#finger prints on wrong side oops

[ofjunemoment]

let me teach you how to smash | park jisung

In the list of sports, ranked from most to least sexy, badminton would be found at the very bottom if not ranked last. But why is it that when Jisung plays the with a feathered shuttle your heart flutters? 

 OR: Jisung helps you improve your badminton skills. 

 pairing — badminton player!jisung x fem!reader 

 genre — sports!au, university!au, (one sided) enemies to friends to lovers, slight slow burn 

 wc — 22k (😀 huh)

content — university/sports class setting, humour, fluff, the tiniest bit of angst,  idols mentioned, very heavy on the dialogue/backstory at one point sorry babies <3, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags — making out, fingering, switch!jisung and reader (there's no strong dynamic tbh), protected sex, pet names (jisung gets called a good boy), lmk if I missed anything!

 a/n — YAYYY i can finally share this with u guys!! i have been cooking this for some time and im actually so excited to release it!! I'm a badminton enthusiast so I went a bit ham on the descriptions and back story sorry (not rlly),, I hope this is a good readdd I read through it so much to fix it up and now Im a bit sick of it oops BUT its a story I've been wanting to write so here you go <3 enjoy!

sfw version here!

You enjoy sports. 

You liked dancing sometimes — which is certainly a type of sport  — and you dabbled with different sports at one point in school, but you don’t actively go out of your way to do any intense exercise. It can be sweaty and painful and maybe it’s a little like hitting the gym, but in most sports you need sportsmanship, and why would you be kind to the person who not only won but is rubbing it in your face? 

You once yelled at Taeyong for kicking the ball in the wrong goal when your group of friends went out of their way to play makeshift soccer to bring back memories. You yelled, at precious Taeyong, who flinches at the sight of a fly

Okay, so you tolerate sports.

But in an effort to have your resume look pretty after finishing your degree, your friend Juda had shed light on this one program that has you do a bunch of extracurricular activities and in turn, you’ll gain extra credit. Seamless and effortless, you didn’t need to pay anything towards the program as most of the work was volunteering; like reading to kids or helping clean up lecture rooms now and then. What Juda failed to mention was the other extracurricular required of you, which was to go to a sporting class set up by the university.

Sporting classes; two hours a week minimum.

They were kind enough to provide you with options, but it still wasn't easy to choose whether you wanted two whole hours of HIIT fitness or football, which caused you to almost give up on the whole thing. Until you saw the word ‘badminton’ printed in the faintest ink, almost as if it was a mistake.

So here you are, in the campus’ sports equipment shop with Chenle, looking through what seems like badminton rackets.

“Do you think this is good?” You pick up a racket that has a mix of matte white and mint around the frame, with the string sporting the shade black, testing the weight in your hand. 

“That’s a tennis racket stupid.” He goes to ruffle your hair but instead gets his hand slapped away and a frown etched on his face as you scoff at him. “I knew that,”  You scowl.

“Well then don’t be an asshole about it, asshole.”

“I wasn’t being—” Both of you jump at a sudden sound that pitched in between your shoulders, as your hand flies to your chest in shock while Chenle’s eyebrow hitch up.

“Sorry?” It was Chenle who said that to the person who snuck up behind you two, his arms crossing defensively and landing on his left chest, as he positions himself subtly a little closer to you, almost as if he’s instinctively shielding him.

“Ah, sorry for surprising you; I just came to ask if you guys needed help with anything?” It was when the employee raised her ID card that was hanging on a white lanyard around her neck that Chenle’s defence began to soften as you brought your hand down, replacing the confused look on your faces with one of realisation.

“Ahh, uhm, I was wondering if you could recommend a badminton racket, nothing too fancy, maybe something to last a good two years.”

“Two years?” Chenle was the one that turned to you with a look of disbelief. The employee merely smiled and gestured her hands towards the very other side of the store and quickly turned to guide you.

“Hold on, you’re doing this stupid thing for two years? Half of your courses years? You’re just gonna voluntarily stress yourself with even more work?”

“ . . . Yes? I don’t know what to tell you, that’s my main intention. That’s why I joined this program. You’ve asked me multiple times like I’m going to miraculously change my mind and thank you for it like you’re a rich person, giving me, a homeless person, a piece of bread and then barely look at me as you record the whole thing for your livestream.” You huff while going to lie down on your back on the floor around your newly bought badminton equipment; a set of badminton rackets and some cylinder packets full of shuttlecocks, the feather ones because the plastic ones suck ass, the employee had smiled at you.

You sit up just as quickly as a dull pain shoots up your back. The motherfucking shuttlecocks.

“That’s one way to make up an analogy,” Chenle’s eyes land on the shuttlecock you had freshly crushed, now looking all squashed and disoriented. Poor thing didn’t even last a minute.

“What’s she moping about this time?” Juda’s voice echoed from the door as she places the tote bag she had brought down next to the shoe shelf.

“I’m not moping; I never mope. What do I even look like when I mope?”

“She’s just crying about the fact that she has to do this thing program for another two years.” His words elicit a shout and the gradual flinging of a nearby couch pillow from you. Chenle’s neck cracked as the pillow hit his head downwards.

“Did I kill him yet,” You voiced your disinterest, sitting up on your elbows briefly to analyse Chenle’s face before giving up and laying back down. Chenle stayed in that position for a while before getting up in a fury, ready to avenge you. Juda stopped him with a kick to his leg. 

“Such disrespectful words, is it hard to show some courtesy around here?�� You huff and go to lie down once more, not before feeling around the surface for any stray shuttlecock.

“When it comes to you, yes,” Juda throws Chenle a Yakult, and she flings you one straight at your stomach. You attempt not to flinch.

“Here’s to either two more years of moping about this stupid badminton class every week, or two months of hardcore whining from both of you until you break and drop out.” Juda raises her Yakult bottle and clinks it with yours — that’s still on your stomach — and against Chenle’s who was drinking out of it the moment she did so, spilling what little there was of it on his face. Chenle recovers and yells out offensively, causing Juda to squeal as she stands up and goes behind the couch, using it as her shield. 

You inhale and try to tune them out.

Chenle smiles as you giggle at him, the loud music of EDM mixed with Kidz bop playing in the background as the sound of metal basketball hoop clanging echoes just enough for it to have a rhythm. He looks determined to beat the high score of this stupid basketball game, as Juda and you take turns watching him play the game and criticising his moves, even when none of you know much about basketball as he does. It’s been a few weeks since the start of the semester and hence, the beginning of your program. The kids you read to are either sleepy or disinterested as you start early in the morning, and the cleaning of lecture rooms is bearable at most times. 

So things are going great at this point.

That was until Chenle called out to you: “How’s badminton going?” and, you’re not gonna lie, that did dampen your mood just by a bit, but you give your best attempt at masking it and smiling through; you didn’t want them to pick up on the fact that it’s been one lesson and you’re already sick and tired of it (or, at least sick and tired of one certain person). But Juda’s just too smart and catches on too easily with anything that you and Chenle try to brush under the rug. She raises one eyebrow at you before retorting: “What, are you whinging about it already?”

“Am not!”

“Then what is it?” Juda says at the same time that Chenle swears, a little too loud for a kids arcade, but it’s around 8 PM and the only kids that are here probably do some sort of drug or something if they have parents who allow them to be out this late.

“Nothing, okay? The coach is great and the other people who are there are fine too, and I actually learnt a lot —”

“But?” Juda’s lips are pink as she wraps them around a straw poking out from her slushie cup. You lean back in retaliation, back pressed against the basketball machine as you try to find a leeway.

“. . . But.”

You’re late. And you can’t even use the excuse that you woke up late because it’s seven p.m. and you’ve scoffed down your early dinner two hours ago. You simply decided to just procrastinate to the next level in an attempt to gauge if you truly want to continue with this program or not. But now here you are, on a bus that’s severely delayed due to the evening traffic and running frantically to make it to class on time.

Minkyung is a 50-year-old dad who coaches this class; he was also at the office where you had submitted your form for the program, and was over the moon that you had decided to try out his class, hence asking you questions about your knowledge of badminton, and went on this spiel when you had made the mistake of being truthful. 

He now looks at you with a kind and wrinkly smile as your shoes squeak against the floor, one hand to your rib in an attempt to not show how much out of breath you were. “Don’t worry,” his voice was quiet enough for you to register only. “You arrived on time, I just finished the information briefing that you heard from me some time ago.” His smile was tight-lipped but genuine. Trying to even out your breathing, you set down your equipment and quickly join the rest in a circle. A clap echoes throughout the quiet hall as the coach drops his hands and clears his throat while letting out a puff of air, his eyes grazing by everyone’s heads in what you assume to be his way of counting the participants of the class.

“Glad to have everyone here today, I hope with this class you guys would not only learn about badminton but also be able to learn about its sportsmanship and benefits,” His eyes dart around the rather small circle. You expected the hall to be filled with as many students as that one Zumba class you were forced to attend in high school, but it was a rather tame class. 

The coach hums, thinking about something deeply as the other students shuffle around, shifting their weight from side to side in the silence engulfing the court. He looked up and clapped again softer this time. “I’ve decided to treat you like my children’s class.” He concluded, “I want you guys to introduce yourself to each other. Now don’t be shy; everyone's new in this class. Maybe you can find a friend in this class to learn better and more quicker. Okay, let’s start with you.” He pointed towards a guy that was to his left, who looked back at him with wide eyes. He looked around and smiled sheepishly yet brightly. “My name’s Haechan, and uh, I’m 22?” He finished it off with bound lips as he refers to the person after him to begin. 

And as you all finish introducing yourselves to each other, with a girl named Minji being last, the introductory circle ends, meaning the coach can now start the stretching and warm-up exercises. But he hasn’t. 

“Uh, coach, are we gonna—?” Minji stopped halfway as the coach whips his head to look at the gigantic clock on the wall next to the hall’s equally huge entrance. You crane your head curiously towards the direction of his vision, straining both your ears and vision to see what he was looking for, as everyone around you catches on and seems to do the same. It isn’t long after till the squeaking of shoes against the rubber ground echoes throughout; soon enough, the coach screams ‘fourteen minutes!’ as another person steps into the hall, wide eyes darting around everyone as he swallows in an attempt to simmer down his erratic breathing. As the guy's breathing evens out enough for him to probably mutter an apology, your breathing picks up.

“First day and you’ve already fallen for someone? Very on brand for you,”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You scramble to hit Chenle with his golden pokemon card folder he brought to the arcade. Juda calmly stops you using her right hand, as her left hand picks up her drink to take another sip from. 

“She didn’t even finish her story, Chenle. Go on,” Juda set her slushy down as her grip loosens from around your wrist, signalling to continue the story.

“Thank you, Juda, for you’re my favourite of them all—”

“Are you gonna finish your story?” Her grip tightened.

