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peter-parcoeur · 4 years

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Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland #frat!tom #enemies to lover #tom holland x reader

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ryangosking · 3 years

Text

A Good Day

Summary: You return home after attending your sister's wedding with Bucky. Recovering / soft Bucky x female reader. Sequel to Deserve

Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Fingering, cock warming, language (Bucky likes to talk dirty).

Tagging: @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @sleepwithacommunist

DM me if you want to be tagged in the future!

By the time you get home you're exhausted from the day's events and a little tipsy. Bucky of course is neither.

"Thankyou for coming today." You say, catching him by the lapels of his jacket (the most formal thing you'd ever seen him wear) in the hallway. "I know it wasn't easy for you."

He half smiles. "You've got a great family."

"I told you, they aren't ogres. Mostly anyway." You laugh.

"I know you did sweetheart, I'm sorry I made such a fuss about it in the first place." Bucky murmurs, kissing your forehead.

He shucks off his jacket and heads to the living room.

Sluggishly you follow him, kicking off your shoes and going through to the kitchen. It had been a good day; Claire was a happy, radiant bride and your parents' attention was taken up with her, so you just had to stand on the sidelines being supportive. Bucky had missed the ceremony (you wouldn't have asked him to sit through that) and had met you at the hotel reception. He was nervous and quiet at first but you made sure not to leave him alone for too long, squeezing his hand reassuringly. You couldn't help yourself from beaming when you introduced him as 'my boyfriend James' and everyone liked him, or seemed to anyway - you were just relieved that he had finally met them. Now you could keep him to yourself again until the next family event.

"Thanks for dancing with my mom!" You call, transferring two wedding cake slices from your purse into the fridge.

"She's sweet." He replies. "I don't think your dad approved though."

You laugh. "Don't worry about it, he always looks like that."

You pause and rub your midriff, was it your imagination or had your dress gotten tighter through the day? You had consumed a fair amount of champagne, and the food at the hotel had been delicious. You can't help wondering how much the whole shebang had cost.

Lingering in the doorway, you see Bucky is on the couch, watching a football game, or highlights. You know that he's not really invested, he just likes the background noise.

"I'm going to get changed, I feel like this dress is cutting me in half." You announce.

"C'mere, I'll unzip you." Bucky offers, turning to look at you.

"I actually feel like it's cutting off my circulation." You sigh, heading over to him.

"Just a second." Bucky says, bringing his arm out and stopping you in front of him. "Let me look at you."

You feel so frazzled - it had been a long day, your meticulous hairdo wilted ages ago along with the carefully applied make up, and the last thing you want is Bucky looking closely at you.

"You're beautiful." He says, running his hand over the soft material of your dress. Luckily for you, Claire didn't choose anything too flouncy or elaborate.

"At the start of the day maybe." You chuckle, stroking his hair.

"At the start and end of every day." He's looking up at you with that neediness in his eyes. "And I've been thinking about fucking you in that dress, all day. "

You stare at him, your mouth slightly open, heat spreading between your legs already. "Bucky."

He turns you around and pulls you down to sit on his lap. Slowly unzipping your dress, he kisses down your back, his left hand gently cupping your breast and his right sliding up your thigh. You sigh and lean back against him, losing yourself in the contrast of his soft warm lips and the scrape of stubble over your skin. When you're fully unzipped, Bucky pushes the top of your dress down and palms your breasts, his metal hand cool on your skin, making your nipple pebble immediately. His other hand tugs at damp fabric between legs, and you maneuver yourself to let him pull your panties off, turning to kiss him. You can feel how hard he is underneath you, his thick cock straining against his pants and you touch him, rubbing softly.

"Not yet sweetheart, you first." He says lowly.

Straddling him, the dress is pushed up over your hips and Bucky slips his fingers inside you, his thumb pressing on your clit, making you moan and spread your legs. You kiss him roughly, grabbing his face and biting his bottom lip.

Needily you rock your hips as you fuck yourself on Bucky's hand, his thick fingers pumping in and out of your dripping pussy, his bionic hand kneading your ass as he kisses your neck. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gently pulling, while you're mewling and whimpering into his ear.

"Are you coming sweetheart? You gonna come all over my hand?" He coaxes, continuing to work your cunt.

You moan his name and squeeze his wrist between your thighs as your orgasm spreads through you like wildfire, leaving you shaking and breathless.

After a moment Bucky removes his hand from between your legs, and brushes your hair from your face, kissing you tenderly.

"We need to do you now." You murmur, reaching again for his swollen cock. His breath hitches when you unzip him, taking his impressive length in your hand.

"I want your cunt." He groans, leaning over to kiss you, licking into your mouth.

You stroke him, feeling him grow harder in your hand.

"Your cunt." He repeats with a growl.

You obey, easing yourself down onto him and gasping when he bottoms out.

Bucky's head falls back and he looks at you dreamily, his metal hand coming up to rest on your neck. "Don't move, I wanna feel you." He says quietly.

And you're desperate to generate some friction, even if it's just touching yourself - ANYTHING for some relief, you feel so full of him. "Bucky, please." You whine.

"Just a little more, baby, stay like that a little longer." He tells you, looking at you from under lowered lashes, letting out a shuddering breath.

His hands are on your hips, smoothing the bunched material of your dress. You've one hand on his shoulder, the other on the arm of the couch, fingers digging in. You feel like you're going to break.

Bucky lazily, almost casually, moves his hand down between your legs and starts to play with your clit again. "You're so wet." he mutters.

"Bucky, please, I can't..." You whimper.

Finally he gives you a small smile and moves his hips, thrusting hard up into you. "That's my girl." He purrs, his metal hand gently squeezing the nape of your neck.

You cry out with relief, bouncing on his cock. He pulls your dress down even further and lowers his mouth to your chest.

"That's it, sweetheart." Bucky groans against your breast. "You feel so good."

He fucks up into your heat, filling you over and over. With every thrust, you're a little closer to becoming undone again and soon you feel the second wave unfurling in your belly.

Bucky's eyes widen as he watches you come again, holding your hips steady as you throb around him, keening from the intensity of your second orgasm and gripping his metal bicep. It pulls him over the edge and he groans into your chest, pulsating into you, holding onto you tightly.

You lay your head on Bucky's shoulder as you recover, so exhausted that you can barely move and for a second you contemplate just sleeping here, your dress bunched around your waist and with Bucky still inside you. In fact you must nod off for a minute because the next thing you know Bucky's laying you on the bed, pulling covers over you, and you feel him settling behind you.

Yeah, you think, as sleep pulls you under, it's been a good day.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #recovering bucky x reader

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yarbz · 4 years

Text

cowardly game of rival — n.jaemin ( f )

synopsis!

━ as the girl’s football team captain, you were used to the endless derogatory taunts, the wolf-whistling, the attempts at romance being boys telling you what they thought of barcelona’s starting XII. na jaemin fell into all those catergories, a detestable flea in your hair. as sworn enemies, there was not even an inkling of romance, and you were convinced that your attraction to him was ONLY physical. weren’t you?

pairing ━ na jaemin x female!reader

word count ━ 6k

genres ━ fluff, rival!au, football!au, comedy, romance, very little of the football game is described in detail.

warnings ━ profanity, football terms, dirty jokes, y/n and jaemin are literally just cowards

( author's note! )

this one came to mind when i thought of how i love female footballers and decided that jaemin would be the idiot in question to chicken out of confessing to their crush by being an ass instead. i really hope you like it !! other notes are sissoko is the name of like three different players and a cracker is slang for a really good goal.

Football.

A sport of creatively insane wits, fancy footwork and incoherent celebrations. Those were all the things you loved about it, along with the ridiculously cute uniform.

It provided you an escape from the man's world, a chance to carve out your own story, free from the shackles of stereotypes. At least, that's what you'd initially thought.

Unfortunately, the boy's football team made it their sole objective in life to demean you. As captain, you took on the strenuous task of refusing to resort to physical violence when a stupid comment about your short length was made or when boys assumed you couldn't tell your Sissoko's apart (you could, quite well actually).

You had taken it as a sign of war, and refused to comment on their pathetic sneers. You did, however, feel as if Na Jaemin made a blood pact or something to be a parasite towards you.

He stood at the cusp of six foot, towering over you like an evergreen beanstalk, cheshire-cat like smile taunting you. Chocolate colour tresses fell over his eyes in straight lines, shielding his forehead.

It's not like you paid attention to his visage, but even you had to admit in your spite that he was attractive. And horribly so.

Today started like every other, going to your locker before heading to your homeroom. Luckily, you'd managed to get there before the freshmen started to pile in. Being a senior had its positives along with its various faults, one of them being the early access you got to the school.

You jammed your key in the lock, flinging open the locker door, making quick work of exchanging your books. In your fast-paced stupor, you didn't notice the figure leaning behind the door. You slammed the door shut, nail catching an patch of skin, scraping it.

"If you wanted me to leave, you could've been less catty." The voice wheedled, throwing a withering glare in your direction. You rolled your eyes, annoyed, arms crossed across your chest.

"Jaemin." You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Why are you hiding behind my locker? Are you looking for a death wish?"

He sat up slowly, soothing his reddening nose, suddenly regaining his smile as he leaned closer towards your face. "If I was looking for a death wish, I'd eat whatever food you just stuffed in there."

"Fuck off. Don't see you making any gourmet meals."

"I'm the gourmet meal." He slithered, breath fanning your nose. From this distance, you could see the wonder swimming within his eyes, breath caught in your throat.

Damn, he was too fine.

You tore your gaze from his eyes, "And yet, I don't feel inclined to taste it." He jumped back in surprise, eyes widening, giving you an opening to dash. Chuffed that you left him speechless, you walked towards your next class, resisting the urge to turn back to revel in his awe-struck face.

Jaemin's eyebrow quirked in curiosity, crooked smirk hanging from his lips. He watched you stalk away, cursing underneath his breath softly. You carried a fiery aura around you, burning him with every snarky remark — even though it beat him bruised ghastly lavenders, he could bear to play with fire if it meant you would pay him attention.

You see, Jaemin did not hate you as per say. The 'hate' which you believed in was merely his inability to profess his affections towards you. For lack of a better word, he was a coward.

A dashingly handsome one, but a fragile, chicken-legged coward all the same.

You'd made it to class in record time, ego bared boldly on your shoulders, attracting the curious eyes of your best friends Yangyang and Donghyuck. Both were terrorists in their own right, but you couldn't help loving them all the same. Sure, they came as a dreadful pair, but love had decided to shackle your heart to them.

"What's got you so happy? Jaemin finally drop dead?" Yangyang joked, shifting to make space for you. Headband strapped to the pinnacle of his forehead, he grinned at you from beneath the base of stretchy ebony material.

"No..not yet." You hummed, sad lilt to your tone.

"Awh, didn't kill him yet?" Donghyuck teased, nudging Yangyang in their laughter. "I think it must be love stopping you from committing the crime yourself." You shoved both, peals of laughter tickling your throat at their whines of pain.

"If you don't shut up, I'll be killing you two instead, never mind Jaemin." You snapped. "Love is what I feel when I score a cracker from the halfway line. Seeing Jaemin makes me want to jump out of the nearest window."

"Are you sure it's not just unresolved sexual tension? I, too get antsy when I haven't jacked off—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll have no arms."

"I'm flexible enough to suck myself off." Yangyang mused, "You'll never stop my libido."

"You're disgusting." You and Donghyuck said in sync, swatting his grabby hands from flying at your shoulders. Quite frankly, you didn't want to hear about his freakishly boneless limbs, or his untameable sex drive, nor hear anything about his genitals at all.

"Does that count as self—"

"Yes, it does. Please don't be telling people that I'm your friend, or that you can do that. It's not a little icebreaker."

Friendship with these two had crossed all sorts of personal boundaries you didn't know existed, and it was starting to decompose you, like a rotting piece of cabbage infested by slugs, yet still hanging on for the glimpse of sunlight to regenerate.

Okay, so you were being dramatic. But, that didn't explain their dire need to over share certain aspects of their lives with you.

"Doesn't change the topic at hand —Did you get my pun?" He asked, looking for Donghyuck's reaction.

"I did. Not going to comment on it before she breaks my arms. Just know I enjoyed it very much."

"If I wanted to mess around with Jaemin, I'd put my hand in a beehive. It'd sting less." You snarled, slamming down your books. They winced comically, faces alert as the teacher walked into the class.

Apart from football, you enjoyed learning — how to make things, break things, self defense, people skills, and education fell not too far from that. Classes like biology interested you greatly, which is why you found yourself fully immersed in the process of respiration.

Your mind drifted for a second, thinking back to what he'd said. Was it actually sexual tension? Did you actually bare an emotion other than loathing towards him? Then, you thought of that face and how you'd want to do nothing more than break his pretty little nose—

Yeah. There it was. You were normal after all.

School had come to her daily dreadful end, and you were happily striding into the ladies' changing rooms for football training. Nobody had gotten here yet, luckily.

You glanced over into the full body mirror, tugging at your shorts until they fell just above the bump of your knee, pulling your sock midway at your calf. Lean abs shone underneath the dim light, and you proudly paraded around the room, happy to be alone.

A knock on the door came, and you swung the door open with a feverish excitement. "Who is it?"

"Didn't take me as a bra kinda girl. Was thinking more spandex or a binder." Jaemin seethed, hands on hips, azure jersey hanging off his lithe frame.

"You're insufferable. Why are you here?" You groaned, choosing to ignore his taunt at your breast size. His eyes crinkled into upside down crescents, wandering lower to the dip of your frilly black bra.

"To see my favourite girl, of course." He whistled, eyes still glued to your unmarked expanse of skin. "I think those need a new owner." He pointed towards your chest.

"Preferably one whose face I can stand to look at."

"I'm roaring with laughter." You snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm, making no attempt to cover yourself up. Jaemin was still staring, face flushed a flaming cerise. "You gonna keep staring or are you gonna leave me alone?"

"I'm not staring. Why are you staring at me?" He shot defensively. Your eyes narrowed at him, watching his cheeks darken with every lingering stare.

"You're in the girl's changing room, drooling over two lumps of fat on the body of a girl that you hate. The real inquisition here is your lack of sensibility to stop thirsting after anything with a vagina."

Jaemin stayed silent, eyes boring holes into your full lips, tongue instinctively darting out to wet his own nimble, chapped ones. Rolling your eyes, you lead him to the door, hand clasped against the door handle.

Then, you heard loud footsteps approaching the room, incoherent rambling increasing in clarity. You began to conjure up a plan, wondering how on Earth you'd be able to kick Jaemin out without the girls knowing.

With the shouts of the team gradually getting closer, you panicked, chucking Jaemin into a locker.

"Fine, I'll leave! Lemme out!" He squirmed, trying to come out of the metal confines.

"You can't leave now, they're literally outside. Do you want to be stomped to death by Nike Mercurials?" You hissed, closing the door over, much to his protests.

"Don't wanna die with the last image being your breasts."

"If you survive this, I'll gladly provide you a new image."

He shut up at that, and you straightened, reaching for your jersey in a false calmness. The girls burst in, squeals of various greetings being thrown across the room.

You smiled gently at them, encouraging them to get changed, joining in to laugh at their jokes. The topic kept shifting from manicures to new boots before finally settling on Na Jaemin.

"Cap'n, what's going on with you and Jaemin?" One of the girls asked, batting her eyelashes softly. "A boy on the football team told me that you guys are dating."

Dating..that devil? A sin punishable by death! You repelled all instinct to shudder in disgust, instead choosing to maintain a neutral expression.

"I am absolutely not dating Na Jaemin. He's a despicable little mongrel and I'd rather eat my shoe—"

"Mon bébé chérie, why do you curse me like this?" Jaemin squeezed from the locker, voice like a wounded puppy.

"Did you hear that? I think it was—"

"No! It's my Jaemin impression. Isn't it so good?" You spluttered, voice rising in volume. You were sure that your face was a painful beetroot, breathing crazily as you over-exerted yourself.

"Cap'n, it was so good I almost thought Jaemin was in here with us!" She gushed, hands clasped. "You guys would be so cute together. Even if you don't like him, I think he most definitely has feelings for you."

The rest of the girls joined in at this, shouts of 'you should take a chance!' resounding in the hollow room. You'd already ruled out that as a possibility, chalking it down to his uncontrollable thirst for being a pest. Na Jaemin was your rival, the utter bane of your existence, a rodent that fed on robbing your spirits dry of any positivity.

"He'll get a chance when pigs fly." You muttered, noticing their eyes staring at you inquisitively, as if they knew something you didn't. Awkwardly, you smiled at the girls, ushering them towards the door, scanning the hallway after the last one had skipped out.

Jaemin untangled himself from the locker, straightening his limbs, pulling at his calves in a stretch. You peered over your shoulder, frown deepening at him.

"Did you mean what you said?" Jaemin breathed, walking into your personal bubble. He was way too close. His breath tickled your forehead, eyes dark with something you couldn't decipher.

He felt his heart pound against his chest, resisting the urge to pick the stray hair in your eye to the side. You were looking at him with a confused expression, nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to be the death of him. Devastated, he broke eye contact, feeling all forms of fight seep from his bones.

"You don't like me." You whispered, wincing at the wobble in your voice. "Everyone's just saying that....right?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"No. I want you to say no."

"I can't do that."

"Well, you have to say no. I don't want to hear the rest of your sentence — keep us as just this." You softly yelled, pointing between the pair of you. "Don't change anything."

"Okay. I'll leave, but only because you want me to. But, before I go..you've gotta start being more observant." He sighed, ruffling your hair before making his way out.

"I’m plenty observant. Wouldn’t be a good player if I wasn’t.”

"I’ll see it when I believe it. Oh, and the thing you said about pigs flying..”

“What about it?”

“Renjun’s working on it.”

You laughed heartily, locking the door behind you. So, Jaemin did in fact think of you as his Aphrodite — all those nicknames were genuinely created out of affections. 'Mon bébé chérie' held a lot more emotional weight than it did twenty minutes ago, and you had to breathe before your eyes prickled with saltine tears.

Fresh air hit you like a loaded delivery truck, Mother Nature delicately wiping the tears from your eyes, shaking you with a cold flourish, roaring your cheeks to life. The team had already started their warm-up drills, as opposed to the boys' football team who were cooling down from their jog.

You ran over, tightening your ponytail, shifting into 'Captain' mode. The coach pushed you into the circle, encouraging you to take the reins. "Team, we've been doing nothing but straight work. Let's make this session count before the match tomorrow." You shouted, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline.

The team chanted back, settling into their positions for the first drill — a penalty shoot out. You stepped to the ball, striding back to gain a better angle, socks hugging your knees.

Giving yourself a five second countdown, you charged at the ball, foot pointed, kicking it with a passion that rivalled Lionel Messi. It rolled in the back of the net, flying past Hyejoo, who could barely even process it.

"Still got those fire feet, I see, Cap'n!"

