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helioooss · 25 days ago

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your song

synopsis: after years apart, y/n, now a successful chef running her own restaurant in makati, finds her life briefly interrupted when sophia laforteza, her childhood best friend turned global pop star, returns home.

w/c: 15k+

warnings: swearing, slowburn, angst

a/n: heaps of filipino words and dishes used; this is an ode to home! also, my future restaurant’s name is concave so…

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the night air in your grandmother’s backyard was thick with smoke and laughter. anthony was sitting in the corner, half-cross-legged on a cracked monobloc chair, his old ibañez propped over his knee as he strummed through a chord progression he never quite finished. his fingers moved like habit, a little drunk and careless, but familiar in the way things were when you’ve known someone since you were nine.

diana had claimed the role of drink master again — her term, not anyone else’s. she poured red horse into mismatched glasses like she was tending bar at a family wake, wrist flicking slightly each time she tipped the bottle. kyle was by the plastic table, already halfway through the pulutan, a lazy grin on his face as he picked at the sisig you made earlier.

“this shit’s good, y/n,” he mumbled, mouth half-full. “you should serve this at concave.”

you shrugged, one leg drawn up against your chest as you nursed your drink. “too much prep. and people in makati want it artisanal now like, ‘elevated street food,’ whatever the fuck that means.”

someone snorted. you think it was anthony. maybe diana. the laughter came in waves tonight, a rhythm of remembering and forgetting, pausing just enough for something real to slip through before it got drowned again in the next joke.

the group had thinned out over the years; some moved abroad, a few married, one had a kid — but all four of you were still here.

even though diana was getting married.

“speaking of elevated,” she wiggled her eyebrows, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin before reaching for the bottle. “did you guys see sophia’s post last week? they were at some awards show in america. full glam, backless dress, the whole thing.”

there was a short silence; just enough for the name to settle in.

“she really made it, huh?” anthony strummed a few soft notes, like background music for the weight of it. “used to sit on that same stool you’re on, y/n, crying over her trigonometry homework.”

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “yeah…she would act like it was the end of the world if she got anything below ninety.”

“remember her driver?” kyle grinned. “the old one who always got lost in pasay? guy called her ten times a day like he was in a hostage situation.”

“well, remember when sophia tried to say kwek-kwek in that american accent?” diana added, slurring a little but still sharp, still loud. “kwek-kwAAAK,” she mocked, holding her nose and puffing her lips like a bad parody.

the group cracked up. even anthony barked a laugh, though he kept plucking at a loose tune; probably something from a parokya song, low and familiar.

kyle choked a little on the spoonful of sisig he scooped straight from the serving dish.

your head tilted back as you laughed, really laughed, and it sounds like it came from somewhere buried.

sophia has always been different in so many ways, but you were close. painfully so. you still remembered the softness of her voice when she would call your name, the smell of her mum’s perfume on her school jumper when you hugged goodbye after visits. she used to send you voice notes even after she transferred schools, even when you couldn’t relate to her stories about cafeteria fights and international school problems, you would still reply.

“what a time,” anthony murmured.

no one said anything, the silence that followed wasn’t loud; instead, it was thick.

everyone knew it was coming, that someone was going to bring her up eventually. it was inevitable — like how you could you not talk of your childhood without mentioning the girl who made it out?

“katseye,” kyle broke the quiet, rolling the name in his mouth like he was still getting used to it. “my niece has her face on a pencil case, she won’t believe that i knew sophia.”

knew.

anthony chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “i saw her in an ad. some korean skincare thing, couldn’t tell if it was her at first. she looks different now.”

your fingers tightened slightly around your bottle. the condensation had already soaked into the tablecloth, leaving a pale ring where your drink sat.

“did she ever…reach out to you?” diana asked, careful this time. her voice softer. “you were pretty close.”

you shrugged. “once or twice. birthdays. new years. the usual.”

you didn’t say more, didn’t say how the last time she messaged was two years ago. how it was just a short, clean: happy birthday, hope you’re well. no warmth to it.

and it’s not like she owed you anything than that…but you thought you were more important than a short sentence.

but sophia, she was always looking past the gate; over the rooftops, past the wires strung like spiderwebs in the sky.

and you — well, you looked at her.

then, like someone flicked a switch, the memory passed. kyle reached for more sisig, diana lit a mosquito coil under the table and conversation shifted without ceremony.

she turned to you, refilling your jar before you could decline. “you working tomorrow, chef?”

“nah,” you replied, voice low, eyes still on your lap. “sunday crew’s got it.”

“concave’s always packed, huh?” anthony grinned, adjusting his grip on the guitar. “saw someone post about the wagyu kare-kare last week.”

“that’s leo’s recipe,” you said, leaning back and finally meeting their gazes. “i just plated it.”

“bullshit,” diana shot back. “kristoff says you make everything in your head.”

you shrugged; it didn’t feel like bossing.

it was more like waking up too early and going home too late, keeping inventory on your phone while waiting in line for rice deliveries and never having time for yourself, let alone anyone else — but they didn’t need to hear that.

not tonight.

they laughed at something stupid anthony had said, but your eyes had drifted to the bamboo fence, where the light from your grandma’s kitchen filtered through in weak slices. you could still hear them talking: about kyle’s ex who showed up at his gym, about some basketball game, about whether anyone wanted to go to tagaytay next weekend…but it blurred around the edges.

you took a sip of beer and leaned back in your chair as you thought about the last time you really saw her — before the debut, the contracts and when she stopped replying. she had red-stained lips from a street barbecue and her hand around your wrist, tugging you toward her car, saying you had to try the new taylor swift song on her aux.

she said she’d always write. that she wouldn’t become one of those people.

and just like that, sophia laforteza faded from the conversation. but not from your mind, not really, not in the way you hoped.

the red horse was beginning to settle in your chest, warm and heavy. the buzz in your ears had dulled the voices around you, just a little, like a layer of gauze had been pressed over the moment.

then kyle, mouth full of sisig, glanced your way. “hey.”

you looked up, startled by how gently he had said it. “yeah?”

“you got quiet,” he said, eyes narrowing in a mock squint. “what, are you still in love with her or something?”

you scoffed, too quickly. shook your head like it was reflex.

all eyes were on you. anthony had stopped playing and now your song by parokya ni edgar was spilling out into the yard, a little tinny through the old speaker. the intro played soft, like a memory you didn’t know you still knew.

and somehow it fit like it always did.

“come on,” anthony teased you in that tone. “it’s just us.”

you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, heart thudding quietly. the air was thick again, the kind that stuck to your skin and made your shirt cling slightly to your back.

“it’s nothing,” you murmured, but your voice caught in your throat. “i mean — it was a long time ago.”

“that doesn’t make it nothing,” diana said, not unkindly. “i think deep down, we all knew. she was always fucking holding your hand and you chased her around.”

you stared down at your lap, fingers playing with the frayed edge of your shorts. you hadn’t thought about this in a while. not like this; with witnesses.

“when we were kids,” you started, voice quiet. “it was just easier to…watch her from afar. you know?”

the group went still in the way only close friends could. not exactly dramatic, they were just present.

“she was always…hard to reach. not because she was trying to be. she just was. always got picked up early, going to dance classes, international school. she’d come around in the summers and hang out like nothing changed, but each year…it did.”

you paused, scratching at a mosquito bite on your ankle, feeling the dull sting of it.

“i knew there was no point, not really. there were always boys, older ones, cooler ones. and i was just — me; just a girl in boy clothes who made her laugh sometimes, i carried her backpack when she’d forget it. told her which vendors had the best mangga’t bagoong.”

you shrugged, trying to bury something under the motion before continuing.

“i never said anything. what was the point? she’d never look at me like that. she was the kind of person you tell stories about, not someone who stays. even now…she’s like a ghost. just — shows up on my screen sometimes; all glammed up, perfect hair, perfect lighting. and then she disappears again.”

you felt the words dig into you on their way out. they didn’t sting exactly. they were just real in a way you’ve been avoiding.

“these days, i don’t think about her much. i’ve got the restaurant, i’ve got bills and staff to worry about. my back hurts from standing too long — real life’s really fucking loud.”

you took a breath. slow and steady.

“but every now and then — she shows up. and it’s like nothing ever happened, like i’m fifteen again and i still don’t know what to do with the way she smiles at me.”

the words sat there. no one moved to fill the silence. the night buzzed around you: cicadas in the tree, a distant karaoke machine somewhere down the street, the faint rustle of the neighbour’s curtains.

anthony strummed a slow chord again, soft and out of tune. it lingered.

“that’s some indie film shit,” kyle muttered finally, rubbing his chest like he didn’t know what else to do. “damn, red horse does that to you nowadays? you’re getting old.”

you laughed through your nose. “shut up.”

you leaned back in your chair again, glass cool against your palm. the love you had for her, it was all still there. not overwhelming, maybe a little suffocating.

and that was okay. maybe it didn’t need to go anywhere.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

five years ago

the rain had started somewhere along españa. one of those annoying late afternoon drizzles that came without thunder, just a quiet soaking that crept into your shoes and made the air feel heavier than it needed to.

the jeep you were riding moved in fits — start, honk, pause, inch forward, then brake again. the kind of crawl that made you check your watch three times a minute, even though you already knew you were running late.

by the time you got to the lafortezas’ house in forbes park, your hair had dried in uneven patches, your uniform smelled faintly of garlic and onions from lunch lab and your lanyard with your university ID stuck awkwardly to your chest.

the guard let you in without a fuss, he remembered you from before, gave you a small nod like he felt bad about how out of place you looked.

the house was alive with sound too and not just the sharp clang of glasses or the soft bass of music vibrating through expensive outdoor speakers — but voices; loud ones.

laughter that rang out from the pool area, old relatives talking over each other inside, the kind of family gathering that reminded you that sophia’s world was always louder, always busier, always somehow more than yours.

you stood near the archway for a second, unsure if you should walk in like you used to, back when you didn’t need an invitation, back when you were just there, all the time.

there was a part of you that waited for someone to stop you, they didn’t. one of the servers walking by gave you a polite nod.

you spotted her dad, godfrey, first. he was manning the grill like always, even with his button-down shirt slightly open and a cigar resting in a glass tray nearby. he looked up and grinned.

“look who finally showed up,” he said, flipping a skewer. “traffic?”

you nodded, stepping into the light as you bowed, the back of his hand briefly touching your forehead. “yeah, sorry tito.”

“no worries, kid. you hungry?”

“a little,” you admitted and he just laughed.

“you came straight from school?”

you glanced down at your stained shirt, your scuffed shoes. “yeah.”

“hardworking as ever,” he teased, not unkindly. “you’re doing good over there at ust, huh?”

“really trying to.”

he nodded, like that was enough; trying meant something. “she’s out back. by the pond. look after her!”

you chuckled, heels turning away from him. “i always do, tito.”

you knew exactly where he meant as you followed the path to their enormous backyard.

and there she was.

sophia sat on the edge of the stone walkway, her legs tucked beneath her, a nearly-empty flute of champagne in her hand. her hair was longer than you remembered.

she turned when she heard you, her face lighting up in the same way it always had, as if you were the only person she had been waiting for.”

“i thought you weren’t coming.”

you dropped your bag to the grass and sat beside her. “i was stuck on the road for hours. i left early but the jeepney broke down somewhere in quiapo — i’m sorry, piya.”

“classic, but still late,” she teased, nudging your knee with hers. “i’m glad you’re here.”

you looked at her profile, soft and strange in the warm light. she was beautiful without even trying.

“you look like a celebrity already,” you mumbled, brows furrowing.

she laughed quietly, sipping the last of her drink. “it’s the makeup.”

“nah, you’ve always looked like this; maganda.”

she glanced sideways at you then, her expression unreadable. you looked away first.

the koi stirred beneath your feet, rippling the water. you could hear the faint clink of cutlery behind you, the celebration continuing without her. or maybe without the both of you.

she leaned forward and fixed your collar, not even hesitating, her fingers brushed your neck and it made your breath hitch.

“you smell like garlic.”

you gave her a look. “you’re welcome.”

she laughed. then — without warning — she pulled you into a hug. and it wasn’t for show. not like earlier with her titas or the camera flashes or the formal poses. it was just her, warm and tight and real.

“i thought you really weren’t gonna make it,” she murmured. “i needed to see you.”

you didn’t answer.

there was a long pause when she pulled away; a silence where you could feel everything pressing up against the surface, but no one was brave enough to say it first.

“so…dream academy,” you said eventually, trying to keep your voice light. “sounds fake.”

she snorted. “i know, it feels fake to me but i’m going — i have the ticket and all that jazz. y/n, i’m really going.”

you nodded, a fond smile plastered on your face. “i know.”

and you did. and it was exciting. and you were proud.

but at the same time, something inside you folded a little. it felt like something had creased your chest without permission because this was it.

this was the before. and everything after this would be new and distant.

she looked at you then, like she could feel the same thing.

“i’m scared,” she admitted, voice low.

you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “piya, you’ll be fine. you were born to do this.”

“promise me something,” she bit her lip, nudging her knee against yours.

you glanced at her, waiting.

“don’t forget me, y/n.”

you blinked, surprised by the way it stung, it was getting too real. “piya —”

“i mean it,” she cut you off. “when i come back…you know. if i come back…i don’t want it to be weird. i don’t want us to be strangers.”

you wanted to say something honest: that you were already strangers in some ways. that you had spent the last few years slowly drifting, seeing each other less, learning how to fill your lives with other people, other stories. yet, she was looking at you like the girl who used to cry over algebra and make you listen to her sing in secret, like the friend who once stood outside your house with a stolen umbrella just so you wouldn’t walk home in the rain.

so, you nodded. “i won’t forget you.”

and you meant it, too. because how could you?

and then she reached up and tugged your lanyard over your head.

“hey —”

“i’m keeping it.”

“soph.”

“souvenir.”

“i’m gonna get in trouble.”

“worth it.”

you stared at her as she smiled, lanyard in hand, your face on the ID still as awkward as ever. and you let her have it because it felt like something small you could give. something real. a piece of this version of you, before everything bent into something else.

someone called her name from across the lawn. tita carla, probably. there was cake to be cut and photos to take.

she looked at you one last time. “i’ll see you soon, yeah?”

you nodded again, even though you didn’t believe it. even though you already knew — you would never see her quite like this again.

and then she was gone; taken by the crowd. and you were left standing under those lanterns, hands in your pockets, garlic on your clothes and a phantom weight where your lanyard used to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

makati at 4am was quieter than most people would believe. the usual heat had not yet risen from the pavement and the sky still held onto its last shades of dark blue as if it didn’t want to let go of the night.

the air smelled cleaner somehow: fewer cars, fewer cigarettes, less of everything. you liked this version of the city. no sharp edges, just soft engine rumbles and the occasional flick of a lighter from a security guard somewhere down the block.

you lived just a few minutes away from your restaurant, on the second floor of a quiet building tucked between a shuttered nail salon and a law office that hadn’t opened since the pandemic. your apartment was two bedrooms — too much space for one person, but you needed it. one room was mostly office and storage. the other was yours and in the living area sat your aquarium, humming low in the corner. a slow, glowing square of water filled with plants and one stubborn betta fish named pansit who outlived all the others. he swam lazy laps as you passed by, grabbing your apron off the back of the couch.

concave sat in one of those narrow alleys just off the high street, in between a luxury flower shop and a tailoring studio that catered to wedding clients and politicians. it was a location most restaurateurs dreamed of: central, walkable and expensive as hell.

the rent made your head spin sometimes.

the district lights always flickered too bright, and the kind of people who walked by at night never looked like they worried about money.

still, you liked being there, becoming a part of something that looked clean from the outside even if your hands smelled like vinegar and fish guts most days.

the delivery truck arrived a little after five like it always did.

the driver, tonio, though you weren’t sure if that was really his name — nodded in your direction. he never said anything more than what was necessary, same as he had every morning for the past three years.

there was a rhythm to it now, something almost respectful in the silence.

you opened the metal back door and started unloading: kangkong, eggplants, calamansi by the kilo, three trays of bangus on ice, a bag of frozen ube, half a sack of garlic, pork belly in clear packaging and two boxes of duck eggs, stacked and tied with orange twine.

no lemongrass — you stared into the crate where it should’ve been and let out a quiet curse.

“tangina,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “of fucking course.”

but you didn’t panic, you and leo would have to figure something out. one of you (was always him) would run to the market before it got too hot, haggle a bit, text the other something dumb about how god’s testing them again.

you started prepping before the sun had fully risen; chopped onions, boiled pork bones for broth, mixed vinegar and soy into plastic tubs for later. your body moved on memory.

your brain stayed somewhere else — thoughts mostly quiet, save for a dull reminder that you had only slept four hours again.

by the time the sun hit the windows, the others started trickling in. leo was first, as usual — his hair still wet from the shower, plastic bags in one hand and an old insulated mug in the other.

“guess what,” he said, holding up the lemongrass like a trophy.

you raised your eyebrows and gave him a tired thumbs up. “legend.”

kristoff came next, with his usual coffee order in one hand and a tray of eggs in the other. aira followed soon after, lipstick already on, humming something that sounded like ligaya as she unpacked tupperware full of garlic rice from home.

the playlist kicked in around 6:45, old eraserheads at first before bleeding into rivermaya. the speakers crackled a little when the volume was too high, but no one minded. leo started singing along without meaning to.

lunch service opened at eleven-thirty sharp.

you barely looked up from the grill when yohan came in, there’s a burn on your forearm from last week that hasn’t scabbed properly but you had no time to worry about it. tickets rolled in and stacked fast.

people asked for things that weren’t on the menu, pointed at photos on their phones, laughed too loud over iced tea. you worked through it, answered questions and nodded when you needed to. instructions were yelled at when something started to burn.

the kitchen was a flurry of heat and noise and movement. and through it all, you stayed planted. solid and sweating.

by two, the noise thinned, tables cleared and the room exhaled.

the team ate standing, as always — no time to sit, they reckoned. kristoff scraped the last of the kare-kare straight from the pot. aira found a pack of chocnut near the register and handed them out like party favours before leaving to see her boyfriend. leo held up the receipt from one of the tables.

“make sure yohan gets a thousand from that,” you sighed, shaking your head at thought of the shy kitchenhand as everyone else cheered for him.

“thanks boss,” yohan gratefully tapped your shoulder.

“five thousand pesos,” leo grinned, waving it. “cash. no note, just pure vibes.”

“well shit,” kristoff said. “guess we didn’t fuck up today.”

you watched from the doorway of your office, legs folded beneath you as you sat on an upturned crate, still wearing your apron, your ma’s pancit bihon in a container beside you. untouched. your hands were resting in your lap, wrists sore, fingers stained slightly orange from atsuete.

you heard the chime of the front door open, kristoff went out to check as your eyes curiously followed him.

after a second, he came back, hesitated before walking over to you.

“chef,” he said softly. “there’s someone here. umm, i think it’s chef godfrey.”

you looked up real fast; it took a second to register “what? seriously?”

“yeah.”

you got to your feet slowly, wiped your hands on a rag that didn’t help much and stepped into the dining area.

he stood near the window, wearing a button-down and linen trousers. same gold watch. in his hands, a small box. he smiled like he was surprised to be there too.

“tito,” you greeted. “you didn’t text.”

“didn’t want to give you a chance to say no.”

you walked over and gestured toward a table. “want anything? we’ve got some sinigang left. or i can get you something from the bar.”

he placed the box on the table, pulled out a chair. “red horse is fine, if you have any.”

you raised a brow. “oh? at this time of day? does tita carla know you’re here?”

“brought pulutan,” he added with a laugh, opening the box. “and she won’t know if you keep your mouth shut.”

you leaned over and laughed, he brought cheese rolls. the ones from that bakery in greenhills, the same ones sophia used to beg for after school like she didn’t have a fridge full of imported snacks.

“they’ve gotten smaller,” he frowned. “but more expensive like everything else in this damn country.”

you sat down across from him, both of you cracking open bottles like you had done this before, though you hadn’t for a while really.

you talked about concave, mostly. the insane rent. the stress of keeping a small team happy. your hope to maybe move it someday, maybe somewhere a little quieter; in quezon city, just somewhere with better parking.

he nodded through it all. sipped his beer and listened. then, halfway through the second bottle, he said it.

“sophia’s coming back.”

your shoulders stiffened before you could hide it. “yeah?”

“just for a few days. there’s a brand deal, promo rounds and she’s filming something at home — she was asking about you.”

“that’s good,” you stared at your bottle, the condensation on your fingertips.

“i told her i didn’t know if you’d want to see her. after all these years.”

you said nothing.

“i figured it was better to say this in person,” he continued. “there’s an intimate dinner at the end of the week. family, mostly. i think you should come. her team’s going to film it.”

you reached for another cheese roll, tearing a piece slowly between your fingers. “i don’t think she even remembers me.”

“you’re wrong about that.”

you looked up. “tito…i doubt it. we haven’t spoken in years.”

“and yet, she still asked.”

you didn’t reply. just took a bite. let the silence rest between you.

“just think about it,” he said gently.

you both sat like that a while longer. the beer was warm now, the box half-empty, the afternoon light softening into gold. you didn’t say yes and you didn’t say no either.

and neither of you rushed to leave.

some things were easier that way.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the next morning, the kitchen still smelled faintly of fried oil and last night’s vinegar, clinging to the walls like a memory that refused to clear. you opened earlier than usual. the silence helped. your hands moved on muscle memory, chopping onions into uniform pieces, brow furrowed, mouth set in that same neutral line you wore when something was stuck in your chest but you didn’t want to talk about it yet.

leo was already there and he was peeling garlic, badly. half the cloves still had skin on them and you were trying not to notice. or crash out over it.

“you’re unusually quiet,” he began, not looking up. “like…extra quiet.”

“you yap enough for both of us.”

he let out a soft cackle. “true, but you usually complain about something by now.”

you didn’t answer, just kept chopping carefully as your hands moved automatically. there was a pot simmering behind you and a container of cleaned bangus on the counter. you could feel leo watching you now.

“did you get laid or something?”

“leo,” you groaned, voice flat.

he whistled. “not a no.”

before you could respond, aira burst through the back door, her hair already up in a messy bun, eyeliner on point like always. she dumped her tote on the bench and grabbed a spoon from the drying rack, immediately dipping into one of the sauces without checking what it was.

“oh my god,” she muttered, licking her finger. “what is that? it’s like…happiness in liquid form.”

“sinamak,” you replied. “don’t drink it.”