“A-as I was saying,”

You like to analyse people to some extent, thinking about how body language is cool and how it can depict everyone's different life, contrasting drastically from one another yet sometimes being so similar even with all of our different circumstances. This is why you tried analysing everyone in your class of busy people attempting to hit the shuttlecock in a streak longer than ten, as your eye flitting around the court and landing on your next target, the new guy, simply because that’s in your nature.

(“In your nature? Or was it just the mysterious guy that came into the class so suddenly, panting and out of bre—“

“Shut up? Anyway,” )

“Ah Jisung, this is the latest you’ve been,” The coach nodded innocently towards the guy, as if he hadn’t scared the piss out of all of you when he shouted.

He’s a bit stiff with his walk, and his shoulders seem to harden like a board when his eyes scan around the class and its participants. With wide eyes, he looks like a lost puppy with the way he looks back at the coach in some sort of silent confirmation of something. It’s probably his first time having a general class with coach Minkyung, you realise as you see Jisung bow sheepishly to his teacher.

“Sorry,” his voice was hushed, rumbling as he talked. His eyes scanned briefly once again across the now sparked class doing forehand and backhand practices that the teacher has instructed them to do. You locked eye contact with him from afar and quickly looked away, ears feeling a little bit hotter than it was a second before.

Soojin leans in towards you and Ryujin a bit and whispers, “Do you think he’s new? Like . . . All of us?”

You and Ryujin glance at each other for a quick second, before you smile profusely as Ryujin places her hands on the pole that holds the badminton net, her racket clenched fist supporting her chin as she ponders. “Not at all.” She says rather flatly, a cheeky smile following up after. Solely looking at him doesn’t give you any insights on his level of badminton playing, which is weird, because till now he could pick up on some people's skills; you’ve so far guessed correctly with a few of the participants (including yourself, you think you’re an average player in this class) so you feel a bit stumped. 

He stands stiff as he talks to the coach, keeping his gaze stern on his coach. He seems to be wearing normal trackies and only has a very slim back for his racket. 

“He’s obviously a beginner, his bag is so thin compared to Coach and even Haechan, he also doesn’t look like a long-time player” Jaemin pipes in.

“Who are you to say? You said you’ve been playing for how long and you’re still this bad?” Soojin smiles as she dodges Jaemin’s hand by a fraction. But Ryujin isn’t having any of it as she breathes in with her teeth clenched, hissing out a sound of suspicion.

“Coach seems to know him, which makes me think he’s either been here before, or he’s just the coach's nepotism offspring.”

“Okay!” The coach claps his hand, forcing everyone to act like they were practising. “Gather around; we’re gonna do a basic skills test for this lesson, then I’m gonna split you up into groups and we’ll get to work with the people with the same skills. Cool?” He throws two thumbs up as everyone stays silent, with one of the two people nodding. You watch as he sees the coach's enthusiasm die down a little.

“Cool?” The coach had yelled now, startling everyone else in the second round of heart attacks; everyone else yell back this time, the word ‘cool’ echoing around the grand sports court. You notice that everyone’s responded to the coach's request except for Jisung.

“Oh girl . . .” Juda now has her manicured hand placed on your sulked shoulder of realisation.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Juda.” You look into the distance of the arcade, feigning sorrow; or maybe it’s not much of a feign.

“The fuck,” Chenle turns to see both of you huddled in what looks like a cry fest. “Did someone fucking die?”

“Watch your tongue,” An old woman wearing a neon orange vest belonging to the arcade staff points at Chenle, who bows down as he murmurs ‘sorry’, with you two trying your best not to laugh, following and bowing your heads down too when the seething woman’s eyes meet your figures.

“How dare you anger the poor lady, her blood pressure is probably already high enough,” Juda picks at Chenle, who is now quietly trying to slip in the token to play another round.

“I wouldn’t have if you guys didn’t just suddenly go emo for no reason. What the f—” Chenle’s eyes waver back and see the woman’s eyes (Are they naturally red? Or is it the arcade lighting?) glaring back at him once more. “Frick. What the frick happened.”

“Oh Chenle, we must mourn for her. She’s fallen for another mysterious guy who barely has any personality.” 

“Oh my god,”

“Oh my fucking god, what—”

“Fuck,” Jisung sighed when he missed the shuttlecock by just a hair's width. Everyone was standing in a line-like formation, at the tip of their toes against the line that made the distinction between the playing court and outside. Jisung and the coach were having a match, the first test that the coach had implemented to determine who goes into what group according to their skills, and when no one volunteered, Jisung silently centred himself on the court as the coach's face broke out into a glow. 

Although his face was adorned with wrinkles even when still, and his skin did seem to look just a smidge pruney all the time — the I’m growing old look he had on his face was impossible to miss — the coach’s never looked sharper and younger than he does now, zipping through his side of the court like a bees race. Jisung on the other hand, seems to have a calm demeanour, quietly and tranquilly stepping forward and back, delivering lobs and clears, limbs outstretched to effortlessly hit the shuttlecock back even if it seems that his position doesn’t allow such moves. 

In the cold of Autumn, the stiffness of everyone's bodies was just the tiniest bit evident after a round of stretching, but two right in front of you look as if they’re playing in the heat of the summer, arms and legs effortlessly moving around the court. You try not to look too intently into the thin glisten of sweat forming on Jisung's neck.

Soojin raises her hand without taking her eyes off of the two people playing intensively in front of her, as Jaemin reaches in his pockets to place ten thousand won into her open palm, not letting his gaze wander away from the game either. “Thank you for your service.”

“I can’t believe he’s that good, I should’ve known from his cocky demeanour.” Haechan sighs, his fist resting against his cheek, hoisted up by his other hand. Everyone looks in his direction.

“You would think that it takes one to know one,” Minji almost barely whispers as she looks away from him by her side, looking back at the game with everyone else following. 

“Ah, fine. You won.” Coach drops his racket down from its first stage position, going towards the net with an open palm. Jisung barely takes a step forward before he’s lifting his hand too, shaking hands over the net as everyone claps behind them.

“Okay then, who’s next?”

You spend half the lesson just like that, with everyone playing against the coach followed by him then instructing everyone to get into the key badminton positions. You suspect that this is the core of learning badminton as the coach guides you from the way you hold your racket to the way your feet are positioned, but all you’re really thinking about right now is how badly you just want to go home.

“Okay!” The coach claps, as people gather around him in a semi-breathless state, just from being told to carry out a few sets of actions that badminton has. You don’t know why badminton necessarily needs ladder crossovers, but you barely get to give out a sigh before your eyes catch on Jisung’s seemingly calm composure. He’s done so much and maybe even a round extra, but he’s barely breaking a sweat.

Why does he look so good? Show off.

“Believe it or not, we’re done already! I now have an understanding of what level each one of you is in and will put you into groups.” You keep trying to wipe at your face to keep the sweat away, but an even coat of sweat is now settled on your hand after wiping it many times, so it only feels like you’re spreading it evenly. 

All while mysterious Jisung barely lifts his shoulder to have the cloth of his shirt wipe away the bead at his temple. 

How utterly gross of him. You wonder if he’s single.

“So I will see you all next week and give your level, thanks for joining!” And everyone disperses, spreading around the hall to get to their bags and start packing. You are standing above your bag, packing it and taking your bottle out to take a sip when you see Minji and Soojin whisper shouting, which defeats the whole point of whispering in the first place.

“How much do you wanna guess that he eats and sleeps here?” Soojin is practically bouncing in her place, taking multiple obvious glances at Jisung’s figure, who’s seemingly roaming around in his bag instead of packing it like everyone else, his racket placed neatly on top of his bag instead of inside.

“Nothing, because at this point it almost seems like a fact.” And with that, you shoulder your bag and head for the door, too tired to function.

“And you have no muscle aches? Impressive.” Juda pipes, her eyes glued to the road as she drives them back home.

“Oh no, I do. I just plastered a few KT tapes.” You say from your position in the passenger seat, elbow resting against the rolled-down window with your hand against your forehead, getting a nice breather from the wind outside. Chenle who’s sitting in the middle reaches his hand forward and pulls your sleeve up from behind to reveal your arm and shoulder lined up with tapes of blue and green. 

“A few huh,” Juda smiles and Chenle retorts, as you tch at them both. 

“I didn’t want to risk it, okay?” You say, yanking the cloth back down and slapping at Chenle’s hand, facing forward once again with your hands crossed defensively and gaze set outside again. The car lights up in the yellow of the street lights, as Juda drives through the night. 

“So when’s your next class?”

“And group A has . . . Jisung. Just Jisung”

“No, bad dog. Stop taking your anger out on Chenle’s biceps,” Juda attempted half-assedly to swat at your hands while her eyes were still glued to her phone, as you retell what happens with your next class.

“It hurts, Juda. Make her stop!”

You were furious. Group C? You knew you were better than that, having played almost every other sport growing up, even if occasionally, you’d gotta be good at badminton. Why is Jisung the only one in group A? Yes, fine, maybe he plays well, but it also means that you’ve been ranked down a group just because he was too perfect. Why does he attend the class if he’s already so good?

Subconsciously, you try to convince yourself to not take this whole grouping thing quite literally, as the coach had said that they’re not ranked or anything; but how can you not take it personally when the people you thought you were on par with were in group B. It takes all of your willpower for your scowl to not be displayed, but you soon find that you don’t have to try too hard as the coach assigns you all to your positions.

“Lighter on the feet,” Coach ordered, the squeak of shoe soles rubbing against the floor echoing throughout the sports hall. You, Soojin, Jaemin and Minji go through what the coach calls fundamental steps; right foot northeast with a forehand flick, right foot northwest with a backhand flick. It helps with the basics of the game, which everyone forgets, but you don’t think half an hour of the same steps helps with remembering either.

While group B, which consists of Haechan and Ryujin, go through the same phases with some extra steps added to strengthen their posture while playing. It’s not that you think your play better than the people in your group or group B, but mainly your irrational annoyance stems from the fact that you’re position in the class is gonna be recorded into your progress report, and you know for a fact that if Jisung wouldn’t be participating this dead class, you would be in group B. Yes, it’s still the last group out of two, but you can say that you’re merely ranked second. Instead, you’re last out of three.

As the steps turn repetitive, you let your eyes wander around mindlessly, your feet carrying you throughout as your hands attempt to do the actions in a somewhat muscle memory process. Your gaze eventually settles on Jisung, whose back is facing you as he smacks the shuttlecock against the wall, which bounces back only for him to smack at it again, repeating this one-man game he seems to have made up for himself. You glare lasers into his back, thinking about how maybe you’re not into this whole mysterious demeanour as you thought you were, seeing him just making up his own moves as the coach merely bounces back between the two of your groups, only checking in on Jisung after a few rounds of lecturing your moves and correcting your mistakes. 