"Lady Luck gave them to me for a reason." You boasted, smugness slapped all over your face.

From the corner of your eye, Jaemin snickered, winking at you when you turned to make eye contact. At least he had the audacity to keep up appearances in front of everyone, even if you had probably made everything awkward.

"My granny could kick better than that, babes!" He boomed from across the pitch, teasing smirk on his lips.

"Your granny lives in a retirement home and still calls on you 'Nana Banana'..it's not very nice to lie." You retorted, eyes narrowed, nearing his hunched form.

"Doesn't mean she can't kick your ass. Granny was a little Aguero back in the day."

"She can't if I'm the Manè, can she?"

"But I'm a Modric. I'll beat your ass, any day, any time." He grinned, leaning in to you. "In any way you want."

You heard blood pumping in your ears, your cheeks filling with immense heat. He grabbed your cheeks softly, grinning even wider when you flushed even warmer, a human sauna. Pushing a lock out of your eyes, he searched your eyes for any sense of rage, face softening at your lack of that emotion.

"Any..way..I want?" You mouthed silently, innuendo catching your attention again as you mulled over the words. "Na Jaemin, you're a dirty boy."

"I think you're the dirty girl." He hummed, saying the next sentence in an octave that made your head spin, quietly enough that only the two of you could hear. "Sauntering around in your little Victoria's Secret bra, cozying up to me without even batting an eyelash or covering up."

"These boobs are mine. I'm allowed to show them to anyone I want."

"So you admit to showing them to me? You admit that you were trying to put on a show for me?" He pressed, purposely craning his neck over you.

"I was trying to change. If you didn't come into the room like a little pervert, you'd never have gotten a visual of these."

"And yet I know how they look now. There's nothing that can erase that image."

"Fuck you, Na Jaemin."

"I think you meant to say fuck me, but I'll allow the slip-up just because I'm so nice." You squirmed under his predatory gaze, heat in your cheeks akin to a fever. "Better get back to training, Cap. Your team's got a match tomorrow."

You hissed at him weakly, choosing to walk away from his provocation, going back to the team, who were all smiling at you with a glint in their eye. By the looks on their faces, they'd definitely taken that exchange as a form of flirting.

Not that you were disputing it, of course.

The coach rounded the girls up, calling them to grab bibs. You relaxed, running over to take the last bib once you'd calmed down. Na Jaemin was a little toe-sucking, filthy mongrel who only knew how to charm his way out of everything — totally not your ideal type or anything.

His penance for being blunt coupled with that honeyed voice was what was throwing you off. Not your physical attraction to him. At least, you hoped so.

The shrill shriek of the whistle behind you shook you out of your mind, bringing your attention back to the practice game. With every shot at the goal, you could see Jaemin taunting you, making kissy faces.

After the first half, you weren't sure if it was real or if you were hallucinating — almost like a mirage, he was wearing that stupid little smirk and there was nothing more you wanted than to slap those lips clean off his face.

Soon enough, you clocked that it wasn't just an illusion, as he'd shifted to the opposite end of the pitch, the other boys from the football team watching from the stands.

They'd started jeering at every pass, exaggerating their reactions, commentary toeing the border of sexual harassment. You volleyed the ball on your foot, battering it into the stands, grinning widely as it hit one of the boys in the face, leaving his nose lopsided.

"If you're gonna be a sexist piece of shit, just fuck off. My team doesn't deserve to hear your brain-dead commentary, nor see your fuck face." You smiled, bite in your voice. "Kindly take the opinion that nobody asked for and shove it up your ass."

Jaemin's eyes twinkled with respect, breath caught in his throat at the dark look in your eyes. He felt his chest warm in adoration, heart doubling in size. "You heard the lady."

"Includes you too, Jaemin. Better get home before Granny Na starts missing her little boy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fuck off." You said playfully, recovering the ball. He waved you bye, lugging his bag over his shoulder, fixing the collar of his jersey. A beam touched your lips, face lighting up.

Jaemin smirked back at you, taking his leave. He dragged the remnants away with him, leaving the girl's football team alone in the cooling dwindle of Autumn light.

"Nice shorts." A tug.

"Oh? Na Jaemin complimenting me?" You mused in surprise, arms folded across your chest.

"You didn't let me finish." Jaemin whispered, standing on the sidelines of the pitch, pulling at the hem of your shorts. "Ooh, I can see your stubble. Better bring out the razor."

Your jaw tightened, feeling that rush of annoyance fill your veins again. The nerve.

"More stubble than you'll ever grow on that chin."

"At least I'm not a human Sasquatch."

"I've got hair in the right places—" You started, catching the innuendo, glaring at Jaemin's raised eyebrows. "—I know what I meant. Don't be such a dirty boy."

"Say it again. Love the way it rolls off your tongue."

You gaped at him, whole body blowing a fuse, skin reddening at his tone. Sweltering heat danced atop each fingertip, each muscle, making you jolt. His gaze was still glued to your face, relishing the quickly dilating pupils in your eyes.

"I—"

"—Would rather have you speechless after our first time, not for your championship final. When you win, I'll buy you fucking adorable ice cream with the little star sprinkles that you like."

"Going to ignore you on that first statement, but the second one sounds like a motive."

"Win the match, and I'll ask you out. Properly."

You saw his eyes flash with something passionate, flakes of gooey molasses swirling behind the irises. Before you opened your mouth to reply to him, he pleaded silently for you to just take it as it was. "Gimme a chance. Who knows you better than your enemy? Nobody."

"I mean..."

"Only you know that my grandma calls me those corny names or that I see her all the time."

"Or that you lose every game that's not football because you're too lazy to pay attention." You added.

"And I know that you broke a guy's jaw because he was bothering Yangyang." He continued. "And I also know that you know one thing I've never told anyone."

"Ooh, what's that?"

"That I like you."

You looked away from him sheepishly, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and whether it was from the cold or from his words, you didn't know. He was looking down at you tenderly, ruffling your bed of hair, pressing a small, wet kiss to your forehead as the whistle blew.

"Don't play with fire, Na."

"You're more like a carpet burn."

You sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll give you an answer when we win. If you're playing me, I'll break your arms."

"Okay. Go get 'em, Lady Luck." He smiled, waving you off as you scurried onto the pitch, face glowing under the fluorescent lights. Jaemin felt his chest tighten with pride, jaw aching from all the strenuous smiling.

With that absurdly contented face, you reminded him of a cross between a kid at a carnival and a man about to kill another. Your hair gathered wildly atop your head, a wicked glare painting your face.

This was you at peace, he deduced. Even with the gruesome of expressions, you looked calm. The pitch was truly your home away from home.

Two minutes into the second half saw you being carried off on a stretcher with a torn hamstring. You'd fallen to the grass, no sounds coming from your limp body. Jaemin swore he felt his heart plunge into his ass, and with a frantic flourish, he was coddling your head into his chest.

"Luck, don't die on me. I'm supposed to take you out for ice cream after this, and I stole Renjun's Baskin Robbins loyalty card to cut costs so if we don't go, I'll be getting beat up without having kissed your stupid face." He babbled, slapping your cheeks, scared that you'd genuinely lost your life.

You groaned, rolling slowly in the elastic. "Stop touching my face, I'll get acne." Mildly concussed, you soothed your throbbing headache, registering Jaemin's face looming over you. "Jaemin?"

"Oh, thank God. Thought I'd never see that unruly sparkle in your eyes again."

"Fuck off. My hamstring feels like a fried chicken mukbang and you're talking about my eyes."

"I can't cry before our first date. You'll think I'm a wimp."

"Already think that."

He hit your arm lightly, beaming at your focus on his face, meeting your eyes. You were glaring at him with a kissable pout on your lips, eyebrows furrowed — he wanted to pepper your face in balmy kisses.

The paramedic pushed him away, leading you to the ambulance. You flipped him off, yelling loudly as they wheeled you in, "Make sure you win! Won't forgive you if you don't."

The girl's football team had gathered around the door, all tight-lipped smiles and crumpled faces. They visibly brightened at your declaration, huddling together to recalibrate — the ref blew her whistle to call them back, summoning them back into position.

Yangyang and Donghyuck left the stands, rushing into the ambulance alongside you, closing the door behind them. Jaemin could faintly hear your loud curses, and sighed in relief, knowing that you'd be fine.

With two goals up, the team were at optimum working speed, playing loyally for your honour. Jaemin stood at the sidelines, holding your jacket in his hands as he recorded the match on his phone, wanting to send it to you later.

At 90 minutes, the girl's team had become the winner of the Division One Seoul Inter-district championship, and Jaemin was content. Not because it meant you'd go on that date with him, but because he could feel how much it meant to them.

Everyone around him was cheering madly, chanting and spraying assorted drinks in each other's faces, an infectious joy lingering in his veins. Amongst all the commotion, he'd somehow been pushed into the middle of the team, feeling their gazes boring into his frame.

"You like Cap'n, right?" The brunette said, eyes bright.

"No. I don't like her. She's my rival." Jaemin lied pathetically, trying to escape their judgement.

"Why were you in the locker room then?"

"Damn. How do you know that?"

"Cap'n is horrible at lying, so she's always upfront. She also cannot do an impression so she never attempts it."

"Wow, you guys sure know your stuff. Bet she's glad to have a team like you. I know I'm feeling a little jealous."

"Cut the smooth talk. If you like Cap'n, just be straightforward. She's more innocent than she seems, and can get her heart broken easily."

"Got it." He nodded, "Well...ladies, I have to thank you for the advice."

"No problem, but if you break her heart.." They chorused, "We'll break that pretty little nose." Fifteen studded feet swung at his face, narrowly skimming the bridge of his nose.

He flinched, caught off guard, grin bared. "Now, I definitely got that message. I'll be going to check up on her, what do you want me to say?"

"We've already called her and shown her the trophy, so we have nothing left to say, you, however...take all the time you need."

"Since I have your blessing, am I allowed to—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Keep in your lane."

Jaemin promptly closed his mouth, and bid them a goodbye, dashing into his car towards the hospital, stopping at Baskin Robbins to buy the ice cream he promised. He hoped you’d at least be able to eat the sprinkles (the ones you liked were expensive, and if you didn’t eat them, he’d just wasted an extra 2,500 won.)

In the hospital, you were now dressed in a medical gown, surrounded by the two idiots. It smelt like an experiment lab, and the spotless shades of ivory splashed on the walls made you feel a tad bit overwhelmed.

Your leg had already undergone the MRSI scan, and the nurses had told you that you’d definitely tore your hamstring, but surgery would fix it right up along with natural healing.

Of course, all those details lacked in comparison to your team finally winning the trophy you’d worked so hard towards — that excitement numbed the pain considerably.

“We thought you’d somehow died.” Yangyang confessed, grasping your hands in his clammy ones.

“You did.” Donghyuck sneered, pointing at him, continuing when he saw your face change in confusion. “Yang was convinced that you were invincible like Superman or something. He started blubbering about how you could definitely defeat the grim reaper in close contact and that should be enough to steal back your soul or whatever—”

“I’m just never going to ask questions again.”

“Jaemin was on the verge of a breakdown when he saw you fall. Never have I ever seen him run so fast towards a girl.” Donghyuck said, hand on chin in mock thought.

You blushed, remembering your promise about the ice cream and falling back into the bed in distress.

“What’s going on with you? I saw you two all friendly at the sidelines.” Yangyang murmured, eyes squinting in judgement. “Don’t tell me...you guys fucked before the game?”

Suddenly it was too hot in the room. You fanned yourself to cool down, slapping your own cheeks before pulling Yangyang’s ears. “Yeah, because I have the guts to just have my first time in a school setting.” You deadpanned.

“Naughty girl.” Both boys swooned, unable to note your sarcasm.

“Just because my leg is gone doesn’t mean I can’t harm you anymore. I’ll break your kneecaps.”

In the midst of your fight with your best friends, you spotted Jaemin opening the door, wearing that greasy smirk that made butterflies tickle your throat.

“I see a broken leg isn’t enough to stop you, is it?” Jaemin drawled from the door, hands behind his back. “Still threatening people?”

“It’s not threatening if they deserve it.” You mumbled, suddenly shy. Jaemin maintained his distance from you, arm outstretched, ice cream tub in hand. He was looking away from you, faint blush tinting his cheeks, lips squeezed in a puffy ‘o’.

“Not that I remembered or anything, but you did say something about liking these sprinkles.” He said, eyes darting around to focus on anything but you.

“I do...like these sprinkles..how did you know?”

“Everyone calls you star, and you’re cute. It’s your personality in an edible sugar shape.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, forgetting both Donghyuck and Yangyang were seated in the room. It felt like the two of you were just stuck in your own world, glaring at each other like a pair of lovers.

Unfortunately, that moment was cut short by your ungracious best friends, cooing annoyingly. They were squealing like little girls, incomprehensible screams of ‘our girl’s grown up!’ scraping your eardrums.

“Leave me alone!” You whined, face scrunched in discomfort, making futile attempts to push them away. “Jaemin...please get these two off me.”

“Asking your boyfriend to get rid of us? Already?” Yangyang hollered, one of Jaemin’s arms stopping him from jumping on you again.

“He’s not my boyfriend. As of now, he’s the only sensible one who isn’t mauling the girl with a broken leg, and that’s why I’m asking him for help.”

“Should I throw them out?”

“Yes —actually, do whatever. Let them go terrorise someone that isn’t me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

On that, Jaemin escorted both boys outside, shutting the door on them, cutting off the beginning to their long-winded rant with a smile. That left the two of you alone.

Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t stifling but rather a conversation of the mind — you were able to see what he wanted to say by looking into those mocha coloured eyes. You threw the ice cream tub in the bin, reaching for Jaemin’s hands shyly.

He’d sat down beside you on the bed, just staring at you like you were an abstract painting, a mosaic of a splendid array, unable to take his eyes off you. He took your hand warmly, running his fingers over your calloused knuckles, sharing his heat with you.

“Jaemin.” You yawned, head falling onto his shoulder. “I’m saying yes to your date. If I didn’t get injured, you could’ve taken me out today, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. Being with you is enough for me, even if I do want to comment on your horrible tackles during the match.” Jaemin teased, grabbing your hand a little tighter.

“Haha...I’m dying of laughter.”

“Hey! None of that here.”

“Sorry. I’m just happy. My team won our first championship, which we’ve been trying to do for three years, and I feel on top of the world. All those years of boys being absolute dickheads to us about our abilities, trying to put us down have amounted to this moment. I’m at peace right now.”

“Don’t apologise. I should be sorry instead. It was easier to talk to you if I pretended I hated you. I shouldn’t have been like that.”

“I accept your apology. But..I think it was cute you couldn’t tell me you liked me! That’s so endearing.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s my line! Well, you were always attractive to me, even when you were being a dickhead. Now that I think about it, you’re at your hottest when you’re being mean.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin mused, rolling onto his hands, dangling over you, lips eerily close to your own. “Do you want me to treat you mean, keep you keen?”

“Firstly, don’t ever say that again.” You stopped him, hand placed on his chest to push him away lightly. “Secondly, I’ve never had a boyfriend or my first kiss. That means no experience.” You slurred that last part, rushing the words so he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Cap’n, you’re telling me that I’ll be your first?”

“Not if you don’t ask me out.”

Jaemin sat back beside you, looking up to the ceiling. This was the moment. He took a deep breath, standing up before you, hands rubbing his stomach softly to calm down.

“I wanted to do a real dramatic confession, but I rushed over here in fear that you wouldn’t be able to hit me again, so I’ll have to stick with my speech.” He cheesed, trying to ease himself of his nerves. You laughed, hissing in mock anger when he wore that stupid grin. “I like you. Like a lot. Sometimes, I come to school with a dirty scowl on my face, but then I see your face and start smiling like a love struck fool. You’re someone that I wouldn’t want to lose.”

“Jaemin, you little mongrel. Come here.” You waved him over, arms outstretched in a hug. “Even though I know your ego won’t let you ask me out properly, I would love to be your girlfriend. However, if my heart is broken..I’ll be stoning your car.”

“Thought you were gonna say that you’d break my face.”

“That too.”

He snuggled closer into you, peering up at you with shining eyes, not wanting to move too much to keep you comfortable. You grinned back at him, placing a soft kiss on his head, running a hand through his hair.

That familiar silence returned, and that’s how you fell asleep with Na Jaemin enveloped in your chest. Although you’d broken a leg, Lady Luck seemed to have twiddled her fingers to send you a ‘get well soon’ present, the ever cunning Na Jaemin.

Five months later had you no longer hobbling around on crutches like a hobbit, but walking proud and tall. Jaemin drove you to school (using the excuse of carpooling) and helped you take your books to first period everyday — the alpha male in him winced seeing you attempt any ‘heavy lifting’, and he’d made it a routine.

“Can you fuck off? I can carry this.” You complained, pinching his side. “Just because I see a physio biweekly doesn’t mean I’m about as able-bodied as a monkey.”

“Got the hair to be a monkey.” He snorted.

“Look who’s talking, Mr.Sasquatch. Bigger feet than his prints, you little scoundrel.”

“Big feet means big—”

“Don’t finish that if you wanna keep the body part in question.”

“—heart. Dirty girl.”

You felt the honey pooling in your stomach, kissing his cheek in haste to escape his relentless teasing. He shut up at that, pulling you back to kiss you properly, attracting the attention of everyone in the hallway.

“Get to class.” He announced as he parted from you, enjoying your petulant face. You hit him softly, flipping him off from behind you, blowing him a kiss.

Ah, Na Jaemin. You still hated him. Just a little less this time.

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fukurodaze · 4 years

Text

dump shot

pairing: third year!shirabu kenjirou x first year manager!reader (female) genre/s: PURE FLUFF, meet cute type beat! word count: 2.9k taken from this request by anonymous <3: “Shirabu x Manager! reader where reader is Karasuno's manager and she's seen pining over him and later the two end up in an accident outside the gym (before or after the games) where they find themselves locked somewhere”

for reference, this is set when hinata and the first years are in their second year, so ennoshita is karasuno’s captain. shirabu’s also the captain of the shiratorizawa vbc!

lowercase intended!

when shirabu kenjirou throws a dump shot, he is the coolest person in the room. it’s two words that come out of your mouth, groans of frustration coming from your team, and a faint smirk on the almond haired boy.

