.”

You unfolded the note, and your heart skipped a beat as your eyes scanned the words written in elegant handwriting.

Dear Y/N,

I’ve admired you for so long, and I couldn’t let Valentine’s Day pass without telling you how amazing you are. You’re kind, strong, and beautiful, and I wish I had the courage to tell you this in person. No matter what, I just want you to know that you deserve the best. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Your stomach twisted, and you could practically feel the air crackling with tension beside you.

“The hell is this?” Bakugo’s voice was low and dangerous.

You turned to look at him, and if looks could kill, the entire hallway would’ve exploded. His ruby-red eyes were dark with fury as he snatched the letter from your hands, scanning it again, his grip tightening with each passing second.

“Who the fuck wrote this?” he growled.

You swallowed nervously and tried not to laugh. “I… I don’t know.”

Bakugo crumpled the letter in his fist, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack. “Some extra thinks they can confess to my girl? They’ve got some fuckin’ nerve.”

You placed a hand on his chest while holding your laugh, trying to calm him. “Katsuki, I—”

“No. This isn’t fuckin’ happening.” His arm wrapped around your waist possessively, pulling you close. “You’re my girl. Don’t need some shitty love letter from some coward who can’t even say it to your face.”

You sighed but chuckled, cupping his cheek. “Of course, I’m your girlfriend.”

He huffed but visibly relaxed under your touch. “Damn right.”

Before you could say anything else, a familiar voice called out from behind you.

“Yo, what’s with the angry look, Bakugo? Someone steal your girl?”

You turned to see Denki and Kirishima approaching, Denki grinning like he was about to tease the hell out of Bakugo.

Bakugo shot them a deadly glare, stuffing the crumpled letter into his pocket. “Shut the hell up before I blast your dumb face off.”

Denki raised his hands in surrender, but Kirishima looked between the two of you, noticing your new necklace. “Whoa, did Bakugo get that for you?”

Your face warmed, and Bakugo scoffed. “Yeah, so what?”

Denki smirked. “Aw, look at you being all romantic. Didn’t know you had it in you, man.”

Bakugo growled, sparks popping from his palm. “Say another word and I’ll end you.”

You giggled, squeezing Bakugo’s hand. “Come on, Katsu. Let’s go.”

With one last glare at Denki, Bakugo led you down the hall, his grip on your hand tight, his possessiveness evident.

The soft hum of students chatting filled the classroom as the lesson dragged on. You were tapping your pen against your notebook absentmindedly, stealing occasional glances at the clock. Just a few more minutes until class ended, and you could finally enjoy the rest of Valentine’s Day.

As you turned your attention back to your notes, something small and folded landed on your desk. Your eyebrows lifted in curiosity, and you glanced around to see if the teacher had noticed. When you looked to your side, Kirishima Eijiro was avoiding eye contact, his face dusted with a light pink blush as he scratched the back of his head.

Smiling to yourself, you unfolded the note under your desk.

Hey, Y/N!

Wanna go out with me after class? I, uh, have something planned, and I really hope you’ll like it. Just nod if you’re in!

You bit your lip to suppress a grin before looking at him. His crimson eyes darted to yours nervously, as if bracing himself for rejection. Trying not to giggle at how adorable he was, you nodded enthusiastically.

His reaction was priceless—his face brightened instantly, his sharp teeth peeking through as he beamed at you, barely holding back a celebratory fist pump.

The rest of class felt like forever, both of you sneaking excited glances at each other. When the bell finally rang, you gathered your things quickly and practically bounced over to Kirishima’s desk.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice light with excitement.

He laughed nervously, rubbing his hands on his pants as he stood up. “Y-Yeah! Let’s go!”

Despite his usual confidence, you could tell he was on edge. You knew how much this day meant to him—your first Valentine’s Day together. Kirishima wasn’t the type to half-ass anything, so he’d no doubt spent a lot of time planning something special.

He led you outside, his warm hand wrapping around yours as he guided you through the streets of Musutafu. The February air was crisp, but the excitement in your heart made it easy to ignore the cold.

After a few minutes, you arrived in front of a small, cozy café you had mentioned wanting to try weeks ago. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“You remembered?” you asked, turning to him with a touched expression.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Of course I did! I know you were excited about it, so I thought… well, it’d be the perfect place for today.”

Your heart melted. “You’re the best, Eiji.”

His blush deepened, and he grinned, quickly opening the door for you. “Ladies first!”

The café was warm and inviting, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries filling the air. The two of you found a quiet table by the window, and you couldn’t help but admire how much effort he had put into this.

As you both browsed the menu, Kirishima fidgeted, tapping his fingers against the table. When the waiter came over, he got so flustered trying to order that he accidentally knocked over the sugar jar.

Your eyes widened, but instead of being embarrassed, you let out a soft chuckle, covering your mouth. “Relax, Eiji. It’s just sugar.”

He groaned, running a hand through his spiky hair. “Ugh, I just don’t wanna mess this up. It’s our first Valentine’s together, and I want it to be perfect.”

You reached across the table, gently taking his hand. “It is perfect, because it’s you. Clumsy or not, I love spending time with you.”

His eyes softened as he squeezed your hand, a lopsided smile forming. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

After placing your orders, the two of you talked and laughed, time slipping by effortlessly. Kirishima relaxed more with every passing moment, his nervous energy replaced by his usual enthusiasm.

When the food arrived, he practically inhaled his dessert, getting a bit of whipped cream on his nose in the process.

You giggled. “Eiji, you’ve got—”

“Huh?” He blinked at you, confused.

Shaking your head fondly, you leaned forward and wiped the cream off with your thumb before licking it off. “Got it.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and he choked on his drink. “Y-Y/N! You can’t just—!”

You laughed at his reaction. “You’re too tense, relax!”

“Not so manly from me,” he mumbled, pouting slightly as he recovered.

After finishing your drinks, Kirishima’s demeanor shifted again—nervous, but determined. He reached into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around something.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at you, his usual fiery confidence battling with his nerves. “Okay, so… I, uh, got you something.”

You tilted your head. “You did? Eiji, you didn’t have to—”

“No, I wanted to,” he said firmly, before pulling out a small black box and placing it on the table between you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at it. “Eijiro…”

“Open it,” he urged, shifting in his seat.

With slightly trembling fingers, you lifted the lid to reveal a gorgeous silver ring with a small gemstone embedded in it—the same color as his eyes.

Your breath hitched. “It’s beautiful…”

Kirishima exhaled, rubbing his neck. “I saw it and thought of you. I know it’s not, like, an engagement ring or anything—but it’s a promise, y’know? That I’ll always be here for you. That no matter what, I’ll have your back.”