Three consecutive claps echo around the tall indoor court, as everyone drops their rackets at their bags and gather around the coach in a circle, somewhat holding some sort of formation with Ryujin to his right and Jisung to his left, and with you positioned almost opposite of him. “Good job everyone, now it’s time to cool down, exactly how we warmed up,” Clueless, most of you follow the coach’s steps while he urges each person to take turns counting, counting up to eight in a clockwise direction. Your eyes can’t stop fleeting to Jisung, the star of every badminton night, as your petty envy prevents you from minding your own business. Throughout the whole night, you’ve seen him take only warming up and cooling down somewhat seriously, as he crosses his arms and holds up a good posture, compared to the rest of the class who simply just slump over, wanting the session to end and finally catch a break. 

One final clap and you’re all free to go. And you don’t waste a second, grabbing all your essentials and bag and quickly darting for the door, ready to go home and wash up and just not support your whole body weight on your feet. As you bid everyone goodbye and bow your head lightly to the coach, you watch as Jisung strides up to the coach in a meek manner, as his eyes fall on your retreating figure just slightly before softly calling out the coach's name. 

It’s nine p.m. on the dot when you step out of the court and breathe in the cold air.

Juda’s on the couch when you step into the apartment, toeing off your sports shoes as you rest your badminton bag against the shoe shelf, at hand for your next trip to your class. 

With a mouth full of chips, Juda barely takes her eyes off the screen before asking “How was class?”

“Same old,” You shrug.

“Same old? You’ve only been twice. How in tune are you with the coach for it to—” Your groan stops her teasing, as she smirks at your tired form squatting against the floor, hands clutching at the door and your hair in frustration.

“Could you have at least let me get home first before frying my brain?” Your hand falls to your face, and that’s when you feel the residue of your sweat from earlier, having turned into oil. The urge to shower now tenfold, you attempt to raise yourself and pass out in the shower.

“I’m gonna wash up now, and probably go to sleep,” You mutter just loud enough for Juda to hear, to which she hums while you retrieve a towel.

“Oh wait, before you go,” She calls just as you inch towards your room, “Do you know where my umbrella went? I’m going to campus tomorrow and I think it’s gonna rain again. I tried calling you but I don’t think it went through,” 

“Oh yeah, It’s by the door.” You recall taking the umbrella to class today, as the forecast has been filled with rain symbols with the Autumn weather. Digging in your bag, you push past your essentials in order to find your phone which Juda’s called. “That’s weird, my phone is not here.”

“Did you take it with you today?” Juda mumbles as she munches on a few more chips, rubbing her fingers against her pants after every serving. 

“I’m sure I did,” You ponder out loud, as you remove your hands from your bag in favour of patting at your pants and jacket resting on the clothing hanger, in case you somehow shoved it in your pockets without knowing.

“Did you forget it?” As soon as the words leave your roommate's mouth, you are met with a vivid picture of your phone, abandoned on the bench in the badminton court you left in a hurry. You sigh, placing your towel on the bathroom counter briefly before grabbing your house keys while putting your shoes on.

“I’ll be back Juda,”

“Good luck,” She waves.

You’re beyond tired, and a little frustrated at yourself for being impatient and forgetting your phone. You can’t risk losing such a thing, hence you’re glad that the lights were still on when you arrived at the building, giving a wave to the receptionist. 

Stepping onto the court, you immediately zero in on your phone which is perched on the bench, the black shade of the screen a contrast against the silver metal bar. But a squeak of a sole against the floor earns a squeal out of your mid-march, as you clutch your shirt next to your heart and turn towards the perpetrator.

“Oh my god,” Jisung’s gaze is what you’re met with as you let out a sigh of relief, the man in question only turning around as you mutter under your breath. 

“Sorry,” That’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all day, and there’s something about the tone of his voice that calms your heart down just a bit.

“What are you still doing here?” Your curiosity gets the best of you, your forgotten phone laying there, continuing to be overlooked as you question the presence of your classmate.

His eyes squint ever so slightly at your question, as his eyes ghost over you, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “I’m practising,”

Practising? After two hours of badminton class, he didn’t seem like he did much then, but he’s still staying back to practice. You hum in slight adulation, rocking back and forth on your feet as he turns back around and runs through steps you’re unfamiliar with. As you inch towards your phone, you think more about his prominent presence in the court; is he too shy in class? Or maybe he gets private classes from the coach?

But as you scan your eyes around the court, you’re met with a near-empty court, as the only thing in sight is his bottle and slim bag. You’re not sure exactly what you’re waiting for as you hold onto your phone, fidgeting on your spot as your eyes follow Jisung’s swift movements. He seems more tired now than he ever was in the two classes you’ve shared with him, as his shoulders ride up more with an attempt of regaining stability with his breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’ve loitered around, but it must be a long amount of time for Jisung to look at you with disdain and shock.

“. . . Why are you still here?” He seems more reserved — something you didn’t know could happen — as he asks you this question, holding his racket subconsciously closer to his body. Your eyes widen at the prospect of being caught, as you shake your hands vehemently, stumbling back a bit. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” You didn’t know how you were going to explain yourself, but one glance at the door of the court is all you need.

Bowing your head as quickly as you can in a lieu of a goodbye, Jisung could barely apprehend what you did before you’re bolting out of the badminton court.

A week later, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to face Jisung with your awkward encounter, and it is evident that the incident has been plaguing your mind as you stand at the door of the sports centre, both hands gripping the strap do your bag. 

“What if he thinks I’m a weirdo for just standing there and stalking him?” Your wandering mind does nothing to help ease the situation, as more arbitrary scenarios flow after one another. Maybe he told the coach how much of a creep you are and now when you step in, you’ll be banned from class.

“Oh dear god,” You let your head fall forwards, trying to tip over the thought out of your head. Closing your eyes, you try to think of the things you can do once the class is over when a tap on your shoulder brings you out of your reverie. You turn to look behind your shoulder, fearing that it's someone robbing you or worse— Jisung; only to see coach Son, smiling at you with a hint of worry laced on his forehead. 

Your shoulders sag with relief. “Hi coach,” you wince internally at your response, voice coming out high-pitched as you clench your grip on your bag. 

“Let's go in and start some warm-ups, yeah?” And as you follow the coach to the class, you make sure to subtly hide behind him in case you catch s glimpse of Jisung anywhere, not wanting to run into him. As you quietly peek your head over his right shoulder once and his left shoulder next, you feel like a secret agent sneaking up on your target. A clearing of someone's throat snaps you out of your act, as your shoulders bunch up and in shock and you quickly turn, only to be met with the feared man of the night.

It seems like he’s been trying to go up to the coach and maybe say hi, but your lurking figure both stopped and perplexed him, not knowing why you were just peeking your head around like a mole rat.

“Sorry,” You mumble slightly, eyes wide as you back away towards the closest wall, wanting to blend into it and live with the bricks. Maybe you’ll face less embarrassment that way but knowing you, anything is possible.

“It’s okay,” His voice is as unassuming as always, eyes looking anywhere but you now that he’s caught your attention. You think his shyness is quite cute, but not for long as you think back to being scared of him from last week to being jealous of him, also from last week. That’s a lot of emotion for you to process. 

He pulls up his hands, now shaped into a fist and looks past you, but you know he’s talking to you when he mutters, “Fighting,” before fully facing away and walking past you as if the mortification of his action has caught up to him. You barely contain your shocked expression behind your hand.

“Good job today guys, now we all have a basic grasp of the initial steps and our skills when it comes to badminton.” You brace your hands on your knees, just having done a set of wall squats as a way to build stamina, or so you’ve been told. You thought that maybe a month into these classes and you would’ve had some sort of energy stashed away in you when attending class, but it’s week five and you’re fighting for your life three seconds into a plank.

“Now I don’t wanna treat this class academically, but for those of you who truly care, there will be an assessment in the midst of this course to reevaluate your standing and see if you can advance from your group! But other than that, remember that this class can be solely for fun reasons too . . .” The rest of coach's words were white noise to your ears. Reevaluation? Does that mean that you can advance? That you’ll have a shot? 

“Are you okay?” Soojin leans in toward you, whispering while pointing to what you assume would be the shock on your face. You turn to her, drawing a thumbs up to reassure her. And before you know it class is done and you’re pulled to do a series of cool-down moves. You eagerly follow through, now somehow charged with motivation to stay back and go over your moves a few times. You figure that the least you can do to move up a rank is to spend an extra hour going over your moves, even when you sometimes think about the significance of them.

You tread up to the coach and ask in your kindest voice if it was possible for you to stay back. “Of course, are you gonna go through the steps again?” He questions as he shifts his bag from one hand to another. You give a nod and wave goodbye, watching as everyone litters out of the court.

Well, almost everyone.

You can feel, more than anything, Jisung’s gaze piercing your figure through the hood of his jumper, while you give your best attempt at stretching. You’re not sure really what stretches best help with reducing the ache in your muscles the day after, but you figure the endeavour of reaching your toes should do.

Even after a few minutes of trying to appear mellow, Jisung’s presence alone makes you feel on edge as if you’ve stolen his territory. But you figure that nothing will change and that all you can really do right now is, well, practice.

The squeak of your shoes echoes every now and then, followed by a whip sound of the racket you’re flinging in the air. If you do this quickly enough, surely your skills will improve, right? From what your coach Son demonstrated earlier, you realised that as he would start off the steps slowly for your group to get a hang of, he was able to transition the speed to his liking, doing each step quickly and efficiently. 

“Okay, should be easy,” You’re careful not to speak too loud in the almost quiet hall, giving yourself words of encouragement. Hand braced in the first position, then in the second, then a slight step back, and then your hand straight and quickly bend.

You finish the routine with its final step of hitting the imaginary shuttle as fast and as straight as your hand can go with such speed. With one round done, you brace yourself in the initial position to do it again. One, two, three and four.

You only get to pump out four, maybe five rounds of this pattern before a clearing of someone's throat scares the daylights out of you. With a barely contained shout, you’d forgotten — however briefly — that you weren’t alone. You’re looking at Jisung, who seems shocked at accidentally shaking you up so much, before he says something to you.

“What?” Even with the stillness of the court, the man’s words were barely comprehensible, as yours echoed slightly throughout the court. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Oh, so the first comment he ever mutters to you are words of criticism. You furrow your brows, head tilting slightly out of habit as you encourage him to go on.

“When you’re recoiling from hitting the shuttle, your racket still faces forward instead of down,” He explains, but none of it makes sense to you and it must be evident in your face, with Jisung looking slightly frustrated that the words did not register in your head.

“If you keep your racket facing forward, the ball isn’t going to go down but head straight, which allows your opponent to retaliate better.” He continues, and you somewhat understand where he’s getting at, but he’s not really helping you at all. All he did was point out your mistake, which makes you feel that he’s just trying to show off his knowledge.