“you didn’t eat your ma’s pancit yesterday,” leo pointed out, not leaving the topic alone.

“wasn’t hungry.”

he made a face and returned to peeling garlic, slower this time. you felt his eyes flick toward you again but he didn’t push it.

“so, uh…” he started, deliberately casual. “that guy yesterday.”

you paused for a moment. your knife hovered above a clove of garlic as you waited for him to finish the thought.

“older, gold watch, smelled like old money and dental appointments.”

you huffed out a quiet laugh despite yourself, but refused to say anything.

“was that chef godfrey?” he added, and this time he turned properly to face aira, who was unloading vegetables from the delivery crate. “as in godfrey laforteza.”

aira froze mid-crouch, holding a bundle of kangkong like she had just discovered fire. “wait, sophia laforteza’s dad?!”

you sighed; there it was.

“oh my god, oh my god,” she stood up straight, practically vibrating. “are you telling me that the godfrey laforteza was here and no one told me? you let me go see my stupid boyfriend?”

leo shrugged, grinning now. “i didn’t realise until he left — his back was facing the kitchen so we couldn’t see and kristoff didn’t say anything.”

aira placed the kangkong down like it was sacred. “do you know who his daughter is? she’s literally the reason i started contouring. i watched one fancam and it changed the shape of my face. oh my god. oh my god.”

you wiped your hands on a towel and leaned against the counter like it was no big deal. “we used to be friends.”

she blinked at you in disbelief. “you…what?!”

“me and sophia,” you repeated, voice flat like you were talking about the weather. “we sort of grew up together…but like different tax brackets and all that.”

she made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a choke, placing both hands on the edge of the counter. “i need you to repeat that sentence. slowly. with emotion.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we. used. to be. friends.”

“holy shit,” she whispered. “like, close friends? or like…you-commented-on-each-other’s-posts kind of friends?”

you reached for a pot behind you, pretending to focus on something else. “close like her snotty ass was over at mine all the time and the guards at forbes park knew me.”

leo leaned in now, voice teasing. “she stole her college ID too, as souvenir.”

“leo,” you muttered, warning him because she was definitely going to flip out.

she gasped so hard she nearly dropped the carrots. “wait — are you being serious? like she physically stole it? like in a cute way?”

“she asked if she could keep it,” you mumbled, smiling shyly. “i let her.”

her jaw dropped and she looked physically pained.

“why are you still here?” she asked, scandalised. “why aren’t you in an airport chasing her down with a bouquet?”

leo let out a laugh. “i’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

you felt heat rise to your neck and busied yourself with lighting the stove. the gas hissed, caught the flame and you stirred oil into a pan without thinking.

“it’s been years,” you said finally, voice quieter now. “we haven’t spoken since she left.”

that sobered the room a little. aira glanced at leo, then lowered herself onto a bench, the excitement in her face softening into something else.

“but…she’s back?” she asked.

“for a few days. a brand thing, plus her dad said there’s a dinner.”

no one said anything for a while. its been way too long now and you began to wonder what her voice sounded like these days.

“you thinking of going?” leo asked again.

you stared into the pan and watched the garlic start to colour. “i don’t know.”

she tilted her head. “you want to?”

you didn’t answer right away because you didn’t know how to explain the weird ache that came and went whenever you heard her name. how some days it barely registered, and others it clung to you like heat in the back of your shirt.

how you weren’t sure what was worse — seeing her again or not seeing her at all.

“i’m busy,” you muttered, not quite meeting their eyes. “we have a business to run.”

leo snorted. “cop out.”

“maybe.”

aira leaned her chin into her hand. “just wear something nice. you don’t even have to say anything, go see her.”

you stirred the garlic again, let it brown.

“just think about it,” she added, softer now. “you owe yourself that much, yeah?”

the smell of burnt garlic filled the room.

“shit,” you muttered, turning off the heat. you scraped the pan out into the compost bin and started again, slower this time.

no one pressed further. they didn’t have to.

the kitchen was loud again within minutes —spoons clinking, water running, someone restarting the playlist. rivermaya this time. hinahanap-hanap kita played low beneath the noise, as if the speakers knew something you weren’t ready to say yet.

and you let the thought of her linger, unspoken, like the smell of something once sweet still hanging in the air.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

five years ago

the weekend after sophia graduated, the sky above manila looked unusually clean - cloudless, wide, almost smug in how blue it was. your lola, alongside your parents, had left for the province earlier that day, which meant the house was yours for the weekend.

the family house in quezon had the kind of roof that wasn’t really meant for lounging, just concrete and rusting rebar poking from the corners, but you claimed it years ago with foldable chairs and old blankets, a spot to sit when the house felt too full or the night too quiet.

sophia had arrived just after seven, wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt that hung slightly off her shoulder. her driver had dropped her off at the corner because she insisted on walking.

she came bearing gifts: one large jollibee bag, four smirnoff mules sticking out the top and a plastic container of gravy she insisted was worth the spill in her bag.

“you told your lola?” she asked, stepping out of her shoes by the back door.

“that you’re crashing the night?” you returned a question, reaching for the bag of fries. “nope.”

“perfect,” she grinned.

you both carried the food and drinks up the narrow stairs to the roof, a towel tucked under your arm, a blanket you pulled from the cabinet smelling faintly of mothballs. the rooftop was still warm underfoot, the cement holding onto the last heat of the day. your neighbours’ radio played something low — maybe kitchie nadal, the echoes of someone else’s happiness.

“we’re celebrating,” she announced, grinning as she pulled the food out one by one on the roof, the stars above just starting to show. “high honours. second highest in the whole school. can you believe it?”

you shook your head and passed her a spoon. “i would’ve believed it if you passed math without crying.”

“that was character development, asshole,” she shot back. “besides, crying builds humility.”

you laid the blanket down between the water tank and the clothesline as you laughed at her, surrounded by rusting steel bars and old satellite dishes.

“cheers,” sophia said once you’ve settled down, cracking her bottle open against the metal pipe and raising it toward you.

you tapped yours against hers and took a swig. it was sweeter than you remembered. “this shit’s nasty.”

“well, can’t be picky, i brought the gifts and your only job is to consume them,” she snarked.

you both ate like you hadn’t had fast food in weeks, spooning rice straight from the paper containers, sitting side by side on an old blanket with faded cartoon characters printed across it.

the drinks were warm, but they still fizzed when opened and you continued clinking bottles like you were pretending to be older than you were.

“what now?” you asked, wiping gravy off your chin with your sleeve. “what’s next?”

she leaned back on her elbows, looking up. her hair spread out against the blanket like ink in water. “i don’t know. maybe take a break.”

“from what? being pretty and smart?”

“exactly.” she laughed, then glanced over. “i’m thinking of trying something…different.”

you raised a brow. “like what?”

she hesitated and you noticed it — not nervous, exactly, but something quieter. something still forming.

“i dunno yet,” she hummed. “something big.”

“whatever it is, you’d be good.”

“i might suck.”

“you won’t.”

she tilted her head toward you, her ponytail brushing the blanket. “you’re always sure about me.”

“someone has to be.”

you lay side by side on the blanket, her legs brushing against yours occasionally. the stars weren’t as sharp as they were in the province, but they were enough. the city around you still hummed: buses in the distance and a dog barking.

you didn’t talk much; not at first. your arms were close, then closer. and then her fingers found yours and didn’t let go.

her hand was warm and a little clammy from the bottle, but you didn’t mind. you didn’t even breathe too hard, afraid it might ruin the moment. she didn’t say anything either. just let the space fill with sound and the night stretch over both of you like a quiet promise.

you could feel her thumb moving in soft circles against yours.

“i still can’t believe i graduated with medals,” she murmured after a while.

“you say that like you were failing all year.”

“i mean, i wasn’t trying that hard. they just like me.”

you turned your head to look at her. her eyes were fixed on the sky, lashes catching the light of the nearest streetlamp. she looked older than she did last summer, but still had that same uneven tan on her arms from volleyball tryouts, nails still painted light pink and chipped at the edges.

she turned her face toward you now, the stars catching in her eyes.

“do you ever feel like you’re standing at the edge of something?” she asked. “like something big is about to happen and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad, just that everything’s going to change?”

“yeah,” you said. “i do.”

sophia smiled, slow and real. “good. then we’ll be scared together.”

you wanted to kiss her right then, but you didn’t - couldn’t. all you could do was squeeze her hand a little tighter and memorise the way she looked with the city lights flickering below her and the whole night sky above.

neither of you moved.

you finished your drinks and shared the last peach mango pie. one of your neighbours yelled for their kid to come inside, the air cooling down. you stayed on the roof until you both started to shiver, until the stars faded behind the first pale streaks of morning, until sophia fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, fingers still loosely laced with yours.

you didn’t sleep, just watched the sky change and wondered how long before you would lose this version of her.

before whatever was coming finally arrived.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the team had just settled into their usual late-morning rhythm when anthony showed up, slouched and sunburnt, with a guitar strapped to his back like it was a medical condition he refused to treat.

“oi,” he called out as he pushed through the front door, sweat already glistening along his hairline. “you still feeding stray musicians or what?”

you glanced up from where you were marinating pork belly, salt crusted on your fingertips, elbow-deep in prep bowls. “what time’s your gig?”

“twelve and nearby. rooftop bar in legazpi. they said there’s free iced tea, which means it’s gonna be a nightmare.”

you smirked and went back to massaging vinegar into the pork. “you just want free food.”

he gave you his best impression of innocence. “nooo, i want your company.”

“you wanna scab off my company,” you corrected.

“and your company.”

aira, who had been julienning carrots with the intensity of someone seeking vengeance, glanced over and groaned. “for fuck’s sake, him again?”

“hello to you too,” he grinned, leaning against the counter like he owned the place. “still can’t cook eggs without burning them?”

“still can’t sing without pretending it’s 2007?” she bit back, raising an eyebrow. “get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“i came for peace and nourishment.”

“you came to freeload.”

leo, somewhere behind the fridge door, coughed out a laugh. kristoff didn’t look up from stirring the adobo, but his shoulders shook with quiet amusement.

you shook your head and went back to slicing, but you were smiling now. there was something about anthony that always shifted the air when he arrived — like someone had opened a window and let in a breeze that was equal parts annoying and familiar.

aira sighed dramatically and reached for the leftover chorizo in the cooler. “you’re getting fried rice. no substitutions. no complaints. and i’m adding egg even though i know you hate egg.”

“can’t wait,” anthony chuckled. “truly, this is a restaurant built on spite.”

“you’re welcome.”

he slid into the bar stool by the pass and began unloading the contents of his pockets: a capo, his wallet, half a cigarette in foil. the guitar remained slung across his chest, awkward but somehow fitting.

you rinsed your hands and leaned against the sink, watching the chaos unfold with a quiet sort of fondness.

then, mid-moan about a previous gig that involved a flooded stage and a broken amp, anthony looked at you and went suddenly quiet.

“hey…umm, piya messaged me on facebook last night.”

your chest didn’t tighten immediately. it moved slow, like something thick dragging its way through water.

“piya?” you asked, like you hadn’t said that name aloud in years. which, technically, you hadn’t.

“sophia,” he clarified, more careful now. “she asked if i’ve heard from you because apparently…she hasn’t.”

silence fell like a dropped plate. even the pan aira had been rattling on the stove went still.

yohan emerged from the walk-in cooler with a crate of eggs and a raised brow. “who’s sophia?”

kristoff, ever the bearer of pop culture, didn’t even blink. “sophia laforteza.”

yohan stared. “as in katseye sophia?”

“yep,” he replied, flipping a slab of meat in the pan.

aira dropped the spatula. you didn’t say anything, your mouth had gone dry.

he was still looking at you, not accusatory, just curious. and maybe - maybe a little worried. “you haven’t checked your phone, have you.”

you looked down at your apron, then your hands. the faint cuts on your knuckles, the turmeric stain beneath your thumb nail. you hadn’t brought your phone, again.

it’d been three days now. you kept leaving it in the same place, on the corner of your dresser under a half-folded shirt, turned face down.

“i haven’t,” you admitted.

“y/n,” anthony winced, voice a little firmer now. “come on.”

you shrugged. “i didn’t feel like it.”

“she’s looking for you — she’s trying.”

“yeah, well.” you ran a hand through your hair. “she knows where to find me.”

aira leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “babe, i know you’re mysterious and deep and have a whole torpe heart thing going on — but that’s sophia laforteza. why are you trying to fumble so bad?”

leo chimed in from behind the fryer. “what if she’s standing outside the restaurant right now? what if this is like, her kilig moment?”

“don’t be weird,” you muttered, though the thought twisted somewhere low in your stomach.

she wouldn’t show up, would she?

anthony slid the plate of chorizo fried rice toward himself, but didn’t touch it yet.

“listen,” he said, more gently this time. “you don’t have to talk to her. or see her, but you should at least know what she’s trying to say.”

you nodded slowly, not agreeing; more like acknowledging. kristoff turned the stove off, someone turned the playlist down.

the kitchen didn’t resume its usual volume right away. everyone hovered in that pocket of quiet, watching you in the way people do when they’re not sure if you’re okay.

you looked out toward the front window, where the morning light was already starting to glare off the tiles.

sophia’s name sat in your chest like a coin pressed flat under your ribs.

maybe the message was nothing; maybe it was too late to matter; maybe it mattered anyway.

you stepped back toward the sink and turned the tap on, cold water rushing over your hands, grounding. you closed your eyes for a moment and let the sound fill the room.

behind you, anthony finally took a bite of the fried rice.

“aira,” he called through a mouthful. “this is surprisingly edible. are you okay?”

aira launched a spoon at his head.

the kitchen laughed once again, tension cracked open just enough for the morning to keep going. you dried your hands and walked back to the prep table.

you still weren’t ready to check your phone.

but maybe you were getting close.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was just after eight in the morning and the kitchen was already hot and humming, the scent of garlic and bagoong thick in the air. kristoff was slicing tomatoes at the speed of a man who had nowhere else to be, while yohan fiddled with the fan in the corner that never pointed in the right direction.

you were leaning against the sink, phone pressed between your shoulder and cheek, stirring sinigang broth while staring at nothing in particular.

the line rang twice before godfrey picked up.

he answered on the second ring. “hello?”

“tito,” you began, voice still scratchy from sleep. “hi, it’s y/n.”

a pause, then the warmth you expected. “anak, good morning. i was just about to call you to confirm.”

you cleared your throat. leaned against the bench. “i, uh…i just wanted to say thank you again for the invite.”

he waited because he knew there was more to come. “everything alright?”

“yeah, yeah - nothing serious. one of my chefs, aira, is down with something. food poisoning, maybe. someone needs to cover service so i can’t make it tomorrow night.”

you heard a chair scrape in the background, faint clinking of glasses — probably preparations for the dinner you were bailing out on. he didn’t say anything at first, just let out a slow breath.

“that’s…a shame,” he replied eventually, voice still gentle. “i was hoping she’d get to see you.”

you looked down at the broth, watched the thin film of oil ripple as you stirred it slowly.

“thank you for letting me know,” he added. “you should see her this week, if you can. i think…it would mean a lot to both of you if you talked.”

his tone stayed polite, but you could feel the weight shift. something a little sad.

“yeah,” you muttered like a promise. “i will.”

you weren’t planning to, not really. the thought alone made your pulse skip and your stomach knot. not in a sweet way, not in a maybe-it-could-work way — just fucking tight and heavy.

like too much time had passed and the wiring inside you didn’t know what to do with her anymore.

still, you said yes because it was easier. and because godfrey sounded like he still believed in whatever you and sophia used to be.

you hung up after a few more words: safe, formal ones — and stood there in the kitchen, staring at the phone like it owed you something.

you didn’t feel relieved. just…stalled.

aira stood directly behind you, holding a bag of spinach. you turned just in time to get hit in the chest with a plastic bag. it bounced off harmlessly, but she looked like she meant it to hurt.

“you absolute fucking liar!” she hissed as she hit you once more.

you turned, blinking. “what the hell —“

“food poisoning?” she narrowed her eyes. “from what, y/n? the rice i cooked myself this morning and ate in front of you?”

you opened your mouth to speak, she smacked your shoulder again with the spinach bag.

“i didn’t think you’d hear me!” you put your hands up in defeat.”

“you used me,” she said, dramatically. “like a prop. like a false witness.”

“aira —”

“to lie to sophia laforteza’s dad. you’re going to hell.”

you put the ladle down and started laughing. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“you used me?” she gaped. “me? your innocent, hardworking, full-of-life staff member?”

you raised a brow. “you’re the one who took a three-hour break yesterday to go get lash extensions.”

“irrelevant,” she snapped, pointing at you dramatically. “you really lied to sophia laforteza’s dad and dragged my good name into it. that’s a sin, y/n. a literal sin.”

you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh again.

“you’re going to hell,” she continued. “straight to the deepest, hottest level — no aircon. and i hope they only serve watered-down matcha.”

you let out a quiet snort. “i wasn’t planning on going to heaven anyway.”

she placed a hand over her heart. “you don’t deserve nice things.”

you rolled your eyes and went to the fridge, pulling out the tub of leftover atchara. “he said i should see her sometime this week.”

aira’s voice jumped an octave. “then can i go? text him! say your loyal, honest employee is free to represent you.”

you ignored her, opening the lid and giving the contents a stir.

“seriously,” she said, planting herself beside you. “i have an outfit picked out already. it’s tasteful but flirty. i’ll call him ‘tito’ and everything; maybe he’ll adopt me.”

“aira.”

“yes, ma’am?”

“i have a lot to do today.”

“you’re hiding,” she pointed out, softer now. “you’ve been hiding.”

you didn’t say anything, just closed the tub and placed it back in the fridge.

from the other side of the kitchen, kristoff called out: “what’s happening?”

she spun around. “chef y/n lied to god.”

“which god?”

“godfrey.”

the kitchen erupted into laughter as you let the noise fill the space again. it was warm and familiar — just loud enough to cover whatever it was you were still trying not to feel.

even yohan peeked around the shelves, smiling behind the fan he was still pretending to fix.

“god,” aira muttered, turning back to you, hand over her heart. “i would’ve died to go. you should’ve asked him if i could take your place. my body is ready.”

“you don’t even own a blazer.”

“i have a linen vest,” she feigned offense, insulted. “and a perfectly respectable skirt.”

you shook your head, trying not to smile. “i’ve got things to do, aira. it’s payroll day. i need to sort everything by lunch.”

she sighed, deflating, then threw the spinach onto the prep bench. “you’re a coward,” she yelled out. “and i say that with love.”

the rest of the boys chuckled, the tension melting back into the usual mess of clanging pots and overlapping instructions.

everyone moved around you again, the rhythm of the morning returning. you leaned back against the counter for a second, letting the noise swirl around you.

for a second you had opened your phone last night just to check your email, you told yourself. but there they were; texts from an unknown number…short ones.

“heard from dad you’re still in makati. didn’t know if you’d want to see me, but i’d really like to see you.”

“even just for coffee. no pressure.”

“there’s a lot i probably don’t have the right to say. but i hope you’re okay.”

the first message had come four days ago. you hadn’t answered any of them.

every time you read her name, your chest did that same thing: tightened, skipped, clenched. it was stupid. you weren’t sixteen anymore — you had rice to steam and salaries to divide, but still.

aira nudged your hip with her elbow as she passed by. “hell,” she mumbled under her breath. “straight to hell.”

you laughed again, low and dry, and reached for the spinach she’d abandoned.

“then at least i won’t be cold.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

seven years ago

it was too bright inside newport world resorts. you hadn’t known a mall could shine like that; every floor glossy, every piece of light somehow staged to make everything look more expensive.

sophia walked ahead of you, her arm looped through leon’s, her heels clicking softly against the marble. you trailed just behind them next to sophia’s mum, carla, close enough to hear snatches of their conversation but far enough not to be in it.

leon was one of sophia’s best friends, tall and confident in that quiet, magnetic way. he had that hair that always looked good no matter how humid it got and a voice that sounded like he had grown up near a mic. when he smiled, people looked.

you hated that you noticed.

“you alright?” carla asked, reaching a hand to your back. her voice was gentle, but her bracelets clinked as she moved, always sounding like she was about to announce something.

“yes po,” you answer, even though your knees felt a little weird and you kept adjusting the strap of your shoulder bag like it was a nervous tic.

she gave you a kind smile, one that felt different from most adults. it was like she noticed you. “you can drop the po, y/n. we’re not at school.”

“we’re going to the steak place upstairs,” sophia said over her shoulder, her voice light. “dad booked the private room.”

you nodded; didn’t say much. you’ve never been to a place with private rooms before. most of your lunches were in food courts or karinderyas, you almost wore your school shoes today out of instinct.

“we’re early,” carla murmured to sophia as you reached the escalators.

“he’ll make us wait anyway,” sophia replied, pulling her sunglasses up onto her head. “he always says twelve and then shows up at twelve-thirty.”

you didn’t know if she was annoyed or just amused. it was hard to tell with her; always had been.

leon waited for you as you reached the top of the escalator. “he’s a chef, you know that? her dad?”

you nodded. “yeah, godfrey laforteza.”

“have you met him?”

you smiled. “only at their house.”

he grinned. “this’ll be interesting then, i’m stoked to try the food.”

the restaurant was tucked into the corner of the resort’s ground floor, behind a set of frosted doors and a name you couldn’t pronounce. a host greeted you all in english, bowing slightly before gesturing toward the private dining room.

it was dim and warm inside, golden light spilling from above like syrup.

godfrey stood as you entered; gold watch catching the light. he smiled wide when he saw sophia, then clapped leon on the back with a kind of easy affection that told you this wasn’t the first time they’d met.

then he looked at you.

“y/n,” he said, more warmly than you expected. “you look taller.”

your ears went hot. “hi po, tito.”

“come, sit next to me,” he patted the seat next to him. “we’re trying the new lunch menu. i want to hear what you think.”

you didn’t move until carla gently nudged your back. “go on, love.”

you sat between godfrey and carla, across from sophia and leon. she looked at you briefly, smiled; her teeth were perfect.

the waitstaff came in like a small parade — trays of soup poured from porcelain teapots, vegetables arranged like ikebana, fish so delicate you hesitated before touching it.

godfrey talked about everything. the plating, the temperature, the timing. he said things like mouthfeel and balance of acidity, and you tried to keep up but mostly, you watched his hands as he sliced through a duck breast with practiced ease.

“you like food, don’t you?” carla asked beside you.

you nodded, wiped your mouth before answering. “yes po.”