“so cool...” you mutter under your breath, watching the practice match between your team and shiratorizawa at their gym. you get goosebumps.

it’s not your first time seeing the third year. you had watched shiratorizawa’s match with karasuno in the prefectural spring high finals, and though your eyes were glued onto the then first-year setter, kageyama, you would, at times, find your eyes stopping at the magenta number 10 jersey. you would later find out his name was shirabu kenjirou, and that you would come to develop an almost baseless crush on him, hopeless at best.

another rally starts, this time with shiratorizawa on match point, an already dragged out 32-31 on the scoreboard. it’s the third set on a friday night, yet the match is already scraping past seven pm and you don’t know if your body can take any more of the anticipation.

and when the magenta jerseys spike a mean straight shot, your hands ball up with whitened knuckles at the bitter taste of a lost game. you run up to the boys with yachi, handing them drinks and towels, telling the second years “you did well” and the third years “that was a good one.” you glance at the first years, some of your friends, and give them a soft smile, as if telling them that you’re going to have to get used to this feeling, because it will happen. lots.

but loss is as temporary as victory when you see the boys mingle with each other, friendliness growing as the new first years dissolve tensions between teams. you even see kageyama bump into hinata and goshiki’s conversation, the sight of it new and endearing.

yachi taps you on the shoulder, “i’m going to be picking up the bibs, can you collect the balls and put them in storage?”

shiratorizawa’s storage room looks more like a shed. it’s also much further than you think, and even darker than you knew storage rooms to be. it looks like an entire sports supply factory outlet rather than a high school unit.

the large basket of volleyballs rolls weirdly on its wheels, knocking left and right as you try to drive it through the doorway. it makes a bit of a fussy sound when you bump into the basket of footballs, and as the footballs begin to fall out of their containers, you close the door in an attempt to keep them inside.

"here they are,” you hear from the corner of the room, behind shelves upon shelves of equipment. your body freezes up dramatically, as if dreading the awkward interaction with the unknown person. hurriedly, you pick up the scattered soccer balls, attempting to take up to five at once to no avail, only causing more sounds of balls hitting wooden floors.

“hello?”

you hesitate to answer. you only continue to put back all the footballs in their place and park the basket of volleyballs in some random corner of the shed before reaching for the door, only to find it doesn’t budge.

“aren’t you karasuno’s manager?”

you turn around to find the one person you wouldn’t want to see you like this. like every high school cliché, shirabu kenjirou is standing right behind you when you turn back, a pair of training shoes hanging off of his left hand. you nod and bow slightly, unsure what to do.

“i, uh, wanted to put the balls back here.”

“but why are you here in the shed?” his voice is softer, you notice, probably because he realises he’s talking to a girl, but his words remind you of how he’d talk to his team during the match.

“i just wanted to help clean up and stuff, like, uh, a token... of appreciation for this practice match?” god, your palms sure are getting sweaty.

“this shed isn’t the place we put our frequently used equipment. we usually put our volleyballs in the room in the gym. it’s the one with the double doors. how come you came so far here?”

you shrug slowly, feeling nice and stupid for not noticing the actual storage room’s large double doors and instead wandering off to carry a basket of volleyballs past three other gyms and a few questioning looks from the shiratorizawa basketball team to this single-doored, large building.

“i’ll just bring them back to the gym now-” you come back to the basket of volleyballs you had just left against a random wall as shirabu pushes on the door’s nonexistent handle. you think it’s all about to end until a muttered curse falls out of the third year’s lips. you look to him in confusion.

then he curses again, this time stopping himself midway as your gaze meets his, voice getting softer again. “did you close the door?”

“yes...?”

“it’s not supposed to be closed,” shirabu sighs, “there’s a little metal rod that falls into a hole in the ground on the other side, and it falls in pretty easily if we close the door, so we can’t really get out right now.”

oh shit.

“i’ll just call- oh my god, i forgot my phone.” your tone is fast and apologetic, considering you had closed the door in the first place. “i’m sorry-”

“don’t be, you didn’t know before.” shirabu sits on a pile of thick and colourful gym mats, elbows on knees. the shoes he was holding are now behind him. “this school might be big, but it’s also damn old.”

shirabu has no idea what situation he’s in right now. frankly, he’s kind of panicking. but he tells himself not to panic, especially when karasuno’s new manager is right there (and she’s pretty cute, not gonna lie - is she a second year?). shirabu would probably be shouting and pushing the door by now until his voice ran hoarse, but surely, there is no use for that.

“so, uh, how are we going to get out?” you shove your hands into your tracksuit jacket, stepping in front of the boy. you’re guessing it’s going to be a bit before you two can get out, so you might as well try to talk to him without a three meter gap in between him and you.

shirabu shrugs, and a look at you tells you that you can sit next to him on the pile of gym mats. “i think we’re just going to have to hope someone notices we’re gone.”

“i think they have to,” you chuckle, “you’re captain. would be kinda crazy if they didn’t notice you were gone.”

the conversation dissolves into awkward silence as the stranger you once pined over is literally right next to you, dried sweat and all, a light laugh leaving his lips.

“what’s your name?” the question is simple, obligatory, even, for introductions, but you swear you feel your heart skip a beat.

“l/n f/n,” you reply, and he says his name in return. you want to say you know, as you’ve already referred to him as captain of the volleyball club, but you settle with silence and a smile. he seems to like it.

“you’re karasuno’s manager, right?”

“yeah. i’m a first year, but i have a brother in karasuno.”

“oh really? is he in the volleyball team?”

you shake your head, “no. he’s in the basketball team, actually, but he’s friends with some of the third years in the team. he’s the reason i got dragged to the spring high prefectural finals last year, actually.”

you hold your hands together, clasping them to evaporate your nervousness. shit, this is shirabu kenjirou you’re talking to, don’t mess it up!

shirabu leans back on his arms, looking up in reminiscence. he sighs, “spring high, huh? you probably saw my tosses back then.”

you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, the excitement of getting to talk to the third year getting to you, “i remember you from that game the most.”

“damn, then you’d probably also remember how my toss was bad enough for even ushijima-san to get blocked-”

“i think you were really cool, actually.”

shirabu stops in his vocal tracks. there’s no way she means that, he thinks.

“you’re just saying that.”

“well, of course i’m saying it. you wouldn’t hear it otherwise.” your feet kick themselves against the soft pile of gym mats, “but trust me, coming from a karasuno student, you were really cool. your entire team was, too, but, you know.”

at this point, you think you’re just embarrassing yourself. what if he thinks you’re some kind of weird fan? a naive first year? some wannabe manager who didn’t quite understand volleyball to its core? it seems like the conversation loves to come back to silence, and you don’t know how to break the ice.

“thanks,” shirabu mentions, tone higher, as he stands up and off of the gym mats. you feel a weight lift beside you, and in your floor-focused eyes, you see his shoes walk to the basket of volleyballs.

shirabu bounces the ball once, and then once again, before you see his shoes in front of yours. you look up.

“we have time. wanna toss?”

“i’m not that good at overhead passes...” you resist, knowing all too well from pe classes that your fingers don��t have the same kind of magic shirabu’s or kageyama’s have - or anyone in the men’s volleyball club, really.

shirabu only shrugs, “it’s fine, y/n-san. it’s just me. i don’t think you can even be that bad anyways.”

okay, maybe hearing him say your name was enough to persuade you. but still, the possibility of losing your pride in front of shirabu keeps you glued onto the gym mats.

you purse your lips, trying to hide the overwhelming grin spreading on your face. you try to say a word, but you can’t seem to make anything out when teeth and raised cheeks do nothing but make you feel like this hopeless crush isn’t so hopeless after all. and so you nod.

he stands a few feet away from you, tossing the ball at what seemed like the perfect angle for your height only for you to miss it every two good tries.

“see? you’re not bad.” you think he’s lying through his teeth at best.

“i drop, like, every toss you give. this is not not bad.” you slouch, catching the ball this time instead of attempting to toss it.

“well, that’s because you’re just doing it wrong. you hit the ball with the top of your palm every time. of course it’s going to come flying down.”

“okay, captain of the shiratorizawa volleyball club...” you tease, and you think it’s all fun and games until he comes to stand right in front of you, taking the ball.

“put your hands up.”

you do as he asks.

“they should be about this far from your head,” he puts down the ball to adjust your arms, and then your hands, “it’s supposed to feel like there’s a nice place for the ball to rest in your hands.”

his hands are cold and rough when they lightly press on yours, shaping your hands and your elbows the way he does it on court, “your elbows and hands should make a triangle.”

he lets go of your arms, and you keep your arms the way he left them. he tosses the ball to you, and the only thing you feel is the sturdy feeling of fingertips on fabric.

shirabu catches the ball when you toss it back, “see? not bad.”

he doesn’t miss it when your eyes light up at his praise, and he makes a mental note to himself to not get distracted next time shiratorizawa has a game with karasuno. or maybe he will; who knows - maybe seeing you might make him look at his job with more vigour and passion.

“how do you do it?” you stare, “i mean, not that i haven’t seen, but-”

your words are cut off when he sets the ball onto the wall and back in one quick motion, his hands like cradling the ball with care on every push and touch. maybe it isn’t backed by an ace spiker or a team of five, but there’s a quiet power in what he does.

volleyball might be a team sport, but you’ve only been focused on this one setter all afternoon. even worse, he’s from the opposite team.

he holds the ball and bounces it as he looks back at you, “when i got into shiratorizawa, you have no idea how much time i spent doing this.”

he exhales, like a weight has been pulled off his chest, feeling quite nice at your visible reactions. he throws the ball at you, exclaiming “toss!” only for you to catch it square above your head. you whine. then he laughs, and you laugh too, because you've never seen him laugh.

“it paid off, then,” you say, coming to sit back down on the pile of mattresses. he sits next to you again, but closer this time. it’s like your stomach performs a somersault, and you absolutely love it.

"i guess,” he mutters, “maybe next time i’ll show you the dump shot you seemed to like so much.”

you can only bury your face in your hands, remembering the way you exclaimed ‘so cool...’ at his actions about an hour ago. you mumble, “was i too loud?”

he laughs again. you like the sound of it. “no, it was good.”

“it was nice to know one of karasuno’s managers looked at me more than kageyama,” his tone is stagnant, but you can hear him grinning, “that wouldn’t be considered betrayal, would it?”

you take it upon yourself to look him in the eye, and you tell him, with a small voice, “maybe it’s just something about you.”

you hide your face in your hands again, and you hear the setter laugh once more. you wonder if he laughs this much with his teammates.

just as your embarrassment starts to settle, there’s a knock on the wooden door, “y/n? are you here?”

you recognise it as the second year, yamaguchi’s, voice, and you call back out, “yeah?”

“alright, wait up, i’ll just unlock the door...” his voice turns from muffled to surprise after the door opens, seeing you sitting so close to none other than shiratorizawa’s setter.

“i’m so sorry it took this long for us to realise you were, uh, gone,” yamaguchi scratches the back of his head, “but at least you had some company.”

yamaguchi gives the setter a prompt bow, and shirabu does the same.

“anyways, y/n, the bus is waiting,” the boy motions, and you nod, looking at shirabu.

you wave at shirabu and start to leave the shed when he grips the sleeve of your tracksuit jacket.

“are you free on sunday?”

you stop in your tracks, “yeah, i am.”

“i can show you my dump shot then. and there’s also a cute café nearby campus, i heard, so, we can go there after?”

you swear your heart melts at his words, “that sounds good.”

you can feel yamaguchi’s curious stare at both of you, but you don’t mind. “i’ll give you my number, then?”

you search through your pockets for something to take note with, “i don’t have a pen and paper... or my phone...”

shirabu sighs, “me neither, uhm...”

“oh, well. just tell me your number and i’ll memorise it.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah,” you smile, knowing that you’re not that good at memorising things but you know you’d keep his number dialed in your head. as he says out his string of numbers, you make sure to remember it all by the time you get to your bag.

“see you sunday, then.” he waves once more.

“i’ll text you!” you’re left to ponder what the hell you’re going to wear in two days to your date with shirabu kenjirou.

first date with shirabu kenjirou. is it a date? maybe you’ll know it on sunday.

when you step out of the shed, yamaguchi only grins as he walks you back to the bus, amused at witnessing one of his underclassmen set up a date with shiratorizawa’s third year setter and captain.

“on monday, tell us some of shiratorizawa’s secrets,” yamaguchi jokes as you two walk across campus. you glare at your upperclassman, and he only follows it up with a shake of the head and “no, no, just kidding! just have fun on sunday.”

“thank you,” you say quietly as you two approach the bus, “and thank you for unlocking that door at the shed back there.”

“no problem,” yamaguchi replies.

after announcing a small apology to the rest of the team when you enter the bus, you almost run to yachi when she shouts from the back that she’s already got your bag, with you practically grabbing it to take out your phone.

“woah, y/n! are you alright? do you have your stuff?”

you don’t answer, only putting down the numbers you drilled into your head five minutes ago, naming the contact “dump shot” and sending him a quick hello in text.

yachi asks again, “y/n?”

now you snap out of it, and nod before thanking her for bringing your bag. you can’t stop the uncontrollable smile on your face.

yachi stretches her arms out and smiles back, glad that her underclassman seems enthusiastic about this volleyball thing too. “i’m so ready for the weekend. i’m just going to sleep in and rest all day.”

you nod, slouching lazily into the bus yet with unknown excitement in your veins at the thought of spending a day with the boy you’ve only ever seen from afar until tonight.

“i’m so ready for this weekend too.”

295 notes · View notes

ghostly-cabbage · 4 years

Text

Frigid (Chapter 6)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Chapter Rating: T (Language)

Word Count: 6,435

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

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And here Danny thought he was done with getting punishment for the day. He hit the gym floor: hard.

It made his vision go black for a second. Fucking ow. If he got another concussion he was going to be pissed. At this point he was giving the football players a run for their money.

His awareness came back to him in spots at first, dancing across his vision, then all at once. Lucky for him—it was just in time to see Skulker firing another volley of ecto-missiles at him.

Shit.

He curled up and summoned a dome shield. The projectiles exploded on contact one after the other. It deafened the sound for the most part, but he still felt like a fish whose glass bowl was being tapped on. The explosions ceased, green tinted smoke obscuring his sight.

Danny didn’t wait for the dust to settle. He dropped his shield and launched himself straight up at the place he’d last seen Skulker, fist coming into contact with the bottom of Skulker’s chin. The ghost grunted, sailing upward and punching a second hole through the roof of the gym.

Danny cringed as glass, broken light fixtures, and wood fell down. At least it was the weekend. There’d probably be enough time to patch it up. What was a little more property damage on his record, right?

Ugh.

“For once you had great timing,” Danny said to the empty room. His legs melded together into his tail and he listened carefully to his surroundings. “If I didn’t know any better, Skulker, I’d almost think you’re stalking me.” There was a beat, before the sound of a net launching from a gun broke the silence. Danny twisted on instinct, narrowly dodging the net. It whooshed past and stuck to the wall behind him.

Skulker returned to visibility. He floated across from Danny, scowling.

He growled. “Silence, whelp. It’s easier to lure you out when you’re not busy being a prisoner in this human infested place.”

Well, that was half of it at least.

“Aw, so you do care about my schedule. I’m touched.” Danny pressed the palm of his hand over his core. His tail flicked and he crossed his arms. “But you know that shit you just pulled isn’t going to fly.”

“Please, Ghost Child,” Skulker sneered. “I was merely toying with those puny humans. I wasn’t going to harm them.”

“Ever heard of psychological trauma?” Danny dead-panned. He didn’t wait for an answer and fired an ecto-blast straight at Skulker’s chest. It connected with a hollow crack and Skulker let out a shout. He dropped ten feet before catching himself. Danny rushed forward, aiming a kick to the side of his face.

Skulker held up his arm, blocking the blow with the back of his forearm. The force of the kick resounded against the metal with a clang.

Danny pulled back out of close range, noting the sizable dent in Skulker’s arm.

Skulker roared and held up his arm to fire a wrist-ray. Danny strafed to the side, expecting the hot fizzle of an ecto-ray. But nothing happened.

They both paused, Skulker's eyes narrowing. He inspected his dented arm.

“Now look what you’ve done, brat.”

Danny lifted his arms in an exaggerated shrug.

Skulker held his arm out, attempting to fire the ray again. Nothing. The ghost made a frustrated sound.

“Here, maybe this’ll help.” Danny’s breath went icy as he shot a jagged spike of ice at Skulker's arm. He watched with giddy satisfaction as the ice punctured and tore a hole through the metal.

Skulkers arm exploded.

Danny squinted against the flash of green, going intangible to avoid the metal shrapnel. He blinked the inverted spot from his vision. Skulker’s arm was completely gone, leaving nothing but a jagged hole with wires that stuck out, arcing thin forks of electricity. Danny bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He floated on his stomach, steepling his hands underneath his chin.

“Sucks, man. You never wanna overload a jammed ecto-weapon.” He clicked his tongue three times in a row, shaking his head. “You’d think such a great hunter would know that.”

“Of course I knew that!” he snapped. “You’ll pay for this, Ghost Child.”

“Oh no, I’m so terrified,” he said, grin plastered across his face. Man, two days of R&R really did a ghost some good.

“Insolent whelp,” Skulker said. A mechanical arm extended from his back, unleashing a football-length green rocket that headed straight for Danny. It looked like a homing missile.

Danny shot upwards out through the bigger of the two holes. He put on the brakes, and skirted to the side just as the missile zipped up past him. He let energy build in his palm.

The thing about homing missiles was most of them weren’t great with tight turns. The rocket spluttered as it twisted to come straight back down. It made it an easy target.

He fired an ecto-blast. It exploded on contact in a brilliant sphere of green. Danny phased back down through the roof. The explosion shook the lights, making them flicker more, but it’d been far enough up it didn’t cause any other damage.

Danny twisted in mid-air and flew at Skulker. His eyes widened and he turned his defenseless side away from Danny, back-peddling.

He fired an ecto-ray at Skulkers undamaged shoulder. He didn’t pack as much power into it as he could have. He banked, cutting an elliptical circle while holding the ray on target.

“You know, as much as I appreciate the practice, we’ve gotta stop having these here at school.” He didn’t let up on the beam until he’d flanked Skulker. He zipped in while the ghost was still recovering.

He went with the same roundhouse that Skulker had blocked before. His foot slammed into the side of Skulker’s head, sending the hunter spinning sideways. Danny charged a blast in his palm. He lifted up his left hand and squinted his right eye closed, using his thumb to line up his shot. Who said he was only a show off when people were watching?

At the moment Skulker stopped tumbling and righted himself, Danny unleashed his blast. It hissed through the air and Skulker had no hope of dodging it. It slammed into the shoulder joint of Skulker's good arm which, already weakened by Danny’s ray, popped off like the limb of a cheap action figure.

Skulker let out a wordless scream of frustration.

A smug grin worked its way onto Danny’s face. He was getting too damn good at this, if you asked him.

Danny closed the gap between them. He grabbed the holes where Skulker's shoulders should have been and somersaulted forward, flipping the ghost over his head. Danny threw him down, directly into a basketball hoop.

Skulker, of course, being much larger than a basketball, didn’t make it through. Instead, his head wedged into the hoop, his legs churning helplessly in the air.

Danny spluttered. “Oh my God.” He burst into laughter, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

“Oh my God, I wish I had my phone. That worked even better than I thought it would, holy shit.” He dropped a few feet in the air involuntarily.

“Laugh while you can, Ghost Child,” Skulker grunted. He could easily phase out, but he seemed to know when he was defeated.