“Well, what should I do then?” You can’t help but seem a bit agitated, as you slump your shoulders and let the racket settle by your ankles, your hold on the handle tightening ever so slightly.

“Hit it face down,” He raises his arm and demonstrated the step to you, causing the head of his hoodie to fall, shining the light of the court on his face. You’re briefly stuck looking at his face instead of his step, but were reeled back in when he makes eye contact. You clear your throat as he goes through the step again, which you think were exactly the steps you were doing a second ago.

“But, how was I any different?” You say as you mimic his steps, bracing yourself in the positions without much thinking, and hitting the imaginary shuttle right as when he does.

“No- see, you did it again,” He steps a bit closer as he gestures to the racket in your hand. “You’re hitting it straight on. You’re supposed to go down.” You sigh as he says this, feeling a bit irked that a mere student is trying to tell you what to do. He is in the top rank, so maybe he has a point.

Attempting to set your implicit annoyance aside, you intently look at his hand and the way he moves his wrist at the end of the step, trying your best to imprint this into your head. He looks a bit flustered with how much your gaze is focused on him, but still goes on two more times before nodding his head at you, encouraging you to try once more. 

You look at the position of your hand this time instead of him, going through the initial steps and tweaking your wrist to face more downwards this time than your last few attempts, before your eyes quickly flit towards Jisung, looking for some sort of confirmation with your try. The subdued purse of his lips assures your suspicion, which is that you’re doing it right this time round.

“Good, did you kinda find out what you were doing wrong?” The words come out on reflex, and you don’t think twice this time about him being in the same class as you and yet trying to coach your steps, as you ponder on his question.

“I mean, I found out I was doing something wrong when you pointed it out, but I’m not quite sure what you meant when you said I was hitting it straight on.”

“Wow, you were really into him weren’t you?”

“Shut up Chenle, I was into the badminton technicality.”

Jisung steps forward a little bit and is about to say something before he hesitates. You look at him sceptically, waiting to see what he was gonna say before he shakes his head and seemingly snaps himself out of it. “Can you go back to the third position?” He asks of you, which you raise your hand and assume the position. Your racket and arm are raised pointed straight to the ceiling, while he positions his fisted hand in front of you. Your questioning look doesn’t go unnoticed, as a slight smile appears on Jisungs face before he nods at you, saying, “Okay, now gently go down like you would and stop at my hand.” 

You do as you’re told, with Jisung’s eyes settled on your concentrated face following his orders, as the face of your racket meets his fist, the white of his knuckles colouring for a bit. 

“See, you’re hitting the front of my knuckles, but that will send the shuttle forward.” He demonstrates by pulling his fist back, “That will give the other player a better opportunity of retaliating.” He then readjusts your racket by the throat, having the net hit the top of his fist. “This gives you a better chance.”

“But like, how am I giving them a better shot?” 

You’re not sure what was funny or amusing about your question, but it seems that there must be something there for Jisung to sport a cute small smile, as he picks his racket back up and moves to one of the set-up nets, and funnily enough, you find yourself following him subconsciously. He picks up a shuttlecock on his way to the net and positions himself, as you stand at his side.

“See, let’s say the shuttle is coming at you this way,” He holds the shuttle with one hand as if the opposing player had shot it at him over the net. “If I hit it the way you had— actually, why don’t you try receiving the ball.” And so you shuffle over, standing opposite of his ready stance with your arms crossed, intrigued.

“I’ll throw the shuttle back to you and try seeing if you can hit it back.” You realise that this is the most you’ve heard him speak in the past five weeks that you’ve attended the class together. You bring your hand up and stand in the ready position you remember coach telling you about when initiating a game, and Jisung takes that as a sign that you’re ready and hits the shuttle at a moderate speed. You hit the ball back with ease, as it goes over back to Jisung’s side, who catches it with his other hand. You let out a long ‘ahh’ sound of understanding, hand clutched at your side. 

“You’re right, that was hell easy,” You brood aloud, but not before asking one of your other endless questions. “But then, how would the other way be any different?”

From the looks of it, Jisung seems over the moon that you asked such a question, holding back a smile by biting on his lips lightly and quipping his head to the side. He holds up the shuttle and looks at you, gauging to see if you’re ready to receive the ball once again. As you regain your ready position, you see the ball suspended in the air briefly before Jisung hits it at the ‘better’ angle, which is seemingly from the head of it, but before you can process anything else a zip sounds past you and the ball has landed behind you.

Your gasp resonates through the hall as you look behind you to where the shuttle has landed, with a hand coming to your mouth as you look at Jisung. The latter contains his smug smile behind his own hand, as you point at the ball and look back and forth. “What did you just do?”

“Ah, that’s a technique that's called smash.” You falter slightly.

“That’s a weird fucking name I’m not gonna lie,” You glance at the ball once more with a look of disgust, before shaking yourself out of it. “Oh my god, that was so cool.”

You didn’t think that you would be getting a one-on-one lesson when you decided to stay behind today, but you’re quite surprised with how he was able to spot such a little detail so quickly. And that gives you an idea.

“Jisung,” You call his name for the first time since you met him five weeks ago, which surprises the said man, as you see his eyes startle and a few strands of his hair jerk. “Do you stay after class every week?”

He’s a bit quiet for some time, processing your question thoroughly. He nods his head briefly, but not before a bit of hesitation. 

“Is it . . . Can you help me improve?” You’re a bit shy now that you voice your question out loud, but you’re determined to move up at least one rank and land second place; or even just have a good academic score, even in badminton. 

Seeing the blank face that Jisung is now sporting, you think about the unfair offer you’ve just made to him. Why would he spend his extra time after class to teach you, his potential competitor, without getting anything out of it? You’re not sure what you can offer him, maybe some sort of payment? But before you can ponder even more, you catch a slight nod of his head from the corner of your eye.

“Is that . . .  a yes?” You lock eye contact, as he nods his head once more but with more vigour and confirmation. 

“Why?” It’s your turn to look at him with confusion.

“Are you asking me?” He points to himself, as he slightly tilts his head as if he was going to look as if you were talking to someone else. You shake your head quickly once he asks the question, raising even more questions.

“Actually, no. I take back what I said. You said yes, right? You can’t change your mind. Or, I mean you can but like I would be pretty bummed about it because you already said yes but I’d respect your choice.” You take a deep breath in once you finish, looking at him and clasping your hands together a bit too harshly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll help you with what you need.” Relief washes over you and you can’t help but smile in thanks.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing too.” Jisung hums for you to continue, as he goes towards his bag and retrieves his bottle to take a sip.

“Can you teach me how to smash?” And maybe you should’ve waited for him to be done with that bottle first.

You think you’re quite good at being subtle and on the low, no matter how much Juda and Chenle counter that argument. You can be sneaky if you put your mind to it, and it's been proven many times in high school when you would sneak your favourite snack during the middle of the class without your strict teacher finding out.

So you’re not sure where you went wrong when you held out a snack bar in Jisungs direction, only for the whole court to look at you weirdly. You merely strutted up to him with maximum placidity and poked out the bar from your hand into his torso, looking away and hoping he would get the memo and take from you as with a mutter of something that sounds really close to the word ‘thanks’.

But it’s been a solid fifteen seconds and not only is the bar still in your hand, but everyone in the class has slowed down their activities in favour of looking at you two. Even coach’s staring as if he’s trying to solve a very complex puzzle.

“Is this . . . for me?” Jisung’s voice comes out as a rumble, not knowing if he should whisper or talk normally, sounding out something in between instead. 

Of course this is for you, idiot. Why am I holding it in your direction??

You ignore his question and shake the bar in your hand with a bit more intensity, hoping that he would finally get the memo. It isn’t until ten more seconds pass that you lose all hope and turn to him, grabbing his hand and placing your gratitude in his open palm, closing his fist around the energy snack.

You stomp your way to start your warm-ups before Jisung could say anything.

“When you aim your hand, you’re not really looking at the shuttle,” Jisung starts after a few rounds of one-on-one games you’ve started after class. “Your eyes are just hovering around it for a few seconds before you look around and put yourself in position. You’re supposed to go in position without looking, it should be intuitive.” You huff at his explanation, dropping your hands by your sides.

“How do I ‘look’ at it more, then?” You’re grateful that Jisung is helping you, but it’s just the tiniest bit unnerving for him to recognise your every move and be able to point out your mishaps. He moves back from the net, creating a decent amount of space in his playing circle. He starts throwing the shuttle up with his badminton racket, the distance from the shuttle and its net growing with each hit.

“Practising this move helps,” He says as he works through what you remember the coach demonstrating the first few classes. As the shuttlecock goes higher and higher with each impact, your eyes catch on the silver of skin poking out as Jisung lifts his hand to meet the shuttle, his shirt rising for a few seconds every time. 

“I think it would be better if you looked at the shuttle?” His words catch you off guard, as you look up and meet his gaze already settled on your, eyes gleaming as he pokes at his cheek with his tongue. 

“Shut up,” You look away, flustered that you got caught, before attempting the moves, refusing to look back at him.

The condensation of the electrolyte drink is addled with the dampness of your hand, as you make your way to class the week after. You see Ryujin talking to the coach as you enter, and Jisung at his bag, seeming to ruffle through it in order to retrieve something. You strut your way up quietly, not wanting to attract any awkward attention by giving gratitude in the form of a drink to your unofficial instructor. As you open your mouth to call Jisungs name, the tall man turns around and gives you the faintest hint of a smile, before his eyes land on your hand.

“Hi, here.” You spout, as you extend your hand straight towards him, some of the condensation dropping on the floor and finding solace in the gaps of your fingers. His hands feel dry and warm as it brushes against yours, retrieving the drink from your grasp.

“You didn’t have to. Thank you; for last time too,” Your cheeks heat up at his words as you avert your gaze away, opting to look at the playing net instead. “Don’t mention it,” Your damp hand wrings against the dry one behind your back, as you slowly let your gaze wander back to Jisung, who’s now looking at the blue bottle in his hand.

“Did you know,” He twists the drink in his hand and looks at what you think is the nutrition information. “Electrolyte doesn’t actually help when you exercise.” Your expression sullens as he continues to look at the drink you gave him. “Your body loses more water than electrolytes when you exercise, and so there is no use consuming more electrolytes. Water helps way more in comparison,” The scowl on your face makes Jisung stop in his tracks as he looks up after finishing his bite-sized lecture.

“Well, if you’re so ungrateful—” You reach your hand out to snatch the bottle from him but are stopped short as his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. “No!” He exclaims and a chuckle slips past as your struggle to get the drink, reaching out your other hand before he captures that too, now both of your wrists trapped in his hand. Your eyes widen, with your wrist bound and fighting up a struggle, all impaired with Jisung’s hand wrapped. Before your mind can wander to what other scenarios can result in him bounding up your hands, he continues; “I’m very grateful. You don’t have to give me these things just because I give you a few tips after class.”