“she makes mean pancit at home,” sophia added. “and mango float.”

godfrey leaned in slightly. “you wanna learn how to cook?”

“a bit,” you looked around, unsure. “not like this, i don’t think i could ever be this good.”

“this is all technique,” he waved a hand. “the heart’s what matters. you’ve either got it or you don’t.”

you didn’t say anything. but you felt something click quietly into place, right behind your ribs.

you looked at him. then at your plate. then at your hands. and just like that, without drama or realisation or applause — you knew.

you wanted to cook.

“you’d do well in a kitchen,” he mentioned, sipping his wine. “smart hands and curious eyes.”

carla beamed at you like she had already decided this could be your life if you wanted it.

you were still thinking about it: about the feel of the fork in your hand, the way the food made your chest open up — when sophia leaned into leon and whispered something that made him laugh. she touched his arm lightly, leaned her cheek against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you blinked.

something tight twisted in your stomach, sharp and unfamiliar. it wasn’t anger. not quite. it wasn’t sadness either. just a kind of…displacement. like you lost something before you even knew you were holding it.

you stabbed your fork into the plate a little harder than you meant to.

“y/n?” sophia turned to you, concerned. “you okay?”

you nodded. “yeah. just hot.”

leon passed you a napkin, still grinning. you took it, barely looking at him.

she turned back and you felt the moment leave you.

the rest of the lunch passed in a blur; you listened when they talked, laughed when you had to, but your mind had split. half of you sat at the table. the other half had already started picturing a kitchen of your own: the heat, the knives, the smell of onions hitting butter. the fire.

and somewhere deep inside that heat, you imagined sophia again. her hand not on leon’s shoulder, but yours.

you didn’t know what that meant. not yet.

but the ache stayed with you. it still does.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

saturday nights at concave always felt like a controlled collapse. the kind of exhaustion that made your fingers ache and your lower back throb with every step, but somehow still left you wired from the chaos.

tonight had been one of the busiest yet—valet queues doubling up, someone asking for a private dining room that didn’t exist, and a family of seven who insisted they were promised a window seat by ‘the guy who owns the restaurant’ despite not having a reservation at all.

it was past ten when the last table finally cleared.

aira was singing off-key into her phone, facetime angled towards the ceiling while she wiped down the counters with rhythmic aggression. her boyfriend’s laugh filtered faintly through the screen, followed by a dramatic “babe, i’m working!” which none of you believed for a second.

the rest of you sat on plastic crates near the back door outside, backs against the wall, the night air heavy with heat and frying oil. kristoff lit the last cigarette and passed it around, all of you taking slow drags like it was communion. there was a quiet bond that came with being this tired at the same time as other people.

“i still can’t believe she dropped that bottle,” leo began laughing, his voice hoarse from yelling over the pass earlier.

“ten thousand pesos,” yohan added, exhaling smoke through his nose. “and she cried like her dog died.”

you winced, leaning your head back against the concrete. “i felt bad. she was shaking.”

leo nudged your foot. “you told her it wasn’t coming out of her pay.”

“of course i did.”

he grinned. “see, that’s why you’re a terrible boss.”

“wow, thanks.”

“you care too much,” he continued, flicking ash off the side. “it’s gross.”

“good bosses don’t cry in the dry storage,” you muttered.

“you cried?”

“it was humid.”

they all laughed.

kristoff took a final drag from his cigarette, then flicked it into the old tin can near the door. “you know what’s worse?” he shook his head. “diana and i fighting last night.”

that got everyone’s attention as you all turned your heads slightly.

“about what now?” yohan asked.

he dragged a hand down his face. “i put her water bottle in the freezer. just the regular way. and apparently that’s…how you destroy the lining? or the metal? or our future children? i don’t even know.”

leo blinked. “damn.”

“she said it’s proof i don’t respect her stuff. then she said we should do separate laundry from now on.”

“over a bottle?”

“over a bottle.”

the sound of tyres crunching against gravel pulled everyone’s attention. it wasn’t loud — but sharp enough to cut through the rhythm of the moment. you all turned your heads in unison, squinting toward the end of the alleyway where the staff parking lot sat mostly empty.

“customer coming back for vengeance,” yohan muttered, flicking his cigarette over the side rail. “you know that lady who said the bangus was too bony?”

“lock the doors,” leo added. “she’s probably got a weapon.”

“the gun’s in the safe,” kristoff mumbled carefully, not missing a beat.

you were about to say something — something dumb, something to diffuse the rising tension when the driver’s door opened.

and godfrey stepped out, casual as ever in slacks and a light button-down, waving toward you like this was the most normal thing in the world.

but you weren’t looking at him.

your eyes were fixed on the passenger door: on the way it opened slowly, deliberately. on the figure that stepped out and stood for a moment, as if she was letting her eyes adjust to the light.

the yankees cap, the face mask, the black hoodie pulled tight around her. but the way she stood, slightly tilted to one side, one foot angled out like she might run at any second — it was all her.

you knew those eyes.

no one could hide that shade of brown from you. the way they scanned, half-expectant, like they were always waiting for a sign.

your stomach dropped, hard and low like it had missed a step.

“holy shit,” leo whispered, nearly dropping the cigarette.

“is that —“

what the fuck, you thought.

“yeah,” kristoff breathed. “the hell?”

yohan stood up so fast his crate tipped over. “i’m not ready for this, bye!”

then, like a well-rehearsed act, all three of them turned and made a mad dash for the back door; grown men scattering like roaches.

a bunch of traitors.

kristoff stumbled on his way in but still managed to shout, “aira!” and a split second later, you heard her scream. then the door slammed shut, the metal rattling in the frame, leaving you alone with her outside.

you were still sitting on your crate, legs suddenly unsure if they remembered how to work.

she started walking to you.

slow, steady steps that felt too loud in your ears. she lifted a hand and gave a small wave, a little awkward, like she didn’t know if it would be received.

you stood, finally, your knees feeling loose and unreliable. the heat from the kitchen behind you met the cool of the alleyway and it made your skin prickle.

the world shrank.

you could hear your own heartbeat now, thudding somewhere in your neck. the sharp scent of garlic still clung to your shirt; your hands, stained with soy and calamansi, hung at your sides.

and there she was.

sophia stopped a few steps in front of you. not close enough to touch, but enough to undo you completely — you saw it in her eyes.

the softness; the nerves; the weight.

neither of you spoke.

the streetlight buzzed above you. someone’s stereo played a slow opm song in the next building over. back inside, you could hear aira saying something very loud and incoherent, followed by someone — probably kristoff —shushing her in vain.

but none of it mattered.

you stood in front of each other, the past folded neatly between your bodies like a letter you had never opened.

she stepped closer, and in the light, harsh and flickering from the mounted alley lamp above the staff door — she looked older. more refined around the jaw, a little sharper in the cheekbones. the years had carved something into her face, but

it wasn’t unkindness, but time. it was a life you hadn’t been part of, filled with late flights and green rooms and a thousand versions of her you would never get to meet.

a breeze pushed through the alley and caught the edge of her shirt. her hat dipped slightly forward as she pulled her mask down with careful fingers, revealing a soft, tired smile.

“hi,” she spoke, her voice small and steady.

you swallowed as you nodded once, your throat felt dry.

she glanced behind her toward the street, then back at you. “i didn’t mean to show up like this. i kind of forced dad to bring me, he said you didn’t want to see me yet,” she scratched the back of her neck, then added. “we had a whole argument about it in the car. like, full-on telenovela volume.”

her laugh was breathless, a little shy. “i hope you’re not mad at him.”

you shook your head, though your voice hadn’t found you yet. it felt like all your thoughts were stuck behind glass: still moving, but quiet.

“i just needed to see you,” she continued, taking a step closer. “i needed to hear your voice.”

the words landed hard. not cruelly, just…directly. she always had that way of talking — like if something sat on her chest long enough, it had no choice but to escape.

you felt like you were eighteen again, standing in a doorway too narrow for everything you wanted to say.

“how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice a little uncertain now, as if startled herself with the silence that followed.

that pulled you out of it.

“i’ve been good,” you managed to answer, though the word felt strange coming out. “busy, tired. you know, kitchen stuff.”

she smiled, nodded quickly, hands playing with the hem of her shirt.

you pointed to the stack of crates near the door. “you wanna sit?”

“yeah,” she exhaled like she has been holding her breath the whole time.

you both sat side by side on one crate, knees brushing slightly. her hands were in her lap. yours were still trembling faintly, so you pressed them into your thighs, grounding yourself in something solid.

you talked, slowly at first. about small things. safe things.

anthony still came by to steal food. she laughed, really laughed and said she wasn’t surprised. you told her about kyle, still waiting on his contract so he could go back out on the ships. she asked if he still sang backstreet boys during karaoke.

he still did.

you told her kristoff worked here now. “he’s marrying diana,” you added and her eyes lit up.

“no way,” she breathed out in disbelief. “they actually made it?”

“somehow.”

“who’s managing who?”

“depends on the day.”

she laughed again, covering her mouth. you watched her and felt something shift in your chest. not new, not really — it’s familiar in a way that made you ache a little.

your feelings for her weren’t coming back, they truly just hadn’t left.

they had gone quiet, buried themselves beneath years of busyness and the slow accumulation of adult life. but sitting here beside her, the memories began resurfacing — old pages being turned back over, softer with age.

sophia looked down at her hands. her voice was quiet when she spoke again.

“i cried when i saw the photos from your opening,” she continued. “i saw your mum. your lola. some of the old neighbours. even my parents. it looked like home.”

you didn’t speak.

“i’m sorry,” she added. “for not looking back.”

the silence stretched between you.

you looked at her, and the guilt in her eyes was real. it was…honest like she finally let herself feel it.

you nodded in quick understanding. “life happens sometimes.”

she turned her face toward you, brows furrowed like she didn’t expect you to let her off that easily.

“no, really,” you pushed. “you were chasing something; something big and real. and you got it. i don’t think you could’ve looked back even if you wanted to.”

her eyes glossed, just a little.

“i’ve always been proud of you,” you said, voice steady now. “even if we’re no longer a part of each other’s lives.”

she let out a breath, shaky and soft.

you leaned back against the wall, looking up at the empty stretch of sky.

“you’re everywhere now,” you added, smiling faintly. “can’t even get away from you if i tried. the billboards alone are stalking me.”

sophia laughed through her nose, wiping at her cheek. “those were terrible photos.”

“your face is literally flawless.”

“you’re delusional.”

“you’re still annoying.”

she grinned as reached her eyes and lingered.

neither of you spoke after that. you just listened to the low rattle of a tricycle turning into the alley, the soft clatter of dishes being washed somewhere inside, the low hum of the world continuing just beyond the corner of this moment.

you shifted slightly, looked at her. “you want a mule?”

her face broke into another smile. “yes.”

you stood slowly, legs stiff from the day. the city didn’t feel as loud anymore. the ache in your chest had settled — not gone, but softer. more in the lines of something remembered than lost.

then, you motioned toward the kitchen doors with a nod. she looked at you with curious eyes.

“you want to meet the team?” you asked, dusting your hands off on your apron. “if you don’t mind…they’re scared of you.”

she laughed, light and surprised. “i saw them run inside.”

you grinned despite yourself and pushed open the kitchen door, holding it open for her as she followed. and you felt it…that part of you that had never really closed the door on her.

the second you stepped in, everyone suddenly became very busy. kristoff was wiping down a perfectly clean shelf, leo had mysteriously found a clipboard to stare at like it held the secrets of the universe, yohan, as expected, remained hidden in the washing station, clanking plates like his life depended on it.

and aira - bless her soul - stood frozen in the middle of the room holding a bag of mangoes.

you looked around, unimpressed. “really?”

they all avoided your gaze, except aira. who continued to stand like a train was about to hit her at full speed.

“everyone, this is sophia, or piya, like i used to call her,” you introduced, voice dry.

sophia raised a hand, smile soft. “hi, sorry for barging in at the last minute.”

aira still didn’t move, the mangoes swaying in her hand.

thankfully, kristoff recovered first and stepped forward quickly. “it’s so nice to see you again, soph. been years, no?”

“way too long,” she responded, smiling at him. “i think the last time was…diana’s birthday party? the one where you both got food poisoning?”

“yes,” he nodded, grinning. “bonding through suffering.”

you caught a glance at aira, jaw slightly slack and eyes suspiciously glassy.

leo wiped his hand on a towel before offering it to her. “it’s nice to finally meet the legend,” he said, which earned a quiet groan from you. “i’m leo.”

sophia chuckled as she shook his hand. “you guys run a tight ship back here.”

“depends on the day,” he laughed. “today we survived.”

she turned to aira next, who hadn’t spoken or blinked. she approached slowly, like one might approach a deer in a clearing.

“hi,” she said gently. “i’m sophia.”

aira’s mouth opened but no sound came out. just a small, strange breath. she nodded once, violently, like she has been programmed under poor wi-fi.

“aira,” you winced in embarrassment. “say something.”

“is this real life?” she finally croaked.

sophia laughed again and, to everyone’s horror and delight, pulled her into a hug. aira’s arms hung limp for a moment, then she clutched her like they had known each other for a decade. over sophia’s shoulder, she mouthed oh my god at you.

“i love you,” she blurted.

you groaned. please no. “don’t be fucking weird.”

everyone laughed. sophia pulled back, still grinning. “and i love you too.”

aira looked over at you and added, “y/n loves you too.”

“aira!” you barked, already turning away. your whole body flushed hot, ears burning.

“i love y/n too,” sophia was trying not to laugh, her head bowed, lips pressed together in a losing battle.

you muttered something incomprehensible and walked off to grab the mules, still mentally screaming. your hands were shaking slightly as you popped the bottles open. you weren’t even sure from what — embarrassment, maybe. or something deeper. like your chest had been cracked open and every feeling you buried decided that tonight was the night to come home.

from the kitchen, you heard sophia’s laugh, low and warm. then her voice, teasing: “aira’s not sick.”

“she lied to you!” aira shrieked. “she was just too nervous to come.”

“you absolute snakes,” you muttered to the mules, then carried the bottles back out, just in time to see kristoff and sophia mid-conversation.

“so how’s diana really?” sophia asked.

“terrifying. but in a hot way,” he responded. “we’ve already got the wedding date. she’s in full planner mode, i just show up.”

“you guys are really getting married, that’s huge.”

“yeah, diana and i are doing the civil wedding first, we don’t have time to plan a big thing with all the restaurant shit going on.”

“i’m so happy for you guys!” she squealed, clapping her hands together.

“you’re next,” he said, looking past sophia, then directly at you.

fuck off, you mouthed.

sophia raised an eyebrow. “i’d need a girlfriend for that. at least.”

“head chef is single!” aira yelled out, a little bit too keen. and so much for promising yourself you wouldn’t go red.

you looked up. then immediately looked away, the bottle nearly slipped out of your hand.

“you good?” leo asked, grinning.

“chef hands,” you wheezed. “tired hands.”

it was a dumb joke, maybe. or maybe it wasn’t. you never really asked, never dared her. the memories of your hands touching hers, of sleeping shoulder to shoulder, of quiet moments on rooftops — those were things you kept somewhere safe, under glass, labelled friendship.

it never occurred to you that maybe…she saw it differently.

you took a slow sip from your bottle, unsure whether to laugh or pretend you lost hearing altogether.

the rest of the team had found their courage again. kristoff pulled out his phone and suggested selfies, to which sophia nodded without hesitation. they huddled in tight near the prep bench, yohan even emerging from the dish area —though he refused to make eye contact, hovering awkwardly in the background like he was summoned against his will, which she found charming and weird in equal measure.

then leo said: “okay, now just you two.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just you and sophia,” aira repeated, already motioning with her phone. “hurry up, chef, i got places to be.”

“i reek,” you mumbled. “i’ve been over a stove for twelve hours.”

kristoff frowned. “just put your damn arm around her and smile; be respectful.”

“i’m literally a health hazard.”

before you could argue further, sophia stepped in beside you, her body warm and familiar. without warning, she reached for your wrist and guided your arm around her shoulder like it had always belonged there.

you didn’t breathe, just smiled the most awkward smile you could ever let out.

your hand rested there: awkward, hesitant, too aware of her warmth. sophia’s body leaned just slightly into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

snap. the photo was taken.

you stepped back so quickly you nearly dropped the bottle.

the team took a few more photos, then began to peel off one by one. kristoff was the first to wave goodnight, followed by yohan who mumbled something and disappeared again. aira said goodbye three times before finally leaving, and leo, as always, made sure the lights were off in the storage before stepping out with a tired salute.

you walked them out, flipped the sign to closed, and turned the lock.

the kitchen felt impossibly still after they left. the kind of quiet that only came after a long shift and a longer night. your muscles ached and your heart hadn’t stopped racing.

“i’m just gonna get changed,” you cleared your throat. “these clothes have seen horrible things.”

“okay,” she replied, voice soft now. like it was only meant for you.

you slipped into the staff bathroom, peeling off your apron and tossing it into the laundry basket. your shirt clung damp to your back. you washed your face with the cheap peppermint cleanser you kept in the drawer and stared at yourself in the mirror.

she was here.

sitting in your restaurant.

laughing with your friends.

you were halfway through drying your hands when the thought hit you full force: this wasn’t a dream. and you had no idea what it meant, for you.

you pulled on a clean white shirt, ran fingers through your hair and stepped out.

the kitchen was dim now, lights off except for the soft glow spilling from the bar. sophia sat alone at the counter, her bottle in front of her, fingers tracing the label.

you moved quietly to the stool beside her.

the hum of the fridge, the soft buzz of the light overhead…everything felt so much louder in the quiet. she looked at you, then looked away. but her smile stayed.

something inside you; something buried and stubborn, stirred like it had been waiting for this. for her.

and now it’s just the two of you.

alone again.

you swirled what was left of your mule, the ice melting slow against the glass. it only tasted good because of who you were drinking it with.

“so how did this place happen?” she began, gesturing vaguely at the restaurant around you. “concave - when?”

you leaned back against the stool, exhaling slowly. “three years ago.”

“i always wondered,” she hummed, eyes watching you fondly. “how?”

“dad got a payout,” you replied, fingers tapping lightly on the bar. “he was working in australia, had injury on site. slipped, messed up his spine. they paid out this ridiculous sum. more than any of us expected. he didn’t want to keep it.”

she turned toward you, her chin resting against her hand. “i didn’t know that.”

“he asked me what i’d do with it if it were mine,” you said. “i didn’t even think about it. just said, i’d build a place where i could cook whatever i wanted. and he said okay.”

her brows furrowed, soft with concern. “is he okay now?”

“he’s alright. limps a bit and retired earlier than he wanted, but he likes it. spends most of his time annoying my mum,” you looked down into your drink. “i still don’t think i deserved it.”

“i do,” she said, voice low before sipping her drink. “you’re always working hard; even when we were kids.”

you smiled and it surprised you how much it meant to hear that from her.

“lola’s still the same,” you added, shifting the subject. “stubborn. refuses to let the kasambahay do the laundry. still insists she’s stronger than all of us combined.”

“she probably is,” sophia chuckled.

“she probably is.”

“and your mum?”

you shrugged, but it came with a warmth you couldn’t quite hide. “she still makes me lunch. insists i don’t eat enough. dropped off sinigang last tuesday and then took half of my pantry in her bag.”

“that’s so her,” she giggled, shaking her head. you could feel her shoulder brush lightly against yours now, whether from the way she leaned or the narrow space between the stools.

you watched her as she spoke, the way her eyes lit up when she remembered things, like they lived in her just as vividly. it made something inside you tug gently at its roots.

“she always liked me.”

“she still does,” you answered, taking another swig at your bottle. “she saw you in a tvc last week and said, ‘that girl used to steal our shampoo.’”

“i did,” she admitted, not even sorry. “your mum had the expensive kind.”

you tilted your head, smiling into the rim of your bottle. “she still does.”

“you kept all of them,” she said. “everyone that mattered.”

you didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t just yours to keep…that they stayed because something about the way you lived didn’t demand that they love you from afar. but instead, you smiled and said: “yeah. somehow.”

for a moment, the silence returned — soft, comfortable. you watched the way sophia’s fingers turned her bottle slowly, the condensation pooling beneath it, catching the light.

then she looked at you, eyes curious. “so…is there anyone?”

you blinked, letting the question sit for a second longer than it should’ve.

“not really,” you shook your head too fast. “i think i’m too emotionally unavailable for that.”

she laughed, a small puff of air. “you? you’re being dramatic now.”

“i’m bad at saying things out loud,” you explained. “i think too much, miss my moments. then think about them for five years straight. not exactly a dream package.”

she looked at you like she wanted to argue, but only said: “you can cook. you’re a chef. you own a restaurant with a good bar. what else could a girl want?”

you gave her a look. “a girl who’s not afraid of commitment?”

“minor detail,” she chuckled, raising the bottle to her mouth.

you shook your head, but it was hard to hide the way your chest buzzed. not nervous exactly, the air shifted and you weren’t quite sure what it meant yet.

“what about you?” you asked. “anyone?”

sophia leaned her arms on the bar; just like you, her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the bottle. “there was someone for a while, but it didn’t work out.”

right.

the words stung in a quiet, unexpected way. not jealousy, but the faint ache of knowing someone else had been where you once wanted to be; that someone got to hold her in the ways you could only imagine and dismissed as daydreams.

it shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

you tried to mask it by swallowing another sip. the bottle was nearly empty.

your mind caught on the earlier moment — her casual joke about needing a girlfriend. the way she said it so easily. it hadn’t left you since. your thoughts kept replaying all the times you held hands when you were younger, how it never felt weird, but maybe it was always almost something.

maybe you were just too much of a coward back then to let yourself name it.

she was much closer now. not in an intentional way, but enough to feel it. your knees brushed and her arm warmed the air between you. the room was so quiet it felt like even the walls were listening.

“have you seen the letter?” she eventually spoke, voice softer.

you blinked, caught off-guard. “what letter?”

her fingers curled slightly around the base of the bottle. “before i left…i wrote you one. i didn’t know how to say everything, so i wrote it instead. tucked it in your recipe book with the red cover. the one you always carried.”

you paused.

the memory flooded back fast: the airport, that day. you remembered it in pieces; how you refused godfrey’s offer to drive you home, how you cried in the terminal bathroom and then boarded a jeep half-blind from tears. your hands trembling.

you groaned, running a hand through your face.

“i left the bag,” you said, burying your face in your hands. “soph, i left the fucking bag in the jeepney. i was crying like an idiot and i got off without it. my notes and my book with your letter.”

she went still beside you.