Danny leaned back, rotating upside down in the air as he laughed. “Of all times that Sam and Tuck aren't here.” He wiped a tear from under his eye. “Hey— Hey, Skulker.” He flew up to Skulker.

He glared at Danny through the net.

“This is what we kids today call getting fucking dunked on.” Danny snorted and descended into more laughter.

“You’re enjoying this far too much, whelp.”

Danny held his sides until the hilarity of the visual started to die down. His breathing evened out and the tickle in his chest faded.

“Hey, the amount of times you’ve trapped me in something awful, I think I deserve this.” He sighed, content, his shoulders sagging as a last chuckle left him. “This is exactly what I needed after detention today.” Danny reached for the thermos on his belt.

“Anyway—” he uncapped the thermos “—same time next week, then?” He pressed the button and the thermos kicked on. He pointed the beam at Skulker, watching as it dragged his warping form into its confines.

The thermos dimmed and Danny twirled it in his palm, blowing the wisps of smoke from its end. He really needed to empty it when he got home today.

“What is that? How’d it do that?”

“Holy F—” Danny jumped. The thermos slipped from his grasp and he fumbled it a few times before he caught it and pulled it back against his chest. He turned towards the voice, shocked to see a familiar face.

Wesley-fucking-Weston.

He was peeking in through a gap of a gym door.

What the fuck?

“Uh... How long have you been standing there?”

And how the hell had Danny let a human sneak up on him? Let alone some gangly asshole who didn’t seem to have an ounce of self-preservation in his whole body?

Wesley hesitated, scanning the gymnasium again. He stepped the rest of the way into the gym.

“Uhm, for a bit?”

“Right… and where’s your friends?” Danny slowly floated backwards.

Why was this dude determined to be up in his business? As afraid as Wesley looked the first day of school, Danny thought he wouldn’t willingly get within a mile of another ghost. Guess he was wrong.

“I ditched them and snuck back into the building,” he said, like it was obvious. “People here at school say you’re a ‘good’ ghost,” he added. Danny’s eyes drifted around the room as he contemplated turning invisible and flying through the roof.

Was he going somewhere with this or…?

“Are you?”

His eyes snapped back down to Wesley.

He cleared his throat.“Uh. I try to be?” Danny was no stranger to students at Casper approaching him after a fight to try and talk or even flirt with him. He shuddered at the amount of times Paulina or even Dash had asked him to hangout or go get something to eat.

But this wasn't like those times. Danny hated to admit he was genuinely intrigued, and even impressed by Wesley’s audacity.

“If you’re unsure enough to be asking, why would you come alone?” He hadn’t meant it to be threatening, but Wesley took half a step back towards the door. He licked his lips.

“Because I have questions about ghosts.”

Danny’s face twisted. He hooked the thermos back on his waist and ran a gloved hand through his hair. “Why ask me? Listen— there’s plenty of people in Amity that know about ghosts. You don’t need to ask a real one.”

Wesley lifted a hand and rubbed at his temple. “Yeah, but all they ever talk about is you. Either how great you are or how you’re secretly a menace to society.”

Huh, he must have talked to Valerie.

“Then what question is important enough you decided to approach a ‘dangerous’ ghost… by yourself?”

“I just—I want to know why ghosts here are so different, and who better to ask than an actual ghost? I guess I figured with how much people drool over you that you were the least likely to kill me. I mean you could’ve on the first day if you’d wanted to… There’s obviously some truth to what people say about you.”

Danny blinked. Okay, that made some sense. But then…

“Why do you want to know that specifically?”

Wesley turned his head. “It’s personal.”

...Alright, sure.

He let out a long suffering sigh.

“Listen, I hate to disappoint, Person-I’ve-Never-Met-Before, but I haven’t really been outside of Amity Park much…” He knew the answer, of course he did, but he didn’t exactly go around as Phantom spouting off his ghost knowledge. There were things about ecto-biology he knew that only a Fenton would know... and some things only a half-ghost would know.

Wesley looked stricken. It was a weird look on him.

“But you’re still a ghost, can’t you just—” he flexed his hands in front of him like he was trying to grasp something— “make an informed guess?”

Ugh, God.

Danny dragged a hand down over his face.

Fine.

“If I tell you what I think, will you actually get the hell outta dodge the next time there’s a fight?” When people tried to stick around, they were more likely to get caught in the cross-fire. While Danny wasn’t exactly fond of the dude, that didn’t mean he wanted Wesley hurt. The thought of him or anyone getting hurt because of him made him twitch; he ignored the spike of nervous energy that thrashed in his core.

Wesley looked up at him, blinking green eyes.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“I’m dead, dude. What else could I want?” He’d love for Wesley to leave him, Fenton him, alone entirely. But he’d take what he could get.

Wesley faltered. “I dunno.” He muttered something else under his breath, something a normal human would have missed: “doesn’t make sense why you’d want that either though.”

Danny shook his head and floated down a bit. “If I had to guess, it’d be because of the portal.”

“Portal?”

“Yeah, the Fenton Ghost Portal?” That at least was common knowledge around Amity now.

Wesley squinted his eyes.

“You haven't heard of it?” Danny asked, exasperated.

“I don’t know! I’m new here!”

“Clearly.”

Wesley made a face like he was about to say something stupid. “Okay, sure, there’s a portal. What’s it have to do with ghosts?”

Holy hell.

Why was he doing this again?

“It’s’a portal directly into the Ghost Zone, dude,” he said incredulously. “Ya’know, The Infinite Realms? Land of the Dead?”

Wesley paled.

“Wait that’s… How’s that possible?”

“How should I know? Do I look like a scientist to you?”

“I mean… Kinda?” He gestured vaguely to Danny’s person.

He looked down. Oh yeah, hazmat suit. Right.

Danny wiggled in place. “Not the point, alright? Are you going to keep interrupting me?”

Wesley made a face. “You’re the one asking me questions!”

Danny waved a hand, flustered. “Okay, okay, shut up.” God, Wesley was so annoying. “Portals open up naturally all over the world, ‘kay? Well, here in Amity there’s a stable portal that stays open, meaning a constant influx of Ectoplasm. Ectoplasm is an energy source.”

“Which means...?”

“I’m getting there.” He twitched his tail. A motion which seemed to confuse Wesley, if his expression was anything to go by.

“Ghosts are made of ectoplasm, and use it for energy blah, blah.” Danny twirled a hand. “What I’m saying is that here, ghosts have almost constant access to the Ghost Zone and Ectoplasm. It means unlimited energy. Ghosts without access to ecto-energy have to try and build up energy from other ambient sources like electronics, peoples emotions, weather, you name it. It takes forever to build up enough to materialize or interact with humans or solid objects. So ghosts in other places are probably less solid, making sightings and interactions fewer and far between.” Danny blew out a breath. “That answer your question?”

Wesley was silent for a second, face wrinkled in thought.

“I guess… That makes sense—but—”

“Cool, glad to help. Well, this has been—something. But I’ve gotta—” Danny started, only to get interrupted when someone burst through the gym door. Wesley jumped, letting out a less than manly yelp.

It was a basketball player with tan skin and broad shoulders. One of the Seniors if Danny remembered right.

“Jesus Christ, dude, there you are! Do you have a death wish or—” the dude stopped short as his eyes landed on Danny. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “P—Phantom!” He had that deer-in-the-headlights look that people gave him.

“Hi.” He held up a hand in greeting. “Anyway, I got the ghost, so…” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna...”

He went invisible and headed in the direction of the nearest supply closet. He still had to get his stuff before he went home.

“Imma big fan!” the basketball player called after him into the empty air. He smiled and shook his head as he phased through the wall of the gym.

Danny was half-way down the hall from the entrance, human once again with his bag heavy on his shoulder, when the doors flung open and two familiar silhouettes filled the entryway.

Oh no.

“Everyone outta the way! That ghost won’t know what hit it once we—” His dad’s booming voice stopped when he saw him.

“Danny?” his mom called. She pushed past his dad and lowered her ecto-weapon. “Sweetie, what are you doing? Are you okay?” She hurried up to him. The surface of her goggles made it impossible for him to see anything but his own reflection. Her voice was tight and gentle as she grabbed him by the chin, turning his face this-way-and-that to suss out any injury.

Danny silently thanked whatever higher-power might be listening that he didn’t have any bruises on his face. His back was probably another story. He hadn’t stayed in ghost-form long enough to heal it. His backpack hurt everywhere it was in contact with him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, leaning away and trying to wave her off. Her hand dropped and she gripped him by his shoulder.

“One of your teachers called and said there was a ghost and the alarm wasn’t working.”

“Oh, that’s crazy. Why didn’t it go off?”

Dad came up to stand next to his mom, Fenton Bazooka hefted on his shoulder.

“Don’t know Dann-o, but we intend to find out!”

“Uhm, I heard stuff coming from the gym a bit ago actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sufferin’ spooks! Come on, Mads, before we miss it!” His dad said and took off down the hall.

His mom took a few steps to leave before she turned to him. “We’re going to be having a talk about your detention today, so no going to Sam or Tucker’s, alright?”

He sighed and shoved his left hand in his hoodie pocket. Of course Mrs. Merriweather had called his parents.

“Fine,” he huffed.

“Love you, hun!” And then she was off.

Detention during the first week. His parents must be so proud. He ran his fingers through his hair, digging his fingertips in and messaging his scalp, mussing his hair.

He’d said he’d try harder this year, and he’d meant it. Even though it didn’t feel like it there had been a steady downtick of ghost attacks. Had been since after Pariah Dark and that whole mess. Hell, even the thing with Skulker was more like a game nowadays than it was serious.

But that didn’t mean all ghosts felt the same way. Especially the ones that popped up now and again to “test their skills on the one who’d bested Pariah Dark in combat”. Those were the worst.

Danny pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the group chat.

Dead “Allegedly”: Hey Tuck did u disable the school ghost alarm?

He wasn’t even at the bottom of the Casper steps when a reply chimed in.

Hacker (Derogatory): Nah, man. I wish tho

Emo’s Not Dead: Why?

Dead “Allegedly”: Just wondering, Skulker showed up and the alarm didn’t work or smth

Hacker (Derogatory): huh, maybe he disabled them?

Dead “Allegedly”: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

…

My parents know I got detention so I can’t hangout tonight. Didn’t say anything about games tho, Doomed later?

Emo’s Not Dead: Hell yeah, hope you guys are ready to get owned lmao

Hacker (Derogatory): Bro, do you even have to ask? I’ve been working on a new loadout and not to brag but it’s pretty sick

Danny rolled his eyes and put his phone back in his pocket. The Ghost Assault Vehicle was parked up over the curb and onto the grass in front of the school. Dad must’ve drove. He didn’t really want to walk, he needed to make sure he had enough time to sneak into the lab and flush the thermos.

He walked up to the back of the GAV and pulled the handle. The door unlatched and swung open. Another thing that proved Dad drove. He never remembered to lock the GAV or the Speeder.

Danny hopped in and tugged the door closed behind him. He reached for his core and the icy transformation washed over him. It eased the ache in his back and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He turned invisible and slipped up through the roof. He turned towards home and started flying.

The sun hadn’t set yet, and wouldn't for another hour or so, but the shadows were still long. He could feel the sun’s dull warmth through the material of his jumpsuit. The nights were already getting longer and colder. The wind whisked past him with the type of fall chill that cut straight through sweaters and coats. The streets and cars blurred underneath him and a thought bubbled up from the back of his mind.

He couldn’t remember what it was like to feel cold.

Not in the human way, the “coming in from outside and sinking into soft blankets with a cup of hot cocoa” kind of way. The negative temperatures of the Far Frozen, of space, hadn’t fazed him since his cryo-core settled.

Like a stone settling in his stomach, he wondered what else he’d start to forget about being fully alive as the years went by. He tried to push the thought into the back of his mind.

The amalgamous shape of the Ops Center glinted in the evening light ahead of him. Danny flew around the side of the building and phased through the wall directly into his bedroom. He tossed his bag towards his desk.

He turned human again a few feet above his bed. He let gravity take hold of him, falling onto the mattress. He bounced a bit before sinking into its surface. His back felt better already. He sighed, wondering if he could get away with a nap before dinner.

Maybe. Provided a ghost didn’t show up.

He peeled himself up off the bed and crouched by his bag. He snatched the thermos and headed downstairs.

The portal hummed, the only noise in the otherwise silent lab. His soft-soled sneakers patted quietly over the metal panel floor. Danny uncapped the thermos and flushed its occupants back into the Ghost Zone. He puffed some hair out of his eyes and closed the now empty thermos.

Right. Nap. Suffer through the “you need to try harder young man” talk. Then Doomed. It was their second “weekend” this week. He wanted to try and have some fun. After the shitty start to the week he deserved it. He’d worry about his homework later.

***

Saturday night brought dark roiling storm clouds that blotted out the stars. The wind howled, stripping orange and red leaves off their branches. The air tasted of rain and stray drops peppered the grey pavement beneath him.

Danny flipped up the hood of his hoodie as he skirted the edge of Amity’s Central Park. Just because he was immune to the cold didn’t mean he liked being rained on. He could stay intangible if he wanted but he was way too lazy for that.

He flew a languid loop in the air as he changed directions to head towards the mall. It’d been a quiet patrol, nothing out of the ordinary.

Which, on a night like this, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. There was a lightning storm building up high in the clouds—which meant more ambient energy. He could feel it the same way he could feel heavy concentrations of ecto-energy. The buzz on his skin, soupy and dense. It tore him in two directions, amped on the energy and nauseous at the feeling of electricity.

Why couldn’t it have been a snow storm?

He tucked his gloved hands into the pocket of his hoodie and meandered over the parking lot, careful to fly below the power lines and telephone poles.

A shiver prickled down his spine and he hiccupped over a cloud of mist. Yep, right on time. He heard distant screams coming from the mall.

He perked up, shooting towards it, the roof of the mall a grey streak. As he got closer he could tell what part of the mall he was headed towards.

Best Buy. Great.

Danny heard glass shatter and a stream of floating electronics burst out through the sides and ceiling windows of the mall, a maniacal cackling laugh from above him.

“Technus,” Danny acknowledged, eyes narrowing. The levitating electronics whisked past him and circled Technus.

“Oh, yes! It is indeed I, Technus!” he cried. His voice grated on Danny’s ears and he pushed his hood back down with a hand.

“What’s up? Mad I wiped the floor with your boyfriend on Friday?” Danny grinned, floating up to be eye level with Technus.

The ghost choked, swallowing his laugh.

“What— I— No! How dare you, Child,” he snapped. The wind whipped past them. “I’m here for my own gain! How dare you insinuate that Skulker and I are anything more than—”

“Huh, I never mentioned Skulker specifically,” Danny said dumbly, tapping a finger against his chin.

“Why you—” Technus lifted a hand and a clump of electronics flew at Danny. He dodged with a laugh.

“Everyone knows, it’s okay,” Danny called. He forced energy into his hand, flinging a few blasts at Technus.

The other ghost ducked under one, blocking the other with a wall of technology. He glared at Danny and pulled the machines towards himself. Like pieces to a puzzle, the tech slotted onto his skin, creating a makeshift canon.

“You know, Child, the capabilities of modern technology grow faster and more powerful by the year.” The cannon whirred, the inside going from black to a glowing green. “Can you guess who that benefits most?” Technus said over the wind. It fired and Danny scrambled to bring up a shield in time.

“You’re fast as ever, child, but we’ll see how well you can stand up to a few more!” He fired, this time the ecto-blast hit harder. Hairline cracks appeared in Danny’s shield.

Uh-oh.

With a whine the cannon shot again. Danny dove straight for the ground just as it shattered his shield. Technus laughed.

Okay, so he needed to avoid getting hit by that, holy shit. Danny glared up at Technus. His mind churred, trying to come up with a way to get an opening to use the thermos. If he could just—

A flash of pink streaked through the sky. It struck Technus in the center of his back and he dropped with a scream onto the roof of the mall. The technology, no longer being controlled, started to rain down.

A red flash and the sound of a jet sled drew Danny’s attention.

Valerie.

She twisted mid-air, the nose of her board pivoting as she drifted to a stop.

“Hey, Red!” he called out to her. She turned her head towards him, the eye panel of her mask reflecting his cold glow.

“Phantom,” she said. It didn’t hold as much of its usual contempt. She must be in a good mood. She also wasn’t shooting at him. He smiled and decided he’d try his luck.

“How about a truce?” He flew towards her.

“Why would I do that when you haven’t told me anything about that new ghost?”

Danny’s shoulders sagged. “I told you already that I don’t know anythinnnnnggg.”

“And I already said I don’t believe you.”

Danny let his legs fade into his tail and he flew an anxious figure-eight.

“Come on, Red! It’s Technus!” He stuck his arms out to gesture down to the ghost. “We hate Technus!”

“Hey! I resent that, Ghost Child!” Technus yelled from where he was picking himself up and dusting himself off.

Danny gestured more insistently.

Valerie crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on her sled. “Oh yeah, he brings back such great memories.”

Oh. Wait. He shouldn’t have—

“Like that time you almost killed me!” She snapped.

“Red, I’ve told you before that I knew—”

“‘—knew it wasn’t me’ blah blah blah.” She opened and closed her hand in a talking motion. “So you say, Ghost.”

“We can hash it out again later! But can we take care of Technus now please? Because he’s sort of escaping.”

Valerie looked down to see that Technus was, in fact, fleeing, electronics clumping into a massive platform beneath him as he flew away. She sighed.

“Fine, Ghost Boy. Truce.”

“Yes!” Danny peeled off in a blur, Valerie right behind him. Val was a great ally when he could convince her to team up. He hoped she secretly thought the same of him.

Valerie was stubborn and could clearly hold a grudge like no other. But over the years, it felt more like she chased him out of obligation. Like she couldn’t admit she might be wrong about him. So she just did what they’d always done.

Danny didn’t blame her. There was real anger and frustration behind her words when she talked to him, but he’d be stupid not to notice she missed her shots on purpose these days.

Technus turned and fired his arm cannon at them as they caught up. Danny skirted to the left, rolling into a loose corkscrew, flying underneath Technus’s floating pile of technology and popping up on the ghost’s right. He unleashed a ghost-ray at Technus with so much force it carried him off the makeshift platform.

The ghost caught himself in flight with a triumphant cackle. It died in his throat as he looked up.

Valerie was right on top of him. A pink blast of ecto-energy hissed through the raging air and into Technus’ arm cannon. The tech burst into pieces, falling in a black heap to the ground.

“You think that would slow me down, you stupid girl?!” Technus sneered, flying backwards. He sent a ghostly clump of appliances careening into her path. She pulled up at the last second.

“You children just don’t know when to stop meddling in other people's business, do you?”

“Nope,” Danny called as he flew by, firing a barrage of ecto-blasts. Technus brought up a shield that deflected them. “Maybe don’t steal shit and trash the mall every two months and I’ll think about it.”