Your vision blurred slightly as your heart swelled with affection. “Eiji…”

Before he could get any more nervous, you reached across the table, grabbing his face and pulling him into a deep kiss. He let out a surprised noise but quickly melted into it, his large hands cupping yours.

When you pulled away, your eyes shimmered. “I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up with pure joy, his sharp teeth showing in the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “I love you too, Y/N!”

Slipping the ring onto your finger, you admired how perfectly it fit. You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers, your heart brimming with happiness.

This was, without a doubt, the best Valentine’s Day ever.

The morning of Valentine’s Day started with a text—no, scratch that, a flood of texts.

Denki [6:45 AM]: BABE WAKE UP

Denki [6:46 AM]: IT’S VALENTINE’S DAYYYYYY

Denki [6:46 AM]: Get ready, because I’m about to make you feel like the luckiest girl alive!

Denki [6:47 AM]: And also I may or may not need help carrying something

You blinked at your phone, groaning as you rolled over. You weren’t even out of bed yet, and Denki was already in full hyper mode.

You [6:49 AM]: What did you do?

A minute later, another text came through.

Denki [6:50 AM]: Nothing bad! Just something AWESOME. Be outside in ten ;)

You sighed but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Denki always had this chaotic yet endearing energy, and you had a feeling whatever he had planned was going to be a lot. You quickly got dressed in your U.A. uniform, brushed your hair, and hurried outside.

What you saw made your jaw drop.

Standing at your doorstep, grinning like a fool, was Denki Kaminari, holding—no, STRUGGLING to hold—a massive teddy bear, a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, a small, elegant box, and an entire bag of fancy chocolates.

“TA-DAAAAA!” he announced, nearly toppling over as the bear wobbled in his grip. He quickly steadied himself, flashing you his usual electric grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!”

You gawked at him, your eyes darting between the absurdly large stuffed bear, the flowers, the chocolates, and the tiny velvet box in his hand.

“Baby…” you started, eyes wide, “This is—this is so much!”

“I know, right?” He beamed proudly. “I may have gone a little overboard, but like, it’s our first real Valentine’s Day together, so I had to go big! You deserve it!”

You ran a hand through your hair, still staring at the pile of gifts. The teddy bear was practically half your size. The bouquet was so full of roses, it looked like something from a movie. And then there was the tiny box in his hands—which could only mean jewelry.

Your heart squeezed. You wanted to tell him he really didn’t have to do all this, but the way his golden eyes shone with excitement made it impossible to say anything but:

“…This is too much,” you said, laughing softly, “but also, thank you, babe. Seriously.”

Denki’s grin softened as he set the bear down with a dramatic oof before stepping closer. He lifted the small box, opening it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, lined with tiny lightning bolt charms.

“Here, this one’s my favorite part,” he murmured. “I saw it and thought, ‘this is literally so us’—you know, ‘cause I’m all zap zap and you’re all gorgeous and amazing—so I had to get it.”

Your cheeks heated as he gently took your wrist, fastening the bracelet around it. It fit perfectly, the tiny charms glinting in the morning light.

“…Okay, this part is actually perfect,” you admitted, smiling as you turned your wrist to admire it. “I love it.”

Denki practically vibrated with joy. “YES! I KNEW IT!”

Then reality hit. You had to go to school. With all of this.

You glanced at the enormous teddy bear, the bouquet, the box of chocolates—how were you even supposed to carry all this around U.A. all day?!

Denki, oblivious, picked up the teddy bear and proudly placed it in your arms. “Okay, now let’s get to school!”

“…babe, I can’t—how am I supposed to carry this around all day?” you asked, voice somewhere between amused and exasperated.

He blinked. “Oh.” Then he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing. “Uh… I didn’t think that far ahead.”

You deadpanned. “Clearly.”

“Okay, okay, new plan!” he said quickly. “We drop the bear and chocolates off in the dorms, and you just take the flowers and bracelet with you. Boom! Genius, right?”

“Actually, yeah, that is a good plan,” you admitted.

Denki gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Babe. Are you saying I just had a smart moment?”

You smirked, poking his chest. “Don’t let it get to your head, Sparky.”

He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both started walking toward the U.A. dorms. “Oh, it’s absolutely getting to my head. But also, I’m just really happy you like everything.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I do. And I like you even more, you dork.”

Denki made an exaggerated swooning noise. “Oh my GAWD, my girlfriend just made my whole year.”

You laughed, shaking your head. Maybe it was way too much, but honestly? That was just so Denki. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The streets of Musutafu were dusted with a thin layer of snow, the chill of February still clinging to the air despite the early evening hour. Streetlights cast a soft golden glow on the sidewalks, and the occasional burst of laughter from passing couples and friends filled the atmosphere with warmth. It was Valentine’s Day, and for once, you weren’t spending it alone or just watching others celebrate—you were spending it with Shoto Todoroki.

You glanced at the boy walking beside you, his dual-colored hair standing out even in the dim light. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his coat, and though his expression was calm as always, the slight pink dusting his ears made you smile.

“You didn’t have to buy me all that, you know,” you said, shifting the small bag in your hand—a small, elegant gift bag from a local store, courtesy of Shoto.

“I wanted to,” he replied simply. “Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day. I should get you something nice.”

You huffed playfully. “You already gave me a gift this morning.”

Shoto tilted his head slightly, thinking. “That was different.”

You laughed. “How?”

He blinked, as if the answer was obvious. “That was for the morning. This is for now.”

Your heart warmed at the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t the type to shower people with words, but the way he always thought of you—always made sure you felt special—meant more than anything.

The two of you continued walking in comfortable silence, your steps in sync as the city buzzed around you. Small shops had their windows decorated with hearts, and couples strolled by, hands intertwined. You felt Shoto’s gaze flicker to your hand briefly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he nodded toward a cozy-looking café on the corner.

“Do you want to go in?” he asked.

You smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

The café was warm, filled with the scent of coffee, chocolate, and fresh pastries. A few couples were seated near the windows, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the hanging lights. The atmosphere was peaceful, perfect for the kind of quiet, intimate moment you knew Shoto preferred.

He led you to a small table near the corner, where the view of the street was still visible but slightly secluded from the rest of the café. The two of you sat down, and you sighed contentedly as warmth seeped into your fingers.

Shoto studied the menu for a moment before glancing at you. “What do you want? My treat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you already treat me?”

He gave you a look—one of those subtle yet affectionate ones that always made your heart stutter. “That was different,” he repeated.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I’ll get a hot chocolate, then.”

He nodded, then walked up to the counter to order. You watched as he stood there, his tall frame relaxed, one hand in his pocket while the other gestured slightly as he spoke to the barista. Even with his usual stoic demeanor, there was something so effortlessly charming about him.