You pause your struggle, letting your hands be weighed down. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been helping you at all. Sometimes I even set you back, so it’s the least I can do.” You say truthfully. You do sometimes feel like a burden when Jisung gives you a tip and you don’t adapt immediately, sometimes it takes you maybe two after-class lessons until you can successfully cast back the shuttle over the net with a short distance. The only way you could think about paying him back was through these pick-me-up snacks.

“Okay, how about this,” You miss the warmth and pressure of his hand against your wrist as soon as he lets go to put the drink down behind him and straightens back up, looking away as he slowly grows flustered with what he’s about to say next. “Treat me to ice cream maybe?”

You smile at his antics, happy to have been told how you could repay him. “Deal,” He visibly deflates with relief as you zealously agree, putting your bag down next to his as you both start to unpack. 

You shuffle to the bathroom as soon as practice is over, giving Jisung a quick point towards the direction you’re going to ease his worries about you running away. Once inside, you’re met with the cool breeze and a mirror that reflects your spent figure. Oh god, how were you gonna go out like this? Is this what you looked like this entire time? Shuffling to the sink, you shoulder your bag back as you lean over the sink and lightly dab at your face with some water, before cleaning yourself up and dabbing the paper towel against your face. 

You don’t know why you were so nervous to do this; it’s truly just some ice cream with your temporary and unofficial coach. But you truly wanted him to see your gratitude, and soon enough you’re thinking if ice cream isn’t enough, and budgeting how you can come up with enough money for an all-you-can-eat buffet at this time of the night. But before you could even add up the numbers on your fingers - it was a two in one hand and three in another, not quite sure what they meant - the sound of the door opening echoes in the bathroom, jumping you out of your reverie. 

Turning around, you just catch Minji stepping in, looking taken aback at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to enter this public bathroom. “You okay?” She calls after you, and you can only hope that the smile on your face is convincing enough.

“Yup! Just . . . tired,” You cringe a bit at the overused excuse, but your shoulders slump when she just smiles back at you. 

“It’s okay, maybe your date with Jisung would cheer you up?” You feel something lodge in your throat, coughing out in surprise.

“No!” You retort, hands coming out from behind you as if to stop all ideas from forming. “We’re- It’s not like that. He’s just-” Minji looks at you with amusement, as she shifts her weight and crosses her arms, urging you to continue. The mind blank you’re sporting is not at all helping with a way to express what you truly are doing with Jisung, and so you try: “I just owe him something for smashing his racket.” And that was the best you could do.

Minji’s smile falls, as her arms drop at her sides. “You . . . smashed his racket?” 

You don’t know why her voice was laced with such concern, but you figure that you have to finish what you started. “Yeah, to pieces actually. Sometimes the adrenaline truly gets to you, right?” You chuckle a bit, trying to find a gap in the conversation where you can squeeze back out of the bathroom.

“Well, I’ll see you next week,” You clench the strap of your bag and exit the bathroom, ready to dart out of the place. As you turn a sharp right, you are immediately met with a sheet of white, which suspiciously looks like the colour of the shirt Jisung was wearing today. Hands are placed at your shoulder and you’re quickly set back half a step from the wall, or at least enough to recognise that it wasn’t a wall, but rather Jisung’s tall figure.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes flicking from his own to the arms stretching to your shoulders, catching a few veins adorning his forearm. A clear of his throat has you looking entirely away, as you grab at his wrist and start tugging towards the exit. 

The white lights of the LED sign of the ice cream place illuminate most of the dark street, with most businesses having closed earlier in the day save for a few convenience stores littered with tired college students like yourselves. You eye the shop and its extravagant decor, sceptical about being brought to such a high-end ice cream shop.

“You know, when you said ice cream, I thought you had wanted me to buy you some popsicles from some convenience store. Not someplace about exorbitant ice cream with fifty years of craft in making,” You nudge your elbow a bit to Jisung’s side, to which he responds by twisting his head in your direction.

He splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry I forgot that, you know you were gonna pay,” You notice his hands move as he speaks, something you’ve picked up from when you would talk to him or notice him talking to coach; it’s as if his words are spelt with his hands first and then brought out through his lips, now adorning a pout as he tries explaining himself.

“. . . I thought we were just, going out.” Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise at his words. Going out? As in, going out on a date? 

You wonder if your thought bubble is something he can see, as he quickly puts out his hands again, shaking them vehemently. “Not on a date! It’s just, I didn’t know what-”

“Jisung, it’s okay. I was just messing with you,” You decide to put him out of his misery, reassuring him before continuing, “I’ve never been here but I’ve been meaning to try it out, so I’m glad you suggested this place. Let me treat you to something good,” And without thinking, you link your arm through his and push through the door, the cool of the interior washing over both of you. The shop was mostly white, with white tiles placed as half-walls as well as the flooring, the only hint of colour being the green of a few plants and of course the various ice creams. The employee, who seems to be the only person in the shop, straightens up ever so slightly at the sight of the two of you entering, before slumping back down when you head towards the self-serve ice cream booths. Picking up two cups, you hand one to Jisung who’s at your right, before you pick up the scooper from a mini bucket of water, waving it around your choices.

“Tell me which flavour you want me to pick out for you,” You eye the various flavours of ice creams, seeing if you can find your favourite. You look at Jisung to see if he’s doing the same, only to see his eye zeroed in on one bucket which is contrastingly fuller than the different flavours around it.

“Mint chocolate ice cream?” Your question has JIsung nodding his head as he looks at you sheepishly. “I can’t believe you would choose the most controversial ice cream. You’re so original.” You tease, to which Jisung nudges you in retaliation.

“It’s a good flavour, if people stop comparing the mint and the chocolate and instead choose to see how much they complement each other, we would be one step closer to world peace.”

“That’s a bold claim, what’s your source?” Jisung grabs the scoop out of your hands with mock aggressiveness, opting to scoop his serving of the mint chocolate ice cream. “Your references? Where is your citation—” He cuts you off by placing his hand on your mouth after taking a scoop of his ice cream, as his chest meets your arm. 

He shushes you, “Just get your ice cream, yeah? I’ll go get my toppings,” He nods and lets go of your mouth, missing the way your cheeks heat up from his proximity and touch on your face. You bring the back of your hand to your face, prying the heat to go away as you shake your head and pick the scooper back up, reaching for your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Meeting Jisung at the counter, you place your cup of ice cream next to his on the weigh and fish through your bag as you wait for the person behind the counter to calculate your total. However, as soon as you probed your wallet out of your bag, the sound of a completed transaction peals out, making you turn your head up just to see Jisung putting his wallet back into his sweatpants.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” You insist, looking towards Jisung’s direction to generate some sort of guilt for his action. Instead, the man avoids your gaze, picks up two spoons, and places them in your cups, grabbing yours when he spots you not budging from the corner of his eye and turning to head for the door. You grab at his sleeve to force out his reasoning but are slowly pulled with him as he heads out, quickly turning around and bidding goodbye to the staff before he opens the door.

“Well, maybe you can pay next time,” At the mention of another time of you and Jisung hanging out, your initial sorrow washes over by a wave of giddiness. 

“Then give me your number,” You propose, fishing your phone out. “So I can see when you’re next free and make it up to you,” With wide eyes, Jisung’s hands hesitate as they reach out for your phone; before either of you can second-guess yourselves, he takes the phone and smiles shyly, typing in his details. Handing the phone back to you, you take a look at his contact before pocketing your phone as Jisung starts to speak.

You scoop a spoon of your ice cream into your mouth to hide your smile, but from a light chuckle that emits from your left side, you don’t think your efforts amounted to much.

You stretch your arm to reach the end of your leg, warming up your body before the mass class warmup, more so to have something to do instead of staring at Jisung who’s also here early and is also doing his own unique sets of warm-ups. 

Nothing about badminton is sexy; there’s nothing sexy about moving your wrist just in time to deliver some sort of groundbreaking delivery with the shuttlecock. Even the word shuttlecock grosses you out, as you suppress the urge to shiver at this very moment. 

So you’re not sure why the act of playing badminton with the wall is such an attractive sight to you; as Jisung grunts every now and then, seemingly surprised and unprepared by his own backhand delivery against the wall, which makes him take quick steps back and forth and side to side to meet each hit. His quick movements allow for his loose clothing today to move around freely, exposing toned skin every now and then. It takes a lot of your willpower to have you not to drool right then and there, as if you were back in high school once more.

One hit, in particular, bounced off high and far from the wall, the sound of the shuttlecock smacking against the wall echoing louder as it heads for Jisung’s left side, a direction that you’re situated in although with a safe amount of distance. The tall player retaliates by turning his body a whole hundred-and-eighty degree, facing away from the wall and essentially towards you as he tries to continue his streak of hits. Briefly, you see his eyes look at you and back at the shuttles descend, but his focus on the said thing falters when he looks at you again, realising that you’ve been watching him play. 

The shame of being caught should’ve arrived by now, as your shoulders stiffen with being onslaught by Jisung’s intense gaze. But before the chagrin could fully settle in, Jisung has completely passed the point of positioning his racket, causing the shuttle to fall and bounce off of his head and onto his feet. Gently clasping your hand at your mouth, you stop your giggles at the warning glare that Jisung sends to you; although his flushed cheeks aren’t making it any better.

“Say something and see what happens,” He points at you with the tip of his racket. You remove your hand and open your mouth, curious to see where this goes.

“Are you really gonna say something?” He steps closer to your figure, which is now sitting cross-legged on the ground with both hands placed on top of one another in front of you. He drops his racket on the ground, as if it doesn’t cost a limb, and instead places his hands right above his knees, looming over your figure. You can’t help it this time when your gaze follows towards the gap in the collar of his shirt, showing the sharp cut of his collarbone peeking through. It’s when your gaze is caught on his chain necklace dangling from his neck that the sound of a basketball bouncing echoes closer, as both of you look towards the direction it’s coming from. Not long after, a boy no older than ten shuffles in with his shoes squeaking against the floor, looking shocked at the fact that the two of you are here. 

The ball lightly hits Jisung’s calf, who simply picks it up and passes it back to the boy who’s seemingly frozen in place. As soon as the ball arrives at his own feet, he quickly picks it up and dashes out of the place. 

“Do you wanna bet to see who can reach past their toes?” Your question snaps Jisung out of his thought. The boy chuckles and sits down to your right, stretching out his legs and shaking them out as a form of warm-up.

“You’re so on,”

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you strut up to Jisung, who’s at his bag, taking out his needed items. With a tap on his shoulder, he turns to face you, giving you a smile as a greeting before scanning you.