Valerie came in from the other side, rapid firing with her hand held blaster. Danny flanked him, an ice-ray at the ready. A few shots found their target before Technus moved his shield. He screeched over the wind.

Technus held out a hand and a crackling ball of electricity built up. It snapped and flickered yellowish green. The sky above them heaved.

Technus held out his hand towards Danny and they locked eyes.

Danny came to a dead stop in the air. His core stuttered in his chest. Fear, raw and paralyzing, crashed through him like a freight train. For a second he thought he might black out, fall like a stone from the air. They stared at each other.

He wouldn’t.

Technus knew better.

He couldn’t.

With a stunned blink, Technus moved his hand and released the electrical charge far from Danny. It went wide and collided with the mall sign. The sign exploded like it’d been struck by lightning. Plastic and glass flew through the air, and with a terrible creak the pole swayed before falling into the parking lot like a felled tree. It narrowly missed a car.

Danny let out a shaky breath, trying to still the tremble in his hands. It was raining harder now, pinpricks of cold slicking down his hair.

“Phantom, what’re you doing just floating there? Move!” Valerie said, slowing down just enough to talk before speeding off again.

Right. He needed to snap out of it.

He shook his head and started flying. Technus was still trying to get away with all his stolen tech.

Danny let out a slow breath, trying to hold it steady. He reached for the cold and tried to get a lead on Technus. His hand glowed blue as he shot an ice-ray into the clump of electronics. He let out a yelp and wobbled in the air.

Danny tilted and flew closer to Val.

“Red, keep him distracted, I’ll try and get him in the thermos,” he said, unhooking it from his belt.

“Don’t tell me what to do, ghost,” she growled. “...but fine. You better get him though. I have my own shit to do.”

“Would it kill you to use my name once in a while?”

She pointed her blaster at him.

“Okay! Okay! I get it, sheesh.” He held up a hand and dropped back, letting Valerie move ahead. She went after Technus with no mercy, throwing ghost grenades and raining ecto-blasts down on him.

Technus reassembled his cannon, trying to hold his own. He fired at Valerie but she was nimble, avoiding each one.

“Would you hold still!” Technus snapped, bracing himself against the kick of his ecto-gun.

Danny grinned and went invisible. Having someone to draw the fire was always useful. He circled Technus, sneaking up behind him, uncapping the thermos as he got close.

“Hey, tell Skulker I said hi.” Technus whirled around just in time to see the barrel of the thermos illuminate. His eyes stretched wide and an angry noise was all that escaped him as the thermos pulled him in.

All the technology that Technus had been controlling broke apart and pelted towards the ground.

Shit.

He reached out with his powers, catching as much as he could. He winced at the mental strain. He didn’t use his telekinesis for this magnitude of stuff very often. He needed to practice it more, it was still relatively new after all.

Most, if not all of the technology, was busted, but that didn’t mean he wanted to let it destroy more stuff. He guessed that a refrigerator landing on a car wouldn’t buff out easily.

He maneuvered the electronics towards the curb in front of the Best Buy, setting it all down as gently as he could. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiped rain from his face with a sleeve.

“Nice, thanks for the help, Red.” He shot her a smile.

She holstered her weapon. “You better put that ghost back where it belongs.”

“I always do,” Danny said. “See ya next time?”

Valerie hummed. “We’ll see.” Danny expected her to jet off, but she lingered. “You mean what you said about that new ghost?”

Danny folded his legs underneath him and sat in mid-air.

“Cross my heart hope to die,” he said with a grin.

She groaned.

“But, yeah. I don’t know what her deal is. She didn’t seem very interested in throwing hands with me, that’s for sure.”

Valerie held her chin. “Weird... The last few new ghosts have destroyed half the town trying to get to you.” The last bit of her sentence took on a suspicious tone.

He held up his hands. “Hey, I don’t know either. It’s not like I like getting pounded flat every few months, Red.”

“Why do they want to fight you specifically?”

“I don’t know,” he lied with a shrug. He looked up at the clouds, blinking through the rain. “Could be the whole ‘Protector of Amity Park Thing’.”

Val scoffed. “Oh, please.” Danny could imagine that she was rolling her eyes. “So... what? They want to get you out of here to claim Amity for themselves?”

“Who knows. Probably.”

“Is this where I’m supposed to say how glad I am that we have you instead of one of them?” Her voice was testy, a tone Danny knew well.

“Your words not mine.” He gave her a lopsided smile, forcing down the discomfort worming through his gut. He should leave before she got too worked up. He had one too many scars from when she’d decided a truce was over.

“Well, it’s been nice. But we should get out of this rain. We’ll catch our death out here. Hah!” He pointed finger guns at Valerie.

“Phantom… I’m gonna give you a ten second head start—”

Danny turned tail and flew, a genuine laugh working it’s way up from his chest.

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #Phan Phic #danny fenton #Wesley Weston #Skulker #Technus #valerie grey #red huntress #Frigid #My writing #unidentified flying ship #Danny x Wesley #Danny x Wes #Slow burn #enemies to friends to lovers

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slater-later · 3 years

Text

I Want to Watch You Grow

Brian Kelly x Trans Masc Reader

Read it here on AO3 if you would like!

- This is a Brian Kelly x Trans Man reader fan fic. This conronicles your long term relationship with Brian and your development with yourself. Your body, and transition as a transman.

- I hope everyone enjoys this. Finds space within themselves and their relationship with the world. It’s okay to be trans, being trans is beautiful. it’s a difficult, glorious journey that is far more of a beginning then an end. Living happy life, being proud of yourself and your body.

- The fic is long, about 12 pages. So please, soak it in, and I wish you the happiest day!

The two of you had been dating for some time. You had met at a small high school party. A good group of friends coming together around a Summer bonfire, slipping your feet out from the well worn sandals and wiggling them infront of a fire. The soles of your feet toasted, turning them around to be goldened on both sides. You held a long metal skewer with two plump marshmallows on the end, rotating it around as you warmed it to a golden ball of glory.

It was sweet, being able to spend time with old friends and make some new. Your friend Ronnie had invited the skater kids from school to join you. He had bonded with them over their mutual love for rock and rap music. It made sense, they both loved Public Enemy. Blasting ‘We Got the Power’ out of their car radios whenever they had a chance.

You enjoyed it, they threw out some good rhymes and it was a battle cry for your youth. You generation. You couldn’t help but bob your head to the music and belt along.

It was towards the end of the night when you two met. Brian had showed up late, hair slicked with a heavy line of sweat. A shirt quickly shoved into his pants, trying to clean up for his group of friends after a long day of skating.

He had skipped out of work that day- well, really, the restaurant was slow so there wasn’t much need for two busboys. He had spent the rest of his afternoon and late into the stary night, skating at the skatepark. The street lights clicked on and it had made it hard for him to see the clear edges of the ramps. It was time to turn in and get a bite to eat. Putting aside the new trick he caught from someone else. Trying to nail it.

If he knew it could be done, then he could. He just needed enough time and perseverance to figure it out.

With skating, the possibilities were endless. It was his place to let go of life’s worries and focus on something where had complete control. The complete right to be, what and who he is, with no to tell him otherwise. Skating was like a lifeblood for him, his way of life.

His boundless universe.

He came jogging in, skateboard in hand as he approached the group huddled around the warm fire.

The trees swayed, creaking under the age and weight of their own majesty with a long gust of wind. It was dark, the hum of Summer turning to a deep pitch of haze. Black rolling in, only to be illuminated by the glaze of starfull and a half crescent moon. The forest was thick, lulled by the hum of heated crickets and hushed by the cool breeze of night. Smoke pooling from the warm fire, whisping and licking up the sky with powerful might. Your toes curled, seeking a gentle relief from its delightful burning flame.

They were roasted and baked. You tucked them into the ground, shifting your heals to push back the brush and find a damp, cool, interior.

Brian waved, throwing an arm up to welcome everyone. A boy buzzed in the background, rolling a hit out of a cheaply made bong. Coughing as he blew out his lungs. Stoned till’ the cows come home.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, it uh, took me a while to find you guys,” He smiled, strolling on into the circle and making his way over to Yabbo. Giving him a high five and saying hello to Buddy.

You popped your marshmallow onto a graham cracker and some chocolate. You munched on your treat, washing it down with a sip of beer.

You watched Brian that night, catching his eyes as he chatted with Buddy over some trick he had been captivated by. Transfixed on trying to nail, to, gleam the cube.

He noticed, his shit stain smirk would appear even in mid sentence. Hands flailing out, gesturing and expressing his exasperation on some wild tangent he was on about skating. About life. About love. It was amusing to watch him, loud and audacious as he was. He could even make Buddy loud, who was normally a quiet and reserved guy. Get him chuckling about some silly joke he made, and pairing it with an audacious face. Hands whipped out, a cross between a dragon and a gorilla.

You had finished off your second beer, musing with a friend about the stars as you gazed. Heads turned up, pondering the wide expanse of space. Its’ glorious bounds, its beauty, its’ wonder.

It put things in perspective for you. Not in a scary way, but in a comforting one. That sometimes, our emotions can feel massive. And they can be! But they also fall away, soothe and ease, as we realize, this shall pass. As all things. Even life. And so, what we must work towards is enjoying it. Like moments like these- feet kicked up on a stump, back eased into a lawn chair with a good beer in hand, spending time with friends. The summer breeze cooling your warm skin, still tanned and glowing from a long day spent outside. Walking, running, and spending time with those that mattered to you. You can’t steal back time, but instead, enjoy it.

Brian tapped Buddy’s shoulder, gesturing for him to shift over as he stood up. Slicking to the outside of the circle, making his way over.

He stopped at the bag of mellows, nabbing two and popping one in his mouth. Munching on its sugary goodness as he finished the trip. Sliding down and popping on the ground, criss-cross-apple-sauce style.

You picked your chin up from the stars, turning your head towards him, “Hey.”

“Hey,” He smiled tiredly, softly. It had grown late and the group had died down, calming and chatting amongst themselves. “So, I uh, don’t think I caught your name,” He mused, chuckling with an anxious delight. He had caught your fancy and talking to attractive people always made his insides flutter.

“It’s Y/N, what’s yours?” You smiled, letting out a tiny yawn, hand hovering over your mouth.

And on command, it was his turn. “Briannn.” He said, pushing through his wide open mouth, eyes turning to closed slits. Watering.

“Jesus, I’m beat,” He muttered, whipping his eyes.

“You too?” You couldn’t stop, the two of you speaking through widely stretched mouths, yawning and releasing the tired souls of your body out into the air. Like ghosts being exercised.

“Yeah!” He squeaked, putting his hand over his mouth. This time his mouth reaching out farther. As if a shark could unhinge its massive jaw.

Slowly, both of yours bodies cooled down. Chatted about the quiet, peaceful sounds of the forest. How the night made your feel alive, at ease within your own body. It was easy talking with such a nice man, cracking soft jokes and poking fun at the world. The politicians, the fat cats, and parents. Some stupid shit a drunk girl did at school, how the one guy on the football team fucked the head swimmer and stirred drama in the theatre group. He had been dating Jared, but it all fell for shit when he saw Sam in those swim trunks.

You both agreed, he looked mighty fine in the spandex speedo. And Tom did too, especially when he found out how kind he was.

“So who do you think is the biggest class clown? Don or Vinny?” You mused, shifting your weight in your seat. Turning towards him.

“Ahhh, I’m not so sure. Vinny is my man, but I really like Tabitha-”

“That bitch?” You shot, clicking your tongue. “She fucking stole $20 out of my backpack, fuck her!”

His eyebrows knitted, looking disappointed. “Yeahhh, she ain’t very nice. I disagree with you there,” He looked at the blaze, shaking his head. “But it’s not a ‘frienship’ competition. I give her props pouring that bottle of stinky slick on that jerk in Ceramics. That one that makes all those gross racist comments in school.” Fuck him for his piece of shit mind. There was no reason to be like that.

“-Ugh!” Your eyes rolled, shaking your head, “I know, I fucking hate him. He’s a piece of shit,” Internally you groaned, thinking of his disgusting face.

“For that, I respect her. The fool won’t change his mind and he needs to learn that he can’t do shit like that. It’s not like he’ll listen, I’ve tried,” He popped a mellow into his mouth, chewing. “She got 3 days of suspension for that. It was pretty ballsy,” Shitting on racist was both funny and satisfying.

“What-? Why did she get that-?”

He shrugged, looking amazed, “I don’t know. It’s fucked up, that’s school for ya. It’s not right.”

You shook your head disgusted. If only they would understand, listen. “Ok, so, who has your favorite comedy?

“-Sam,” He smiled, poking a branch into the fire.

You watched him stir up the flame, picking at a log and turning it over.

“Same, he’s really nice. He’s quiet but he has a smart tongue on him,” Slowly the fire grew. Emboldened by the new life, “Tom’s really lucky.”

Brian shot you a look, teeth flashing in a grin, “Cuz Jared’s so hot?”

You shot up in your seat, pushing yourself closer to him- “Okay though, right?!” Brian burst out laughing, head thrown back as he boomed.

You waved your hands up into the air, desperately. “He has those pecs! Those thick arms! I just wanna be hugged by him!” He was a big tall teddy bear! A muscular one too! Who doesn’t love a big teddy bear?!

“I know, I know!” He slapped his knee, face red and warm, and it wasn’t from the booze. “He’s cute! He’s really cute!” He laughed, smiling through his big open mouth.

The two of you talked for the rest of the night, making another round of smores and sipping on the last of your cold beer. It was easy, talking to him. You found a kind of warm comfort and acceptance by such a free soul. By someone who really just wanted to be seen and heard, and loved for who he was.

*****

That night would bloom into many others. A few months you spent together, as friends, and the others, as lovers. You slowly got to know each other over time progressed. Eventually, love bloomed. Infatuation took to desire, day dreaming about the next time you’d see him. Hand propping your chin, staring off into a whiteboard filled with math equations as the teacher droned on. The last week of school was a buzzkill, bittersweet, and painfully long.

You wanted it to end. For it to be Summer, to be scott-free and without responsibilities. But that also brought changes and your second stage of life was on the horizon.

****

The time came and both of you decided to take a year off from college. Work and save up some money. Spend time together as much you can.

You planned on going away to school a few hours away. Brian hadn’t quite decided, but it looked to be the same.

Both of you would attend the same school and it would work out well. Eventually, you both got through the next four years with your brains intact for the better. He majored in music production with a minor in entrepreneurship. He wanted to do something in music, start his own band and maybe build his own label. You majored in _____ and loved it. And your relationship had lasted, strengthened. Finding a quiet peace and home in one another. A thing you quietly wished for in your heart and didn’t know you needed until you found it.

The freedom to be yourself with another. One who would love and accept you, regardless of the circumstances and the changes.

But it didn’t always make it easy. You had been having feelings about your body. Ones that you didn’t quite like and found increasingly frustrating to have. To not have the words, the names, to understand and express how you felt.

You already knew you weren’t straight. That had long been established to yourself and to Brian’s knowledge. He didn’t care- well, that wasn’t quite the right way to put it. He was supportive of your queerness and actually encouraged it. You both were fluid as a snake- bodies and gender thrown right out of the door. What mattered was the person, the attraction, and the two of you- had a lot of that for one another.

He also wasn’t one to put up many questions about the way you dressed. Switching out fem for? Masculine? He was game. He liked your style, even sowed on some patches on your jacket when he asked. Though as time wore on, catching the way you shield away from your chest… Your feelings about your body… He noticed.

“Hey babe?” He slid into the frame of the doorway, hand grasping the side of the wood as he leaned in. Watching you do your hair, clothed, and fixing your hair.

“Yeah? What’s up?” You looked at him through the mirror, running a comb through your head. “Is my coffee ready?”

“Yeah, it’s on the kitchen table. With your toast,” He walked in, looking quiet. Tentative. “Can I talk to you about something?”

You turned, “Yeahhhh…” Your voice fluttered, knowing that face he makes. It made you uneasy. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Are you… alright? You’ve been distant lately, like somethings on your mind,” He paused, looking down. Guilty, “Did I do something wrong? Are we alright?” He leaned his back against the wall, thumbs hooked into his jean pockets. Glancing up at you.

You set down the brush, turning, “Yeah,” You coed softly. Tenderly to the sweet man, “We’re okay, I’m just going through some stuff,” It was easier to put that into words. You needed time to figure things out, to share how you felt. You didn’t even have them for yourself, at least not clearly.

You hoped time would reveal itself, help your understand and work through what you were feeling.

And you didn’t know how it would change you. Or, for the matter, Brian. Your relationship with him.

He gestured to you, beat, “Do you.. Wanna talk about it?”

It fell on silence, unsure.

“Yes… but not now. I need some time,” You stepped, drawing his eyes.

“Like… how long?” It was bugging him, an itch he can’t scratch. A problem he saw, a frustration he can’t touch.

It was yours, and one that effected him. He wanted you happy and content.

To ease your pain.

“I’m not sure,” You slipped a hand into his and locked fingers together. Drawing his hand up and lined your hips with his. Brian’s other slip around your waist, pulling you close. “You’re going to have to wait, to trust me until I’m ready to talk about it. But I do love you- and it’s not because of you,” You pressed your lips to his, slowly lifting them away. “Or something you’ve done. We’re okay.”

“Alright, I just-” He looked into your eyes, vulnerable. “I want you to be happy, no matter what. Whatever it is.”

“And I thank you for that, I really do. I appreciate it,” Another press, lips locked, tongues twisting for a moment.

“Oh? Is someone?”

You laughed, caught red-handed, “Yeah, a bit.” You mused.

****

And for a while, it was left like that. You ordered yourself a proper binder and he was properly happy for you, seeing you excited to go and slip it on as soon as it came in the mail. You checked yourself out in the mirror, beaming as you found a sense of newfound confidence and comfort in your appearance. Your body.

He liked the way you smelled after you changed deodorants. You smelled rich and musky, one that you both adored. For him, it was intoxicating. Even picked up your armpit in bed as you yelped, his head buried in your pit to get a good whiff of your scent. Both of you sent laughing and shouting and you play fought in bed, beating back the monster you so endearingly loved.

“Fucking hell Brian!! Give me my arm back!”

“No! Never!” He bellowed, hand tightening around your wrist, pinning it against the wall as your feet kicked against him. He loved it, making you mad and crazy at the same time.

Tickling was your enemy! One that he used and abused, to get you laughing and squirming as he tied his body around yes. Pressing kisses to your cheek like a woodpecker.

****

Eventually, you found answers. The internet helped and a good stack of books about gender. It worked to ease your feelings about your body and the amount of envy you had for the masculine. It was difficult at first, being able to sort through attraction and gender envy at the same time. Slowly, you found answers. A confirmation of your feelings and way of life. The amount of euphoria you received when the simple stranger called you ‘man’ or ‘sir’ felt glorious. Elating and at home with yourself in a way that felt right. A homecoming.