When he returned with two drinks—your hot chocolate and what you assumed was his usual black coffee—you smiled up at him. “Thank you, Sho.”

He set your drink in front of you, then slid into his seat. “You don’t have to thank me every time.”

“I do when it’s sweet,” you teased, taking a sip. The rich chocolate warmed you instantly.

Shoto took a careful sip of his coffee before setting it down. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you could tell he was thinking about something.

“What is it?” you asked gently.

He exhaled softly, glancing out the window before looking back at you. “I was just thinking… this is the first time I’ve really celebrated Valentine’s Day like this.”

You blinked, setting your cup down. “Really?”

He nodded. “My family never did much for it. And in the past, I never really… thought about it. It just felt like another day.”

Your chest tightened at the quiet honesty in his voice. You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. He looked down at your joined hands before curling his fingers slightly around yours.

“Well, I’m glad you’re celebrating it now,” you said softly. “And I’m really glad I get to be the one spending it with you.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of Shoto’s lips. He squeezed your hand lightly. “Me too.”

By the time you left the café, the night air was crisp but not unpleasant. Shoto walked a little closer to you this time, his hand occasionally brushing against yours. The streets had quieted, the earlier crowds thinning out.

As you passed by a small shop, Shoto suddenly stopped. “Wait here.”

You blinked. “Huh?” But before you could ask anything else, he had already stepped inside.

You watched curiously as he spoke briefly with the shopkeeper before emerging a minute later, holding something behind his back.

“What did you just—”

Shoto stepped closer, then gently held out a single red rose. His eyes softened as he looked at you. “For you.”

Your breath hitched. A single rose. It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it was perfect—because it was from him.

Smiling, you carefully took it from his hand. “Sho…”

He looked slightly unsure. “Do you like it?”

You held the rose close to your chest, nodding. “I love it.”

Something in his shoulders relaxed, and his lips quirked up ever so slightly. Without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Shoto froze for a second, his eyes widening slightly. Then, slowly, his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink—not from the cold this time.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sho,” you murmured.

His gaze softened as he reached for your hand, holding it properly this time. His fingers were warm against yours, a steady presence in the cold night air.

“…Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The penthouse was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city below and the occasional flicker of the television that had been playing some random show in the background. You were curled up under a blanket, barely awake, scrolling through your phone when it vibrated with a new message.

Keigo [9:42 PM]: Get ready, I’ll pick you up in 20 minutes.

You sat up so fast the blanket fell off your shoulders. “Are you kidding me?” you muttered, scrambling out of bed.

Your damn bird of a boyfriend could have at least given you some kind of warning! You were still in your pajamas, for crying out loud.

Muttering curses under your breath, you bolted toward your closet, flinging it open as you desperately searched for something appropriate. Your eyes landed on a long, elegant black dress—sleek, centered at the waist, and perfect for a last-minute dinner you weren’t warned about.

“Damn featherbrain,” you grumbled, tugging the dress on.

You barely had time for makeup, so you went for something simple—a bit of mascara, lip gloss, and a touch of jewelry before throwing your hair into a slightly messy but passable style. You grabbed your purse, slipping into your heels just as the familiar sound of wings beating against the air reached your ears.

A gust of wind blew in from the balcony. You turned just in time to see Keigo Takami—Pro Hero Hawks—landing smoothly, golden eyes gleaming with amusement as he took in your rushed state.

“Ready?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

You glared. “No, I am not ready! You could have told me sooner!”

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You huffed, grabbing your purse and storming toward the front door. “Let’s just go.”

Before you could reach for the handle, you felt a pair of strong arms loop around your waist. You barely had a second to react before Keigo hoisted you up effortlessly, wings spreading wide.

You froze. “Keigo—NO.”

“Keigo—YES.” He grinned.

Your heart plummeted as he kicked off the ground, lifting both of you into the night sky.

The cold wind rushed past you, and you instinctively buried your face into his shoulder, clutching onto him like your life depended on it.

Which—it kind of did.

Keigo laughed, the deep, rich sound vibrating through his chest. “You’re so dramatic, babe.”

“I hate flying,” you mumbled against his shoulder.

“You hate flying alone. You love flying with me.”

“That is an outright lie, I can’t even fly alone.”

Keigo hummed, amused, as he adjusted his grip on you, his strong arms holding you securely. “You’ll survive.”

You peeked out from his shoulder, the city lights stretching beneath you in a breathtaking display. It was beautiful… but also terrifying.

“I swear, if I die—”

“You won’t,” he said smoothly, his lips brushing against the top of your head.

Despite yourself, you sighed, melting slightly into his embrace.

When Keigo finally landed outside the fancy restaurant, you nearly collapsed onto the ground in relief.

“I am never doing that again,” you declared dramatically, smoothing down your dress.

Keigo snickered, leading you inside with a hand on the small of your back. “You say that every time.”

The restaurant was luxurious, filled with soft golden lighting, elegant décor, and the quiet hum of music playing in the background. A few people turned their heads as they recognized Hawks, but Keigo paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you.

Once you were seated at a private table, the tension from earlier faded, replaced by the warm, intimate atmosphere between you.

Keigo leaned back in his chair, golden eyes studying you with that familiar lazy, yet utterly enamored gaze. “So, how was your day, babe?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Oh, you know. Peaceful—until a certain someone decided to ambush me with last-minute plans.”

He chuckled, sipping his drink. “Hey, I like keeping you on your toes.”

You shook your head fondly. “How was patrol?”

“Boring. Missed you,” he said smoothly, sending a slow wink your way.

You flushed, laughing. “You’re so corny.”

“And you love it.”

The conversation flowed easily, the two of you exchanging stories, laughter, and playful banter between bites of food. It felt perfect—peaceful, comfortable, and so wonderfully natural.

Then, just as dessert was about to arrive, Keigo suddenly reached into his jacket pocket.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you—”

He pulled out a small, velvet box.

Your heart stopped.

The entire restaurant seemed to fade away as Keigo set the box on the table, his usual cocky smirk replaced with something softer, more serious.

He opened it—revealing a beautiful engagement ring.

Your breath hitched. “Keigo…”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his expression open, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw.

“I was gonna wait ‘til later,” he admitted, voice softer than usual. “But I figured—why wait?”

You stared at him, completely caught off guard. “Are you—are you serious?”

He laughed, but there was nervousness in it this time. “What, you think I’d joke about this?”

You blinked, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Keigo Takami—the most reckless, unpredictable, flirtatious man you’d ever met—was looking at you with the most sincere expression you’d ever seen.

“I know I’m not always the easiest guy to be with,” he continued, his thumb rubbing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I stress you out, and I know I drive you crazy—”

“You do.”