“What are you doing this time?” You gasp in mock offence.

“This time? I haven’t even done anything yet?” 

“But you’re going to,” He points his fingers at your hidden hands. “You’re either gonna scare me or pull the lamest prank ever known to date.” Your smile drops and a scowl replaces it instead. 

When Jisung fully turns to face you, you smile once more and lean your shoulders in. “I actually brought you something to thank you. Again.” You shift the item from your left to your right hand, feeling nervous and embarrassed for saying it all out loud. “Because of you, I can hit a backhand serve and not smack myself.” The boy stands taller with your gratitude, a blush sporting on his face as his eyes look anywhere but at you. You must look like high schoolers confessing to one another with the way you’re both flustered and shy, which isn’t a thought you’re fully opposed to.

He nods his head, still avoiding looking directly at you, as he reaches his hands out, ready to receive what you’ve brought for him. You giggle slightly as he shuts his eyes and shakes his hands in anticipation, “Since you said electrolyte drinks don’t really help, and you like your proteins after class, I thought of a better third option and brought you,” You reach your hands out and place the gift on his palms, urging him to open his eyes.

Cold and dripping with condensation, the plastic water bottle perched on his hands seem small as his hands close around them to keep from falling. His eyes fall as he looks dimly at the bottle in his hands, and you look away briefly to keep from laughing straight in his face.

“Now I know what that kid felt like when he got gifted an avocado for Christmas.”

“Wait,” Chenle plops down next to Juda as he says this, but is quickly shoved to the other end of the couch with a complaint ‘It’s too hot for you to stick your gross body next to me’.

“What’s his deal then?” 

“What?” You turn to look at Juda first as if to check that you’re the only one confused. The furrow of the girls’ eyebrows proves the fact that you aren’t alone, as you both look at Chenle with visible empty thought bubbles surrounding you.

“Well, he’s a badminton prodigy according to you. Seems to have surprased all the basics and is just a step away from being a professional.” The initial shove and retort from Juda barely set him off, as he goes back to his original position and maybe squeezes himself even more to her side and pulls a spoon out, digging into her tub of ice cream.

“Why is he still coming to class if he’s qualified enough to teach you?” Unfortunately, for once Chenle does have a point. You’ve thought about this a few times at the beginning of the semester when you were a little more than irritated by the fact that he joined the class and made you rank down a notch; ever since he agreed to lend you a hand, you’re sometimes even happy when you see him come in.

“He has a point sadly,” Juda waves her spoon towards Chenle’s direction. “If he’s as good as you say he is, why bother coming to class?”

“Maybe you should ask him that on your next date,” The boy wiggles his eyebrows at you, squealing out a laugh when you pull your fist back in a threatening manner. 

“Maybe I will,” you blurt out, attempting an aggressive tone. Before you could let anyone, even yourself, comprehend what you said, you pressed play on the tv and snuggled up to Juda’s arm on her right, with Chenle leaching off of her to her left. 

“The things I put up with,” She huffs as she stabs her spoon into her ice cream tub, feeding you diligently.

[WEDNESDAY; 10:37 PM]

you: you

jwisung: ?

jwisung: what happened to hello

jwisung: ‘how was your day’

jwisung: wheres ur decorum

you: shut up you dont even know what that means

jwisung: :(

you: >.<

you: are you free this saturday at 9

jwisung: you mean

jwisung: the saturday 9pm where we just finish our badminton class?

jwisung: idk i gotta check my schedule to see if i have a badminton class around that time 

jwisung: omg wait are you gonna spoil me 

you: 😐

you: yes but not anymore

you: bye

jwisung: WAIR

jwisung: pleahse im soreu

you: not forgiven <3

you: i know this place that actually has good mint choc ice cream

you: not too minty not too chocolatey 

jwisung: you rmbrd that i like mintchoc?

you: dont do this to me

jwisung: okay i wont 😁

you: good boy

jwisung: …

you: ?

you: oh! 

jwisung: no

you: ill remember this too 😋

Your bag is bigger this time when you go to class, having packed an extra set of clothes and a towel to have a quick rinse after class before your not-date with Jisung. Arriving just in time for the warm-up session, you’re met with gloomy faces left and right. Plopping your bag down next to Soojin’s, you whisper when you ask, “Why does everyone look like they’ve been kicked?”

She looks up to you with a pout adorning her features. “Coach declared today a ‘cardio’ day. Something about wanting to boost our stamina or whatever the fuck.” She sighs as she shoves her stuff back into her bag, sadly shuffling across the court to do her designated warmups. You grimace as you follow, hoping your travel-size soap is enough.

Turns out Coach’s definition of cardio was way more intense than what you remember your gym friends raving about, as you put your hands on your knees to keep yourself from collapsing. A whistle from the coach signals a shift in your rep, making you change stations and do the next cycle of workout.

“Coach, how much longer are we gonna do this—”

“Until I start sweating, Jaemin. Now keep up!” Coach demands, which is absurd, because he isn’t doing anything but watching you do push-up planks and try not to collapse.

“Okay, stop,” He blows the whistle once more and you fall to your hands and knees, with everyone else modelling a variation of your position. Haechan’s high-pitched groan startles you, but not as much as the coach’s yelling that follows after.

“Don’t sit down guys! Sitting down after exercise is terrible for your stamina,”

“This sounds like some facebook myth my mom would tell me,” Ryujin pants as she shoves her fringe out of her face.

Coach smiles as he claps this time around. “You guys were great today, well done! As a gift, you can only do the stretching cool-down activities and I’ll finish class earlier today,” At that, the class erupts in out-of-breath cheers and barely lasting claps. 

You look to find Jisung, just to see how he’s holding up after this exercise round from hell, and you find yourself more than relieved to see him affected for once. Halfway through class, he’s opted to take off his hoodie, which left him in a white shirt and navy sweatpants, with sleeves bunched up to show his biceps and their carvings. The sight of him adorned with sweat and panting sends a twist to your stomach, and you’re quickly reminded that you’re supposed to go out with him after this.

Shuffling to your bag as quickly as you can with the ache pulsing through your legs, you’re about to head for the courts' public showers when you’re met with Jisung’s figure. 

“You can’t leave that easily, I have to try that ice cream,” He murmurs with a crooked smile. You smack at his shoulder.

“I wasn’t gonna leave, I wanted to take a quick rinse before we go out. That cardio really did a number on me,” Jisung falls a bit quiet at your words, as you visibly see him suddenly deep in thought. Before you get to question it, he beats you to it by straightening up and looking directly at you with an idea in mind.

“Why don’t you come to mine?” You blanch at his words but aren’t allowed to react more than that as he continues. “I live really close, and you can just use the shower before heading out. You have your stuff with you and I need a rinse too.” He points at your bag behind you, making you flush and subconsciously move to cover up your efforts. His idea doesn’t seem too bad, and you think this could be another excuse for you to make up to him. Let’s go out one more time because I used up all your hot water. Couldn’t think of a better idea. 

With a nod and a smile, you’re quickly guided out of the building shoulder to shoulder.

Jisung’s apartment really wasn’t far at all, as you arrive at the complex within a five-minute walk from the sports grounds. Living in a two-bedroom apartment with his roommate, who Jisungs said to have gone home this winter season, the place looks relatively clean with the effort of one person living in the area. He directs you to his room, where you place your bags and pick up your clothes before he points towards the bathroom.

“You can use my shampoo and soap, they’re both in some type of white bottle. Don’t use the blue ones because they’re my roommates’ and he has a sixth sense when it comes to these things,” You salute him and shuffle to the bathroom, trying your best to be as quick as possible to not leave him waiting and to not actually use up all his hot water. The bathroom was just slightly messy, with towels stacked on one another in a haphazard manner and shaving bottle caps abandoned and soap remnants staining the sink, you feel warm with the idea of getting to see this side of Jisung. A university student trying his best, not some badminton prodigy.

Rinsing your body one last time, you close the water tap and open the glass door of the shower, reaching out your hand blindly to retrieve your towel. After a few seconds of mindlessly flinging your arm and only coming back with a bang of your knuckle against the metal towel holder, you don’t really recall pulling out the towel from your bag, much less hanging it anywhere near the bathroom.

“Oh my god, why today?” The cold of the world outside the shower cubicle washes shivers over you as you open the door wide enough to fit your head around, scanning to see if there’s any alternative you can use instead. All you’re met with is bundles of toilet paper rolls stacked on top of one another and used toilet paper rolls dumped into a basket haphazardly. Your panic settles a bit quicker as your mind blanks from solutions, but not before a knock is heard through the door with your name being called.

“Yes?” You hide the waver in your voice as best as you can, closing the glass door just a bit more.

“Is everything okay?” Jisung’s voice rumbles through the door. Your hand flies to your body, suddenly feeling exposed with the reminder of Jisung’s presence. Slipping back into the shower, you raise your voice as much as you can to be heard through the door; “Yup! Everything’s fine. Just . . .” It’s just I’m dripping and naked in your house and the only remedy is a towel, which I don’t have.

“I noticed you forgot your towel,” The muffle of his voice cuts you out of your trance, “I can give it to you— I mean of course I won’t look! I can just— maybe I’ll stick my hand in?” You laugh slightly at the fact that he’s just as flustered as you, before replying with an agreement. 

As he opens the door with the smallest gap to fit the towel and then his wrist, the cold air of the outside reminds you again of your stark nakedness, one hand going across your chest as you reach your other to grab at the towel. With a skim of your wet fingers against his warm and dry ones, you retrieve your towel with a shy thanks, as Jisung quickly goes to close the door.

While getting ready as quickly as you could in the bathroom, your mind was filled with thoughts of how you were supposed to face Jisung after that whole incident. You couldn’t think if it was better to joke about it and get it over with or forget about it and have to come back one day for some form of closure. You hoped there was no need for closure.

But before your overthinking could get to you, Jisung regarded you like he would any other day when you stepped out of his bathroom — with a shy look and awkward hands — and you immediately relax, shoulders slumping as you go up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Jisung’s eyes flit towards it, but not for long before he opens the door and lets you lead the way.

The trip to the ice cream store was a short one, requiring only a train ride to the han rivers’ skirts where the shop is situated. The store itself was busy with people sitting all around snacking on its offerings, but once you get your respective ice creams and head out back towards the river, it’s a bit quieter; a breeze slips past you as you wrap an arm around yourself. With spring in the air, the trees’ full bloom flowers scatter around the pavement and are imprinted by the soles of your hoses as you walk by.

Finding a bench by the tree, the two of settle down on it, as you turn and face Jisung in anticipation of his first try.

“It’s really good, trust me. And it’s like a bit thicker with its mint rather than the chocolate bits which is a bit hard to do when you eat mint chocolate ice cream because it’s always the chocolate that's richer and you get si—” a spoonful of your ice cream is stuffed into your mouth, spluttering you to a stop as you glare at Jisung whos laughing at your expression.