“i’m so sorry,” you added, looking at her. “i had no idea.”

her expression changed. not anger, not disappointment; something you couldn’t name. a bruise behind her eyes like she had just lost something all over again.

you wanted to reach for her.

“it’s fine,” she quickly dismissed. “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

but it did, you could see that it did. and you didn’t want to ask what the letter said, not tonight because her voice had gone fragile in that particular way people get when they’ve decided not to cry.

and you knew sophia — when she closed a door, she didn’t open it again unless she wanted to.

you both sipped the last of your drinks. the silence felt like it had weight to it; carefully holding something between you.

she began to talk again….about the summers you used to spend barefoot, catching dragonflies, the time she dared you to eat a siling labuyo straight and you cried for twenty minutes and your old teacher who threw chalk with military precision.

you laughed, reminiscing.

you didn’t say everything you wanted to say.

but she stayed and that had to mean something, too.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

part two

#sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #katseye x reader #kpop gg #kpop x reader #heliooosss #kpop imagines #katseye #sophia x reader

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sandersstudies · 9 months ago

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Wild to teach an extracurricular like theatre and get kids who are like “ughhh I dunno how to doooo it pleh I don’t wanna”

Bro this is not a state-required reading of Beowulf. This is not a trigonometry test. This is not the periodic table. This is funny animal noises times; grow up.

604 notes · View notes

pbelfz · 6 months ago

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Title: Lessons in Submission Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader Includes: daddy kink, teacher/student, controlling behavior, stalking? PB's Masterlist

You peered through the crack between two books on the shelf.

He smiled again as he leaned over her, offering that gentle, warm chuckle you loved. You watched him gesture to something in her textbook, and the girl followed his finger diligently as he spoke.

An underclassmen. You didn’t know her.

You pulled back, sighing through your nose as you finally placed the book you were holding in its correct spot, blocking your view of Izuku. Wrapping your fingers back around the metal of the bookcart, you pushed it from behind the stacks, out to where Izuku could see you.

His current pupil was too enthralled in her work and didn’t notice the sudden slack in Izuku’s attention; he glanced at you, intending to catch your eye. His gaze lingered on your choice of clothing today, wondering if it was allowed to wear such a short skirt on campus. You paid him no mind as you reached upward, placing another book on the higher shelf. You felt the burn of his stare as you stood on your tip-toes, purposefully pushing your lower back out slightly, almost teasingly, as your skirt rose a little.

Izuku shifted in his place, looking back down at his student’s progress. He tapped his finger on the polished library table, pressing his weight into his palm as he watched her complete the rest of her trigonometry. Tutoring was one of his many side-gigs – one that led him to you. Izuku was a teacher at U.A. full-time and a pro hero part-time, but he found he enjoyed the art of helping others in more mundane settings. You started working at the Tokyo University library just a few months ago, and you grew closer with Izuku due to having to share the same space. At first, he hadn’t been here too frequently because of his other jobs, but now it was difficult not to run into him. You read him accurately upon first meeting, seeing him as the fidgety young staff whose button-ups fit his muscles just tightly enough.

So, this is the hot tutor that all of the girls have soaked panties for, you thought when you first saw him.

Except your soaked panties were the only ones Izuku wanted. You knew that now.

Something about keeping what you two had a secret always made Izuku want to push the boundaries. He glanced at you again; if you were in the same room as him, he always kept you in sight. He’d always been that way since before you introduced yourself.

You moved. You were no longer by the bookshelves. Where are you, my angel? Izuku peered around the library. Oh, found you. You’re back by the front desk. The inside of Izuku’s cheek rolled between his back teeth; if he were alone with you, he would’ve reminded you to let him know before you left his sight. You had a bad habit of wandering, and when you two were together, Izuku often found himself keeping a hand or arm resting on you to keep you near him. That, and maybe it satisfied a need to touch you.

“Mr. Midoriya?”

Izuku’s head snapped down to see that his student had finished her trigonometry worksheet a few moments ago.

“Are you okay? You just started staring off,” she observed. Izuku shook his head, leaning back over her to check her worksheet.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” he skimmed her math, but it wasn’t exactly registering, especially as his gaze continued to flicker up to you.

A male student approached you at the front desk, giving you a familiar smile and nod. Izuku’s chest thrummed when he saw you return the gesture with your own lively magnetism, giving the boy a smile as he took some books out of his backpack. Izuku’s jaw tightened, and his student noticed his finger tap on the table again. Her gaze crept up his arm to his face, but by then, he had already looked back down, masking his previous irritation.

“I think you should look this one over again, Sai-san,” Izuku uttered, pointing to an equation in the middle of his student’s worksheet. “It looks like you mixed up your ratios for–,” your laughter over by the front desk suddenly cut Izuku off. It wasn’t particularly loud, but it was definitely over the preferred volume level of the library. Izuku’s eyes quickly found you, leaning forward in your chair, pushing your chest up just a bit against the library table, as that same boy from earlier continued to chat you up. A grin was plastered on your face as you talked to him, and Izuku knew you were doing all of this on purpose.

This is because I’m not giving you attention, isn’t it, (Y/n)?

Izuku sighed, standing upright and no longer leaning over his student. “I’ll be right back.”

He strode over to where you and that boy were at the front desk, and you saw him coming as soon as he left the small study table in the corner. He placed his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he approached.

“Excuse me,” he spoke professionally and quietly in tone. This was a library, after all. Other students were studying and reading here. You were already watching Izuku, but the guy you were talking to – one of your classmates – turned his head to see the tutor standing behind him a few paces. You sat back in your chair, almost trying to appear like the well-behaved library assistant Izuku knew you could be.

“I’m trying to teach one of my students over there, and you guys are just being a little loud,” Izuku flexed his authority, the same way he flexed the forgiving tug on the corners of his lips. Your classmate turned away, looking to grab the books he was checking out.

“I was just leaving, sir,” your classmate says before bowing and, true to his word, taking his leave. He must hate confrontation.

Unfortunately, that left you and Izuku together. You shifted in your seat as you glanced back up at him; his small grin fell into a frown, something you didn’t see often when you two were in the school buildings.

You anticipated a further scolding or at least a disapproving sigh. You didn’t expect him to simply turn around and head back to where his student sat in the corner of the library, hands in his pockets.

Somehow, that upset you more.

Izuku waited in his car about two blocks down from the campus.

Classes ended, and the extra study sessions were over about twenty minutes ago. He scrolled mindlessly through his phone, glancing up occasionally each time someone passed on the sidewalk. You were taking longer than normal today…

Gentle taps on his passenger side window broke him from his thoughts.

You smiled at him, waving and gesturing to the locked door. Izuku wordlessly unlocked the car for you.

You plopped down into the seat beside him, and with you came all of your temptations. You must’ve dabbed your perfume on rather generously this morning because Izuku could easily identify it as the Chanel Chance Eau Tendre you keep on the top of your dresser.

You place your backpack between your feet on the floor. Izuku doesn’t give much of a greeting as he starts his car, but you lean over, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t look over at you, only giving a small smile.

You’re cheeky. Eyeing him, you place a hand on his inner thigh, close to his groin; you always loved how dense with muscle he was. You hold back a giggle, biting your lower lip, as Izuku keeps his gaze forward on the road. He knew you wanted attention. His brow became taut as he brought a hand to his chin, letting the other one rest on the steering wheel, and that was your only hint that, perhaps, you should give him space.

“Izu,” you hummed, pulling your hand back from him. Izuku didn’t answer, but it was only because he was trying to decide how to best approach this.

“Daddy,” you mewled, turning more towards him. That got him to glance at you before looking back at the road. As he came to a stoplight, he ran a hand through his forest curls and down the back of his neck.

“Your new friend seemed to like your outfit today,” he grumbled, turning his head away from you. You blinked.

“What?”

Izuku turned a corner as the light turned green.

“At the library.”

“That’s just Kujou. We take Logic together.”

Izuku’s lip tightened. “When’d you get that skirt? I didn’t buy that for you,” he redirected the topic slightly. His tone was no louder than a mumble as he dragged on, his face contorting into a scowl as he kept his eyes on the road.

He heard the pout in your voice without even looking at you. “You don’t like it? I went shopping this weekend. I thought–,” Izuku cut you off.

“We’ve talked about wearing things like this outside, (Y/n).” He was stern, and you often struggled with reading between the lines of your relationship: was he actually upset about this? So, you did what you do best around him. You froze. You shut your mouth. Getting a little huffy, you settled further into the passenger seat, your arms crossing in front of you as you gaze out of the window.

Izuku shot you a glance out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head.

You looked down at your outfit. It’s not even that short, you wanted to argue, but you knew it would’ve been in vain. The hem of the cotton came up to your mid-thigh, and if you tried to tell him you honestly just wanted to tease him while he worked, it would somehow backfire on you. It has in the past.

Izuku unlocked his apartment, stepping back to allow you inside first before closing the door behind him.

You dropped your backpack on the floor and kicked off your shoes before pivoting, meeting Izuku’s eye, while Izuku neatly hung his messenger bag on the coat rack by the door. You were used to the routine. He vaguely gestured to your clothing.

“Strip.”

You did as you were told, keeping your eyes on him, gauging his reaction. Izuku looked unimpressed as he followed your hands as they first pulled your crop top over your head, exposing your chest and tummy. Izuku’s own hands found themselves inside of his pockets – perhaps as a self-handicap – as yours pushed your skirt down your hips. You shimmied, and the skirt fell down your thighs to your feet, soon followed by your panties. You reached behind your back to unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor with your other articles of clothing, before you stood completely bare in front of your boyfriend.

Izuku approached, his gaze zeroed in on your chest, foremost. You stood proud and tall, even though he towered over you, letting him inspect you. You felt his eyes drink you in as he looked you over, searching for any imperfections. He circled you slowly, the tips of his fingers coming to gently stroke your side. He was around the back of you now. His light touch traveled to your neck, brushing your hair to the side, admiring the few hickeys he left the last time you were here. You closed your eyes, tilting your head to show him better, like a prized purebred. He always talked about how proud he was to have his very own virgin, after all. How lucky he was to have scooped you up – such a pretty, little, dainty thing. He cupped your neck, offering a small, loving caress as a reward for your compliance as he slowly moved to the other side of you.

He did this each time you came over. You knew to get naked as soon as you entered his apartment now. He always told you he just wanted to take time to admire you, but sometimes, like today, he didn’t seem happy about doing it. You often questioned what his true intention was.

Circling back to stand in front of you with a hand stroking his chin, Izuku finally pulled his eyes away from your nudity. He sent a nod towards the back of his apartment.

��Bedroom. Leave your phone on the table.”

You sat naked on the floor with your feet underneath you, just like he trained you, waiting for him to enter. You always found your nails digging into your thighs while you waited for him, wondering if today would be the day you two would go all the way; he normally pulls back after foreplay, insisting intercourse should be something memorable for you, considering it would be your first time. You didn’t know how tonight would go, considering he still seemed to be in a bad mood.

He entered the room a few minutes later, tie removed, and you straightened your posture for him, watching him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t looking at you, though. He was scowling down at your phone, scrolling through your texts, contacts, pictures, anything he could find.

He did this from time to time. You let him. It was within the boundaries of your relationship.

He stood right in front of you as he clicked on one of your contacts. “Arata? That’s a name I haven’t seen before.”

You piped up immediately. “That was the boy at the library. Sir.”

Izuku’s frown deepened. “I’m deleting it.”

“Yes, Sir,” you nodded, keeping your head down. It was against the rules to make eye contact unless told.

Izuku set your phone down on the bed behind you two before finally taking you in. How perfectly docile you were, propping yourself up on the wooden floor for him. He gripped your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him.

“All contacts have to go through me first. You know that, baby.”

Your eyebrows screwed upward as you tried to defend yourself, tried to tell him you two just had to work on a project together, but Izuku drew his free hand back and brought it down in a quick, sharp slap across your cheek, sending your neck in the other direction.

Your face stung with red hot pain as you winced, keeping your eyes closed. Still, you persevered, allowing him to yank your head back to face him.

“Tell me what you did, sweetie,” his tone carried a sweet remedy underneath his usual timbre, but you knew better. His thumb gave your aching cheek a light stroke. You blinked up at him.

“I,” you took a breath, steadying yourself as you tried to remain calm. This wasn’t the first time he struck you like this, but each time, you were always on the verge of pulling your safe word. “I got his number without your permission,” you met his eye, giving him a pout to lessen the punishment even the slightest amount.

Slap.

This time, there was no coddling. He let your head hang there for a minute, and it took everything in you not to cry in front of him. You knew if you took this, he would reward you. Your ears rang, and you felt the skin of your cheek swell this time. Still, you eventually straightened in front of him, lowering your head to appease him.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Izuku was your first exposure to a relationship like this, and while he respected your desire to take things slow, he couldn’t help but push. He had needs, too, you know? Plus, he was a teacher of sorts, and teaching you about the world of pleasure made him feel that much more control over you.

“Spread your legs wider, baby,” he guided, his head nestling between your thighs. You always became timid with his face so close to your core like this, even with the sunset dimming the light in his bedroom. He tied your arms behind your back in an armbinder knot with the shibari rope you two use. You ached, but the blankets beneath you provided some sort of comfort that Izuku didn’t give you.

Alas, you did as he told, and opened your legs more, welcoming the pecks he gave down your inner thigh which eventually reached the lips of your cunt. You shuddered, your back arching.

“Already dripping, I see…,” Izuku muttered. He liked to talk to himself, and you only answered with a whimper as one of his thick, scarred fingers swiped up your cunt, collecting some of your slick. Izuku sucked it into his mouth with a satisfied moan. He leaned up, giving you a deep kiss so you could taste yourself.

“You like when I’m a little rough with you, don’t you?”

You nod anxiously, wriggling beneath him. The mattress dipped as he moved back down between your legs, his lips fully enveloping your pussy. You gasped, your legs tightening around his shoulders.

Izuku liked to take his time with you. He could be mean, but fuck, did he worship you. His tongue lapped at your lower lips, dipping inside from time to time and sucking at your clit. He pulled back only to add his fingers, slowly finger-fucking you as he watched his work with hungry eyes. You wanted so badly to grab his head and shove it back down into your needy cunt, but the rope only dug into your skin, preventing you from moving. So, your hips made up for your lack of control and gyrated against Izuku’s fingers, circling them in time with the curl of his digits. Izuku licked his lower lip, coming back down to flick his tongue against your clit as he sped up his pace.

“Cum on my face, baby. Now,” it was a command.

You let out a throaty moan as you came, shuddering and pulling Izuku closer into you with your legs. He sucked on your clit, relishing in how you gushed on his fingers, down his wrist, and all over his mouth. Once he felt your thighs loosen around his head, he sat up, removing his briefs fully, as they’d been the only things left restricting him.

He lifted both of your legs to rest on one of his shoulders, and your stomach fluttered. You two have grinded before, and as you come down from your high, you felt yourself almost flinch at how the head of cock brushes against your clit. You almost wanted to push him away from being too sensitive, but yet again, the rope prevents you.

“Izu–,” you started to say, but the man in front of you – the man with your legs hoisted on his shoulder – glances up at you, sending you a scowl you weren’t prepared for.

“Daddy,” you quickly corrected yourself, wriggling your hips against him, feeling his cock catch on your cunt before pushing up between your thighs. Izuku bit his lip, his gaze flickering between your pussy and your face.

“Yes, babygirl?”

You didn’t want to break your role, but you sent him a knowing look, one that asked him, ‘Are we doing this?’

Izuku didn’t offer a complete answer, only bending forward and giving you a slow kiss on the lips, followed by another peck. “You know the safe word.”

Your stomach tightened, even as Izuku glided his cock up and down your slit. You practiced breathing. Deep inhale, deep exhale. Izuku watched his cock slowly enter you, your pussy lips stretching so beautifully around his thick cock. He felt your body tense, and that was when he glanced up at your face. You strained, eyes closed as you tried to make room for him.

“You’re doing so good, my good little girl,” Izuku praised as you slowly, very slowly took him in inch by inch. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned. “So fucking warm.”

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as Izuku just couldn’t keep his mouth from overflowing with praise.

“Fuck, look at you swallowing me up,” he shifted, leaning over you and pressing your legs back, exposing both of your sexes. “Look,” he demanded.

You opened your eyes, tears quickly coming to the surface as you looked down between you two. His cock was only about halfway inside of you; he didn’t know how your tiny little cunt could take him. He pressed your thighs back against your chest as far as he could; he wanted to watch your pussy as he fucked you for the first time.

Once he was entirely seated inside of you, his jaw tightened, and he relished in your warmth. You breathed through your mouth, throwing your head back and feeling so, so fucking full. Izuku tested the waters, pulling his hips back slowly, and you whined.

“It’s Daddy’s turn now, okay?” Izuku reassured you, coming down to kiss away the stray tears that fell down your cheeks. You nodded, your eyes clamping shut as you felt his cock slowly stroking your inner walls.

“Fuuuuck,” Izuku dragged, leaning back and watching as his cock disappeared inside of your cunt with each thrust. He held back for you at first, but it was getting harder and harder with each buck of his hips.

His pace increased, and eventually, the pained expression on your face loosened to one of pleasure, and Izuku knew he had you. He felt his balls tighten as the sloshing sounds of your pussy echoed throughout the room.

“Such a sloppy little cunt,” you heard him grunt from above you. His endless pounding had your eyes rolling closed.

“Just,” his thrusting interrupted your speech, “Just for you, daddy.”

Izuku’s grip on your thighs tightened as his hips slammed into you at an unforgiving pace, leaving you almost screaming his name.

You felt his thick cock twitch as his pace suddenly slowed, his hips only rocking steadily as he shuddered. He let out a deep groan, and you gasped as you felt warm spurts of cum hit your cervix for the first time. Izuku pressed his legs into your chest, trying to catch his breath as a light sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies. He gazed down at his cock still inside of you, letting himself finish releasing inside of you. You whimpered as he slowly pulled himself out of you, and as his cock left you, his cum dripped out and down your cheeks, making him groan.

You watched the sight with him, wriggling your hips as best you could.

“Daddy, you made a mess…,” you managed to whine, still breathless.

Izuku couldn’t tear his gaze away from your beautiful, dripping core, covered in a mixture of your juices, as he slowly knelt between you two, releasing your thighs. You let your legs rest on the bed, and Izuku pulled one over his shoulder as he gave a kiss to your clit. His tongue swiped up your messy cunt.

“Shhh, Daddy will clean you up, babygirl.”

#izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #teacher deku #deku sensei #mha #bnha #yandere deku x reader #yandere izuku midoriya #yandere izuku #deku x reader

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e-on-edge · 3 months ago

Text

Avalanche Part 1

(Trying to get used to 2nd person, while continuing the story. Bear with me. I also put a lot less work into this. Writing it in tumblr drafts and doing only the most basic of editing. I've given up trying to make it perfect I just want the ideas out of my head.)

Link to Part 2

This one is all fluff and fun! Not explicit, but the next part will be, which is why I'm leaving the 18+ warning up on this one.

A small warning for mentions of drugs and alcohol

The year was 1986. You’re in college now, just trying to get through your preliminaries before you have to finally pick a major. Unlike you, Caleb had everything planned. He was almost done with his degree and already had a job lined up at the DAA for when he graduated. It was different for you. You didn’t excel at school, at anything, the way Caleb did. He was a born natural at whatever he tried his hand at. Meanwhile, you needed a tutor to pass entry-level trig.

Caleb wasn’t happy about your choice, but Zayne was the smartest person you knew. Book smart, at least. Plus Caleb was so busy now with graduation prep and getting in his hours on the simulator he didn’t have the time to teach you the principles of imaginary numbers. Zayne did.

Zayne was going for his PhD, and he too was almost finished with his schooling. Next would be his residency, and he wasn’t looking forward to that. Mingling around with the other young doctors and nurses had never been where he felt comfortable. He wished he could just skip to the end where he was established in his career, but that wasn’t the way things worked. He was all too pleased when you asked him for help with something basic like Trigonometry. Math, and you, were definitely his comfort zone.

“I just don’t understand where I’m even going to need this.” You groan, pushing the textbook away with an air of disgust.

“You likely won’t once you graduate, but you will if you want to cross that stage.” Zayne put his pencil between his teeth as he pulled the book back to rest in front of you on the dining table. “One more try, then we’ll take a break. Let’s focus on this equation…”

“Ugh” You toss your head back and sink into the chair like a toddler. “Couldn’t we take a break now? We’ve been at it for hours, doc.”

Zayne can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He liked that you called him Doctor, even though he was still years away from being one.

“Alright, but not too long.” He leaned back, relaxing. “Your breaks have a habit of hijacking the day.”

The sound of keys at the door makes both of you turn. Caleb is home.

He enters the apartment with his head bowed, a sack of groceries dangling from his wrist as he wriggles the keys from the lock. When he looks up and meets your gaze, his brow furrows.

“Another study sesh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen to set the groceries on the counter.

“We’ve almost solved one equation.” You jest.

“That so?” Caleb says absently, stocking the fridge. He seems distracted, avoiding your gaze.

You get up from the table and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Behind you, Zayne takes a long sip of Dr. Pepper and watches the wall.

“Welcome home.” You muse, snuggling into Caleb’s chest. “I missed you.”

Caleb softens, wrapping his arms around you as he presses a light kiss to the top of your head.

“Missed you too, pipsqueak.” You watch his eyes flick across to the dining table before settling back on you. “I thought we could celebrate tonight, just the two of us.”

You glance over your shoulder to where Zayne is awkwardly trying to look occupied.

“What exactly are we celebrating?” You ask in a softer tone.

“I finally finished my hours on the simulator.” Caleb’s prideful smile breaks through his demeanor. “I bought us some champagne to share, and I was going to cook a special dinner but…” he trailed off before raising his voice to include Zayne in the conversation, “I only got enough for two. Sorry man.”

“That’s alright.” Zayne went to stand, brushing off his shirt, “We can finish studying later.”

You move away from Caleb, feeling guilty for making Zayne feel so unwelcome. You turn back, eyes pleading. Caleb sighs.

“No, wait,” he gives you a stern look, but when you don’t relent your pouting he continues, “Stay. I heard you’ve got something to celebrate as well.”

You whip around, finding Zayne frozen in the tiny apartment foyer.

“What’s he talking about?”

Zayne sighs. He’d been hoping to avoid this.

“Oh, nothing extravagant.” He breathed, bashfully rubbing his neck.