You started to approach the subject with Brian. The two of you were friends with trans people, but it still felt fresh. Weird, and confusing to go through yourself. Being trans still didn’t give you cut and dry answers, it was a journey. A grey area because, even through they had gone through that journey, it was still personal. You had to find answers for yourself and the world is a weird, wild place.

But, it didn’t mean you were something else. Or strange for that matter- you were you, and that’s what mattered. You were exploring.

You two had been laying in bed. A quiet Saturday day spent outside, running errands and going to the farmers market to buy fresh produce and bread. It was lovely and peaceful. You guys had turned into bed early, curled under a soft comforter as you sprawled out in bed. The sun had set.

“Hey,” You whispered, dusting a piece of long hair out of his face. He was turned towards you, a fit of blankets wrapped around him as his body cupped towards yours.

“Hey,” He yawned, eyes fluttering in sleepiness.

You dusted a finger along his jaw, his chest slowly rising and falling. A ham all baked like a warm potato. “Can we talk?”

He shifted his head closer to your touch, liking the way you slowly stroked his skin. “Yeah, what’s up?” He yawned.

“I’ve been thinking, for a while now. That I might be trans,” You paused, wanting to release the next few words from your brain. “I think I am.”

“Oh?” He shifted up, sitting up now and trying to wake up his brain. Serious conversation time. “Really?” His voice was kind, asking for confirmation.

You nodded, “Yes.”

“As in nonbinary or trans masc?” He ran a hand through his hair, swooping the fluff back. Pulling himself together.

You laughed, feeling the butterflies swarm in your stomach. “Trans masculine.”

“Okay,” he smiled, nodding. Taking it in. “So uh, what do you want to do? If anything at all?”

“Honey-” You pestered, giving him a look.

“I’m asking! That’s up to you!” He was ginger, trying not to pry but dying inside. The questions!

“Clothes, that’s for one thing.”

“You’re already wearing my boxers- we gotta get you more of those.”

You had been stealing them from him. They were comfy, among other things. You couldn’t help but crack a guilty smile. He had mentioned it before when he had ran out, pissed because he hated wearing dirty ones.

“And shirts, and some good cuffed jeans-” You added.

“Dickie’s has those, we can thrift you Carhart’s from Goodwill.”

You paused, holding your breath. Holding onto the next few words, as if they couldn’t be taken back. Releasing them into the world, “And transitioning. I think I want to do that too.”

He reached for your hand, his thumb stroking your palm as the two of you laid in bed. Him looking down at you as your sprawled out, your elbow propping yourself up. “Okay, if that’s what you want, I support you. I want that too,” He pulled up your hand and pressed his lips to them softly. Firmly intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing them tightly. Securely.

“Do you want to go by different pronouns? A name?”

“Yes, I want to be named Y/N,” You smiled, feeling his hands pull you in. Draw around you in a deep hug as he slid down to your level, comforting and embracing you. “I want to go by he/him pronouns.” You chuckled against his skin, head buried into the crook of his neck.

“Well hello my Prince, I’m so glad to meet you Y/N,” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, smiling through it as your heart brust. Crying in relief, in tears of joy and relief.

“You’re not mad?” You squeaked, tears rolling down your cheek.

“Baby~” He purred, pulling back, to look into your eyes. “Of course not, I want you to be happy. You’re precious to me,” He said, soothing you. “Is this what’s been bothering you?”

You nodded.

“I’ve been… wondering about it,” He mused. “I kinda figured it out after you bought your binder and started shaving your face. You barely had peach fuz but you looked so happy… so, much more bright that day,” You had slowly been trying things out. Listening to your body and how you felt. Changing your style, presenting more masculine. You even bought clothes from the men’s section and started to let go using gender specific pronouns for yourself. To ease the pain of dysphoria while you figured out feelings. Your therapist helped.

“But I’ve been waiting until you tell me, that’s your stuff,” He wiped your chin, brushing off the stream of tears. “I know you’d tell me eventually, whatever your answer was- I want to support you. I chose that long ago, I stand by that.” He smiled, adding, “And if things change in the future, that’s okay too. Gender and bodies are a tricky thing.”

There was so many choices- my so options- in how trans people choose to express themselves. All of them are valid, it’s what makes you happy is the most important thing. What aligns with yourself.

“Thank you,” You sniffled, peaking out a smile. You were happy, and now tired, and just wanted to curl up in bed. The rush of emotions flooding your system, the bent of stress and relief washing over your system. Draining you.

You wanted to feel this moment in its security, its acceptance. “That means a lot to me Brian.”

“Of course- and for what it matters-” He leaned into your ear, whispering, “I think you make a handsome man. And will continue too.”

“It doesn’t change things- between us?”

He shrugged, unfazed, “I don’t think so. I’m attracted to you and I like men so-” Another quizzical look, “I don’t see how it would change things in that department. I think I need to know more but I don’t think so.”

You raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“I want to read more about it so I can help you. I know it can be hard for trans people to get the resources they need to transition. We’re going to both go through this and I want to help you. -If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Oh! Okay,” you nodded. You slid down together, laying in each others arms. Curled underneath the seats, your tears dried up. Heart shining. “I want that, your help. I fucking hate calling the doctors office.”

He laughed, “I know! I know!” You would get stressed, talking on the phone could be weird sometimes. It made you anxious.

You tucked your head into his chest, hearing it beat with the life you held so closely. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. “Thank you Bri, for everything.”

“Of course Y/N,” He spoke softly, warm. “I love you, you’re my everything.”

The two of you drifted off to sleep in bed, listening to the sound of Summer rain come in through the window. Drops slapping against the hard concrete, easing you into a deep slumber.

****

The two of you got along better after that. You were able to save up enough money to see a gender therapist. A general practice doctor that specialized in transgender health, giving you access to the hormone treatments you so desperately needed.

The changes came slow at first, the T being newly added to your system. Eventually, the body hair came in. Sprouting up your legs and turning thicker, darker, up your knees. Your body weight shifted, redistributing around your body with a healthy addition of exercise. Your jaw widened, spotting itself with facial hair which you so proudly grew. Cleaned up and trimmed, sculpting it to your desire.

That was one of your favorite moments. When you asked Brian to show you how he shaved his face. He pulled out of his bag of clippers, helped you learn how to wash your face and spread shaving cream on your face. How to guide the razor against your skin, trimming the well grown facial hair.

“-Like this- you gotta go against the grain if you want it smooth,” You were both creamed up, with your hair clipped back. He had a headband pushing his strands back, keeping it from falling into his face.

“Okay,” You mumbled in front of the mirror, guiding the razor across your skin. Wincing when you nicked yourself and hoping you don’t do that again.

“It’ll get easier, trust me,” He assured, slicking the last bit of cream off of his clean face. He mostly kept himself clean shaven, though there was a time where he rocked a thin mustache. Even some musky stubble around his cheeks. Which you loved.

And so was your transition.

In time, you qrew to love and enjoy your body even more. Seeing the face you so expected- and wished for- being reflected in the mirror. Muscles come in, adjusting your body shape to one that you desired.

Brian was very supportive. Even helped you find a good doctor for your top surgery. He pitched in money for your procedure, taking some extra hours as the store manager at the record shop where he worked. He was planning on taking it over from the owner in a few years. He had helped them expand into a second storefront. He was proud of it.

He drove you to your surgery, making sure you had everything prepared. Extra magazines, music, books, even your sketch pad and journal if you so wished it. You would sleep after your surgery in the hospital bed, groggy and tired from the boat load of meds and painkillers lulling you to a peaceful state. He wanted to make sure you were content, that you healed well and passed the time while you recovered. The tiny hospital tv having few channels to capture your attention. He ready to help you pass the time.

After your surgery, you couldn’t move your arms very much. At least not above your head. It would pull at your incisions, the area bruised and draining of fluids. He would tend to you, changing your bandages and helping you get things from the kitchen cupboards. Asking you to relax and let him take over- when you insisted on cooking dinner. That you felt fine, that the pain wasn’t too bad. Even though your chest ached, he didn’t want you to push yourself.

It was okay to lean on someone else, to let them tend to you at times in need.

He adored you and embraced the new found man you had become. He liked hearing you softly talk into his ear, listening to how your voice had dropped. Had changed, deepened, and thickened. It was an adventure for the both of you, one that you happily embraced and found a new home. In you, yourself, and each other.

He was proud to call you his boyfriend, his favorite man on Earth.

#gleaming the cube #brian kelly #brian kelly x reader #brian kelly x trans masc reader #brian kelly x transman reader #brian kelly x transgender #trans #trans man #fan fic #tyler writes #queer fan fic #queer #i fucking loved writing this fic #gender euphoria #its okay to be trans #being trans is BEAUTIFUL!#happy and healthy relationships #based in love and support for one another #wholesome

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

What The Stark Spangled F**k?

A Stark Spangled Forever One Shot- Hairy and Scary!

Summary: Something hairy and scary is hiding in Harry’s toy box

Warnings: Bad language words…

A/N: This is inspired by an actual incident involving my nephew… hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Make yourself at home why don’t you…” Steve looked at Bucky who had flopped down onto the sofa, kicking his legs up so they sprawled over the cushions. Sam gave a snort as Bucky merely shrugged, taking the beer Steve offered.

“Katie told me this is my home too so…”

“Well Katie ain’t here…” Steve looked at him. Bucky lazily raised a metal middle finger in the air and Steve scoffed, turning to Sam.

“Where are the other kids?” Sam asked, taking the bottle Steve held out with a thanks.

“Emmy’s out with Queens, Jamie’s at Seb’s for the afternoon and Katie took Rori up to Pepper’s so we can watch the game in peace. Harry wanted to stay here with his toys” Steve glanced down at the current youngest of the Rogers clan who was sat on the rug, attention taken by the tonka toy he was pushing across the woollen surface, following the looping pattern as if it was a road, soft beeping and clanking noises coming from his mouth as he attempted to recreate the sounds the diggers made. They’d walked past the contruction site that morning whilst taking Stark for a walk and Harry had pulled on Steve’s hands and pressed his face to the fence, watching the machinery, waving to the workers who all politely waved back to him. Such a simple little thing had spiked such a pleasure in him, and they’d stayed there for a good 10 minutes until Steve had managed to convince him to leave. When he had gotten home he’d launched into a very garbled explanation to Jamie who had grinned and given his younger brother a heap of his old trucks that he was “too old for now” (his words, not Steve’s) and Harry had been over the moon with them.

“Crashhhh" Harry stopped at the leg of the coffee table before he rammed the truck into it, giggling.

“Oh no buddy!” Steve grinned and Harry looked up at him, smiling “You crash?”

“Smash daddy!” he laughed, nodding, before his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed and he pushed himself up to his feet. He toddled over to Steve on his little 2 year old legs and Steve crouched down, placing his beer on the coffee table.

"What’s up pal?”

“I go to my toy chest daddy?”

“Tell you what, shall I bring it in here?” Steve smoothed his son’s light brown hair back. “I’ll move the table back so you can play.”

Harry nodded and Steve stood up.

“Want a hand?” Bucky asked, waving his metal one. Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes and headed into the den. The kids had more toys than could possibly fit in a chest, and a lot they shared but they each had their own personalised wooden toy boxes in which they kept their special, personal things. Steve had made and painted each of them, the colours and themes often changing as their tastes did. Smiling he looked at them as they were arranged against the back wall of the room. Jamie’s was dark green and decorated with baseballs and footballs, Rori’s was bright pink and covered in sparkly ballerinas and dancers, Harry’s was a dark blue and decorated with the characters from the Disney film, Cars, and the one at the end was currently a plain wood as he had yet to paint it for the newest Baby Rogers which was due in 5 months. Striding forward he grabbed Harry’s and easily lifted the box, onto his shoulder, carrying it back through to the room. Bucky and Sam were currently lifting the coffee table, with Harry sat on it, as the tot giggled when Bucky gave it a wobble.

“You silly Unca Bucky!” he laughed as the table set gently on the floor flush to the wall which sported the large flat screen TV

“You ain’t wrong Squirt.” he smiled as Harry jumped down and headed to his box as his dad dropped it onto the rug.

“You need a snack pal or a juice box?” Steve asked and Harry shook his head.

“No fankoo.” he pushed the lid up so that the hinge locked and it stayed open, bending over to dig around for something.

Sitting back down, Steve turned the TV over to the Giants game, the 3 men settling into friendly chatter as they watched the build up, Steve every so often casting an eye on his son who was now building a traffic jam on the floor with his cars. They’d lucked out with Harry, other than his little stubborn streak which sometimes raised its head he hardly made a fuss, just got on with it. By far the easiest one they’d had to deal with, and Steve was hoping number 5 followed in his example and not Rori’s.

About 15 minutes into the game Steve saw Harry move back to the box for something out of the corner of his eye, and he had just turned his full attention to the game when Harry let out a loud yell, and thew himself backwards. Stark’s head shot up from where he was laying at the end of the sofa by Buck’s feet and Steve’s head whipped round as Harry fell on his butt, scrambling away.

“Woah…woah…” Steve jumped up as Harry picked himself up and ran to his dad. “What’s wrong?”

“I…don’t wike it…” he sobbed. “Make it go away.”

“Make what go away?” Steve frowned, scooping him up in his arms. He looked at Sam and Bucky who were both observing them, shocked looks on their faces as this was so out of character for the little boy.

“In my box!” he wailed “It’s furry and black and has a red stripe and…”

He buried his face in Steve’s neck, his little hands fisting in his henley as Sam got up, and approached the box with caution.

“Sounds like some kind of animal..” he mumbled. Steve’s brow furrowed further.

“A spider?” Bucky looked up.

“We don’t have anything like that in Brooklyn.” Steve shook his head. “As well you know.”

Bucky shrugged “I also know you used to be 5 foot 2 and a hundred pounds…strange times we live in Stevie…”

Sam paused, and looked at Steve. “He has a point, man.”

Steve took a deep breath and looked at Sam as he gently rocked Harry side to side “That’s…that’s not the same…”

“Well what is it then?.” Sam shrugged

“I dunno, I don’t have x-ray vision, that wasn’t something the serum gave me.” Steve said sardonically “Have a look.”

“You have a look!” Sam snorted

Steve hesitated slightly, before he looked down at Harry “Bud, you wanna get down whilst I check it out?”

“No!” Harry insisted, pushing his face further into Steve’s neck. With a sigh Steve shifted him so he was on his hip and cautiously approached the box. He couldn’t see anything at all that matched Harry’s description so he gave it a sharp kick and some of the cars on the surface fell away revealing indeed a fury little body with a red stripe. Steve jumped back slightly, before he narrowed his eyes, bending closer.

“I don’t believe it…” he rolled his eyes, snorting as he reached in to pull out the offending item. It was a stuffed penguin with a red scarf tied around his neck. Sam and Bucky both looked at one another before they fell about laughing and Harry shifted to look at them, curious as to what was so funny. He turned to look at Steve who held the penguin in his hand.

“It’s Sniffles.” Steve waved it at him.

“That’s Rowi’s” Harry said.

“Yup.” Steve nodded “Shall we put it back in her box?”

“Ok.”

“Thanks for your help fellas.” Steve shot over his shoulder as he headed out of the lounge to the den to replace the errant toy.

**Original Posting**

#what the stark spangled fuck #stark spangled forever #steve rogers #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #Katie Stark #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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passivenovember · 3 years

Text

Cinnamon.

Dawn's got a boyfriend.

A stupid, dorky, lanky boyfriend who decorates his nails and pairs platform jelly crocs with unbelievably tight jeans.

Dawn paints things on the pockets.

The ass pockets, much to Billy's sniveling, sneering disapproval. Little pictures of toaster ovens and broken light bulbs, industrial and punk and.

Perfect.

Weird.

Just like her.

Billy doesn't understand what she see's in the guy.

His family moves in the summer before sophomore year and everything changes. Billy's got a fourth blanket in the hamper next to Dawns for movie night, all of a sudden, and he's being dragged to double dates with the kid's freaky artistic parents. Steve's inviting them to dinner because I like them, Bills.

Then the boy's sleeping over in their living room.

Every weekend.

Probably kissing Billy's fifteen year old daughter at three in the morning and eating Billy's favorite pop tarts, just.

All of a sudden.

Out of nowhere, like. An alien invasion gone horribly, terribly wrong.

Billy feels like he should've seen it coming.

It's Friday night. The first in years that's just them, just.

Steve and Billy and Dawn.

Cooking after a shit week. Cracking jokes and dancing around the kitchen to Joy Division. The first Friday in months without the boy and his golden-retriever ass blocking access to the record player. Doing nothing. Eating cherry tomatoes and laughing too loudly at everything Billy says.

It's just them.

The three musketeers.

Billy's over the moon excited to spend it with his husband. Burning their vegan lasagna and sneaking kisses on the couch while Dawn tells them to knock it off. Watching horror films, bickering over what flavor of ice cream to have delivered, and.

Hugging Steve and Dawn to his chest when the nightmares come.

Billy knows, alright, he.

Feels it.

There aren't too many of these left.

He'll take what he can get.

So it's Friday night and Dawn isn't in her movie night onesie, she's.

Tromping around the house in the docs Billy got her for Christmas last year. Still wearing her knock-off Susie Sioux war paint and homemade skirt, the one that's covered in functional patches. Billy smiles, flooded with warmth, when he sees the newest addition tacked right above the tear in her knee.

A butterfly. The one they painted together.

"Nice," He says, chopping up cucumbers for the salad. "'S a little girly, though. Fuck Nazi's should come next if balance is to be restored."

"I think we should save that one. Stick it somewhere special, on something that'll last." Dawn meanders slowly around the kitchen. Running her fingertips along the cutting board, kissing Steve on the cheek and kicking Billy on the shin. Her usual form of hello.

Billy rifles through what he knows of her wardrobe. "You only have special shit. Staple pieces."

"True, but something, like." Dawn sneaks a slice of cucumber, crunching loudly next to Billy's ear. "Super special. A jacket, perhaps."

Steve coos like a bird, suddenly checked into the conversation. "A leather one?"

Dawn shakes her head. "Nah, something lighter."

Steve grins, clapping his oven mitts together. "Staples, leather, can't blame a guy for trying."

"Something more versatile." Dawn tries. "Light blue. Loved and lost by generations of Hargrove's before me."

Billy empties his cucumber slices into a bowl, not liking where this is headed.

Dawn wraps her arm around his shoulders.

"Of the denim variety?"

Billy shrugs her arm away, moving to put the casserole in the oven because. Steve does pottery for a living but he's still scared of the oven.

Dawn follows closely behind. "Just picture it. A gorgeous, vintage denim jacket covered in studs."

Billy sighs. "Metal Heads don't need all that shit to feel cool."

But Dawn just keeps talking. "And a patch of the most excellent quality tacked right above something artistic, like. A lipstick smear--

"You're not getting my jacket." Billy concludes, doing his best to put some bass in it.

Assert some of that dominance he was known for in high school, but.

It doesn't work.