He grinned. “But… you’re it for me. You always have been.” His golden eyes softened. “So, what do you say, angel? Wanna keep dealing with me for the rest of your life?”

Your chest tightened with overwhelming warmth, your entire body buzzing with emotions.

You exhaled shakily, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

“You’re an absolute menace of a boyfriend,” you murmured.

Keigo chuckled. “I know.”

“But…” You felt tears prick your eyes as you reached forward, covering his hand with yours.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched slightly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah.”

For the first time, you saw actual relief wash over him—before it was replaced with a cocky, dazzling grin.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured, sliding the ring onto your finger before tugging you forward into a kiss.

The restaurant erupted into applause, but you barely noticed—because at that moment, all you could feel was him.

Keigo pulled back, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, fiancée.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

Yeah. You really, really did.

231 notes · View notes

fairytales-and-folklore · 4 months ago

Text

What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Derek gets cursed by a coven of witches with an inability to lie and a compulsion to blurt out whatever he's thinking and feeling at any given moment. The ironic thing is, everything he says is incredibly nice, heartfelt, and affectionate, leaving his packmates wondering: who are you and what have you done with our emotionally constipated surly alpha?

"Hey, maybe true love's kiss will break your curse," Stiles jokes one night when they're all crowded around the dinner table sharing Italian takeaway. Derek practically shoves his entire fist into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out, maybe you should give it a try. Luckily, Stiles is too busy screeching about burning his tongue on a scalding mouthful of mozzarella to notice.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh as he approaches the clearing along the mountainside, home to one of the most powerful covens Beacon Hills has ever seen, swathed in protection spells so thick it's a wonder he'd been able to track them down at all. He hopes like hell they'll be able to fix this, because otherwise, he is so, so screwed.

Mother.

Fucking.

Witches.

• • •

It starts at a pack meeting late one night in mid-October, all twelve of them crowded around the living room of the reconstructed Hale house in varying states of worry and boredom, half-empty pizza boxes scattered across coffee tables and couch cushions, trying to figure out how to solve the recent problem of witches in Beacon Hills.

According to Derek, a powerful coven has encroached upon their territory, stirring up mayhem all over town — people disappearing and reappearing at random, animals transfigured into objects and vice versa (that was a wild day at the cat café), townsfolk spontaneously sprouting mythical appendages (unicorn horns, fairy wings, mermaid scales, the works) and not taking any notice until they pass by a shop window and everyone rushes out to compliment them on their SFX skills, and, of course, the occasional body-swap. All in all, it's been relatively harmless, more like practical jokes in the spirit of the season than anything truly nefarious, but Scott figures it's best they put a stop to it before someone gets hurt.

Derek and Scott had been reluctant when Stiles first pitched the idea of a co-alpha blended pack dynamic, but so far, it's been working out surprisingly well. They've been seeing eye to eye on things a lot more lately, the pack growing stronger, learning to trust and rely on one another, now that they're one united front. And on the days where they clash, Stiles, self-appointed emissary, is quick to jump in and mediate. Derek had always assumed that Stiles would be biased and favor Scott, but he's actually quite good at balancing between the two of them, seeing the merit of both of their sides, translating miscommunications in a way both Derek and Scott can understand.

Today, however, is not one of those days. Scott's arguing for one plan of attack, Derek for another — one of them says something monumentally stupid just to bruise the other's ego, and just like that, all hell breaks loose, tempers flaring, insults flying. Stiles, bless him, makes a valiant attempt to intervene, but he's so overwhelmed by the looming threat of mercurial magic-wielders that he ends up interjecting his own panic into the situation, and suddenly it's the lacrosse locker room all over again, pacing back and forth until he's just an anxiety-ridden blur, freaking out over what horrible thing the witches might be planning.

"The full moon falls on Halloween this year, and a whole-ass coven of powerful witches just happens to show up in Beacon Hills?" he frets, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast it's a wonder he doesn't run out of breath. "You can't tell me that's just a coincidence. What if they're planning some kind of ritualistic sacrifice?"

"Stiles, I highly doubt that could happen twice in the same—" Allison interjects in an attempt to soothe his nerves, but Stiles just barrels on like he hadn't heard her.

"I've seen Hocus Pocus! I know what they're after!" he practically shouts. "It's the virgin thing all over again, and in case it isn't obvious, I still haven't fixed that particular problem. Seriously, how many times is my life going to become a fuck or die trope?"

Derek blinks a couple of times, lips parting slightly as he watches Stiles's frantic pacing come to a sudden halt.

"That settles it," Stiles declares with a decisive nod. "I need to have sex. Right now. Someone needs to sex me right fucking now."

There's a scuffle of laughter from the far side of the room, and then Erica's shouting, "Derek will do it!" at the same time Jackson snickers, "Derek, that's your cue."

Derek closes his eyes and lets out a weary sigh. Of course they'd jump all over that. Of course. Because somehow, over the span of the past couple of years, nearly everyone in the pack has gotten it into their heads that Stiles and Derek have got a thing for each other, and apparently, they're feeling particularly cocky today.

He supposes he should be used to it by now. Derek has lost count of the amount of times he's caught them all muttering things like Jesus Christ, just fuck each other already and get a goddamn room under their breath every time the two of them start going at it, throwing empty threats and half-hearted insults at each other in the weirdest brand of flirting anyone has ever seen, or the way they all make gagging noises claiming they're choking on the thick layer of sexual tension permeating the air every time Stiles and Derek so much as glance in each other's direction.

Or the way Erica had full-on cackled that one time she'd caught Derek burying his face into a pillow that Stiles had spent the entire pack meeting holding, fidgeting with it until he'd unraveled the threading in one of the corners.

It's fine, Derek thinks. He's got a sewing kit around here somewhere, he can mend it later. He is a little concerned, though. He thinks maybe Stiles had just been nervous about the topics addressed during the meeting, scared for his father's safety at the idea of yet another potential threat, but he doesn't smell any hint of fear on the fabric. It just smells good. Like Stiles. Like pack. Like home.

And— there's a hint of something else there too, something that Derek can't quite place, but it's making his heart do this funny flipping thing inside his chest.

"Oh my god, you guys are so stupid for each other, it's sickening," Erica says, but her tone is playful, almost fond.

"What?" Derek says distractedly, like he's genuinely surprised to find himself with company.

Erica rolls her eyes.

"The pillow, Derek," she says, pointing at it like it's incriminating evidence. Derek wraps his arms around it and pulls it closer to his chest, tucking it under his chin.

"The fucking pillow Stiles used as a goddamn boner shield all meeting," Erica smirks. "You do know why he had it, don't you? Come on, you can't tell me you didn't do it on purpose."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Derek snaps, but it's less heated and more defensive than anything else, and suddenly he won't look her in the eye.