“That’s not what I heard.” Caleb went on, “I heard you saved some chick's life in the food court.”

Your eyes widen in awe.

“What?! Zayne! Why didn’t you say something?”

He winced slightly as you tugged on his sleeve, making apologetic eye contact with your boyfriend over your shoulder.

“It isn’t a big deal.” He shrugged, “She choked, that’s all.”

Caleb looked at Zayne knowingly but did not correct him further.

“Either way, you’re welcome to celebrate with us. This one hardly eats what I make her anyways, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of food for you.”

You shoot Caleb a glare.

“It’s not my fault I can’t keep up with your portion sizes, I don’t have that kind of metabolism.” You turn back to Zayne, grabbing his cold hand in yours. “Do stay.” You plead with a smile. “I promised you a break, after all, and if you go home you’ll just start working again and you know it.”

Zayne exhaled heavily through his nose, holding his coat in one hand, you in the other, one foot still pointed toward the door. You watch as his brow creases and relaxes with thought as if he’s weighing every outcome in his mind. Finally, he speaks.

“I suppose I could stay for dinner.” He set his coat back on the rack and moved away from the door.

“Bitchin'!” You shake him a little with excitement, planting a kiss on his cheek. The action wasn’t planned and startled you almost as much as it startled him, but nothing prepared you for Caleb’s burning stare. “Sorry.” You say, backing off. “I get too enthusiastic sometimes.”

“No worries.” Zayne hums, rubbing the spot on his cheek with a barely concealed grin.

“Who wants a drink?” Caleb interjects from the kitchen, already pouring a glass.

“Me!” you and Zayne say in unison.

Night sneaks up on all of you. The dining table was littered with messy dishes and dirty napkins, two empty bottles of champagne, and three half-full glasses remaining.

You twirl yours between nimble fingers, watching the golden liquid swirl. Your head feels heavy, your cheeks warm, and you aren't wasted but you're buzzing.

Zayne is also flushed, leaning back in his seat laughing at another one of Caleb’s anecdotes. The two men warmed to each other rather quickly once the alcohol started flowing. Laughing and joking in the way that men do. You cherished seeing them together like this, your two favorite people in the whole world. You couldn't wipe the smile from your face if you tried.

Caleb took another sip, still humming in amusement.

“I tried to tell Patrick he couldn't handle the altitude but he just wouldn't listen.” the pilot-to-be shook his head, “I've never seen anyone vomit that much in the simulator.”

“Sounds like a classmate of mine.” Zayne mused, “He gets sick at the sight of blood, yet wants to be a doctor? I don't think I will ever understand.”

Both men reach for the bottle, their hands colliding on the glass before pulling away clumsily.

“Sorry, you go ahead.”

“No, it's all yours.”

You sigh, grabbing the empty bottle and giving it a shake for their benefit.

“It's empty, dinguses,” you say with a sloppy grin. “Should someone go to the store for more?”

“No need,” Caleb grunts a bit as he stands, heading to the bedroom for a couple of confusing moments before reappearing with an ornate glass bottle of brown liquid. “I keep this for rainy days. Pip can't handle it, but what about you?”

Zayne smirks, sliding his glass over.

“I do have a fondness for whiskey,” he replies.

You fold your arms in a pout.

“What? And I'm just expected to sober up?”

Caleb smiles, pouring Zayne a shot.

“Check your bedside table.”

You smile at him in question, but he gestures you off with a nod of his head. “Go on.”

With an excited leap, you lurch from your chair, skipping to the bedroom to hunt for your present...whatever it is.

After some glancing around in the dark, you spot it. Illuminated by the smallest sliver of moonlight, near the shadow of your lamp, is a crinkled stick made of paper. You can smell its contents the moment you lay eyes on it, a heavenly sour blend of earth that you knew all too well. You snatch the joint without hesitation and fish a lighter from the drawer. Caleb always got you the best Kush. You didn't know where from, and you didn't care a wink. His little gifts were the only thing getting you through college free of a mental breakdown.

After blazing up and taking a couple much much-needed long hits, you saunter back into the living area with a more relaxed gait. The tension in your shoulders melts as the herb stings your lips, smoke trickling from your nostrils as you plop back down happily in your seat.

Caleb smiles over you in that warm, endearing way that makes your insides dance. He looked so handsome in the dim light. His purple eyes sparkled with mischief as he tossed back another shot.

You can't restrain your affections any longer.

Once Caleb was back in his seat, you moved to his lap, straddling him with a grin and a kiss. He welcomes you with a warm hand cupping your ass, squeezing just hard enough to hurt a little, and you loved it.

“Let’s all play a game.” you giggle, turning around on top of him so your upper body weight is supported by the table while he still cradles your hips. You look at Zayne with a warm smile, one he can never say no to. “It will be fun.”

Zayne looks at Caleb for a long moment before he looks back at you.

“What do you have in mind?”

You sit up, taking another long drag on your joint.

“Truth.” You lean forward again, breasts almost spilling from the top of your shirt. “Or dare.”

“Pipsqueak,” Caleb utters your name like a warning, his thumb stroking circles over the denim of your jeans. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Oh come on!” You whine, throwing your head against the polished wood. “It’s not a true celebration unless we do something silly.” You look at them both with doe eyes. “Please?”

“Fine, but let’s move to the couch.” Caleb picks you up, and drops you on your feet, patting your ass playfully as you skip toward the sofa.

Zayne follows, drink in hand.

Once the three of you are settled on the cushions comfortably, Caleb and Zayne share another shot over your head, cheering their glasses with a clink.

You pull your legs up, curling them underneath you so you don’t have to crane so much to see their faces.

“I’ll go first. Ask me.” You turn to Caleb expectantly, batting your lashes as he tucks your hair back.

“Truth or dare?” He hums, still gazing deep into your eyes.

“Dare.”

Caleb grins.

“I dare you to take a shot with us.”

Rolling your eyes, you smile. You saw that one coming a mile away. Caleb offered you his glass as he picked up the Jameson, pouring one out for you and Zayne and keeping the bottle for himself.

You hated whiskey. It was too rich, too strong, and the bittersweet sting of it lingered on your tongue for hours to come. Yet, you tossed it back without a single complaint, handing the glass back to your boyfriend with a superior smirk.

“My turn.” you shift, spinning on the cushion to face Zayne. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth, I suppose.” Zayne wipes a drop from his lip with a calculated swipe of his fingers.

“What happened with the girl in the food court?”

He smiled, almost laughing. He should have expected the question from you.

“She choked, that was true. Only, I wasn't present for that. The man who gave her the Heimlich punctured her lung. He couldn't have known, but she had dislocated a rib earlier at her rugby game. The resulting pressure from him trying to save her ended up putting her at even more dire risk.” His brow knit together as he recalled the events, his smile fading, “When I got there she wasn't breathing. I had to perform emergency thoracentesis to remove the excess fluid while we waited for paramedics.”

“Shit.” Caleb hissed under his breath, taking another drink.

“Whats, Thora-cent..ysis?” you ask, clumsily fumbling over the word.

Zayne lights up just slightly, inching closer to you to explain with his hands. He touches a spot between your lower ribs, and you twitch as it tickles.

“I poke a hole right here, to release the fluid buildup. Once she could breathe again, I kept the pressure on the wound until the medics arrived.” he removes his cold hand from your side, reaching for his drink again. He was starting to look red in the face. You wondered how drunk he was.

“That's incredible Zayne.” you breathe in awe, “They really should just make you a surgeon already.”

He chuckled.

“I still have a ways to go before I get there.” his green eyes flick up to Caleb over your shoulder. “Truth or dare, captain?”

The word hangs for a while in the air between them. An old taunt from childhood, in those formative years before Caleb matched Zayne in size, and could still be teased without consequence. You feel Caleb tense beside you, but his expression remains playful.

“Dare,” he commands.

“How predictable.” Zayne scoffs, tapping his chin as he thinks. “Alright. I dare you…to let me kiss your girlfriend.”

“Zayne!” You gasp, covering your mouth both from the shock but also to hide your unshakable grin.

Caleb, to your surprise, laughs.

“Trying to get me out this early in the game? Nuh-uh.” he chided, pulling your face forcefully into his lips as he planted a passionate, slobbering kiss on you. When he released you, he smeared his spit across your mouth with a wicked grin, practically pushing you into Zayne’s arms. “She's all yours.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow. He hadn't truly expected Caleb to allow this, he just wanted to win the game. Though, as you look up at him patiently, he wonders if he maybe had ulterior motives after all.

Zayne’s cool fingers brush your cheek before gently pulling you toward him. His arms wrapped around you, and he shifted to let you settle in his lap as he bent to meet your lips. Your breath catches as his tenderness soaks into your bones, the kiss light and sensitive. He doesn't stop after one or two. No. He holds you firm until he's had his fill of little kisses, passionate in his quiet way.

By the time he's done with you, your chest is heaving, and your face is red. You're afraid to look back at your boyfriend, who undoubtedly regrets his decision to stay in the game. Yet when you finally look at Caleb again, he seems unphased, tossing back another shot with only a subtle flush under his eyes.

“Truth or dare?” he asks you bluntly, keeping his eyes locked on Zayne.

“Truth.” You whisper, wanting to steer the game in a different direction - though the palpable tension in the air suggested it was much too late for that.

“Did you like him kissing you?” Caleb asks immediately.

“Caleb…” you move toward him, but one strong hand grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from touching him.

“Answer.”

“…yes.” your reply is scarcely audible over your heartbeat, pounding like drums against your skull.

“Zayne? Truth or dare?” Caleb continued, letting you go.

Zayne’s brow tightened, he knew he was being backed into a corner. Caleb always did this, even when they were kids. Zayne might've been the oldest but Caleb was always the one in control, and neither of them cared to lose. Not then, not now.

“Dare.”

You sank back between them, just praying things didn't escalate the same way they did on the playground all those years ago.

“Kiss her again.” Caleb's tone darkened as he took another shot.

You sit up, shocked.

“Caleb!”

Zayne wasted no time, he cupped your face and pulled you into another deliciously tender kiss.

You push him off with a grunt, fighting the pleasure back into its hiding place deep inside you.

“Enough!” you snap, standing from the couch in a huff, “I’m not a stick to measure your dicks with!”

Silence.

What had you just said? Was that what you meant to say? “No, I mean,” you stutter, a smile cracking your serious expression, “The stick isn't me, just that you two - stop -” you chuckle despite yourself “I'm not a toy, is what I mean!”

You look up, your cheeks burning from embarrassment. The two young men share a look of confusion before they too break into laughter.

“Come’ere Pipsqueak,” Caleb opens his arms in wait, and you happily fly to him. He wraps you in a comforting embrace, stroking your hair. “We know what you meant. I'm sorry.”

“Me too.” Zayne agreed. “I'm so very sorry. That was…childish of me.”

“Of both of us,” Caleb adds, kissing your forehead. “Forgive us?”

You rub your eyes with a grin, nodding. You couldn't stay mad even if you wanted to, the weed saw to that.

“You were right. This game was a bad idea.”

“No…” Caleb hummed reassuringly, “To be honest, watching you two was kinda hot.”

Zayne chuckled, thinking Caleb was joking, but you knew better. His tone was sincere, aroused even.

“Really?” you ask, surprised.

Caleb shrugs and nods.

“What? I can't have kinks?” He tickles you, making you laugh and wriggle in his arms.

“Of course you can!” you exclaim, trying to break away. “I just would never expect that to be one.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Zayne asks, finally catching on. His cheeks were bright red.

“Relax Doctor,” Caleb said, nuzzling your neck as he crawled over you. You giggled, scooting back until you were in Zayne’s lap again, Caleb still nibbling at your throat. “We don't bite.”

He pulls off of you, his violet eyes lidded with lust. You look up at Zayne, who is in a similar state of distress.

“Truth or dare?” you ask the green-eyed boy behind you, your voice shaking with excitement.

He lets out a stuttered gasp.

“Dare.”

#love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads #caleb love and deepspace #l&ds #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds caleb #caleb fic #lads fic #lads fandom #lads fanfic #fanfic #love and deepspace scenarios #love and deepspace x reader

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ash5monster01 · 1 year ago

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hi!! i was wondering if i could request a charlie dalton x fem!reader inspired by guilty as sin? by taylor swift <333

Guilty as Sin?

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, sexual themes, sexual desire, heavy lust, language, big ego, fluff.

Summary: based on the song Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift. You have a longing for Charlie Dalton that you’re wishing would finally come true, lucky for you, Charlie thrives off of fulfilling fantasies. He’s happy to do the same for you.

word count: 2k

Masterlist

The sound of a book slamming against the table causes you to jump. Bringing you back to reality and tearing your eyes away from the boy on the other side of the library. With your heart now thrumming in your chest you eye the culprit, a frazzled student, rushing to drop his things on the other end of your table as he prepares to study. He has no idea he's just caused you to jump out of your skin but you're thankful to him anyway. If you weren't careful you could get too wrapped up in the idea of the brunette boy across the room and that was never good.

Charlie Dalton had become an all consuming thought. When Welton first became co-ed you had promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for any of the boys. Especially Charlie who had become the well known flirt amongst the school. Thing was, you couldn’t help it. Being in a place like Welton was like being trapped in a cage. It used to be fine but now you dreamed of breaking free. Dreamed of cracking locks, throwing your life to the wolves or ocean rocks, crashing into Charlie Dalton who was the definition of freedom simplified. The boy was a paradox.

Because of all this you couldn’t stop yourself from dreaming about him. It was the only exciting thing you had in this entire school. Seeing visions made up entirely of breaking every possible rule with the boy by your side. You weren’t sure if it made you bad, mad, or wise. All you knew is that you wanted Charlie Dalton in more ways than one. He was an ideology that made your heart soar and you dreamed of him claiming you as his own. Wishing he was written ‘mine’ on your upper thigh as his very hand slowly slide past your knee. Too bad it was only in your mind.

Feeling yourself slipping and falling back into the everlasting maze of dreaming about Charlie Dalton you quickly collected your things before it got too far. Even though dreaming about him would be lovely way to die, you had trigonometry homework that sadly the chestnut eyes of Charlie Dalton could not complete. Your safest option was getting as far away from him as possible. At least that was your goal until you bumped into a hard body after pushing open the doors to the library.

“Shit” the familiar voice swore as your books scattered across the ground. You froze in place as you spotted the apologetic smile on the boys face as he bends to collect your things. You hate that just the sight of him makes you recall things you never did. Things like needy top lip kisses, a longing for shared trysts, all without having ever touching his skin.

“It’s okay” you finally bring yourself to say, collecting your books back from him and probably looking like a deer in headlights. You hate even being around him made you feel guilty as sin. You had to keep these longings locked inside a vault before you got caught.

“You okay?” he asked with a soft chuckle, hand falling to your shoulder and you can’t help the goosebumps that cover your body just from the simple touch. Finally daring a glance into his eyes you hope he can’t see the desperate longing you have for him there.

“Do you want to hangout?” you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth, instant regret fluttering in a breath behind them. Screw your trigonometry homework, Charlie Dalton was standing in front of you and you were going to take a chance.

“What?” he laughs, handsome eyes sparkling with amusement and you shake your head fastly even though the words coming out are opposite from the way you look.

“Yeah, I mean we have a few classes together and I just thought we could get to know each other” you look strained as you say it, contradicting yourself completely and the boy in front of you lets out a hearty laugh at the sight. Someone once told you there was no such thing as bad thoughts but you were having quite a few right now. At least your actions talked and hopefully he couldn’t see through the smoke screen that hid your fatal fantasies of labored breaths, him taking all of you, already doing it in your head.

“Yeah, I’d like to hangout. Got anything in mind?” he asks and it’s innocent. You know it is. That doesn’t stop your mind from running wild, recalling every dirty scenario you have put him in the last few months. If it was all make believe why does it feel like a vow you’re both going to uphold?

“Not particularly” you respond, nervously tucking strands of hair behind your ears and he just grins, arm reaching out and wrapping around your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I know a place” he says confidently, sultry and smooth, the very personality you’ve been obsessed with. You hate that your cheeks redden, suddenly anxious about the fact that the same boys name you call out at night, building up like waves and crashing over your grave, has his arm around you.

“Is this the part where you kidnap me?” but he just grins and guides you out the doors and into the warm spring sun. You decide not to question him as he helps you sneak past the tree line and rush through the forest. In fact because of how obsessed you were with him he could murder you and you’d probably say thank you.

“Welcome to my humble abode” he says suddenly, a short cave in front of you both. Not in any place to question him, you duck inside just to see there are remnants of human life all around. Rubble from a previously burning fire lies in the center of the cave, blankets and a stack of playboy magazines on a rock to the side, some sort of lamp made out of a human statue. Whatever this place is, it was frequently visited.

“It’s… welcoming” is the word you find yourself saying as you perch yourself on a rock. Charlie just grins, settling onto the ground beside you, back pressed against the rock below you. If you moved only an inch you could hook your leg over his shoulder and the very thought has you stiffening your spine.

“Good, I’m glad. It doesn’t see nearly as much women as it should” Charlie says as he pulls a cigarette free from his pocket. You watch as he strikes a match along the rock you sit on before lighting the filter between his fingers.

“So this is where you take all your conquests?” you joke, crossing your arms over your chest before leaning back against the wall of the cave.

“Not all, but it would be a lie if I said none” he answers with a smirk, the cigarette pressed between his lips tipping upward at the action. You hate how attractive he is, the way you clench your legs together without even touching his skin.

“Does that make me one?” you find the confidence to question, realizing quickly if you’re going to do this little dance you might as well try your hardest to win. You may not be a conquest of Charlie’s but he was definitely one of yours.

Yet the look he gives you, a lustful stare burning behind his eyes, makes it easy to see you might be one of his too. So you anxiously wait as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke towards the hole in the roof of the cave. Finally dropping his head to look back at you. “Only if you want to be”

“I thought I made it pretty clear when I asked to hangout” you say, a tone that oozes honesty pushing the words out. Charlie smiles that dazzling smile and much to your surprise reaches to hook his hand around your leg. Just the simple touch of his fingers curling around your calf sends a shudder down your spine. This is was you had wanted, a chance to live out a daring fantasy with the boy beside you. There was no backing out now, you had to roll the stone away, you’d end up crucified anyway.

“I thought you stared because I was annoying” he mutters, snuffing out the butt end of his cigarettte and abandoning it beside him. You watch with a pounding heart as he lifts himself onto his knees, hand still locked around your leg as he sat before you.

Out of all the ways you had pictured Charlie before, nothing could top him on his knees in front of you, hands holding your legs, itching to make their way up. Taking another daring chance you reach to graze your fingers through his hair, smiling at the way the action makes him instantly close his eyes. “I stared because of how bad I wanted you, that was still annoying though”

He offers a devious grin at that and just hearing the confirmation of how badly you wanted him, he starts to lift his hands up your legs, smiling at the feeling of your bare skin as he moved closer and closer to the hem of your skirt. You can’t stop your head from tipping back and enjoying the way he holds you which is truly holy. Just before his hands reach the end of your skirt, you stop him with your hands landing on top of his.

“Before this gets too far I need you to know this is a long suffering propriety for me. You have no idea how much you’ve haunted me” you tell him, prepared for him to stop his movements and step away from you. He just bumped into you at the library and was looking for a hookup, where you had been in love with the idea of him for far too long.

“I’d be content if you were mine and only mine” he confirms, a sweetness to the usually cocky smile. You’re stunned for a moment, realizing he just chose for it to be only you and him. This alone has you leaning forward and capturing his lips in your own, a messy top lip kiss at first and then slowly shifting into something magical.

The kiss gives Charlie the confidence to continue his trail, fingers slipping beneath your skirt and up the tops of your thighs. You moan at the memory of earlier, where you had imagined him writing mine on your thigh. As if Charlie reads your mind he breaks his lips apart from you, hands bunching up your skirt and revealing the doughy flesh there. He flashes you a smile before pressing a kiss to the top of your thigh and you wish to have it tattooed there forever.

“This is so much better than I imagined” you grin at him, smiling when he lifts his head and slides his hands to your waist. In one swift motion he’s lifted you up, sitting where you just were and settling you on his lap. You grin at the feeling, skirt still bunched up as you straddle his waist.

“Agreed” he says before peppering kisses along your collar bone and you draw your eyebrows together, hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he grinds up into you.

“Wait, you thought of me too?” you ask and he pulls back with that dazzling smile, eyes glazed and shining into your own.

“Guilty as sin babe” he tells you and you can’t help the soft laugh that falls out of you before sealing your mouth around his own. He kisses back just as eagerly, squeezing at your hips as you officially determine this was so much better than trigonometry.

Finally so happy you wondered if you were even allowed to cry.

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mygnolia · 11 months ago

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CALCU-CRUSH! ♡ 04. holding hands in rugby stands

୨୧ SMAU! SYNOPSIS -› Yeah, Park Sunghoon might be just a little annoying- but hey! at least he can help you get an A in AP CALC, and he will never a crush on you to make things super weird and complicated, right? [1.3k WORDS]

If there’s two things your tutor is good at, it’s bring punctual, and teaching you trigonometry.

Sunghoon texts you after your last class, keeping his word. He meets you in the library, and thankfully, despite how busy it gets, Sunghoon finds a small and secluded table for the two of you. You find him scrolling on his phone, with his notebook out, before you clear your throat and pull the chair in front of him. When he puts his phone away and gathers a few materials from his bag, you take it as a sign to mirror his actions, pulling the dreaded red paper from your backpack with a look of shame.

“If you would’ve told be this paper came from ___ ___, I wouldn’t believe you.” He chuckles, scanning over the pages. So much red. “What were you even doing during class? Our APUSH report??” He gawks, and it sets off a defensive flare as well as your embarrassment.

“We all make mistakes.” You try to reason in defense.

“I’m just messing with you, ____.” Sunghoon sighs, adjusting his chair to lean over and assessing the questions with you.

Sunghoon’s hair falls into his eyes when he works, and he has the habit of shaking it out or combing it back every few minutes as he begins to review the chapter you two were on, and you smile as you watch him try to tuck it behind his ears. He points out your mistakes carefully, and as much as you are paying attention to the hour he spends trying to show you how to do the first page, you catch the light scent of his fresh and floral fragrance the more you nod and scoot your chair closer. And when Sunghoon turns to you, you notice his lips, rosy and full as he licks them out of nervousness.