Dawn waggles her eyebrows because once you let a little girl paint your toenails she stops being afraid of you. "It could be a love letter." She says. "A little 'kiss my ass,' to every skinhead in Hawkins."

Steve makes a noise from his place on the counter, checking in once more. "Since when are there skinheads in Hawkins?"

"Since always." Billy says to his husband. And then, to his daughter; "The jacket is written into our will."

She snorts. "Are you serious?"

Before Billy can say anything, snarky or otherwise, the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," Dawn says, voice going high and airy in the way it only does when--

"Does Peter like casserole?"

Billy wishes Steve had a single rude bone in his body.

Dawn's cheeks go bright red. "Who said Peter's here?"

And then she's gone. Opening the front door and greeting him.

Peter.

Like he's the second coming or some shit.

"Oh, maybe because he's always here." Billy grumbles. "Eating my poptarts and forgetting to put more toilet paper in the bathroom--"

"Bills." Steve says.

"What? Just stating facts."

"Thought you wanted her to make friends her own age?" Steve says easily, planting a delicate, sweet kiss on the curve of Billy's neck.

Down the hall things are quiet.

Too quiet.

"Peter isn't a friend, he's a goddamn turd." Billy scrubs roughly at the counter top, trying to work out a seven year old Kool-Aid stain. "Flirty little turd trying to flirt with our kid, That's what--"

"Dawn and Peter don't flirt."

And Billy wishes Steve had a single thought in his pretty little head.

Billy throws the towel down on the countertop, hands on hips. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

But before Steve can say anything Turd Boy is rounding the corner in a denim vest and a flowery skirt, a giggling Dawn stumbling over the floor behind him. Since Billy saw him last, Peter's nose grew a ring of metal and his hair has turned pink.

Bright pink.

Pastel pink, clashing and melding with a shirt Billy remembers from Dawn's fifth grade yearbook.

Kid looks cool.

Really gnarly, like Sid Vicious and David Bowie rolled into one, and Billy instantly hates it when Dawn says that they're going to a fucking football game.

Billy puts on his dad hat.

The responsible one that makes him feel like a dweeb, and asks all the right questions. Who will be there, when are they coming home, does she need money or a pair of brass knuckles to intimidate the skinheads--

Steve asks if he should get a head start on the pillow fort, and.

Peter laughs.

Dawn holds out her hand, like, "That might be cool."

Billy tenses when Steve's arms find his waist. "The knuckles or the fort?"

She thinks about it. Then; "Both."

So Billy digs around for his wallet. And hands over his pocket-knuckles. And tries not to vomit when Dawn makes big, disgusting goo-goo eyes at the boyfriend that could, all things considered, be a lot fucking worse.

Steve tells them to call if they need anything and Peter promises to look have Dawn home by ten thirty. Swears to look out for her and use the knuckles if he's gotta, so.

Billy believes the kid.

Hates him because he has to, believes him because Steve does.

And then they're gone.

Billy stares after them long after the front door has slammed shut, trying not to feel disappointed that they'll be empty nesters until their kids stumble home from a night of normalcy.

Steve hasn't said a word.

"Guess it's just us, tonight," Billy whispers to the front door. Steve kisses the back of his neck. "I found some rolling papers in Dawn's room if you wanna--"

"Should we be letting her date?"

Which.

"Since when have we let Dawn do anything?"

#harringrove #harringrove april #day four #butterflies #I like how every prompt is just me mentioning the topic once #like #blink and you'll miss it honey #lmao #i love dawn

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gravelyhumerus · 4 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 5

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

Emily surprises JJ at her soccer game.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

Emily walked out of her Philosophy class, waving goodbye to Spencer Reid, who had back-to-back classes that afternoon. He walked away, dodging the crowds of students milling about on his way to his Physics class.

Things had calmed down in the weeks after midterm season, giving Emily a bit more free time to relax into a rhythm during her second year at college.

In her bag was a small bag of cookies that she had baked last night, wrapped up in carefully and tucked away. She was making her way through the quad, setting her sights on the soccer field. Emily checked her phone for the time: it was 2:25 PM and JJ’s soccer game should be almost done. She knew she was going to miss most of the game, but if she hurried she would catch the tail end.

That morning, Emily had looked up the games time on the varsity sports website, and triple checked that she’d be able to make it.

Dodging an enthusiastic skateboarder who was using the ramp down to the field as his own personal skate park, Emily hurried towards the bleachers, climbing onto the second row near the away team’s goal.

Emily squinted towards the field, setting down onto the ice cold metal bleacher seat and regretting her choice of a plaid skirt and fishnet stockings. A familiar blonde ponytail caught her eye and her heart jumped at the sight of her tackling another girl, freeing the ball and turning Emily’s way, barrelling down the field.

She had the ball! JJ pulled ahead, dodging the advances of the other team before kicking it to her teammate, who confidently circled around past the defence.

Emily’s heart was in her throat. She had never particularly cared about sports, but with her time in Italy, football (or soccer as she reminded herself to refer to it as) was something Emily could confidently say she understood enough to have a conversation about. She thanked her lucky stars that the first jock Emily had a crush on played a sport she at least knew the rules of.

JJ ran into centre field, and her teammate passed the ball to her, JJ kicked it right into the net, sneaking right past the goalie’s outstretched fingertips.

Goal!

The crowd cheered, Emily joined in and clapped as JJ’s teammates swarmed her, jumping and hugging her in a mess of celebratory bodies.

Emily looked around, while the crowd was spotty, there was still a fairly good turn out. Most of them seemed to be family members, though there were certainly groups of students, wearing their school colours and the logo emblazoned across their chests.

Emily peered at the scoreboard, it was 4–2, as JJ just scored a tie breaking goal with ten minutes left in the second half. They reset, and JJ switched out with another, taller girl who high fived her as she walked onto the pitch.

JJ sat on the bench with elbows on her knees and her feet planted firmly on the ground in her running shoes. She gulped some water as her eyes remained fixed on the action as the ref blew the whistle, and the game continued.

Without JJ to watch, Emily’s eyes roamed across the field, taking in the action without that much interest. She hoped that their team won, obviously, because that would make JJ happy, but she had no personal investment into their college’s athletic standing.

Emily knew that while her class had cut into most of the game, she would be able to linger around and hopefully walk back to residence with JJ. She had cookies to give her.

Now, the cookies were just an excuse to hang out with her. Or a bribe. Probably a bribe. Well, JJ had said, back when they studied together almost two weeks ago, that she wanted more cookies. As she had enough free time to walk to the nearby grocery store to pick up the dough, Emily was furiously trying to bake the best cookies she’d ever made. She had briefly considered making them from scratch, but the pressure of it all made her choose the prepackaged dough.

Emily actually didn’t spend more time eating the dough than baking, this time, because she wanted them to be perfect for JJ.

She had been tempted to invite her to bake with her, but despite JJ’s initial request for Emily to tutor her, JJ had not really followed up. In fact, Emily hadn’t seen much of the girl at all. The anxious part of her brain told her that JJ was avoiding her, but Emily, for the life of her, could not figure out why. Every time that she ran into JJ, the blonde seemed anxious to leave.

The clock counted down, five, four, three, two, one. The buzzer sounded. The other team hadn’t managed to score another goal, so their team had won!

The crowd cheered in delight at the victory. JJ and her team jumped together, piling on top of one another in a group hug.

While the other audience members packed up their bags and blankets, chatting as they filed out of the bleachers, Emily remained, waiting for JJ.

She watched as JJ removed her cleats, shin pads and long socks, swapping them instead for a pair of boots. She zipped up her windbreaker on top of her shirt and followed her teammates as they grabbed their bags and made their move to go home.

It was now or never.

“JJ, hi!” Emily called out, waving at her from the side of the bleachers.

JJ caught her eye, then said something to her teammates, who waited for her on the edge of the field.

“Great game!” Emily said, “at least what I saw of it.”

“Emily!” JJ said, smiling at her.

“I, uh-” Emily rifled through her bag. “The cookies you liked. I made some last night and thought that you may want some.”

JJ’s eyes widened as she took them.

“Thank you, Emily,” she stated, smiling quickly. “That’s very nice of you, I hope you didn’t go out of your way for me.”

“Oh it was no problem,” Emily said, trying to keep her voice calm, “Derek practically begs me to and well, you know, it’s nice to do something relaxing during midterms.”

JJ nodded, then turned to look at her teammates, who were beckoning for her.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” Emily said, “Did you need any more help with your French?”

Something strange passed across JJ’s face, first she looked happy, excited, but then nervous she looked away from Emily.

JJ hadn’t texted her. Emily had given her number to her last Wednesday, and had received radio silence ever since.

“Uh, maybe. I’ll text you if I need any help,” JJ said, “I’m actually having a bit of trouble writing a presentation.”

A spark of hope ignited in Emily’s chest. Just as she was going to reply, she heard someone approaching them from the bleachers, clamouring down the steps from behind.

“JJ!” Penelope Penelope exclaimed, “And Emily! I didn’t know you were here! You could have sat with me!”

She was dressed in a long purple peacoat and had her bright blonde hair tied up in space buns. She had a small blanket folded up in her arms that she was likely using to sit on the cold bleachers.

“I didn’t see you,” Emily says honestly.

“Hey Pen,” JJ said, turning to her roommate, “No Spence today?”

“He has physics,” Penelope and Emily responded in unison, before laughing.

“We just had Philosophy together,” Emily explained. “He had to run to his next class.”

“Wait that reminds me,” Penelope exclaims, “Emily you must come with us to trivia tonight! We need six people for our team and I don’t wanna get stuck with some randos like last time.”

Emily looked over at JJ quickly to gauge her reaction. Trivia sounded really fun, and the excuse for spending time with JJ sounded even better.

“You could bring your friend Derek,” JJ replied, not balking at the idea of Emily’s presence. “Spence hasn’t stopped talking about him since the party.”

Emily felt herself breathe an internal sigh of relief. JJ wasn’t avoiding her after all. And maybe even wanted to spend time with her.

“Oh he really is a beautiful sight, that Derek Morgan,” Penelope just about purrs in response.

Emily can not help but laugh.

“That makes, what, five?” Penelope counted on her fingers, “Jennifer, do we have another friend?”

JJ frowned, shook her head, which made Penelope laugh.

Emily thought for a second, thinking about who in her circle would enjoy trivia. Aaron. Of course.

“I think I could talk someone into it,” she said.

“It’s a date!” Penelope exclaimed. “Now off to the locker room with you Jennifer! You stink!”

She gently pushed JJ towards her teammates and JJ laughed before waving goodbye and heading towards the gym. Penelope looped her arm through Emily’s and had already begun to explain the details of the trivia night.

From what Emily gathered, it was at the bar right off campus, and luckily for them, allows underage students in on Monday nights to play trivia, and the bartenders didn’t really check IDs at the bar so they could usually get served if they didn’t get too wild. There were prizes and Penelope was convinced that with Reid, they had a good shot at winning, depending on the topics of course.

Emily and Penelope walked back to their building, finally exchanging numbers and the promise to meet in the hall no later than seven that night.

As soon as Emily was in her room she found herself grinning. She did a small dance in her room in excitement for the evening before pulling out her phone to tell Derek and Aaron that they had plans for the evening.

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avian-writes · 3 years

Text

The day we found solitude

The Days: Part 2

Content warnings: anxiety

words: 2,026

You would think after what happened last time, Darian and I would never open that damn Randonautica app again. That we would delete it from his phone, block any website with articles on it, turn off app location completely. That we would suppress that memory deep, deep down until brought up years later in therapy. You would also think wrong.

Did we want something similar to happen? Proof that what we experienced was real and not just a dual hallucination? Or maybe we wanted a normal experience as proof that it wasn’t real. Or maybe we were just idiots with not enough time on our hands and desperate for something more stimulating than sleeping all day.

We chose attractor this time. A more dense area should mean not in the middle of the woods again which was honestly our main priority. What could go wrong in a more localized place?

Well, what could go worse?

Manifest what you want

What did we want this time? We glanced at each other and didn’t say a word. I don’t even believe I thought of anything. Just complete blankness, manifesting the void dwelling over our space.

Before we could react, it dinged and a map pulled up. A red flag pinpointed a location neither of us recognized. We took the coordinates to Google maps and waited.

One of the local high schools. Thankfully the nearest one. As much as I loved driving normally, lately all it did was tire me out. But Darian did it last time so it was my turn. We grabbed our bags, now more fully stocked than normal complete with pocket knives and pepper spray, and jumped into my debilitating car.

The sun started to set during the 20 minute drive there, casting an orange glow across the dashboard where Darian laid his head. Just like I wanted to, but I kept my eyes on the road and ears open for any suspicious sounds my car made, a constant and nerve wracking weight on my chest.

“What do you think we’ll find?” Darian asked, eyes moving from staring out the window at the dwindling sun to me.

I shrugged. “This time? Hopefully not a dead animal on school grounds.”

“I’m not the one calling the police if we do.”

“Eh, we can just leave it for the seniors to find in the morning.” Darian chuckled but there was something heavy behind it. I waited a moment but when he didn’t elaborate on his undertoning misery, I reached over and poked his arm. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

He was quiet for a few more seconds, staring down at his lap. “Should we have a plan? Or...something grounding? Just in case something happens again?”

I looked over at him. His small eyes were now wide with what I recognized as potential worry and fear. Did I feel it as well? It was hard to tell past all the nerves running me down. “We do have something grounding: each other.” I held the gruff of his sleeve and shook it, not taking my own eyes off the road. “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t lose track of each other again.”

Darian smiled weakly and laughed. “Sappy but yeah, alright. Whatever you say.”

The gate into the parking lot was left open, probably by a school cop who wasn’t paid enough to care. We easily drove in and around the cracked, gray top pavement to the senior lot. Neither of us went to that school; we were both from out of town. But the lot was fairly easy to navigate.

After parking where we hoped was out of sight of the cameras, we got out and stared down at my phone where the map blinked back up at us. We looked at each other and he gestured for me to go first. Traitor.

Following the small dot on the screen, we vultured out of the lot and down the grassy hill towards the stadium. It was completely surrounded by a chain link fence. I looped my frail fingers through the metal bearings and pushed myself up, vaulting over the top and carefully avoiding the circlets at the top. Darian, a known climber of school buildings, easily got up and over. We dropped down on the other side and continued skirting around the hill.

We ended up at the top, hoping over the knee-high bar that was poorly meant to keep kids off the grass during games. The ticket entrances were just holes in the cement walls for people to come and go. The snack bar was in the middle of them. We wandered over and Darian said nothing as I hoisted myself up onto the counter.

I leaned back so I could look at the inside in all its upside down glory. Nothing there. Why would there be in Spring?

I heaved back up, grunting as I did so. “Wanna see if there’s anything in the storage room?”

But Darian wasn’t paying attention to me. He was staring towards a concrete box standing above the seats, two doors leading no doubt to stairs going up. The announcer’s box.

“Darian?” I lightly kicked his leg and he jumped. “You okay there?”

He waved me off. “Yeah, just fazed out there for a moment. What’s back there?”

I swiveled around and hopped off the counter. “Nothing at all. They must’ve cleared it out once football season was over.”

“Were you hoping for some months old candy or something?”

“Candy never goes bad, Darian! We’ve been over this!” We started to laugh but it quickly dimmed to light huffs of breath. The atmosphere was something odd, breaking it seemed like hammering down a barrier to somewhere we didn’t know. Like we were doing something incredibly wrong by even speaking, much less laughing.

We headed down towards the football field, taking the large stone steps two at a time. Jumping down and giving the illusion of shattering our ankles in the process. We ended up at the 50 yard line. Right in the middle.

I turned in circles, gazing in confused wonder at the empty concrete seats on one side and the bleachers on the other, designated home and visitor sides respectfully. I had never gone there before, but I felt a strange sense of nostalgia nevertheless. It was like any other high school stadium.

I would always sit with my family at football games, subtly curling up against the nearest family member as we were surrounded by hundreds of strangers yelling, either cheering happily or screaming in anger.

Either way, it was overwhelming. I could still feel the cold breath of every surrounding person dragging down my back, their eyes darting to me with every small movement I made. Scrutinizing and judging a life they didn’t know and motives they couldn’t understand.

That’s when a high-pitched shriek broke through the air.

The sound pierced my eardrums, shaking my head, brain, mind, everything. I collapsed to my knees and held my hands over my ears in a poor attempt to block out the skull shattering screeching. Nails dug into my hair follicles to rip them from my bare head to overrun the pain searing through my body right then.

My chest didn’t hurt. It was burning. Fire was trekking its way down my throat, chest cavity, all the way until its journey ended in my legs that were tucked underneath me in a tight ball.

Then started the roaring sounds, a rumbling scan over the field and steamrolling right over me into the freshly mowed grass. All the wind was knocked out of me and I coughed and choked on purely nothing. My throat hurt but I didn’t dare remove my hands in favor of holding it. I forced myself to look up and nearly passed out.

The previously empty stands were filled with spectators. I turned around, still pressing my hands over my ears as the piercing sound was gradually replaced with roaring voices. Thunderous speaking over one another as if every person was right next to me, each attempting to be heard over everyone else.

Something covered my hands and I jumped before realizing they were just Darian. I turned my head to see him staring at me confused but alarmed. “Don’t you hear them?” I shouted.

He shook his head and pressed his hands tighter to my head. My cheeks were hot, my face was hot, every muscle in my body was heat running over deep coals. It was agonizing and all I wanted was for it to stop.

“Jake!” Darian moved his hands to my face and forced me to look at him. “Just focus on me, okay?”

I could feel something wet running down my cheeks and I shut my eyes. Shaking my head back and forth, side to side, trying to shake out the spectators’ voice drilling their way into me. The shrieking merged with theirs and everything became a bubble of sound, bouncing off the outside and growing louder.

Darian suddenly took hold of my hand and started running. I was forced to take it off my ear and the sounds grew louder in my head as they took advantage of the entryway into my mind. We ran across the grass and up the concrete steps amongst the spectators. As we climbed past, they reached out almost skeletal like arms at us, grabbing at our legs.

One successfully nabbed my ankle and I tripped on the stairs, banging my knee into the solid stone. Sharp pain erupted in my shin and more tears threatened to prick at my eyes. The hand tugged on my ankle and I started to slide down towards the sourced man.

“Jake!” Darian pulled on my hand but it did little to nothing as I slid down the step, harshly scraping my knee against the concrete. He leapt down next to me and wrapped an arm behind and under my shoulders. “Let him go!”

He yanked and this time, the skeletal hand let go. He got me to my feet and we ran the rest of the way to the top. As soon as we hit the flat landing, the cheering for our demise got louder.

I staggered to my knees under the sheer weight of their chaos, but Darian shook his head. “Nope, nope. It’s not doing this again!” He pulled me back up and looked around feverishly. Eyes landing on the announcer’s box, he dragged me along to one of the doors and threw it open.