Erica heaves a theatrical sigh.

"Next time you show up for a pack meeting straight after a workout, make sure you remember to put on a fucking shirt so Stiles doesn't have a heart attack, will you?"

And then she's laughing again, whipping around the corner and strolling up the stairs to her and Boyd's room, before Derek can do more than splutter.

Derek pushes the memory out of his mind, filing it away under things we refuse to talk about, along with the rest of the ever-growing mountain of Stiles-related incidents.

He's about to laugh it off, roll his eyes and tell them all to shut the fuck up as usual, but instead, what comes out of his mouth is—

"Okay."

Spoken in the softest fucking cadence he didn't even know he possessed.

The room falls dead silent. Everyone stops what they're doing and just stares at him. Derek's heart picks up speed as his brain catches up with his stupid, stupid mouth. His eyes widen like he can't believe he just said that out loud, like he had absolutely no control over it. Because truthfully, he hadn't. He chances a look over at Stiles, and— if he wasn't so shocked and terrified by what had just happened, he'd have laughed, because Stiles has got his mouth hanging open comically wide, eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline as he fixes Derek with an incredulous stare.

And then Stiles bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god," he says, practically wheezing, hand clutched over his heart. "You really had me going there for a minute. You're messing with me, just like Danny. I've never heard you joke like that before."

And then everyone else starts laughing, and Derek forces himself to join in, pointedly avoiding the looks of what the fuck plastered all over Boyd, Isaac, and Erica's faces, internally screaming his own chorus of what the ever-loving fuck because that definitely hadn't been a joke and Derek definitely hadn't mean to say that out loud.

Amidst his panic, the query who the fuck is Danny? nettles at the back of his mind, and he can't decide if he's more offended by the fact that someone else propositioned Stiles for sex, or that the fact that they weren't actually serious about it.

• • •

At first, Stiles assumes it's a practical joke, or some kind of bizarre six-months-late April Fool's prank. It has to be, because over the course of the week that follows, Derek stops being a sarcastic asshole toward Stiles, and instead, starts showering him in compliments. Stiles is just going about his life, cracking self-deprecating jokes, but instead of smirking and adding an insulting quip of his own, Derek has started to become like, aggressively nice, getting almost angry whenever Stiles insults himself.

"God, I'm so stupid," Stiles sighs as he crosses out the wrong answer to a math problem he'd been working on at Derek's kitchen table.

"Hey, don't talk about yourself like that," Derek growls, brow furrowed like he's genuinely offended by Stiles's offhand remark. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever met."

Stiles stares at him, highlighter cap falling out of his open mouth.

Derek blinks a few times in rapid succession, dropping the stack of playing cards he'd been shuffling for their upcoming game night onto the kitchen counter with a deafening clatter. He looks just as surprised as Stiles feels.

"Uh…thanks, man," Stiles manages, a tell-tale blush prickling the back of his neck as he buries his nose in his textbook and doesn't resurface for several minutes straight, having retained absolutely nothing on the page.

A few days later finds Lydia, Cora, and Malia all roaring with laughter as Stiles walks them through his intricate twenty-five step plan to get someone to want to sleep with him before the next full moon. Mock-insulted and mostly joking, he says, "What, you don't think there's at least one person out there who wants to get with all of this? I'm a goddamn snack, I'll have you know."

"Shut up. No you're not," Derek snaps, glancing up from the book he'd been pretending to read in the far corner of the living room. And then, like he just can't help himself, immediately follows it up with, "You're a full course meal."

Stiles pauses, staring at him in disbelief.

Derek suddenly goes very rigid, eyes widening ever so slightly in alarm. He slaps a hand over his mouth, like he's physically restraining himself from saying anything more.

And then Stiles bursts out laughing.

"Dude, that's funny. I'm gonna have to start using that," he says, penciling in the pick-up line as step twenty-six.

The thing is, it isn't just compliments. Derek has also started to become, like, weirdly affectionate, in his own gruff, sourwolf way. He's started talking more — Stiles is fairly certain Derek has spoken more over the past week than he has in the past two years — his expressions becoming softer, a wider range of emotions smoothing away the frown lines as he opens up about his past, sharing pieces of family history, little anecdotes and personal stories and random facts about himself.

Stiles collects them like a memory magpie.

Derek prefers pancakes over waffles.

Derek likes the color red.

Derek has the entire Harry Potter series in pristine hardcover.

Derek used to sit at his grandmother's feet and untangle yarn for her while she knitted him and his siblings cozy winter hats and sweaters.

And it'd be really endearing if it didn't make Stiles wildly uncomfortable, because this is Derek we're talking about — a guy so emotionally constipated, it looks like it's causing him physical pain. Over the years, Stiles has come to expect a certain dynamic between the two of them, one that straddles the line between half-hearted insults and playful banter, and this whole weird new nice guy routine that Derek has suddenly got going on is starting to make Stiles suspicious.

He starts to get really paranoid, thinking Derek must have somehow found out about his — well, he wouldn't call it a crush, exactly — and is just fucking with him, just to be a dick. Like, maybe he caught Stiles staring at him during pack meetings one too many times, or— oh god, what if he can smell the arousal coming off of him in waves whenever they lock eyes, and he's finally put two and two together after all these years and figured out that the reason Stiles's heartbeat goes haywire every time Derek so much as glances in his direction isn't because he's scared of him, or because he's had too much caffeine.

Or— oh fuck. Maybe Derek had heard him that one time he'd jerked off in the shower to the thought of Derek pressing him up against his bedroom wall, and gasped out Derek's name as he'd, uh, crescendoed, before strolling back into his room wearing nothing but a sated, shit-eating grin and a towel wrapped around his waist, only to find the real Derek sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for him.

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin and drops the towel, shouting all manner of colorful obscenities. The look on Derek's face is…interesting. Stiles can practically feel Derek's eyes boring into him, trailing over every inch of him, lingering on the border where his towel meets his hipbones and swallowing thickly, and Stiles can't help but follow the movements, entranced, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down and wondering how it would taste under his tongue, and oh god, now his body thinks it's time for round two and he's tenting his towel and fuck fuck fuck oh no—

And then Derek clears his throat a little louder and more aggressively than normal, and they both avert their eyes, and Stiles controls himself long enough to ask why Derek is here, and then Derek slowly turns his back so that Stiles can hastily get dressed, handing him a slip of paper with a weird symbol on it that he's hoping Stiles can decipher for him.

"So, uh…out of curiosity…exactly how long were you here before I stepped out of the shower?" Stiles asks as Derek grips the frame of his bedroom window, one foot already out on the roof. The crack in his voice is hard to miss.