“Here,” he taps with his pencil, and your eyes follow to the paper where he’s written a problem out, which looks primarily composed of letters rather than numbers. But if anything, Sunghoon’s explanations are well thought out and full of reasoning and detail. You were only distracted by the proximity once. When you present him the answer, going over the steps, Sunghoon thoughtfully points out a section you made a minor mistake with, and smiles.

“I’m glad you’re catching on. Means I won’t have to do this for long.” He begins to close his books while you pout.

“I think after today, we’re great friends.” You say half sarcastically. “How’s your little project with Wonyoung going?” He shrugs, grabbing his bag to put on the table.

“I switched. Didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or anything, and the teacher said I could.”

“You really aren’t going to try and woo her? Like- at all?” He shakes his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Haven’t you heard of bro-code?”

Humming in agreement, you still press on. “Why did you even like her if you knew Jake did?”

“I was never expecting anything from it. I just wanted to get close because she’s also pretty smart- but also because Jake kept denying that anything was going on between them too, so I half wanted to be friends, and half wanted to see how much Jake really liked her since he’s dumb and doesn’t realize his feelings.” You snicker at his slight dig, but you get where Sunghoon is coming from. It’s good to know at least that he didn’t want anything serious, and knew when to back off.

“So you felt more adoration for her?” And he nods. “Do you think they’ll get together anytime soon?”

Sunghoon scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “The most they’d do is hold hands in those rugby stands after his games. He seems like he likes being around her, and whether that means they’re friends or more is up to them. Plus they both need each other. Jake is way too afraid to get a B in AP Language and Wonyoung is great at Literature.”

“You know those two are different right?” And he scowls at you, furrowing his eyebrows as he tightens the way he crosses his arms.

“Of course I know they’re different!” And you smile at his whining, putting your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, whatever. Can we can ice cream now like you said?”

“Only if you tell me everything.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What else to I have to tell you?”

“The whole plan. The whole situation. If not, I won’t help you out on today’s worksheet.”

“I don’t need help on it,” You huff, standing up to grab your bag. It’s Sunghoon’s turn to question your confidence, considering how you two were texting during that period.

“Fine. But don’t come to me on Saturday with questions.”

You two both leave the library, taking the short walk to the convenience store to finally get some well deserved treats. When you both pick out your flavors, Sunghoon leads you both to a bench nearby as you sit with your backpacks and talk.

“So you’re okay with Jake talking to Wonyoung?”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “I’ve said this a million times.”

You move on. “The plan was to get you to try and have feelings for someone else, and then convinve Wonyoung she liked Jake.”

“So she knew I kind of liked her?”

You make a sound in half agreement and half denial, trying to figure out how to explain this part without sounding like a horrible person. “Well, we asked if she would ever be interested in you. Like, when you notice a girl and think, wow, my friend would like her.”

He scoffs, taking a bite of his ice cream. “We do not do that!”

You frown. “That’s beside the point. Let’s just say you did, okay?” And Sunghoon offers you an unconvincing nod. “Well, that’s how we got Wonyoung to confess she liked Jake. But at the time, we didn’t exactly know that Jake liked her too. We thought you liked her and your friends were just cheering you on. So we were super worried that because Wonyoung didn’t return your feelings, me and Karina would be the assholes for not telling you, and I’d be an even bigger asshole for trying to help you get closer. So operation ‘Look Lost in the Math Classrooms’ was made.”

Sunghoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at you incredulously. “Who was I supposed to catch feelings for instead? Karina?”

You bit your lip, opting to bite a large chunk of the ice cream to buy time to think. “Not quite. That part I can’t exactly tell you.”

He whines, leaning back against the bench and throwing his stick into the trash can. “What?? Was it you, then?”

Yeah- there was no denying it at this point. You nod. “But it wasn’t like I wanted to! That’s emotional manipulation!”

“I’m glad you are a decent human being then.” He jokes, still not sure how to process everything. He feels a bit confused as to how adamantly you refused the idea of catching feelings for him, but drops it, not close enough to you to really think it over too much. But his leave is abrupt, and you don’t want him to think of you as a bad person at all.

“That’s why I told you, Sunghoon. Because I didn’t want you to have to stop liking Wonyoung without knowing the reason why.”

Sunghoon’s not really good at feelings, but he knows your explanation is honest, and he can appreciate it. And he tries to think about it again, seeing the holes in your plan and how it wouldn’t have worked.

“So operation ‘Look Lost in the Math Classrooms’ isn’t a thing, right?” And with the shakes of your head, Sunghoon trusts you this time. “Yeah, your plan was dumb anyways.”

You throw the wooden stick from your ice cream in his direction, and he shouts before avoiding your germs. “That’s gross!” He whines, and you can’t stop laughing at Park Sunghoon.

prev ♡ ml ♡ next

୨୧ REN SAYS... yippee written chapter yayy

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study-diaries · 1 year ago

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Math Tips

(Pictures are not mine)

Well, let me tell you, we all have this love-hate relationship with this subject, right? The worst part is that when you don't know what the heck is going on, so, as a girl who studied maths (2 Volumes/textbooks) on her own during the year she was homeschooled, here are some tips and tricks that I did to get an A+ in my math finals!

Get your syllabus together

In the beginning I had no damn idea what was going on and it was just confusing. I had to do the first thing I did was taken my index/table of contents and mark the chapters which i knew very well and the ones I had no clue about. And then i arranged them with the marking scheme, like which one carries the most marks etc etc and study accordingly.

Complete lessons/chapters that you already know

When you finish off the things you already know then that's gonna give you the confidence you need even if you know only 1-2 chapters, learn it throughout and make sure that you'll get the answer no matter how twisted the sum is. If you're doubtful about the whole textbook like any normal person.... Start with the easy ones. (I know there are literally really no "easy" chapters, spare me)

Harder chapters need hard work

Most chapters like Trigonometry proofs, Geometry proofs, Algebra, Graphs, Mensuration and Calculus etc need more than minimum effort but here's a trick, what is the common thing in this? Yes, they're all formulae and theorem based which goes to my next point. These chapters are completely based on how much you've understood your basics.

Formulae and theorem cheatsheets

Make a list of all formulae and the theorem used in the book, write them chapter wise and no printouts or digital notes. Take a paper and write it down, no excuses. It helps you while you're practicing, revising and in the last minute review, it helped me damn much. Remember, maths is a sport. The basic formulae must come to you like reflexes.

YouTube is your best friend.

For every single chapter, go and watch the basics and how a sum is done step by step. A recommendation for this is Organic Chemistry Tutor who literally is one of the reasons i passed. He has videos from basic geometry, trigonometry, statistics to calculus. Search for your own YouTubers and be clear with concepts.

Math is fully memorization

Memorize formulae and theorems with the back of your hand, you should be able to recall them within seconds. Be thorough.

Memorize basic math values (if calculator isn't allowed)

Do this if you have a majority of chapters like Statistics, Mensuration, Profit/loss calculation etc, where large numbers are concerned. Memorize the first 10 square, cube, decimal and multiplication values. It may be dry but there are literally songs available for these things, I'm serious, i learnt the first 10 cube roots by listening to Senorita xD Search for rhymes and they'll definitely be many!!

Work it out!!!!!!

Can't stress this enough, atleast 30-40 mins is the minimum for maths. I'm serious, work out each sum, don't ever think it's a waste, you'll see the results. Practice makes perfect. Work out every single sum, from examples to exercise ones cause let's be honest, our examiners love to take problems from every nook and cranny of the book.

Whiteboard method

So, I made this up and it actually works, if you have a whiteboard or anything else, once you completed a chapter, take a random page and whatever sums you have on those two pages, you need to complete within a given time limit. It helps you to identify your weak points and where the hell you're losing both time and effort and not to mention that it gives you confidence boost up.

Hope this helps :))

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ghoulsverse · 10 days ago

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Chapter Ten: A New Normal

4.2k words | [Tags] more angst BUT, some fluff too

Chapter Index | Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Sometimes the scariest thing isn’t being unloved… it’s realizing you’ve been loved the wrong way all along.

The smell of cinnamon toast and burned coffee drifted lazily through the tower’s shared kitchen, with the late morning sunlight clinging to the ceiling. Inside, though, the Avengers were awake, just barely… and some? Deeply annoyed.

Aliah sat at the counter with her head leaning against her hand like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

Her breakfast plate sat untouched… eggs arranged like a smiley face that mocked her silently. A too organized planner sat beside it, open to a page titled “Curriculum Integration.” The words might as well have been written in blood.

“Seriously?” Aliah said, balancing a spoon on the edge of her cereal bowl. “If I have genetically enhanced DNA, shouldn’t I get a pass on standardized education?”

From across the kitchen island, Natasha didn’t look up from her tablet. “If you’re smart enough to argue your way out of school, you’re smart enough to do the homework.”

“That’s emotional manipulation.”

“That’s parenting.”

Wanda entered with a mug in one hand and a hopeful smile in the other, sleeves rolled up and damp curls framing her face from her morning shower. She looked like someone trying to manifest calm into a chaotic universe… one toast crumb at a time.

“I printed off your tutoring schedule.” She said cheerfully, sliding a few neatly stapled pages next to Aliah’s elbow. “We’re starting slow. History, algebra, and English for now. Just mornings. You still get afternoons free.”

Aliah stared at the packet like it contained classified Hydra documents. “Do I get a recess?”

“You get a fifteen minute break and a snack.”

“So... no?”

Natasha gave her a soft glare, almost daring the girl to make one more sarcastic comment. “You’re 15… Most kids your age are in school full time. Be lucky we’re keeping your afternoons free for training.”

Green eyes rolled again. “I don’t see how adding numbers and knowing how to write proper sentences is supposed to help me in the field.”

Maria, who had been sitting at the table on the other end from Aliah, her own tablet in hand, spoke up first. “If you want to go out into the field and take missions, you need to be able to do the paperwork. That requires learning proper sentences. Counting the ammunition you have left over while still fighting can save your life.”

“Okay, fine. But History?”

“Understanding your enemy’s motive and patterns based on the world’s past mistakes.”

Aliah dropped her head onto her crossed arms on the table and groaned. It made sense. But she didn’t have to like it.

Wanda just shook her head, chuckling. Mostly to distract herself from the gnawing feeling that keeps coming back when she’s in the same room as Natasha.

Vision appeared near the pantry, holding a cup of tea he had no biological need for.

“An established routine is critical to personal growth.” He offered politely. “I’ve found structured time blocks enhance not only discipline but emotional resilience.”

Aliah didn’t look at him. “I’ve found your voice enhances migraines.”

“Noted.”

Natasha almost snorted into her coffee.

Wanda did not.

“We all agreed on this.” She said, tone a little tighter now. “We want you to have a foundation.”

“Of what?” Aliah asked, flipping her spoon. “Colonialism and trigonometry?”

“Of opportunity.” Wanda replied. “Of choice. We want you to have a say in your future.”

“Cool.” Aliah muttered. “Then I choose not to do math.”

The elevator dinged.

A young man stepped out with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and the distinct air of a man who had absolutely no idea what he’d just walked into. Late twenties. Slightly rumpled. Wearing a badge that said S.H.I.E.L.D. Education Initiative and a tie that said “I tried.”

Aliah took one look at him and whispered to Natasha. “He looks like he apologizes when people bump into him.”

Natasha didn’t argue. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice. That was an observation.”

Wanda walked over and extended a hand. “You must be Agent Foreman. Thank you for coming in so early.”

“Happy to help.” He said, trying to smile past the existential dread creeping into his eyes.

Aliah stood and grabbed her binder with all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner. “I go now to face my destiny.”

Vision stepped forward. “If you’d like assistance with note organization–”

Aliah held up a hand. “Please don’t say cognitive development again. I just ate.”

Natasha sighed. “Be good.”

“I’ll try.” Aliah said, already walking away. “No promises.”

Agent Foreman followed, glancing nervously over his shoulder like he half expected her to levitate him into the ceiling.

Wanda watched them disappear down the hall.

Natasha took a long sip of coffee. “Well. That went better than expected.”

“You mean she didn’t actually set anything on fire.” Wanda muttered.

“It’s a low bar. I’m proud of her.”

They stood in silence for a moment, letting the stillness settle in around them… the smell of toast, the soft clink of dishes, the momentary illusion of peace.

Wanda glanced over. “Thanks for backing me up.”

Natasha didn’t look at her. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know,” Wanda said softly. “But thank you anyway.”

Across the room, Vision hovered, watching the retreating hallway with clinical interest. “Social tension aside, her integration is progressing marvelously.”

Natasha’s jaw twitched. “She’s not a lab project.”

Wanda froze.

Vision blinked. “I meant no offense.”

“You never do.” Natasha muttered, grabbing her coffee and leaving the kitchen, following Maria to the elevator to discuss her last mission.

Wanda stood in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a mug that had gone cold.

The warmth of five minutes ago now felt like a set after the actors left… quiet, staged, and more fragile than it looked.

The quiet in the hallway wasn’t peaceful. It was like something waiting to snap.

Wanda walked slowly, hands full… a fresh mug of tea (because it felt necessary to have… something), a stack of borrowed books, and a soft blanket Aliah had tossed aside hours ago. She moved like someone playing house, like someone with amnesia trying to trigger a memory they don’t even have. Maybe she was.

Around the corner, Natasha was already there.

Leaning against the kitchen counter like always. Face buried in a physical paper file, boots planted. She wasn’t pacing. That would imply nerves.

She was standing still… which meant she was angry.

Wanda stopped short.

Their eyes met. Just for a moment.

Natasha’s gaze flicked to the mug in her hand.

“Going a bit hard on the tea today?”

Wanda didn’t answer right away. “Just wanting something calm.”

“Sure.” Natasha said, turning back to her file but her tone was snarky.

Wanda’s jaw tightened. She moved past her without a word.

The kind of silence that had once been companionable between them… but now pulsed with tension.

“She’s doing better.” Wanda said at last, her voice calm but laced with something underneath.

“She likes History better than English.” Natasha said, still not looking up from her file, her tone sharper now. “Because it feels safe. We’ve made sure she feels safe. Because people show up for her.”

Wanda turned to her, one brow raised. “Is that supposed to be about me?”

Natasha didn’t flinch. “Should it be?”

The room had the soft, warm glow of sun at its peak and early afternoon stillness.

Wanda set the mug down on the counter, carefully. Like too much pressure might crack it.

Natasha stayed standing, hands on her hips.

“You keep saying you’re here.” Natasha said. “But you’re not really here. Not your whole self.”

Wanda folded her arms. “Is this about what I said? Because I’ve apologized almost a hundred times for that, Nat. I wasn’t thinking right and I shouldn’t have said it–”

“But you did.” Natasha said, moving closer. “You used the one thing I told you in confidence. Again.”

Wanda bristled. “And what would you like me to do? Get on my knees and beg for forgiveness? Cry over my mistakes?”

“No.” Natasha said, low and clipped. “I’d like you to act like someone who gives a damn about the people around her instead of pretending to be fine so she can avoid feeling anything.”

“That’s not fair–”

“What’s not fair…” Natasha cut in. “Is the way you walk through this place acting like it’s enough to just show up when you feel like it. You think kindness fixes everything? You think making tea will make you feel better?”

Wanda’s breath caught.

“I’m trying.” She said quietly. “I’m trying to be better.”

Natasha paused, long enough for Wanda to think maybe she’d step back. “Then why does it feel like we’re all stuck in the crossfire of whatever you have going on?”

Wanda blinked. “What?”

“You need to figure yourself out.” Natasha shook her head, voice cooler now, too calm. “You can’t keep using all of us as a way out for whatever it is that you’re feeling. I don’t know what you have going on that has you feeling upset, but it’s not my fault. We are not your emotional punching bags. It doesn’t work for her. And it sure as hell doesn’t work for me.”

There it was.

Too sharp to ignore. Too raw to smooth over.

The widow sighed and spoke again. “She’s young but she’s not dumb. She knows something is wrong.”

Wanda looked down, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her sleeves.

Silence stretched between them.

Aliah’s laugh rang from the other room, soft and oblivious.

Wanda felt like she was breaking in reverse… not shattered, but folding. Slowly. Quietly.

“I’m doing my best.” She said, barely audible.

“Then maybe you should start doing better… For her sake.” Natasha said and walked out, not waiting to hear anything else.

Wanda stayed behind, staring at the hallway long after the door to Natasha’s room clicked shut.

In her hand, the tea had gone cold. Again.

Avengers Compound: Common floor - 8:24 pm

The common room still smelled faintly like floor polish and Thor’s burnt PopTarts (though no one would admit who ate them without permission). Moonlight streamed through the wide windows, spilling cool light over the couch where Aliah sat cross legged on the floor with a binder and a frown.

The girl wasn’t visibly angry… not in the explosive way Wanda had seen in the training room, but she was closed off. Her brow furrowed with focus, but her shoulders said something else: tension, frustration, maybe even a little resignation. Her pencil tapped against the paper, a slow, steady rhythm.

Wanda padded in quietly, carrying two mugs and a hopeful smile.

“Cocoa for the scholar.” She said softly, setting one down beside her.

Aliah looked up, blinking slowly. “I’m supposed to show my work.”

“You are the work.” Wanda teased, nudging the binder gently. “You’ve made it this far. I think you can handle a few equations.”

Aliah groaned, letting her head fall back against the cushions. “Can’t I just manifest the answers like I manifested the pen I lost last week?”

“You still haven’t found that pen.”

“I didn’t say it was a good manifestation.”

Wanda chuckled and sat beside her, tucking her legs underneath herself as she leaned in to scan the page.

Tony chuckled from his place on the couch and sat up, with his usual air of confidence. “Let’s see what ya got, Mini Maximoff. Pass it here.”

She chuckled and scooted her binder and journal close enough for him to see. I put on his glasses and looked at the math work in front of him. “Okay, let’s break it down. You’re trying to isolate for x here–”

But before he could continue, a calm, composed voice interrupted.

“I can assist.”

Vision stepped into the room with his usual impossible silence, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached. He tilted his head slightly at the worksheet, scanning it without needing to blink.

“I could create in world scenarios to help understand the numbers better. It might be easier to work through your problems that way if you would prefer?”

Aliah didn’t even look up. “Fine.” She said flatly.

She moved her pencil off the page like it had betrayed her, and leaned back into the couch, as if preparing herself to endure the lesson instead of participating in it.

Wanda watched the shift… subtle, but unmistakable.

Aliah, a girl who’d just made a joke about conjuring pens, now sat like a student bracing for a lecture she had no say in.

Still, she said nothing.

Vision sat down next to Tony on the couch, too close and too calm, gently adjusting the worksheet.

“Let’s begin with number six. This one’s interesting.”

Wanda stood up and stepped back. Too quickly.

From the other end of the couch, Natasha’s presence was quiet but felt.

Aliah kept her gaze low. Her fingers tensed slightly when Vision gestured to a line she hadn’t drawn yet.

Wanda noticed.

So did Natasha.

And when Vision finally stood, murmuring something about reviewing variables and "allowing the real world examples to sink in"... the silence he left behind was heavier than it should’ve been.

Natasha didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. She simply grabbed her empty cup from the table, ruffling Aliah’s hair before getting up under the guise of grabbing another drink.

She leaned towards Wanda on her way around and whispered tightly. “She’s more relaxed around people who breathe.”

Wanda turned sharply.

The comment wasn't meant to provoke.

But it landed.

Hard.

Wanda got up and followed Natasha to the bar, folding her arms. “He’s trying.”

Natasha let out a short breath… a laugh with no humor in it. “He’s trying to program a relationship. There’s a difference.”

“He’s part of this family.” Wanda snapped.

“Is he?” Natasha’s tone was soft, but not gentle. “Clearly she doesn’t want him to be. Why are you trying to force it?”

Wanda looked away. “Don’t.” She whispered. “Not now.”

“Then be honest.” Natasha said. “Not just with me. With yourself.”

She walked back to the couch, sitting behind the young girl, who was still groaning into her papers.

Aliah cleared her throat. “I still hate math, by the way.”

“Need help with question seven?”

Aliah nodded. “As long as it doesn’t involve vibranium or feelings.”

Natasha smirked. “My specialty.”

Wanda lingered by the bar, mug still warm in her hand, heart cold in her chest.

She didn’t speak again. Just watching as the rest of her found family accepted and welcomed Aliah.

The young girl didn't need to pretend she wasn't comfortable anymore. She didn't need to feel afraid.

Even if she's still learning who she is, she doesn't let that hold her back.

For a moment Wanda feels slightly jealous about it.

For a moment.

She spends the rest of the night stuck in her head, putting on a mask just long enough to say good night to Aliah before walking to her own room.

Wanda shut the door quietly behind her.

Not slamming it. Not locking it. Just… closing it. Like a person trying to hold herself together from the inside out.

The room was dark, the moonlight creating shadows across the carpet and furniture. She stepped out of her shoes and into the silence, setting the tea down on her nightstand with more force than necessary.

She wasn’t angry. Not really.

She just didn’t know what else to be.

“Wanda.” His voice was calm, even, perfectly modulated.

Vision was already in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed like he belonged there. Like nothing had shifted. Like the last few days… the tension, the cold looks, the silence hadn’t happened at all.

She startled, not because he scared her… but because she hadn’t noticed him there.

He smiled faintly. “I thought I might keep you company tonight.”

Wanda stayed by the door for a moment too long. Then crossed the room and sat in the chair near the window, not the bed.

Vision tilted his head, noting the distance. “You’ve seemed… off today.”

Wanda stared at the blinds. “It’s been a long day.”

He stood and walked to her slowly, pausing at her side.

“I understand you’re overwhelmed.” He said. “I want to support you. If there’s anything I can do–”

“You can’t.” She said, too fast.

He blinked. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” Wanda shook her head, rubbing her temples. “Not just now. Not today. Just… in general.”

He moved back, giving her space.

“I know things have changed. But our foundation is strong. We’re connected and I hate the notion that you’re upset–”

“Stop.” She said, quieter now.

He froze. Not physically, but emotionally. The pause was palpable.

“I’m not a simulation.” She continued, voice fraying at the edges. “You keep saying the right things, but none of them feel right.”

He stepped forward again, gentler this time. “You’re grieving something.”

Wanda laughed… bitter, soft, cracked.

“I’m grieving us. Or maybe the idea of us. I don’t know. All I know is… when you touch me now, it doesn’t feel like anything.”

He sat on the edge of the bed again, hands folded.

“I’ve done everything I can to try to help you. I care for you.”

“I know.” Wanda whispered. “But I don’t think that’s enough anymore.”

There it was.

Not a scream. Not a sob.

Just the truth, spoken like a bruise that finally bloomed.