He shoved me through and the door slammed shut behind us. The sound dulled but the ringing didn’t. It throbbed my brain cells to smithereens, sending them to combustion inside my small skull.

“How are you feeling? Can you still hear...whatever it is?”

He couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t in extreme mental pain from the phantom spectators. But he did believe me and that was all I needed to know. “I can hear them, but not as bad. It just hurts, so much.” I groaned and held my head in my hands, closing my eyes and trying to block out my own pain receptors.

Darian nodded but judging from his face, he far from understood what was happening. I knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t really registering anything going on, just going through the motions to get out on the other side somewhat intact.

Diluted and weak, we trudged up the stairs further into the actual announcer’s box. It was a small room with a board nailed to either side up against the far wall to act as a desk. Windows were on all the other three walls and I could see clearly through them that the stands were completely empty.

My sore knees buckled underneath me and I collapsed to the ground. Darian was at my side instantly and instead of forcing me to stand up again, he helped me lean against the wall and sat down next to me. “Let’s just, stay here for a little while. Then we’ll get out of here.”

I nodded. “Sounds like a good idea….wanna play sticks?”

“Sure.”

#wip #writeblr #anxiety #the days #wtwcommunity #the day we found solitude #part two

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unnatural-narrative · 4 years

Text

Bro

What if Dean and Cas got drunk together

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975014

Truth or Dare

Dean wasn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to angel crap.

Cas appearing out of the blue certainly wasn’t one of them, but at least now he was used to it enough that he didn’t jump out of his skin when he saw Cas standing in the middle of their motel room.

That didn’t stop him from nearly spilling his beer he was nursing on himself as Cas appeared in the corner of his eye.

“Jesus-”

Cas looked at him with uncaring eyes. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, putting his beer on the nightstand. He willed his heart rate to go back to normal, well as normal as it could be without the alcohol pumping through his system. But Dean was only three beers in, with his experience he knew it probably wasn’t that much higher.

“I see you got our message,” Dean said, putting his laptop aside.

“Yes,” Cas said, scanning the motel room. “But I don’t understand why you need my help. Is there something wrong? Did you find Jesse?”

“No, nothing like that.” Dean didn’t even want to think about the little antichrist and how badly they almost fucked up with him. Lying, going to his mom, telling her where he was wasn’t the smartest move. Cas didn’t fair any better. Frankly, Dean thought it was lucky they were all alive after he saw what the kid could do. They had had too many close calls, too many to count and Dean suspected with the coming apocalypse, the number wasn’t going to start decreasing.

Dean got up from the bed, suddenly at a loss for what to say, forgetting why they even invited Cas over in the first place.

“Uh,” he started with. “How are you feeling?”

Dean felt Cas’s eyes roving over him, searching for hidden meaning. “I’m… fine. Considering the circumstances.”

Before he could stop it, a chuckle came from Dean. “Yeah. I don’t suspect anyone would like getting turned into G.I. Joe from Rosemary’s baby.”

“Did you find the Colt?”

“No, not yet-”

“Then I don’t understand your summonings.”

“What? No, it’s not. I mean-” Dean gave up trying to explain himself and pushed past Cas to the mini fridge sitting under the tv. He pulled out a beer, turned and held it out, expectedly at Cas.

Cas took it after a second, tentative. His eyes go from the beer to Dean. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“Drink it, Cas. Boys night in! What do you say?”

Cas looked back at the beer, quizzically, using both of his hands as if he expected the can to magically hop away.

“Boys night…” Cas said.

“Yeah…” Dean said, doubt creeping in as the awkwardness of the night was suddenly making an appearance to him. God, why did he even think of this idea? “A little get together. You, me, Sam, booze. Maybe watch a little West coast football. Waddya say?”

Dean didn’t expect Cas to say yes. Hell, he didn’t even think Cas would come tonight let alone hang out with the people that turned Cas’ world upside down. Didn’t he have heavenly shit to do?

Cas still wasn’t answering, so Dean went back to the nightstand and took a sip of his own beer.

“Where’s Sam?” Cas said.

“Beer run. But we got some heavy stuff in the trunk if you’re interested.”

“Heavy stuff?”

“Shots. Tequila.” Dean paused. “You ever got smashed before?”

“No, I can’t say I have,” Cas said, looking at the nutritional facts on the side of the can. “Besides all the affects of alcohol uh… ‘don’t do it for me’ as you say.”

“Well, let’s test the theory a little bit, don’t you think?” Dean smiled, taking another sip. The beer was losing its chill, the carbonation wasn’t attacking his tongue as strong as when he opened it. Dean wished Sam would be back soon. He was almost halfway done.

Cas looked at him curiously. “I don’t understand. What do you require of me?”

“Uh. I require you to drink that beer,” Dean said as he sat at the corner of the bed. “Come on, sit down. I want to know what a beer tastes like to an alcohol virgin.”

For a second it looked like Cas was going to protest, but then his mouth closed. He slid out the desk chair and sat across from Dean a little too close for Dean’s comfort, their knees centimeters away. Dean let it slide, for now.

Cas looked at the beer then at Dean.

“Here-“ Dean set his beer between his knees and took the can from Cas’ hands. “You pull the tab like this.”

With a sharp, metallic snap he cracked open a cold one and handed it to Cas. Cas still took it gingerly. When Cas didn’t drink, Deran raised his own beer to his lips, and finally, Cas echoed his movement.

“So?” Dean asked when Cas swallowed. “What do you think? You in?”

“It tastes like molecules.”

Even though it wasn’t funny, Dean had to laugh. “I’ve drank worse things than that, compadre. But, uh, thanks for your honesty.”

“Dean, what am I doing here.”

“Because… we’re friends, duh.”

Cas considered him a moment before playing along. “Right.”

It’s not like they weren’t friends before. But they never officially “hung out”.

Dean realized this when he (again) almost lost Cas that day. Cas already died once this year, and once was enough.

So what if Dean was the reason for Sam going on a beer run. It’s not like he can drink alone tonight. The uselessness against the onslaught of the apocolaypse might be wearing on him, but right now, he just wanted a fucking break. Maybe he had more than three beers. He had been sober as soon as Sam went off. Somehow, this run-of-mill demon drama this week, somehow he was craving something more tonight.

“Cas, this is what we humans call ‘asking you to prom’.”

“What?”

“We want to hang out with you, dumbass. Stick around, enjoy a beer… talk a little. I just thought we could-“

“Explore each other’s emotional bonds with each other.”

“Well, jeez, Cas, when you put it like that. Why can’t you get drunk?”

“My tolérance level can’t compare to the mind of mortals.”

“Well, okay then,” Dean said. “Then in that case, lets test that theory.”

“What?”

“I wanna see if I can out drink an angel.”

“Dean, I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What, you chicken? How do you know your tolerance level if you’ve never tested it?”

“My grace takes care of all my vessels automatic functions.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like you’re scared.”

“No, it’s just that you’d be at a disadvantage.”

Dean blinks at Cas, a smile tugging on his lips. “Is that so? Ooh, I know, we should play a drinking game.”

“A game where you… drink?”

“Yeah uh, like Never Have I Ever, Truth or Dare-“

“Go fish?”

“I mean,” he laughs towards Cas. “Anything can be turned into a drinking game, but I think I’d rather stick to Truth or Dare.”

“How do you play?” Cas asked. Dean was surprised. He didn’t expect the angel would want to stay.

“Uh simple, you have to choose between telling the truth or doing what I tell you.”

Dean had had seven dreams the past few weeks about exactly that, but he willed his brain not to think about it.

“And if I don’t?” Cas’s eyes locked with Dean and for a moment, Dean can’t breathe. He suppressed a shiver and moved on like nothing happened.

Dean grinned. “Then you have to drink. Hold on.”

Dean kicked in the motel bedroom a bottle of tequila, salt, and three shotglasses. “Let’s make this more interesting. Every time you don’t answer a question, or doesn’t do the dare has to take one of these.”

“And this is a common bond strengthening that’s been shared for millennia between man?”

Dean shrugged with the bottle of tequila in his hand. “Pretty much.”

“Well, frankly, I don’t know what I expected.”

“You mean you have no idea what humans do in their freetime?”

“It never piqued my interest until now, no.”

“You’re interested now?”

“You could say that.”

Dean felt Cas’ eyes as he sat down, laying his supplies on the bed. He didn’t ask what Cas could mean.

“Alright Cas, truth or dare.”

“I pick one?”

“Yep.”

“...Dare.”

Surprised, Dean smiled. “Ooh, you’re going to regret that. Take a shot.”

Cas blinked at him. “Right now?”

“No, next Tuesday. Yes, right now, it’s truth or dare, man.”

“Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Here, I’ll teach you,” he said, putting his beer on the floor.

Dean made him hold up a shot glass while he filled it, the tequila’s pungent aroma reaching his nose. He then took it and made Cas hold another. He then licked the back of his hand and, ignoring Cas’ confused expression, poured salt on his wet hand.

“Wish we had limes, but this will do.”

Without being told, Cas copied him, tongue quickly darting in and out of his mouth, marking the back of his hand. Dean salted his hand and said: “Lick the salt then take the shot.”

“Why?”

“It’ll make it taste better.”

“Oh. Why are you taking one too? It was my dare.”

“Can’t let a man take his first shot alone.”

“Is that another human ritual?”

“No, but it should be. Works for all parties involved.” Dean hold up his shot glass. “Cheers, man.”

Thankfully, Cas knew how to cheers. He had taught him that at the brothel Dean had taken him to. Cas had learned a lot that night, more than Dean thought, évédent of the fact that Cas knew how to take a shot. One swallow, all going to the back of the throat, just like Dean did it. Dean watched Cas’ Adam’s apple bob up and down just as the burn at the back of his throat spread into a warm feeling in his stomach. Should’ve ate something today…

It was no sooner than Cas swallowed, he broke into a fit of coughing.

“Whoa, you okay?” Dean laughed, clapping his friends’ shoulder. “How’d that go?”

“It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t drink it for the taste.”

“Even if I did have human habits, I don’t know how that would be worth it.”

“So, you don’t feel anything?”

Cas sat up straight after the coughing. He frowned and looked down at his shot glass.

“No. But… there may be a point where my system can be overloaded… then I might feel something.”

“So drink enough and you might get a buzz?”

“Possibly.”

“Hell, I’ll take it. We’ll get you feeling good by the end of the night.” The shot he just took winked at Cas.

The corner of Cas’ mouth twitched. Dean wanted to see the whole smile.

“You’re drunk already Dean. I don’t understand, I thought we were waiting for Sam.”

“Yeah, we are. We’ll just have a head start. Sam will have to catch up. We’ll get him with a good dare. But in the meantime, let’s see what you got. Ask me.”

“...Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Dean declared.

“...I dare you… to take a shot.”

“What, come on you can’t repeat dares!”

“You didn’t tell me this before.”

“Well, I thought you had a little imagination, Cas. You want to make them do something they wouldn’t normally do. Eat a spoonful of mayonnaise, streak naked through the parking lot. That sort of stuff.”

“Oh.” Cas’s eyes look around the room for inspiration.

“Take a shot… with no salt.”

Dean gave him a look. “Seriously? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I want to see what it looks like.”

“What, being drunk?”

Cas nodded.

“You’ve seen me drunk before, Cas.”

“I think that was a different blood alcohol than what you’re at now.”

“You can tell my blood alcohol level?”

“Well, not exactly. But I can take a pretty good guess.”

Can you now? He wanted to say, but didn’t, because reasons.

“Fine. I’ll take a shot. But only for you to realize what you’re missing as a human.”

“I’ll study closely.”

Dean lifted his eyes to where he was filling the shot. Was Cas flirting with him? Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but he couldn’t disguise the ease he felt when he was around Cas, especially, now, letting his guard down with this stupid game and the drink running through his veins.

“Cheers to you, the biggest douchebag in all of holy heaven.”

Dean knocked it back, the tequila going down easier than the first one, despite the lack of salt distracting his tongue from the taste. That was a bad sign. Then he found Cas’ eyes. No. This was a good sign.

“If this is all we’re doing with the dares, I’ll just pick truth instead.”

“I thought the point of the game was getting drunk.”

“I didn’t know you would go for maximum damage.” He had to get back at him now. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare.”

Again, a surpriser.

“I dare you to bring me top-shelf tequila. And you have to drink the whole bottle by the end of the night.”

After a pointed stare, Cas disappeared in a woosh of wind and reappeared a moment later, holding a very big, very expensive bottle of tequila.

Dean laughs. “Nice. Much better than my $12 shit.”

Cas shifts the bottle into both of his hands.

They both speak at the same time.

“Do you want to-“

“Can I have a -“

“Try it?”

“Taste?”

They both look up at each other from the bottle. Dean got caught in Cas’ stare, absentmindedly licking his bottom lip. Cas eyes the movement.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll make it a little easier for you.”

Dean took the bottle out of Cas’ hands and poured another shot for him and Cas. Dean started to think he was enjoying himself because the warm feeling in his gut steadily spread up his chest and into the back of his head.

Cas was his bar: holding up the two shotglasses while it took Dean two hands to pour the bottle. Deans fingers brushed Cas’ when he took his glass. This is was his third shot in ten minutes.

Cas and Dean clinked their glasses together, but Dean couldn’t think about anything to cheers to.

“To the end of a very long year.”

“Dean, it’s October.”

“Ain’t too soon to start celebrating.”

Dean’s shot went dutifully down the hatch, but he couldn’t help but make a face when he resurfaced. Cas shot his down a moment later.

“Truth or dare?” Cas said.

“Truth,” he relented. His vision was swimming. It was a nice feeling.

“I assume this part of the game also ends in humiliation for the players?”

“You got it.”

“...When was the last time-”

Here it comes.

“-you were happy?”

Oh. That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Come on, man, you can’t ask that.”

“Why not? If you don’t, you’ll have to take a shot.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I said a drink. It doesn’t have to be a shot.”

“I thought you said you could outdrink me. You also said I could ask anything I want. Are you sure you know how to play this game?” Cas’ eyes focused on Dean. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t know. When we found James Dean’s car, that was pretty gnarly.” Right now was a close second though. “Why’d you go all deep all the sudden?”

“I just… wanted to know. I’m sorry if I broke another rule.”

“No, you didn’t it’s just- No one’s ever asked me if- In the game- It’s usually how many girls you’ve been with or how many drugs you’ve taken. Not any Dr. Phil crap.”

“So the question worked? It made you uncomfortable anyway?”

“No, I guess it’s just…pretty surprising hearing that talk from you.”

“I’m just trying to understand what I rebelled for.”

“What did you rebel for?” Dean asked.

“Dean. I didn’t pick truth.”

Dean had to stop himself before he swayed too far in Cas’ direction. He covered it up with an easy smile and a little laugh. “Oh, so it’s your turn now. I didn’t know you’d like this game so much. Dare then. Okay.” He took a pensive little sip of his beer. “I dare you to pick truth next term.”

“You’d waste your turn on that? That can’t possibly be legal.”

“There’s something you don’t want me to ask, Cas?”

“I’m just making sure the game is fair.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Truth or Dare, Dean.”

Oh, what the hell. “Truth.”

“How many sexual encounters encounters have you had before?”

Dean cracked a smile. “Can’t say I’ve kept track. You’d be the first angel I’ve...that um, ever asked me that.”

“What do you think a rough estimate would be?”

“Why are you so keen to know?”

“It was one of your suggestions, Dean.”

“16.”

Cas only nodded to that information. “I see.” Cas looked down to where he was holding his beer and shot glass in both of his hands. “What did you want to ask me?”

So many things. Why did you pull me out of heaven? What’s it like being an angel? How many sexual encounters have you had? But what came out was: “Why’d you agree to play?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a stupid game, why are you playing with me?”

Cas studied him for a moment before tilting his shot glass towards Dean.

It took a moment for Dean’s alcohol filled brain to catch up.

“What-? Seriously? You’d rather drink than answer that?”

“It’s not like it’lll affect me.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, hotshot.”

As Dean was filling up his shot, a question burned inside Dean’s body, heating him up from the inside. Why didn’t Cas answer? Dean felt his ears turn pink as he looked up at Cas- and was met with the most startling, electric-blue stare that made Dean overfill the shot glass, spilling clear liquid all over the angels lap.

“Shit.” Dean set down the bottle and pressed the sleeves of his jacket to Cas’ pants before he knew what he was doing. Cas’ legs were warm to the touch.

“It’s alright, Dean,” Cas said, but he didn’t try to push him away.

“I’ll get you a towel-”

“Dean-” Cas’ hand snaked out and caught the wrist of Dean’s. Dean stopped getting up, breathless.

“Truth or Dare,” Cas asked him. Dean sank back against the bed. He realized he didn’t want Cas to let go.

“Whoa, there, Speed Racer. You got to finish your shot.”

Never taking his eyes off of Dean, Cas took two swallows of tequila. The hand that held the shot glass pressed against the back of Cas’ mouth to get stray drops of moisture, but he still didn’t let go of Dean.

“Look at you, big boy.” Dean smiled. “Do you feel anything yet?”

“Maybe,” Cas said. He looked at his own thumb brush against the edge of Dean’s jacket. “There’s something.” Cas’ eyes raked slowly up, finally stopping when meeting Dean’s. “Truth or Dare,” he said, deadpan and deep.

For some reason Dean felt that Cas wanted him to pick dare. “Truth,” he said defiantly.

“Why are you addicted to alcohol?”

Dean felt his blood run cold. He thought a minute, sucking on his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be? You saw me in hell.”

“Do you still get nightmares?”

Dean laughed nervously. “Hey, buddy, one question at a time.” He took a sip of beer, pulling back his hand. He had let that gone on long enough. But, damn, that tequila was getting to him. “Every damn night,” Dean said quietly. He avoided Cas’ gaze. After a moment, he said: “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Angel, you never fail to surprise me.”

Cas raised a tortuous eyebrow.

“What’s your addiction, Cas?” he heard himself say.

Cas looked down at his own hand, fingers curling around the absence of Dean’s.

Cas was silent for a long moment.

You, Dean wanted him to say.

“Humanity,” Cas answered.

“Seriously? Come on, man. What’s so great about mankind? We fight, we kill. We drink.”

“I don’t think you give yourselves enough credit, Dean,” Cas said, pinning him with his stare. Dean didn’t realize how close they were until he felt Cas’ baritone, deep inside his chest. Dean wanted to close his eyes and take all of the moment in. Cas’ eyes, that feeling in his gut, the simple knowledge that he knew he was getting closer and closer to Cas.

“You… find joy in the darkest of times, you love, you… play games. Even though it’s the end of the world.”

Dean felt himself swallow. They stared at each other, both of them breathless.

“Cas,” he said, barely a whisper. “Ask me.”

Dean looked at his friends’ hair and wanted to run his hand through it.

“Truth or dare?” Cas asked. Dean couldn’t move.

“Dare,” Dean breathed.

“Kiss me.”

:P and then sam comes back

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