"Long enough," Derek says cryptically, which could either mean "I heard you" or "you kept me waiting," and Stiles is honestly not sure which one is worse.

A loud crash snaps Stiles back to the present and he looks up to find Erica climbing through his bedroom window, followed swiftly by Boyd and Isaac, tumbling into a heap onto his bedroom floor. Try as they might, the leather-clad trio have never quite managed to replicate Derek's finesse when it comes to breaking and entering.

Before Stiles can get out even so much as a what the fuck, they're rounding on him, talking over each other in a worried frenzy, insisting that there's something very very wrong with Derek. Stiles's heart starts to race, mouth going dry, and he's already going through his mental rolodex of potential cures and fix-its, when they say the most ludicrous thing he's ever heard in his life.

"We think that Derek's been cursed," Erica says.

"By a witch," Isaac clarifies.

"And now he can only say really nice things," Boyd finishes.

"What," Stiles says flatly, and then he's snorting with incredulous laughter.

"I'm sorry, run that by me again. You think Derek's been hit with a…what, a nice guy curse?" he snickers. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"You don't understand," Erica says seriously, bracing her hands on either side of Stiles's shoulders. "Tonight, he told us that he's proud of us and that he loves us."

Stiles's mouth drops open in shock.

"And that's not all," Isaac chimes in. "We tested it out. Asked him to tell us how he really feels about Scott, and do you know what he said?"

"What?" Stiles eyes him warily, preparing to launch into a one-man Scott McCall defense party.

"That Scott's a good kid with a heart of gold," Erica scoffs, like it's physically painful for her to recall. "Can you believe that?"

"Holy shit," Stiles says, genuinely stunned.

And suddenly it all clicks into place, the reason Derek has been so unnervingly kind to him these past few days. He's been cursed. Stupid as it sounds, there's no other explanation for it.

"Yeah, so…as you can see, Derek needs help," Erica says, like being nice is some kind of terminal illness.

"And what makes you think I can fix this?" Stiles asks.

"Duh, you're the brains of the pack," Erica grins at him, like it's obvious.

"Derek said that if anyone is clever enough to find the answer, it's you," Boyd tells him. And that's…well, weirdly nice.

• • •

So he researches, and he researches, and he researches, and he doesn't come up with a single damn thing, because never, in the history of witchcraft and wizarding lore, has there ever been a curse that made someone say nice things.

Still, it keeps happening. Derek keeps dropping nice bombs fucking everywhere, every single time he opens his mouth. And it sucks, because it's really starting to have an effect on Stiles. Derek will say something really sweet to him, and he'll find himself starting to give in to that hope he's been harboring for years, and then he has to shake himself really hard and remind himself that it's just the curse talking, that Derek doesn't actually mean anything he's saying.

Except—

Well…lately, it's like all of their interactions have this weird sort of romantic, sexually charged undercurrent to them, and Stiles can't help but notice that Derek doesn't act like that with anyone else but him.

He'll compliment Lydia on her intellect. Kira on her katana wielding skills. Allison on her archery. He'll tell Cora and Malia how grateful he is to call them family, how brave and strong and resilient they are. He'll tell Isaac, Erica, and Boyd how proud he is that they've come so far and learned so much, not just from him, but from Scott as well, who makes a great leader. He even tells Jackson that he thinks he could go pro in lacrosse, if he wanted to.

But with Stiles, it's much more frequent, much more specific. Little details he shouldn't notice about him. If Stiles didn't know any better, he'd think Derek was flirting with him.

"Red is a great color on you."

"You smell like the forest after it rains."

"Your moles and freckles remind me of star maps."

"I like the way your smile lights up your eyes."

"You have really soft hands."

One time, he literally just said the word, "forearms," with a wide-eyed expression on his face before bolting out of the room, leaving Stiles standing alone in the middle of the living room with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a paintbrush held aloft in one hand.

And it all just keeps tumbling out of his mouth like dulcet word vomit, like he's physically incapable of restraining himself.

Not only that, but Stiles could almost swear he keeps catching Derek just staring at him at random intervals, but whenever he looks up, Derek's gaze quickly shifts away and the tips of his ears redden a little bit like he's embarrassed at having been caught looking at Stiles, and it's like they've switched places, because out of the two of them, Stiles is supposed to be the blushing idiot, the one saying all of these stupidly candid schmaltzy things. Stiles is the one who notices all of Derek's little details, not the other way around.

It's so unnerving that Stiles starts to wonder whether Derek has been spiked with something even worse, like a love potion. Stiles buckles down and hits the books even harder, losing sleep as he continues to search for a cure.

• • •

They're crowded around the kitchen table one afternoon after classes let out, shooting the shit about what they think the coven could possibly be up to, when talk turns to childhood nostalgia and they all start arguing over which Hogwarts house they'd each get sorted into if they were witches.

Scott gets a unanimous vote for Gryffindor, but his triumphant smile fades when Erica insists that Stiles belongs in Slytherin with her and Lydia, and that Derek is some kind of Gryffindor/Slytherin hybrid. Isaac thinks they're all squibs. Boyd says that Stiles would get eaten by the giant squid before he even had a chance to be sorted. Stiles gets heated, slapping the table and arguing that Derek is obviously a Hufflepuff.

"Think about it," he says. "He's all about family, incredibly loyal, selfless to a fault, patient to a fault when it comes to that creepy uncle of his, believes in hard work and fair play, strong sense of upholding justice. Case in point, Derek is the perfect Hufflepuff."

"What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" Derek's sudden interjection makes them all jump, and Stiles chokes on air because there's no way in hell Derek just quoted A Very Potter Musical. Eleven pairs of eyes whip to the doorframe where Derek is standing, balancing half a dozen pizza boxes in one hand, one eyebrow arched like he's seriously reconsidering his choice in packmates. And then his entire frame relaxes, broad smile spreading across his face as he strides toward the kitchen table and sets the stack of boxes down.

"Just kidding. I've got a prefect badge with a black and yellow badger crest on it hidden in my sock drawer," he says, and Stiles doesn't miss the way the tips of his ears burn scarlet after he drops that little anecdote.

"You're all wrong, by the way," he adds, almost as if compelled to keep talking. "If anything, Stiles is a Ravenclaw. Naturally curious, avid learner and researcher, creative and clever. And I mean, sure, he's got some positive Gryffindor and Slytherin qualities, too. We all do. Bravery and cunning kind of comes with the territory. But Stiles is a textbook Ravenclaw. Plus, he looks good in blue."