“I had to shut you up one way,” You fist your hand at him in faux aggression, pulling out your spoon and placing it back into your cup.

“Just eat it quickly before it melts,” You exclaim with a hurried expression, feet bouncing up at down in anticipation. Jisung glances at you while he picks up his spoon, prodding at his ice cream before he picks up a spoonful of his ice cream, slowly bringing it to his mouth as he looks at your expression. He only laughs and detours his spoon once, bringing the spoon back up to his lips when the expression on your face shifts to a deadpan.

The pink of his lip contrasts with the mint colour of the ice cream dripping slightly from the spoon, as he finally fits the ice cream in and gives it a taste. Looking at his eyes with suspense, Jisung’s default expression of scepticism is what you see first, before it shifts into surprise, into confusion, and finally into the same expression as a kid getting candy. The glint in his eyes shines bright in the dim lighting that you’re in, as Jisung points to the ice cream while he continues consuming the ice cream.

“It’s good,”

“Of course it’s good. I wouldn’t bring you to try good mint chocolate if it wasn’t actually good mint chocolate,” You stifle a giggle when Jisung throws you a glower.

“You know what I mean,” At his positive reaction, you comfortably dug into your own ice cream, a comfortable silence blanketing you two with background noises of cyclers whizzing by and people talking in the distance.

“You’re doing really well,” Jisung starts with his eyes darted away, suddenly shy to look at you as he says, “In badminton, I mean. Your overhead shots are cleaner than mine.” Eyes still averted, he elbows you lightly with his compliment. You preen at his praise, leaning forward subconsciously to him with a thank you.

“It’s all thanks to you. If you weren’t as good as you are I wouldn’t even know that there are two methods of serving the shuttle.” 

Jisung’s laugh sounds less humorous, “Yeah, it must’ve been weird seeing me play alone during class,” There's a heavy pause as you visibly detect the boy sort through his next words. “I didn’t think you guys were . . . fond of me. When we first started,” You feel your stomach go white, colours flush from your face from his words. Did he know? Were you that blatant? You feel bad, remembering how isolated the boy was at that time as everyone distanced themselves since learning his level of expertise. You weren’t any better, the bitter feeling you harboured when you got ranked into the third group now coming back to you after three months of attending practice.

At the glum expression on your face, Jisung quickly goes to wave his hand. “Ah, it was— it wasn’t your fault or anything. I secluded myself too, so of course it would’ve been hard to talk as comfortably.” He rests his hand on yours that’s pressed against the bench, comforting you as if you’re the one whos been wronged, and not the other way around. Frowning at his consolation, you don’t know what comes over you as you flip your hand around, making your palm face his as you clasp his hands in yours.

You avoid looking at his expression as you make your bold move, looking at the river as you start. “If it makes you feel better, Jaemin always talks about how jealous he is of you whenever you do a smash,” Gathering the courage, you squeeze his fingers as you look at him, another question popping up in your head.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to, of course, but—” You cut yourself short when Jisung nods his head at you, looking at you with a calm demeanour.

“Why do you still come to class if you’re already so good? I mean, I swear you’re at national levels at least,” Jisung snorts at your words, growing shy from your praise.

“I’m being serious, don’t laugh!” Even as you say your words with furrowed eyebrows, your efforts barely last as you smile at his bashful posture. Puffing his cheeks, he ponders a bit on how to answer your question; you’re about to tell him to just forget it, not wanting him to answer something so personal, when he straightens his posture and stares ahead with a determined expression.

“The first time I played badminton was at a family gathering for new years, and I might’ve been four or maybe five when my dad put a racket in my hand and swung my arm around to hit at the throws my cousins would send my way. Then when I got older and was forced to play actual sports in school, the only thing that I was willing to play was badminton. I didn’t try hard in the beginning and was there because I heard that the teacher conducting it didn’t really care,” You snort at the picture of young Jisung barely lifting his hand to play, or letting the shuttle zoom right past him while flinching away entirely.

“But when the interschool competitions came around and I was ranked in the last group to play, I had won by pure luck,” He rubs his hands up and down his pants as he reminisces, shoulder rubbing against your subconsciously. “And then everyone started cheering me on because apparently, my accidental win had helped us accelerate to the next round. It made me feel good that I was the cause of such a thing, so I tried a bit harder the next time. Then I asked the higher ranking kids to help me with my serving, and then my mom to admit me to a badminton class, and I ranked up from F to D, and then to B and then A. My class started to admit me to local competitions outside of school hours, and then it had become such a big part of my life that I was determined to get to a national scale.”

“Did you?” Your voice was quiet when you spoke, ending with a bit of a rasp from its lack of use. You were on the edge of your seat if your position meant anything, arms wrapped around your knees, thighs pressed to your chest, making the waistband of your shorts dig a bit higher. Jisung’s smile is a sentimental one, reminiscent of a win resulting from years of effort.

“I was fifteen when I was cast by a racket sports centre, which focused on training people ranging from kids to young adults to get to national competitions and even more. I was over the moon and became one of those kids you barely see in class and when you do, they’re just sleeping through the subject. My first competition was scheduled three months after my admission, which was unheard of; even kids who have been learning at the place for two years would struggle to pass the first rounds for the entry.” Your eyes move along Jisung’s hand, as he comically explains his words through the movement of his fingers, expanding and collapsing joints onto one another.

“I didn’t win the first one, but I won the second, and the third, and built a streak - although short, just four months into training. In the beginning, it was all so exhilarating, the thrill of winning the title of first place with all these people who were just as gifted, if not even more. And so I would win because I was capable, I didn’t win because I was it was expected of me.”

“But,” You murmur as Jisung halts, bringing his hand down as his fingers fiddle with the texture of the bench. 

“But,” His excitement has burnt down to a sort of nostalgia, and you reach your hand down and clasp your hand over his again, before he looks down and turns his hand, palm facing yours as he links your fingers together. “But then, when I was seventeen, I had passed the initial rounds for the national Olympic competition. It was big news; our centre hadn’t had someone do that in decades, and that was when the pressure was tangible.

“My parents would schedule my day down to the minutes, and my coach made my diet strict, telling me what exactly I should eat each day until the competition. I loved the order and agenda that was set for me; I didn’t have to think what’s next? I just had to keep doing what I was good at. But then came the first round of the match, and the people were ruthless. No one was there to watch two teenagers play badminton, but instead fight for their lives. I didn’t think much about it until my third round that day when the kid I was playing against deliberately tried to hit the ball to my face.” 

You couldn’t help it, your laugh had spilt out before you could even think of stopping it, but Jisung’s squeeze against your hand assured you that it was fine, as he chuckled with you.

“Who the fuck practices hitting the ball at someone's face?” Your voice was pitched higher with exasperation. “Do you reckon he had a cardboard cutout of you to practice on? I doubt someone can do the calculations of face-hitting range that quickly under pressure.” Jisung contemplates your idea teasingly, tilting his head and measuring random angels with his free hand. Seeing that, the weight of your hand held against his now weighs tenfold, as the butterfly in your stomach flutters with the subconscious squeeze of his fingers. You bump at his shoulder as you squeeze yourself closer, bringing your linked hands to rest against your stomach, wanting to hold him closer. 

“It was definitely weird, but it didn’t set me off my rhythm, I just thought that it was a way to rile people up. But my coach was the one irritated, and when the boy had almost hit my eye, that was when my coach started to interfere,” You can only imagine the noise surrounding seventeen-year-old Jisung, his coach stepping forward to halt the game and talking to the referee to take some sort of action, pointing accusing fingers at the opponent and their mentors. 

“The place that we were competing at was big, bigger than what I was used to back then, and there were a lot of people and so it was noisy;  but the noise that my coach and the kid were making was something else. When my coach came back to me, all riled up, I couldn’t do much but take in his energy. I remember being very tense, thinking that I should just step my ground a bit more next time ‘round so they wouldn’t think of doing something like aiming the shuttle at my face.

“I think it was either the fifth? Or the sixth round, when I was in the zone of playing ‘professionally’ rather than doing what I was already good at. I would do overhead deliveries and front-hand serves even though I’d rather do a simple back-hand. Then there was an opening for a smash, it was a weak point for the guy— and I was over the moon with the opportunity. I’d only done the smash successfully maybe enough to count off of my fingers, but I knew that if I timed it right I would get it,” Dread fills your stomach at the direction that Jisung is going, You’re sure if you clench your fingers any harder there would be an imprint left of the poor boy's hand, but Jisung either doesn’t notice or simply doesn’t care.

Jisung’s chuckle drifts lightly in the air, “I was too enthusiastic, and I bunched up all my energy into hitting the ball that I’d missed the perfect time and instead had delivered a simple overhead. It would’ve been okay otherwise, I mean, I was able to deliver something instead of losing a measly point, but before I could recover, the shuttle had travelled to the back end of the court, and in my attempt of getting it, I’d tripped and landed pretty badly,” While telling the story, Jisung’s free hand had been wandering over his clothed knee, fingers fiddling with the fabric and one another. Bunching up the fabric at the end of his pant, he pushes up the lax fabric up and over his knee, where a pink and slightly faded surgical scar paints the inner side of his knee. Your hand clasps over your mouth once met with the scar, and your heart fills with admiration as you see him trace his healed gash with sentimentality. Bringing your linked hands to rest on your knee, you prop your cheek against it while looking at him, sparkling eyes encouraging him to continue.

“I couldn’t play anymore after that, not with the same vigour I had before. Suddenly I had to go back to class regularly and didn’t have to do any sort of reps just so I don’t fall behind on my weekly plan. My schedule had more free time than anything, and so I had enough time to get to thinking; what if I hadn’t misstepped? Would I have won? But I knew that all of that thinking wouldn’t do me any good. So when I was watching the Olympics months later, I remember seeing the camera pan onto the coaches, and how happy they were to see their student playing. I missed the joy of playing for the thrill and adrenaline of moving around, and so I thought, why not become a coach?” Understanding fills you as you realise why Jisung is going through all this effort of attending a class that he’s exponentially overqualified for. His cheeks go red as he realises your gaze settling over his figure, now looking away from you and onto the still water. 

You can’t help it, you find it simply so endearing that he’s set his time into achieving something to allow people to have fun with badminton. Feeling overwhelmed with affection from his story and words and actions, you lean over and place a peck on to his cheek. 

The contact was brief, as your lips barely took in the smoothness of his skin before you’re coming back with a start. “Oh my god, Jisung. That’s so cute, you’re generous and you’re going out of your way to do such good things, and you didn't deserve to go through that at such a young age—” Your words were smushed together as you barely reach the end of your sentence, the cause being Jisung’s big hands gently attacking your cheeks at once. His wide eyes stare straight at yours as his colder hands warm against the puff of your cheeks; and you are seconds away from voicing your confusion before you see his gaze settling on your pouted lips, glistening and redder from the ice cream. 