Vision nodded once. It wasn’t rejection. Not exactly.

Just understanding. The worst kind.

“You’re not just pulling away from me.” He said. “You’re pulling toward something else.”

Wanda didn’t respond. Because it was true.

She saw Aliah’s closed off posture when Vision sat too close.

She saw Natasha’s hands… the way they moved with care only when they thought no one was looking. She felt the tug… not love, not yet, but want. For a family that felt real.

Vision knew all of the right words to say, all of the things she liked, remembered everything.

But Natasha knew why she liked those things… knew when she needed them. All of the words coming out of Vision, she realized she wanted to hear from Natasha.

Not programmed. Not performed.

But she wasn’t ready.

She couldn’t be.

Change was dangerous. Rejection was worse. And safety, even if it wasn’t right, was something she knew how to survive.

She stood, quietly. “I need to sleep.”

Vision rose but didn’t approach. “I’ll let you rest.”

He walked to the door, stopping just before opening. “If you need me–”

“I know.”

Then he left.

Wanda stood alone in the room, finally letting the quiet settle.

And for the first time in weeks… it didn’t feel like comfort.

It felt like grief.

“Aliah, for the last time, Napoleon wasn’t five feet tall,” Agent Foredman said, exasperated.

Aliah grinned from where she was half lounging on the arm of the couch, a notebook balanced on her knee. “Okay, but emotionally? He was five feet tall.”

The other tutor… a former analyst named Jessa with a no nonsense tone and multicolored sticky notes for every academic subject, rolled her eyes as she scribbled something onto Aliah’s lesson plan. “I’m putting that in the margins.”

“Great. History with personality.” Aliah replied, tossing a pencil into a mug and landing it.

Wanda stood in the doorway watching it unfold, the soft chaos of adolescent energy crashing against two very patient adults. The air smelled like hot cocoa and fresh highlighters. Her home hadn’t felt this lived-in in… years.

Jessa gave Aliah a break, standing to grab something from the kitchen. Agent Foreman followed with a muttered comment about caffeine being “a defense mechanism.”

Wanda stepped into the room as Aliah stretched her legs across the coffee table.

“You’re making friends.” She said softly.

Aliah blinked at her. “They’re tutors.”

Wanda tilted her head. “You like them.”

Aliah shrugged. “They don’t talk to me like I’m a test subject.”

Wanda sat in the chair across from her and nodded.

A beat passed.

And then it hit her.

That ache in her ribs. The way she’d watched Natasha guide Aliah’s training, or adjust her form with a hand on her shoulder, or laugh… not performatively, but deeply, when Aliah made one of her dry remarks.

It was longing.

She understood now.

The sound of Natasha’s voice, muffled, in another room, floated in for a second before fading again. She wanted that. Not a hollow version of it. Not a projection.

She wanted them.

She had wanted Vision for what they could be together. But now Wanda wanted what she already had with Natasha.

The soft moments again, the little jokes and jabs that she and Natasha would throw back and forth with a smile on their faces. The moments when they would train together and Natasha would give her that signature smirk before rightfully winning their sparring match.

Even the moments when they were on the run, she missed. Huddled up in motel rooms and run down trailers, eating noodles from a cup while Natasha showed her her favorite Bond movies.

She wanted all of that back, but she wanted their daughter with them this time.

Their daughter.

Aliah glanced at her. “You’re staring.”

Wanda blinked. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

Aliah narrowed her eyes. “Uh oh. About what?”

Wanda hesitated. Then she smiled, soft and small. “How lucky I am to know you.”

Aliah blinked, caught off guard. But she didn’t deflect. Not this time. Instead, she looked back at her notebook, then smiled softly. “Weird. But... thanks. I’m lucky too, you know.”

Jessa re-entered with tea and three different colored pens.

Foreman followed with the air of a man already emotionally bruised by an hour of tutoring a Hydra grown teenager with sarcasm powers.

And Wanda sat on the edge of the moment, feeling more like a ghost than a mother.

Because for the first time, she understood what she wanted.

The kitchen was dim, lit only by the under cabinet lights and the soft gold of the setting sun. Natasha stood at the counter, peeling the label off a bottle of mineral water. She wasn’t drinking it… just holding it, turning it in her hands like it might offer answers if she was patient enough.

Wanda stepped in quietly. Not sneaking. Just careful.

They hadn’t spoken much since the other night after Aliah’s first day of lessons.

Since… everything.

Natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable.

Wanda opened the fridge, grabbed nothing, and closed it again. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t even sure why she came in here… except that she always ended up here when she didn’t know where else to go.

Natasha let her linger. She grabbed the pot of hot water that she had used before for coffee. Pouring the hot water into a mug and placing a pack of cinnamon tea in it before sliding it towards Wanda.

An olive branch.

Wanda blinked. “Thank you.” She said, just above a whisper.

Silence settled again.

But this one was different.

She looked at Natasha… really looked, and something ached behind her ribs.

The way her eyes caught the light. The way she always stood like she was ready to walk away, even when she didn’t want to.

How many times had Wanda seen her like this?

How many times had she ignored it?

“I really am sorry.” Wanda said.

Natasha blinked. “For what?”

“For not being ready.”

Natasha nodded. Once. Slowly.

Then turned back to the counter, voice flat.

“Don’t say sorry if nothing’s going to change.”

Wanda stood still. She wanted to say something… wanted so badly to close the space between them. To say it. Whatever it was.

But fear clawed faster than clarity.

And she did nothing.

Behind them, the New York city lights shimmered behind them. A soft crackle echoed faintly down the hallway… Aliah’s records.

Natasha placed a comforting hand on top of Wanda's that was holding the mug. She didn't say anything else, she didn't need to.

No matter what was going on and Wanda's head, no matter the hurtful words that they could throw at each other, or even the physical punches that they would throw during sparring matches… The widow would always be there for her.

Perhaps a bit more guarded now, maybe even a little irritated. But she would always wait with open arms if Wanda ever needed, or asked.

Nat let her hand fall away before taking her own mug of coffee and walking back to her room. There was no slam of a door, not even the soft click of someone trying to make sure they didn't wake anyone else up.

All Wanda could do was stare at the place where their hands had touched. Wishing to whoever would listen that Natasha had stayed, or that she could have courage.

That would be a fight for another time, when she was ready.

She took her still steaming cup of tea to the couch in the living room, curling up in the corner and throwing a blanket over her legs before turning on the TV. More so just needing background noise than actually looking for anything to watch.

One day, when she could figure out everything going on in her own mind, this would truly be her life. Calm. It wouldn't feel like she was pretending to be someone she isn't.

As Wanda curled her hands around her mug of tea, she blew softly before taking a sip and staring out the window. Looking to the stars for answers.

It tasted better somehow.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

I am so sorry this chapter took so long to post, I finished moving and then immediately went on a road trip. XD

Taglist: @seventeen-x @tobiaslut @doyouseethewords @ima-gi--na-tion

Don't forget: I made a playlist for this series! :) > Series Playlist <

#ghoulswrites #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #two reds make white: series #wandanat x oc

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b0n3s-is-gay · 7 months ago

Note

I loved your breeding kink with dal and soda, can you do one with darry?

Of course I can, I do love me some Darry Smut since this man doesn't get the appreciation that he deserves.

Me + You = A New

Synopsis: Darry doesn't know what started this whole "I wanna baby" thing.. Probably just watching his girlfriend take care of the gang, the little mundane things she does for them... All he knows is that he wants to get her pregnant like, yesterday.

Tags/CWs: Smut, There's some plot here for once, breeding kink, Mommy kink(?), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), p in v, praise, pet names, allusions to breastfeeding kink (if you squint), fem reader, fluffy smut, set after the events of the book/movie.

AN: I should be writing my editorial for Journalism about the death penalty, but I'm writing smut. What does that say about my life?

(credit for the banner: @ioveartfilm)

"Pony, come on... Trigonometry is not that hard. Remember SOH CAH TOA. Sine is Opposite over Hypotenuse, Cosine is Adjacent over Hypotenuse, and Tan is Opposite over Adjacent." She explained gently as she sewed a button back onto Sodapop's shirt.

Darry watched from his chair, watching as she interacted with his younger brothers. Ponyboy was getting help from her as he did his Trigonometry homework and Sodapop was asking her for help repairing his work shirts. It was nice, but the house was missing something... Something that Darry wanted.

Kids.

That was what Darry wanted, more than anything. Darry wanted kids. It was either the thought of having kids with the women he loved, surrounded with the people he loved. Or... Maybe it was the thought of getting her pregnant, knowing it was his kid that she was carrying.

"You got it, Pony? You understand the assignment now?" She asked, her soft voice drawing Darry out of his breeding filled fantasy. She had just finished fixing Sodapop's shirt and she was now focused solely on helping Ponyboy with his homework.

Ponyboy nodded as she stood up and went to Sodapop and Ponyboy's room to put Soda's work shirt in their dresser. Leaving Darry to his thoughts and the quiet scratching of Pony's pencil against his paper. Sighing, Darry followed after her. He watched her as she handed Soda his shirt before turning to leave, ending up running into Darry's chest. "Darry, sweet heart, mind moving?" She smiled as she looked up at his face. God that smile, if they were to ever have kids... He'd want them to have her smile and his eyes. It was just a thought, but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted that to be a reality. "Yeah..." Darry nodded and stepped to the side, watching her head to the master bedroom to get into something more comfortable. Not even a moment later, he follows behind her, wanting to talk.

They had talked of kids before, of the future. Marriage was on the table, later down the line of course. Kids were in the fold, regardless of marital status. After all, they weren't struggling as much as they were when Ponyboy was in 9th grade. Maybe, just fucking maybe a bit of tongue work could work.

"Darry, what's on your mind? Since you walked through that door tonight, you've been watching me and the boys like a hawk. Is something wrong?" She spoke when she noticed him enter their room, her clothes already halfway to the floor.

Darry frowned as he sat down on the edge of their bed, watching her change. He couldn't say much with what his mind was thinking... Swollen breasts and a pregnant belly... Ah hell, won't kill me to tell her.

"I want kids, hon. I want to have a baby with you." He said after a minute. Making her stop in her tracks, her task of changing being forgotten. She looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow, asking him to explain.

Darry, ever the mature person, didn't know how to explain it better. So rather than taking a step back and coming up with a better way to talk about it, just spilt his guts. "I watch how you interact with the gang, my brothers, and your nieces. And fuck... It makes me think of how much we can have, the kids we could have."

Darry paused for a minute, watching her face before continuing. "I can't stop thinking about it. We're not struggling for money like we were when Pony was in 9th grade. We have the money and the though of seeing you holding our child just makes me feel happy."

"Well... That was out of left field, but I don't see why not. But are you sure you want this? I mean, kids are a big step in any relationship, take a lot of money, and take a lot of time. And while we aren't struggling, are you sure it's a good idea for our kids to be brought into the world while there's a war goin' on?" She pointed out, all things true.

Darry nodded his head as he leaned back on their bed, resting on his elbows. "I'm sure... I just wanna know if you want that, if you want a family with me." His voice was soft, a drastic difference than what he usually presented.

She shook her head and smiled before climbing onto his lap, just in her underwear and bra. "Darrel, you ain't gotta ask me twice." She whispered as she slowly pushed a hand under his shirt and splayed her hand against his muscles.

A smile slowly formed on his lips before he leaned up to capture her lips in a searing kiss. Soft slowly melted into desperation as his hands found the back of her neck to pull her closer. Darry licked her bottom lip and smiled as she opened her mouth to him.

And that's all it took for him. Desperation took root, tongues and teeth were added to the mix, hands roaming her bare body as she helped him take off his clothes.

"Shit... You look so sexy Darrel..." She whispered when she pushed him back, panting as her eyes wandered over the newly exposed skin, ripe for the marking. Dreams were short lived as Darry swapped their positions. Darry on top because he just couldn't let his chance slip through his fingers like sand in an hour glass.

"Not as sexy as you'll be.. 'm gonna make you a momma... You want that? You want to be swollen and filled with my babies?" He panted as he unbuckled his jeans, his cock already hard and leaking. The promise of getting her pregnant was just so tantalizing.

Darry didn't give her a chance to answer before he slipped a finger inside her, his thumb starting to rub circles on her clit. "Hell... I can imagine it right now, I can feel it in my soul that we're gonna have a daughter. Shit... You're soaked..." He rambled while still fingering her, adding another finger into the mix.

"Darry, just fuck me... Make me a mommy..." She whispered as she pulled him down by the back of the neck, whispering in his ear.

That was all he needed, knowing she needed this just as much as he did. Darry pulled his fingers out after he deemed her prepped enough. "Fuck... Gonna put a baby in you, gonna make you mine..."

Darry rubbed the head of his dick in her folds, his tip catching on her clit before he slowly sank inside her. He sighed as he was squeezed, enjoying this as he gently moved his calloused hands to her hips. Darry closed his eyes as he leaned forward and rested his head in the crook of her neck, biting down to muffle his groans of pleasure.

"Shit... Darry, move, please..." She whispered as she wrapped her legs around his waist, begging him to move as she slowly grinded up to get some stimulation. Darry, ever the gentleman, listened to her begging tone and started to slowly thrust.

His head remained on her shoulder, his hot breath and small words of praises fanning against her skin. "Damn babe... You look so pretty, feel even better..." Darry murmured as he slowly started to speed up.

"Can't wait for you to be swollen with my kids, everyone will know you're My. Girl..." Darry sighed as he pulled back to look at her, punctuating his words with a hard roll of his hips. "You'll be a pretty mommy, taking such good care of 'em.."

She smiled as she pulled him down for a kiss, using it to muffle her moans of pleasure. "Gonna be a good mommy..." She whispered against his lips while he slowly lost himself in the thought of getting her knocked up.

"Shit... Gonna cum..." She whispered after a particularly rough thrust against her g-spot, her clit rubbing against his taut muscles. Darry licked his lips as he sped up again, signaling that he was about to cum too.

"Fuck... Fuuck..." Darry moaned against her ear as he reached down to rub her clit, felling her clench around him the second he touched the bundle of nerves. "Mmph.... Come on pretty girl, cum for me..."

"Dar... Darry fuck... Darry!" She moaned against his lips, clenching around him as she came. Darry wasn't far behind her as he fucked his seed into her cunt, moaning softly against her skin before he relaxed.

"Holy shit..." Darry whispered as he calmed down, still holding her hips. "Round 2?"

#darrel curtis x reader #the outsiders darry #darry curtis #darry x reader #the outsiders x reader #darrel curtis #the outsiders darrel #i love him #b0n3s-is-gay

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mammalsofaction · 8 months ago

Text

Domestic

Inspired by this old comic by @askhumanperrytheplatypus

Rating: T

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Add tags: Human Perry, pre-slash, domestic squabbles, misunderstandings, teasing, Doof 101 AU

A/N: Just a little thing to help me regain some lost confidence these past couple of months

"Heinz," Clara Wells calls out from the other end of the office. She's got a huffy tone that implies she had done so more than once. "Heinz." She calls again, and he finally raises a lazy hand in acknowledgement.

"Just five more minutes, Clare."

"Your husband's outside." She counters, tilting her head to further emphasize her point. "And he's been waiting for ten."

"He wouldn't've had to if he'd bothered to read my message I sent 5 hours ago," Heinz volleys defensively, if a bit distractedly. "Or pick up the phone when I tried to call him after lunch. I'll tell him I'm almost done. Say, did we mix up the answers in the scheme for number four...? Or have these freaking papers finally done me in?"

"Let me take a look at that." He hears Dylan O'Malley quip, before he feels the man's towering presence hovering over his shoulder, peering down onto the half graded quiz papers Heinz had sprawled over his entire desk, and even a little into Bess' territory on his left side. She'd gone home hours ago, though, having finished with today's marking yesterday on account of that dinner date with her sister across town, so it's not an urgent concern.

"Oh yeah, no." Dylan adds nonsensically, pointing between the bullet points of the aforementioned question. "It's technically correct, but Clara and I technically stole these questions from the finals 3 years ago and the workings are a bit outdated with the syllabus Lang wants us to use now. It's a bit trickier cus they'd need to use trigonometry on Points S in relative to Y-,"

"You don't need to tell me that, this is foundational physics-,"

"Yeah, well, the kids aren't Physicians, so most of them seem to have gotten confused. I told my kids to table it for now until the department meeting on Monday."

Heinz stops tapping his pen, looking up to the man incredulously. "Are you telling me that I've just wasted 30 minutes of my time quizzing out a tabled question?"

Dylan's answer was promptly drowned by an extremely loud and pointed car honk, and Heinz hears a startled yelp from the pantry. He finally looks up to see Perry, naturally, parked on the lot that was technically Principal Lang's, front facing the tall windows of the office.

Heinz spreads his arms wide, meeting the man's eyes on the other side of the window pane.

Perry retorts by pointedly tapping on the face of his wristwatch, then his car.

Heinz gives him the middle finger.

Perry points at him menacingly, and gestures him to walk, with two fingers on the plane of his wrist. He taps his wristwatch again, before raising his hand, palm straight out. 5 minutes.

"Oh for Gott's sake." Heinz mutters, rapidly getting up and cleaning after himself, just as he hears Adelaide Brimming on the other side of the room go; "Oh, you guys are so cute."

Heinz snorts, shoving all of the papers into the segmented file he's going to have to bring home. "Yeah, well. When I get there I'm about to be adorable."

"It's domestic." Dylan chuckles, stepping aside so he might not interfere with the Doofenshmirtz Maelstrom as he attempts to find his loafers he'd kicked out of sight, allegedly beneath his own desk. "I didn't realize you were married, Heinz?"

The Advanced Sciences teacher frowns, straightening up. "You aren't? Well," he shrugs. "You were probably better off. I'm not anymore though."

"Oh?"

"Yes? Are you sure I haven't told you this before? You've met Vanessa."

"Oh, you meant your first wife? No, I knew that. I meant-I hadn't realized you'd remarried."

Heinz freezes, his hand on the doorknob leading out the office. "What?"

Dylan frowns. "What, what?"

"Stop being nonsensical. I haven't re-married."

Clara snorts into her coffee.

"I haven't. Why is everyone looking at me?"

"You called him your husband." Dylan points out, gesturing to the impatient be-suited man standing outside.

"Perry the- Perry? No. What? No, he's-we're-I can't-you guys are-he's-!" Heinz sputters. "He's practically my parole officer!"

Dylan and Clara exchange weighted looks, the latter with a permanent smirk etched upon her face.

"You want him to be your husband though." She says casually.

He doesn't have to stand for this. "I don't have to stand for this." Heinz says, cheeks burning all the way up to his ears. High school was high school, apparently, no matter where you were on the side of staff doors. He slams the door behind him to punctuate his indignantion, though he could've sworn he still heard Clara laugh on the other side. He's still going to have to see her tomorrow.

Despite his visible impatience not twenty minutes ago, Perry's face visibly softens as he sees Heinz rounding out to the parking lot, where his teal colored OWCA standard Sedan purra idly as they wait. And Heinz hates it, hates that he's able to tell, and how it makes his heart summersault from beneath his breastbone to his stomach with an almost childish shame.

Perry, as he was naught to do, opens the passenger side door for him, as he does to make fun of him, whenever Heinz was in a churlish mood. He's even doing a stupid little teasing bow, like an unnecessarily attractive carriage master. Or a prince.

It's mocking. But his coworkers won't know that.

Heinz grabs ahold of the door, and slams it back closed.

Perry raises a questioning eyebrow. Heinz can barely notice the awkward silence between them, frozen as he was imagining his coworkers giggling over his shame like a pair of bullies.

After a second or two, he opens it back up and climbs inside.

He sees Perry hesitate right outside his door, and when he rounds over to climb into his customary driver's seat, Heinz cuts him off right off the bud.

"Not one word, Perry the Platypus." Heinz mutters. "Not one. Word."

#choice of fic #Perryshmirtz #pre slash #Doof 101 #phineas and ferb #*peeks over the counter* is it ok if i come back

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sp0o0kylights · 2 years ago

Text

Part Five Part Two / Part Six YOU ARE HERE. / Part Seven

A03

"No come back here and hug me dammit!"

"I told you it'd be funny." Gareth stage whispered to Steve the following Monday, as Eddie proceeded to cause his usual amount of chaos in the lunchroom.

Tiff just shook her head.

"Come on, just do it and then tell everyone I'm better!" Eddie shrieked again, loud enough to be heard across the school. Possibly into the parking lot, given the winces and glares their peers tossed Eddie's way.

Jeff had his own head in his hands having been Eddie's prior cuddle victim and still suffering the consequences from it.

"I hate you." He groaned, and every single person knew he was talking to Gareth. "I cannot believe you told him his stupid hugs didn't even compare to Steve's. He almost broke my back this morning!"

Which wasn't an understatement--Gareth himself had dodged his best friend's aggressive hugs only by bolting to his first class, then acting like a ninja as he snuck about all day.

He'd even dropped to the floor and army-crawled at one point.

Now he stayed close to Steve, blatantly using the jock as a meat shield.

"Anyone have any ideas on how we can get him to chill out?" Stewart asked, from where he'd taken refuge under the lunch table.

Their second eldest member put up with many things, but drew the line at bodily injury by overly affectionate metalhead.

"Same as always." Jeff grumbled, making sure Gareth saw his glare. "We wait him out."

"Tiff!" Eddie whined, whirling around, hands reaching out for her.

"You touch me Munson and I'll burn the trigonometry notes I promised you." Tiffany threatened without looking up from her book.

"Fine." Eddie wheeled right back around. "Graaaaant-!"

"This could take days!" Stewart complained, acting like a man caged. "I can't wait much longer!"

'Dramatic, the whole lot of them.' Gareth thought fondly, knowing he was just as bad.

"Okay. Seriously, how are we fixing this?" Jeff said sourly, as Grant once again picked Eddie up by his jacket and bodily threw him as far away as he could.

Like an eldritch being from a B horror movie, Eddie simply bounced back up and came for him again.

"His issue is that he thinks I'm the better cuddler, right? Nothing else?" Steve said thoughtfully.

"Yes." Groaned the other four in unison, as Grant laid a hand on Eddie's forehead, the latter pinwheeling his arms like a cartoon character.

Steve nodded once, before his face morphed into something devastatingly smug. "Yeah we're screwed."

Jeff switched targets from Gareth to glare at Steve instead. "Really Harrington?"

"I'm back to Harrington now? Jeff, man, you wound me." Steve faked a gasp, putting a hand over his heart.