Derek pauses for a moment, wide-eyed expression fixed to the kitchen floor as he sucks in a steady breath and then very slowly releases it back out through his nostrils. He shakes his head as if to clear it, and then promptly walks out of the kitchen at a quick stride, leaving Stiles staring after him, open-mouthed.

(And if Stiles winds up at the local craft store the following morning, picking out the softest black and yellow yarn he can find and cramming a copy of Knitting For Dummies under his arm so that he can maybe learn how to knit Derek a Hufflepuff scarf for his birthday this year…well, what of it?)

• • •

"Hey, maybe true love's kiss will break your curse," Stiles jokes one night when they're all crowded around the dinner table sharing Italian takeaway.

Derek practically shoves his entire fist into his mouth to stop himself from blurting out, maybe you should give it a try.

Luckily, Stiles is too busy screeching about burning his tongue on a scalding mouthful of mozzarella to notice.

• • •

They're in Derek's living room late one evening, nearly a fortnight after the initial incident. Everyone else has gone home, or gone up to their respective rooms. Everyone except for Stiles, who had opted to stay behind to do a bit more reading in an effort to find a way to cure Derek of what Stiles has been affectionately referring to as the curse of the compliments, tucked away into a leather armchair in the far corner of the room, while Derek sprawls out on the couch, exhausted after a run through the woods.

He doesn't know when he had gotten so comfortable around Stiles, allowed himself to become so vulnerable and unguarded, but he ends up falling asleep, lulled by the sound of Stiles's steady scribbling as he takes notes and hums thoughtfully to himself, altogether missing the affectionate smile that spreads across Stiles's face as he glances up in Derek's direction and falters mid-sentence around a half-formed question. A little shiver winds its way down Derek's spine, and Stiles immediately bolts upright, scattering notes and highlighters everywhere as he moves to wrap Derek in a patchwork quilt draped over the back of the couch.

As Derek drifts into an easy slumber, he dreams about Stiles. It's that same dream he's had countless times before, only this time, there's no impending danger, no kanima stalking around the edges of the swimming pool — just the two of them, clutching one another, breath coming out in heated gusts that spiral over the top of their heads.

It's all so vivid, like he's reliving it, only through a different lens. He can feel the bruising grip of Stiles's arms as they wind around his torso, the way Stiles's heartbeat crashes against his ribcage, reverberating against his back. In this memory, Stiles isn't holding him up because he has to — because this time, Derek has full control over his body. He twists around in Stiles's arms until they're facing one another, breath ghosting over each other's lips, and then he's backing him up against the edge of the pool, fingertips tracing the curves of his reddened lips before surging forward and capturing him in a kiss.

He can feel everything, the press of Stiles's body against his own as Stiles arches into him, writhes against him, like he can't get close enough. The feel of Stiles's lips and teeth and tongue against his throat as he buries his face into the curve of Derek's shoulder. The way Stiles whispers his name against Derek's ear, desperate and longing, with a soft affection that makes him want to weep.

And it's all too much, too much, too cruel because it isn't real.

Derek wakes with a gasp and Stiles's name on the tip of his tongue, only to find the real Stiles hovering over him with a blanket grasped in his outstretched hands, staring down at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

"Sorry, I was just—" Stiles falters, taking a cautionary step backward and averting his eyes. "You were shivering. I thought you were cold."

He holds out the blanket like it's a peace offering.

"Oh…uh…thank you," Derek says softly, reaching out to take it and tampering down the electric shock that jolts through his chest as his hand brushes against Stiles's fingertips.

"And um…you were kind of talking in your sleep?" Stiles poses this next statement as a question, like he's giving Derek an out, eyes cast toward the ceiling as he attacks a phantom itch on the back of his neck.

Derek bolts upright, alarmed.

"What did I say?" he asks, fully aware of how frantic he sounds.

"You, uh…well, you sort of said my name. And you were kind of like, breathing really heavily," Stiles offers, chancing a glance over at Derek.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, shifting into concerned pack dad mode, leaning in closer and placing a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder.

"Whoah, your heart's beating really fast," he breathes, brows narrowed in concern as he searches Derek's face for a fault line, no doubt feeling the erratic thrumming as he presses his fingertips against Derek's collarbone. "You okay? Nervous about something?"

Without missing a beat, and absolutely hating it, Derek says, "Yes."

"You want to talk about it?" Stiles asks softly. "What's got you so worked up?"

You, Derek muses with something caught between a smirk and a grimace. Seconds pass before he comes to the horrifying realization that he's just said that out loud. Stiles pales, absentmindedly digging his fingertips into Derek's shoulder, where he seems to be fused.

"I make you nervous?" he asks, his voice soft, disbelieving.

"Yes," Derek grits out against his will.

"Why—" Stiles pauses, swallowing thickly. "Why do I make you nervous?"

Derek stares at him, eyes wide, wondering how in the hell he's going to get himself out of this one without revealing too much.

"I was dreaming about that night at the pool," he says slowly, choosing his words very carefully. "That's why I said your name."

And technically, technically, it's the truth. Just not all of it.

"Oh," Stiles visibly deflates, a gust of breath he didn't realize he'd been holding rushing out of him. He quickly shakes it off. "Yeah, that's gotta leave you with some pretty heavy PTSD, huh?"

Derek nods, pressing his lips together to keep the truth from spilling out.

"Hey, Derek?" Stiles says suddenly, a heart-clenching combination of guilt, sadness, and determination in his eyes. "You know I wouldn't have just left you there, right? Despite what you might think, I wasn't just looking out for myself that night. Literally the only reason I let you go was because I thought if I could get a hold of Scott, we'd both have more of a fighting chance. And if Scott hadn't showed— I would've held you up all night, if I had to. After everything we've been through, I just…I hope you know that by now."

And honestly, Derek might as well be back at the bottom of that pool, because right now, he feels like he's drowning. He just stares up at Stiles, not trusting himself to speak, his throat uncomfortably tight, the corners of his eyes prickling.

"And I'm not just saying that to be nice," Stiles continues, cutting through the tension just as easily as he'd created it. "I'm not the one who's under some weird kind of nice guy curse, or anything. Which I know must be an absolute pain in the ass for you, but don't worry, I'm doing everything I can to find a cure, and then you'll be back to the surly, grumpy Sourwolf we all know and love."

Stiles gives Derek's shoulder a reassuring little squeeze, fixing him with an affectionate half-smile before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and slipping out the front door. Derek stares at the leather armchair scattered with books and leaflets and highlighters until the Stiles-shaped imprint in its cushions fades away, and then he's stalking up to his bedroom, dragging the quilt and the pillow that always smells like Stiles with him and wrapping himself up in it like a burrito.