It made Gareth grin, if only because Steve wouldn't have done that a month ago. "God I love when you're a bitch."

Steve looked over at him and winked.

"Just for that, we should make you cuddle with him." Stewart grumbled. "Tell him he can decide for himself who's better!"

Which of course killed the playful look on Steve's face.

Two pairs of shoes proceeded to kick at Stewart (who dodged Jeff's only to be nailed by Tiffany's far more tactical aim.)

Except when Gareth though about it, it actually wasn't a half-bad idea.

If one pitched it right.

"You know," Gareth said slowly, a plan forming. It was half-baked, but it'd work. "--you could end this pretty easily if you did. You have the power."

"Are we being serious right now?" Jeff grumped. "This does not feel like we're being serious."

Gareth ignore him.

"You up for one last cuddle, Sir Carrington?" He asked, playfully.

He got a flat look in return. "You've got to be kidding me. You're seriously suggesting the solution here is for me and Eddie to cuddle."

"I am indeed." Gareth said with a grin. "So long as it's an absolutely terrible cuddle."

That got an interesting reaction.

"Good luck, I'm an amazing cuddler." Steve huffed, offended--and it looked like he actually believed it.

A curiosity, considering even with everyone announcing themselves before touching him he still got jumpy.

"Then pretend." Gareth wheedled. "You don't even have to do it for that long. Sneeze in his ear and he'll be done for."

He got a few grossed out looks for that, but it was worth it all to see Steve growing more comfortable with the idea.

"If I were to do anything of the sort I wouldn't sneeze in his ear." The jock retorted, but he looked contemplative.

"I'm sure you could come up with something else. " Gareth suggested, and gave his best, award winning smile as he said it. "You're creative when cornered."

No ulterior motives here, no sir!

"I know what you're doing, Gareth." Steve said, calling him out immediately. "But I might be convinced to take a hit for the team--for a price. My reputation would be on the line."

"What do you want?" Stewart asked immediately, more than a little desperate as Eddie carried on in the background.

"Well..." Steve trailed off, slowly meeting each and every one of them in the eye. "what are you offering?"

"You know what?" Jeff said, putting his head back in his hands. " Just for that, you and Gareth both are on my shit list."

"I'll bake you those marble brownies you wanted and get right back off it." Steve said, the smug air only growing as Jeff sighed loudly.

"Name your price, Harrington." Stewart said, talking over Jeff's second, overly dramatic sigh. "You want some D&D treasure, or an item for your character? You got it. You want a fucking," He paused, eyes scrunching up in thought. "--new basketball? Or whatever sport ball you're into right now?"

"Not even close." Steve told him.

Jeff sighed a third time, loud and obnoxious.

"Why does this always fall down to me?" Tiff asked the ceiling, as though God himself might respond back with the answer. She tilted her head back down, aiming to make eye contact with Steve. "You're in Rucker's class right? I'll write your poly-sci paper. Highest grade I will guarantee is a B, and that is because it would be suspicious if you looked like you suddenly had strong, A-grade opinions on current, geopolitical policies."

Steve snapped and pointed towards her. "Sold!" He called, mimicking an auctioneer.

Smooth as butter, he turned towards Hurricane Eddie. "Hey Munson!"

In two seconds the jock had summoned that cocky persona of his, wearing a smarmy smile like a cloak. It was getting easier and easier to tell which "bitchy Steve" was the real one and which one was a total front.

(Tiffany had decided the man was a mean girl at his core and honestly, the label stuck.

But Mean Girl Steve was a hell of a lot different than King Steve--or any of the other overly confident swaggering personas Steve adopted like a second skin.)

For for all the preparation he'd had, was still rigid most of the time Gareth had occupied his lap, only relaxing when the younger boy had gotten Eddie so wound up their eldest friend couldn't form coherent sentences.

Now, as Steve strode over and issued the challenge of a cuddle off during the next Hellfire game, he was already less stiff.

Eddie had that effect on people. Particularly ones who had crushes on him.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever been involved in." Tiffany complained.

"Is it Tiff? Is it really?" Jeff challenged as he finally sat up.

"She's definitely forgetting the purple griffin incident." Grant said, completely ignoring what was going down on the other end of the table as he took advantage of Eddie being distracted to make his escape.

"Fine." Tiff conceded before anyone could list anything else off, "But it's at least in the top five."

"This Friday, Harrington." Eddie announced loudly then, fire in his eyes and a finger in Steve's face. "Me and you. It is on."

"Hope you're ready to lose." Steve taunted.

It was hilarious as it was ridiculous.

Which meant of course, that dumb shit had to get in the way of it.

xXx

Steve backslid the next morning.

Worse, he kept backsliding, growing worse throughout the week until the person left looked a whole lot like the guy they’d dragged to their table all those months ago.

He sat silently next to Eddie during lunch, only speaking if asked a direct question, all banter and playful bitchiness gone.

He avoided Hellfire’s members in the hallway, Stewart reporting he had been uncharacteristically silent during their one shared class.

Most damning?

He’d flinched when Eddie had done their dumb little “shoulder bumping” routine.

Which officially meant that ghost Steve was back.

(“I didn’t realize how Steve was our little ray of sunshine and positivity until he stopped being it.” Tiff complained, idly spinning a pencil in the library. “Worse, I didn’t think I’d miss it.”

Gareth, who definitely wasn’t skipping again, agreed wholeheartedly.)

Not even Eddie's antics got a smile out of Steve. He really tried too, to the point where Gareth was starting to worry his best friend was going to do something dramatic just to get a little chuckle.

Steve at least, picked up on the fact he was freaking out all of Hellfire when Grant started to get blunt with his questions.

A part of Gareth (the part that appreciated Grant’s bluntness, instead of the rest of him, that wanted to duck and cover in case it made things worse) was curious if this would finally get Steve to open up; but instead it just made things worse.

Within two direct “No really dude, what's wrong?” ’s, Steve retired the haunted act and instead brought the downright freaky return of one Hawkins' jock's doing a real good job at pretending he was okay.

Pity for him this wasn't Tommy H or the rest of the public Steve was trying to fool.

This was a group of people who tended to be hyper aware of things, ranging from their surroundings to their people. (And then went on to play, as Steve regularly teased them, “one giant math game about it.”)

Not a single one of them was fooled by the act, or the evasive answers Steve pulled out of his ass when the rest of them all, individually, in their own way, tried to figure out if their newest member was okay or just having a few bad days.

"He told me he wasn't feeling good." Jeff said, worrying his lip with his teeth when they all finally convened together after school to discuss it.

"Are we choosing to buy that?" Tiffany asked, one eyebrow raised in a challenge. "He's been off since Tuesday. It's Thursday."

Grant huffed an agreement, arms crossed over his chest.

"Devils advocate, people are typically sick for more than one day." Stewart pointed out. "Dudes probably got allergies or something, it is the end of May."

"It's not allergies." Gareth said flatly.

Allergies usually came with symptoms like coughing and sneezing.

They did not come with vacant stares and falling over one's feet when their friends said hello in the hallway.

"Well clearly he doesn't want to talk about it so maybe he'll just…work himself out of whatever it is." Jeff reasoned. "I don't know if we should really push him about it."

"And miss out on another week's worth of baking?" Stewart bemoaned, as if Steve's lack of treats was the sole reason they were concerned.

Tiff swiped at him with her paperback.

Interestingly, Eddie had yet to say much on the matter. Everyone knew he was just as worried. The guy was a secret teddy bear, and they all still knew to warn him if a dog so much as got hurt in a movie. Worse, Steve was one of his "sheepies" as he so lovingly called them all, and was notoriously defensive of Hellfire as a whole.

Gareth had been eyeing him throughout their little gathering, watching as his best friend tapped his foot anxiously.

The guy seemed lost in his own head and while it wasn't completely unusual, it too, was odd behavior.

Gareth squinted at him, making eye contact and asking if he was alright with the kind of subtle facial expressions only best friends could pull.

Eddie didn't respond, but instead, looked away.

'That's a no.' Gareth thought, as the conversation around them wound down, without anyone coming up with any solid plans on what they were going to do about the Steve situation.

This is exactly how he ended up following Eddie home.

"Inviting ourselves over I see." The elder teen muttered out of the corner of his mouth as Gareth chased him to his van, hopping into the passenger seat instead of heading for his bicycle.

"It's a good night for a smoke sess." Gareth responded casually.

"You hate smoking weed." Eddie returned with a snort. "You prefer edibles."

"Just think of what we could do with Harrington's baking skills." Gareth replied wistfully--but made sure to watch his friend.

There it was. The slightest of weird expressions, flitting over Eddie's face like a shadow before he hid it back into whatever cage it escaped from.

"You're worried." Gareth guessed. Not like that was a hard one.

"Aren't we all, Gare-Bear?" Eddie returned, eyes never leaving the road.

He pretended like he couldn't feel Gareth scanning him, taking in the too tense shoulders and the shuttered, guarded look on his face.

"You know something." Gareth guessed after a moment.

The declaration made his best friend flinch, hands squeezing tight on the wheel.

'Got you.'

"Are you going to spill or do I have to blackmail it out of you?"

"Please Gary you have nothing you could blackmail me with." Eddie challenged with a snort. "I am shameless."

A challenge that could not be ignored, if only because Gareth wanted to remind him who had had the upper hand since Steve had crashed into Hellfire.

"Really? So you wouldn't mind if I show Steve those photos of the time we dressed up as a Barbie “ken doll” band for Jeff’s sister’s birthday? You know, the one were you were wearing that pink boa and the star glasses--”

A hand shot out, clapping Gareth over the mouth.

"Thank you, I got it!" Eddie said, voice an octave higher than normal. "Why do you still even have that!?"

"My mom." Gareth managed to get out, even if it was horribly muffled between Eddie's bony fingers.

"Curse that woman's thirst for nostalgia and scrapbooks." Eddie hissed, as if his mom was some grand villain.

"You love her crafts, you ass." Gareth rolled his eyes, wiping his mouth when Eddie finally removed his hand. "Now spill."

"I'm not sure this is what's causing it." The elder cautioned after a pause just long enough to be dramatic. "But rumor has it his parents are home."

"You think they're why he's acting all…" Gareth trailed off, unsure of what to compare Steve to and not wanting to say a kicked dog.

Eddie hummed in agreement. "Every time I walk into Steve's house, the place starts off feeling like a living tomb. There’s got to be a reason for that, and the only one I can think of is that his parents want that. The tomby-ness."

Gareth leaned back in his seat, contemplating. Turned the idea of Steve's mysterious parents over in his head, comparing it to how the guy's house did have a sort of museum quietness to it.

It wasn't that the place was huge, or even that Steve was typically its solo occupant beyond the occasional weekends one or both of his parents "popped in."

It was the perfectness of it.

How on any given day a photographer could show up to take pictures and the place would be camera ready.

A sort of--trophy house.

He went on to tell his best friend this.

"It’s like a shrine to their success." Eddie added an hour later, when they'd resettled onto his couch, trying to break down just what exactly about Steve's house made it so weird.

They'd shared a beer each--some gross kind that a cat couldn't have gotten buzzed off of, and Gareth had just finished helping Eddie select their chosen flower to roll when an awkward sound erupted throughout the trailer.

If Gareth knew any better, he'd say it almost sounded like someone was knocking on the shitty aluminum door.

Couldn't be though, because he'd never in his life heard someone knock--Eddie's uncle Wayne had a key, and every member of Hellfire was aware that the window in Eddie's room had a broken lock.

To get it open you just had to push at it from a specific angle, and with a few tugs it'd come right up for you.

The noise came again, this time a little louder.

Gareth looked to Eddie, and found his friend holding all the weed.

Understanding flashed between them, and Gareth stood up to answer the door as Eddie magically made the drugs disappear.

Thankfully, it wasn't the cops.

"Hey." Steve said, standing awkwardly on Eddie's porch, looking like he desperately wanted inside but wasn't sure he'd be allowed in. "Eddie said I could just come over if I needed to…?"

He trailed off, awkwardly miming smoking with his fingers.

Gareth couldn't hold in the snort.

"You're in luck man, because I just finished rolling a few." He said, stepping back to let their wayward jock in.

"Hey Stevie." Eddie drawled, now in the process of making the weed reappear. "Come in, have a seat, take a puff."

Rather than sit on the admittedly small couch, Steve chose instead to drop his ass to the floor, leaving the open spot above him to Gareth. He waited until the younger was seated before he leaned back, broad shoulders brushing both his friends legs as he relaxed.

Eddie’s hand twitched, as though he wanted to run it through Steve’s hair and thought better of it.

(Knowing him as Gareth did, that was very likely exactly what the weird little movement of his was.)

“You wanna tell us what’s goin’ on?” Eddie said softly, long after all three of them had an inhale of the joint Eddie had lit, sitting in relaxed silence. "Cause you've been pretty down, Stevie."

"Yeah." Steve agreed hollowly. "Sorry."

Eddie nudged his leg with a foot, then offered him the blunt again. "Don't apologize man, we can't all be sunshine and rainbows."

“You’d be surprised at how many people expect an apology for just that.” Steve muttered.

Gareth traded careful looks over Steve’s head, Eddie turning back and resolutely plowing on.

“You don’t have to, but talking tends to make people feel better.”

“Does it?” Steve asked, before taking a slow, measured inhale of the joint.

Idly he added; "Gareth you can't roll for shit."

"Fuck you dude!" The younger teen exclaimed, instantly offended, but knew a redirect when he saw one. "You try rolling them then!" He snatched the joint out of Steve's hands, huffing audibly.

It was an offer. If Steve didn't want to take the opening Eddie had given him, he could instead take the out Gareth had given.

The option reminded him of Alice in Wonderland (Gareth’s actual favorite movie, even if he tells everyone else it's The Empire Strikes Back)

Specifically when Alice was lost, standing before a split path and asking advice from the Cheshire Cat.

Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" Alice asks.

The Cheshire Cat spins its head, smiling its smile as it answers;“ That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."

Steve proved himself to be a stronger man that Gareth had given him credit for, and took the harder path.

"My parents are home." He said, eyes glued to the TV in front of him, as if that would make the conversation easier.

Perhaps it did.

Eddie to his credit, didn't treat the declaration as anything important. "Yeah? They bring you something nice back from New York?"

"Florida this time and no."

Steve fussed with a thread on his sweater for a moment, a single yellow thread unspooling from the end. It looked like he’d been tugging at it a lot, a small imperfection on an otherwise expensive looking piece of clothing.

"Apparently I've been such a disappointment they're demanding I get a job." He began again. "They want me to learn the realities of hard work."

Gareth traded puzzled glances with Eddie.

Steve had never shied from hard work.

Everyone had heard the story of how he’d won over every coach in Hawkins' High’s favor. It was practically school legend, since he was the first freshmen to take up and finish some bullshit exercise challenge they hosted every year.

The guy even had a herd of some of the most obnoxious children he looked after, without pay.

There was no way the source of whatever was eating at him was a summer job.

Or perhaps, not just a summer job.

"Summer jobs fucking suck, but I hear that new mall’s finally finished.” Gareth said hesitantly. “You could probably get in somewhere there before you head off to college.”

"I'm not going to college. Didn't get into any." Steve said flatly.

Ah-ha.

"I only applied to the one Nancy made me." He added, still refusing to look at either of them. "Couldn't bring myself to apply to any of the others."

Which--odd, but it wasn't the oddest thing ever. Some people just didn't like school, or traditional learning methods.

No matter how much Gareth's counselor insisted otherwise.

"My dad found that out too." Steve said after a moment.

"College isn't the fucking answer to life." Gareth continued. "There's plenty of other things you can do."

Eddie’s head cocked, like a dog who’d been presented with a puzzle.

Steve shrugged. "That's not my issue with it, but the old man thinks it is. He keeps insisting that the free rides are over now." His voice kicked into a deep mockery of his fathers at the end, the condescending tone coming through loud and clear. “Thinks I'm here to screw my girlfriend and party my life away. Wouldn't hear me about not wanting to go to college, at all. Definitely didn't care that I broke up with Nancy." The last part was muttered, almost said more to himself and for himself than it was for them.

Eddie’s head tilted the other way.

"Did you have an idea of what you wanted to do?" Gareth asked. He figured it they knew, they might be at least able to help.

He got a shrug in response.

Gareth was about to open his mouth--probably to put his foot in it, but hell if Steve wanted help brainstorming what he did want to do with his life, or at least get positive support from someone who wasn't a rich asshole, it might as well start here.

Eddie beat him to the punch though, because as usual, Eddie was able to track the weird unspoken thing that no one else could pick up on.

"It's the kids, isn't it?" Eddie asked softly. Reverently. "You don't want to leave Hawkins, because of the kids."

Steve took another sip of beer, waving off the joint Gareth offered him. For someone who'd come to smoke he'd barely touched it or the beer, but then no one here would push.

It was pretty obvious, (to Gareth anyway) that the weed had been a flimsy excuse to begin with.

"When those damn kids started trying to trap the--dogs." Steve started, correcting his slip so smoothly Gareth almost didn't pick up that he'd intended to say something else. “I was the only damn adult they could find.”

Steve gave up fiddling with his sweater to tug angrily at his beer tab, twisting and pulling at it.

"They had figured out where the dogs would be. Had an entire meat bucket they wanted to use as bait and but I was the only damn person to try and at least wrangle the little shits. You wanna know how they found me?" He picked up steam now, and Eddie couldn't even be satisfied that he'd managed to hit the nail on the head because clearly whatever was happening here was the actual thing Steve needed to get off his chest.

"Football practice?" Gareth asked mostly to fill in the tension-filled pause, and then ducked from the swat Eddie aimed his way.

Steve blew out a harsh, mocking breath.

"Dustin found me on the way to Nancy's house, where I was planning on apologizing. Had flowers and everything."

Oh.

Steve's tone said a hell of a lot more than that, the raw emotion making Gareth's own stomach roll.

A careful glance showed an equally punched-out expression on Eddie's face, the metalhead having physically reared back like Steve's words had struck him.

"What were you apologizing for?" He asked, recovering faster than Gareth could.

"Honestly man? I don't know." Steve laughed then, a harsh little disbelieving noise. "I just knew Nancy had said--well she said some shit while drunk, and wasn't able to say some shit sober, and I realized after that maybe I--I rushed her or something you know?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a self soothing behavior. "Or that I did, fuck I don't know. She's Nancy Wheeler, she's smarter than me by a longshot, so if she was mad, than I figured I must be at fault." Steve shrugged, like that was a fact of life.

Eddie interrupted immediately. "She's not smarter than you."

"I--what?"

"Nancy isn't smarter than you.' Eddie repeated firmly. "She's booksmart, Stevie. School smart. Nancy Wheeler absolutely owns tests and papers and things you need to study for, and she’s a hell of a researcher--but she's not people smart."

"What?" Steve repeated incredulously and there Gareth caught a flash of bitchy Steve.

The real one, who'd been shoved aside by the apathetic version.

"Have you ever seen that girl get fixated on something? She's tenacious, gets her teeth in and won't let go.” Eddie snapped his teeth, shaking his head while growling like a dog.

Gareth rolled his eyes, but a ghost of a smile graced Steve’s face.

“But she hasn't figured out how that hurts people yet. She's caught up in getting the results. She's not intentionally unkind, she's just--a little out of touch." Eddie flopped back against the couch, making a grabby gesture for the joint Gareth now held. “People like you--”

Here, he poked Steve in the chest, before reaching past him to wave his hand obnoxiously in Gareth’s face for the joint (and get smacked at for the effort) “are people smart.”

"That's not--no." Steve protested head jerking from Eddie's fingers to Eddie's face, but it was weak, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Yes.” Eddie mocked, but it was in jest, proven by the easy, soft smile he gave Steve. “You said it yourself. The kids go to you, man. They go to you even now, when Nancy or Jonathan could be driving them all over town. You get people; how they work, how they tick, what makes them happy or sad, and people are drawn to you because of that.”

“Jonathan drives.” Steve muttered in disagreement.

“And yet we all witnessed the clown car act when all those kids came out of your backseat two weekends ago.” Eddie refuted. “You’re just as smart as Nancy is, Steve. Just in a different way.”

Steve frowned.

“My parents don’t see it like that.”

“Your parents can get fucked, Sweetheart.”

That was pushing it, but Steve didn't comment on the nickname. Never commented on any nicknames Eddie came up with, beyond the occasional eye roll.

Which is right about when the phone rang.

They all glanced towards it, then down at their respective watches.

It was well past midnight.

"Think that's Wayne?" Gareth asked, eyebrows raising as Eddie stood to answer the phone.

His friend just shrugged, before picking up.

"Munson Mortuary, you stab em we slab em." He chirped as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Tiffy-Taffy isn't it kinda late for--whoa." Eddies easy smile flipped, back going ramrod straight. "Slow down, what happened?" And oh, shit, that was Eddie's "somethings wrong and I'm going to fix it" voice.

Gareth sat up, making sure the joint Eddie had put down was out as he stared worriedly at Eddie.

"Okay. Gareth and Steve are with me, we're all coming." Eddie finished, prompting Steve to also sit up. "Stay there and for the love of God, tell Stewart not to touch anything else."

"What happened." Steve and Gareth demanded as one.

It'd be funny if the look on Eddie's face wasn't so serious.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to break my promise about not going to the lab, Steve." He said, a hand going to tug anxiously at his hair.

"What?" Steve said, immediately on the defensive.

Then; "Why?"

"Because all our darling friends went to the Hawkin's lab without us. Apparently they ran into some kids on the way and now Stewart's stuck in a hole."

“All of them?” Gareth questioned, because sure, yeah he could see Stewart doing it. Could see Grant and even Jeff really, but Tiffany? Out exploring an abandoned lab that had killed people?

On a school night?

"She's gonna give us the full story when we get there, she called from the nearest payphone. Had some kid who kept interrupting her so she just gave me the basics, but apparently Stewart is really stuck, and for some reason the damn kids won't let anyone try to get him from some other door. They keep saying it's not safe or some shit." Eddie's anxious tugging grew as he moved to snatch up his wallet and keys, walking and talking as it were.

Gareth had expected a reaction out of Steve then, but what he hadn't expected was Steve to surge to his feet in a near panic.

"Kids!?" He shouted, eyes wide and frantic.

Eddie flinched, but Gareth knew immediately what the jock was thinking.

"You don't think they're your feral pack of kids--do you?" He asked.

"It's always them so yes, yes I do." Steve snarled and for the first time that week, the guy looked alive.

Gareth just wished it was under better circumstances.

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