• • •

Stiles nearly has a heart attack when his bedroom window slides open at a quarter to midnight on the full moon, and Derek comes tumbling inside, a little breathless, but looking determined and resolute. He squares his shoulders, looks Stiles directly in the eye, and says, "Now that I'm no longer cursed and can say this without being compelled to, I've got something I need to tell you."

Stiles prepares for an onslaught of…well, something bad, because that's just his life now, isn't it? That's just been his life for the past several years, ever since the night he decided, hey, looking for half a dead body in the woods sounds like fun and next thing he knows, his best friend is a werewolf, and then everyone around him is a werewolf, or a kanima, or a kitsune, or a banshee, or a darach, or—

What he isn't prepared for is for Derek to start waxing poetic about all the things he likes about Stiles. Because oh right, on top of everything else, there's also witches and Derek has been cursed. Only it's weird, because it's not quite as nice as it has been over the past couple of weeks — in fact, he's pretty sure there's a couple of insults disguised as compliments thrown in there that Stiles doesn't even have time to register because he's just so shocked by what Derek says next.

And I think I might be in love with you.

I think I have been for a while now, I just didn't realize it.

Or maybe I just wasn't willing to admit it.

I guess it took being cursed to finally admit the truth.

And that nervous little laugh he huffs out afterward. Sweet Jesus.

Every inch of Stiles is on fire.

"Oh fuck," he says, a surge of adrenaline burning through his veins like the world's worst shot of fireball whiskey. Derek's smile withers, because yeah, oh fuck isn't exactly at the top of the list of things you want to hear after you've just poured your heart out, and the look Stiles gives him is nothing short of devastating.

"Oh fuck, I was right," Stiles groans, burying his face into the palms of his hands like he's about to cry. "It's gotten so much worse. You're not just cursed, you're delusional."

It hits Derek like a punch to the gut. He barely registers the blur of red and blue as Stiles bounds off the bed and bolts to his desk, rummaging through haphazard stacks of journals and leather-bound books with spiderwebbed spines. Derek watches him with a kind of cautious curiosity, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

"Don't worry, Derek," Stiles reassures him in a tone that's anything but, shoving the cap of a highlighter off with his teeth and circling a passage in one of the many, many pages of his chicken-scratch notes. "I promise we'll fix this. There's got to be something in here about love potions, because it's clear to me now that you've been spiked with one. We'll catch the witch that did this to you and make them pay."

And just like that, it all clicks into place. The knot coiling in Derek's stomach unclenches, and then he's laughing unabashedly.

"You're such a fucking dumbass sometimes, you know that?" Derek says as his laughter subsides, the gentle fondness of his tone clashing with the bite of his words. "I haven't been spiked with love potion, Stiles. And I told you, I'm not cursed anymore."

Stiles freezes, caught off guard, because it's the first time he's heard Derek's sarcasm in over two weeks, and he kind of hates how much he'd missed it.

"Are…are you sure?" he asks, wincing at how small he sounds.

"Dead certain," Derek replies with a shit-eating grin that shows all of his teeth, looking for all the world like he's physically struggling to hold back his amusement.

And that's when it hits him. If Derek was still cursed, if he'd been poisoned with some kind of love potion, he wouldn't be able to throw insults and sarcastic quips at Stiles. It would go against the very nature of the spell.

Which can only mean one thing: Derek isn't cursed. He's perfectly fine, and he's fucking with him.

Stiles can't believe he learned two-color brioche for this asshole.

"Fuck you," Stiles says harshly, watching with a sick sort of satisfaction as it wipes the smirk right off of Derek's stupidly handsome face.

"Wait, what?" Derek balks, blinking rapidly like he'd just been struck over the head.

"Fuck you for thinking it's funny to mess with a guy's feelings like this," Stiles spits, hating the pathetic tremor in his voice.

"Stiles, what are you talking about?" Derek asks, eyes wide with worry, like Stiles is the one who's delusional.

"The way I see it, there's only two options here," Stiles barrels on in spite of the anxiety-fueled adrenaline twisting through his veins, heat rising in his cheeks. "Either you've been cursed or spiked with amortentia or — I don't fucking know, some kind of spell that makes you think you have feelings for me, or you were never actually cursed at all, you've figured out that I'm the one who's in love with you, and you've just been saying all of this nice shit to me to…I don't know, wind me up? Make me look like a jackass? Or maybe you just like hurting people."

That last one stings, lends venom to the bite in Derek's voice.

"Option C," Derek grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Fucking Peter got involved with not one, not two, but seven witches from the same coven, and started a civil war — which explains all of the weird shit that's been happening around town lately, apparently they've been trying to curse him and each other — got caught in his own web of lies and fled the scene, but not before hitting my house to pack supplies so he could skip town. The coven tracked him down, but couldn't follow him inside because of Deaton's protection spells, so they just assumed he was hiding out in there, and placed a curse on the sole proprietor. Little did they know, the house is in my name. So, lucky me, I got the full blast of it."

Stiles gapes at him for a few moments, eyes trained on the rapid rise and fall of Derek's chest as he struggles to recompose himself. Anything involving his creepy, murderous, and now apparently two-timing (seven-timing?) uncle always gets him so riled up.

"So, what? You actually were cursed and that's the reason you've been saying nice shit for the past two weeks?" Stiles asks with crossed arms and narrowed eyes, but his tone is several shades softer than it had been a few moments ago, curiosity piqued.

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh, but he can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he says with the tone of someone trying to explain something obvious to someone who's very, very stupid. "It didn't make me say nice shit, Stiles. It made me incapable of lying, like Peter lied to all of them. It made me more open and vulnerable and vocal about the things I already felt, stuff I tried to keep hidden. And it made me realize just how much I hated doing that. Because yeah, it was definitely embarrassing at times, but it was also kind of nice, not having to keep it in anymore. And I realized that everyone around me seemed happier for it, that I was able to make the people I care about feel good, just by being honest with them about how I really felt about them."

"Which is why," Derek sighs, pausing to glance up from the floor and lock eyes with Stiles. "As soon as they broke the curse, I came here…to see you…to tell you that I— what I told you."

All of the air rushes out of Stiles's lungs.

"So everything…" he manages, just barely, to keep the choked disbelief out of his voice. "Everything you've been saying to me these past few weeks…and everything you said to me just now…that was real?"

Derek offers him a small, affectionate smile that nearly breaks him in two.

"Yeah, dumbass. I meant every word."

Stiles stares at him for a moment, rooted to the spot, and Derek can practically hear the cogs turning inside his head as he processes it all and plays catch-up. And then he's smiling, this big, goofy grin spreading across his face as he bounds across the room and throws his arms around Derek's neck with such gusto that he knocks them both backward onto Stiles's bed, swallowing Derek's surprised huff of laughter in a kiss.

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