You couldn’t even smile teasingly at him, as his hands refrain you from doing so. The nervous adrenaline running in your vein might be another reason too, but you don’t get to ponder on that for long before you see Jisung’s tilted head leaning closer, hooded eyes glancing at your eyes before focusing back on your lips, wanting to imprint it’s cute pouted shape.

The warmth of his lips lands on your cold ones, sending a wave of warmth to wash over you. You can feel his desire through the pressure of his lips against you, his soft lips fitting over yours lovingly. You mourn the loss as soon as Jisung pulls back, but not for long before he presses another close-mouthed kiss, this time with his hand tilting your head the other way, fingers slipping and cupping your jaw gently. Your stomach warms as you feel the fervour within Jisung, from the tip of his cold fingers on your heated cheeks to the push of his body towards you, wanting to get closer with each passing second. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are clouded with the haze of your kiss and a bit of timidity. Your giggle bubbles between you, causing him to smile along with you, his shyness catching up. Not wanting his hand to stray far as they fall from your face, you clasp at his palm and lace your fingers, pulling down to get his face closer to yours, placing a peck at his nose first, scrunched from being bashful, and then one on his lips. And another, and another, then it’s him who’s leaning in and slotting his lips against yours, and you’re pulling your linked hands behind your back and let go, opting to slot your hand behind his neck.

After two, three, and four more kisses to the cheek, forehead and lips, you tuck your head into the junction of his shoulder and neck, feeling shy from doing all of this in public. Jisung’s laugh is sweet to your ears, hands rubbing up and down your back before brushing at the ends of your hair. 

“Give a warning next time round, will you?” You tease as you pull back, hand falling on his forearms, eyes looking everywhere but at his.

“Sorry, you just looked too cute. I felt this sudden urge to either bite you or kiss you,”

You pull back even more, hands coming up to shield yourself in mock reservation. “I don’t know if I should be thankful you chose the second option or fear for when the first option will happen,”

Jisung hums, “Maybe both?”

Your pinkies are linked as you walk along the river, basking in each other's presence as you talk, shoulders brushing every now and then. It’s when you’re both childishly debating about who had fallen first when Jisung suddenly points his finger at you accusingly.

“Is that why you forgot your towel?” His question comes out more genuine than anything, as he tilts his head quickly in thought. With a light gasp, you smack at his shoulder before your arm falls back and crosses on your shoulders, scandalised. “I didn’t!”

“Was that how you were gonna seduce me? By forgetting your towel and having me bring it to you? What was next, you wanted me to lotion your legs for you too?” You can tell he’s teasing this time around, as his tongue pokes at his cheek ever so slightly to withhold the grin that was blooming across his features.

You point your finger at him, catching on. “You probably distracted me with your whole ‘which bottle of shampoo’ debacle just to make me forget it.” Poking at his chest with eyes squinted in suspicion, “You wanted to see me naked on the first date? That’s not very decorum of you.”

Jisung scoffs and rolls his eyes at your accusation, shoulders squaring to better defend himself. “I don’t need to go through all of that just to get to you,” He throws you a quick glance from the corner of his eye, a rush of giddiness washing over him with the look of your flustered expression.

“You’re right,” This time, you’re looking at his lips as you say this, catching Jisung off-guard with your compliance. Moving closer, you rest your hands on his arms, pushing yourself up and closer to his body, chests brushing. Your voice, barely above a whisper, brushes against his ear, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get to me, baby.” 

You know the smile on your face is menacing if Jisung’s gaze on you is anything to go by, partly annoyed and part timid. Ghosting one of your hands down his arm, you slip your fingers in between his and give them a squeeze, giggling as you swing your arm back a forth a bit like a school couple.

Jisung’s next sentence takes a bit of effort to say if his demeanour is anything to go by. With his gaze settled on your intertwined hands and a slightly open mouth— as if to say something, you give his hand another gentle squeeze to encourage him. 

The gleam in his eyes looks more assured as he straightens his posture and looks directly into your eyes, giving your hand a squeeze back. “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

Leaning in, you give another peck on his cheek, his scent pleasantly wafting through your nose. “I’d love to,”

You can feel the tension grow with the sound of the door closing and sounding its locking chime, toeing off your shoes as you look up at Jisung. He reaches out a hand towards you once you straighten up, pulling you close and guiding you towards the door of his bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, Jisung’s room is clean but still spotted with signs of use, with his desk having papers and laptop wires strewn around while a plethora of empty hangers are placed at the foot of his closet. As he sits on the bed, with his hand still holding yours, he tugs you forward, his free hand going to your thigh, clasping above your knee. 

His eyes glisten as he looks up at you, “This okay?” his touch ghosts on you as he asks this. You nod your head, wanting him to touch you, needing him to touch you more. His fingers grow bolder and heavier in weight, as his hand clasps at the back of your thigh, bending your leg and resting it next to his thigh. Understanding his movements, you follow suit, settling yourself on his thighs with your linked hands resting on his stomach. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against you, easing in with feathery light touches. The slot of your mouths against each other starts a small fire in your stomach, as you push yourself onto him more, needing him to know that you crave more. 

He sighs against your lips as you settle down more, the pressure not far from where he wants it the most. He kisses you feverishly, the smack of your lips growing louder with each plant of his lips. His touches grow heavier as his fingers go from grazing against your knees to tracing lines up your thighs, barely a touch away from settling under the seem of your skirt. Knitting your fingers in his hair, his hand flies to your love handles, squeezing them in an attempt to ground himself. A sigh leaves his lips when you separate just the slightest bit, taking a breather as you kiss the corner of his lips, hands falling from the ends of his hair down to his collarbones and at the bottom of his shirt. Your spread your fingers on the skin of his stomach, nails skimming ever so slightly making Jisung’s breath hitch, his stomach tensing under your touch, eyes still closed as he takes in your touch, his stomach knotting from finally being able to do this with you.

With his grip already tight on your waist, he maneuvers you off his lap and sits you on his bed, crawling between your legs, making you open them and welcome him in as you lie down on his bed. He kisses you again, his hands now staking claim everywhere he can, pushing your shirt up to your ribs, fingers grazing against your bud form under your bra before he brings his hands down and kneads at your thighs.

“Jisung,” You sigh when he swipes his tongue against your lips. He takes your tongue in his mouth, humming against it at your call, its vibration sending hot waves down your body. His touches on your body take you higher, but you need more.

And so you say just as much, “More, give me more.”

“Fuck,” He sighs against your lip, “Yeah? Okay, I’ll give you more, anything for you,” Pressing one last peck against your lip, you see his body slide down your figure, his fingers going to unhook your bra as you arch your back. He groans at the sight of your breasts free from your bra. “I love your tits, so much,”  His hands are big against you, but they fit perfectly against the cup of your breasts, squeezing them together as he smothers himself against your cleavage. He licks a stripe of each bud, before focusing on your left one with his mouth, tongue lapping around the swell as he sucks, opting to circle his fingers on your other tit before pinching it harshly, making you keen against him.

You rake your fingers in his hair, petting him. “Such a good boy, you make me feel so good,” Your words make him whine against your breast, making his hip stutter against the mattress,  for some sort of friction. He releases one hand from cupping your breasts, opting to use one hand while his now free hand dances its way down your torso, unzipping your skirt and taking it off, before meeting the seam of your panties. With his pointer finger, he hovers a line ever so slightly on your slit, eyes wide as he glances at the pleasure breaking out on your face and the wetness of your underwear spreading.

He keeps his touch light, drawing circles on your clit through the fabric of your underwear, frustrating you. You huff when he uses the point of his fingers and presses the slightest amount into your hole, the fabric refraining you from feeling his direct touch. You pull at his hair that’s winded through your fingers, urging him on; he moans at the pull, getting the memo once he looks up at your face with an eye squeezed closed from pain or pleasure. Or both.

He licks at your entrance briefly through your panties, the heat and wetness making you moan, before his fingers finally fit themselves into the seam, sliding them down your legs. You feel more than see his gaze on your core, hooded eyes watching it squeeze around nothing as his fingers tease around it. He comes back up to you and presses his lips against yours, lips slotting together briefly before you feel his thumb rub against your sensitive nub, his middle finger prodding at your hole, eyes watching your face as he pushes the pad of his finger against you. You keen when his finger fills you, as he pushes his finger back and forth, his thumb following by pressing into your clit and pulling away rhythmically. He brings his head against your neck, licking a stripe against you before his teeth catch on your skin, lips wrapping themselves around you straight after, sucking into you before parting and finding another part of your skin to taint. He quickens his pace with his one finger, but it’s not enough, you can barely get enough of him.

Hugging his head that’s still tucked at your neck, you scratch at his scalp soothingly before pulling at strands of his hair. “Jisung,” You pant, “Another one, fill me up, please,”

“You want more?” He bites at your jaw lightly, before he pecks your lips lovingly, as if he isn’t trying to have you come undone with his fingers alone. You nod your head, “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” You beg as your cup the side of his face, your eyes looking at his blown-out pupils, probably no different than yours.

Jisung gronas at your words. “You’ve been so good, such a good girl.” He pulls his finger out so just the tip of it hangs onto your gaping hole, before he joins in another finger, two fingers now filling you. You whimper out a thank you, hands clutching at his shoulders as he picks up the pace, hand now slapping against your cunt, fingers curling inside your sopping pussy. Your body feels like it’s floating and coiling into itself all at once, with Jisung’s unrelenting fingers contrasting his gentle pecks and scrape of teeth against your skin. Every few thrusts and squeeze against his fingers have his hips grind down, sometimes grazing against your leg, making you feel his hard-on.

You bring your hand down from his shoulder, curling it at the bottom of his shirt before tugging at it, mumbling the word off. He pulls back slightly and pulls his shirt off with his free hand while you help with getting it over his head. You scratch your nails against the lines of his stomach, eliciting a hiss out of his before you palm at the outline of his cock through his sweatpants. “You listen so well, don't you? Always doing your best,” You pant out, testing the waters as you tuck the tips of your finger under his waistband. His moan comes out higher in pitch with your words, hips jutting forward and into your touch.

“Good for you,” he breathes against your cheek, eyes squeezed shut at the brush of your fingers against his clothed cock, muttering another fuck under his breath, rutting into your palm for more. 

You’re losing your patience, as Jisung speeds up his hand even more, the pleasure bordering with pain from his pace and harsher bites Jisung plants on you, too far gone with pleasuring you to be mindful of his strength. 

You can feel your orgasm reaching, breath hitching and your stomachs coil tightening further and further. You wrap your hand around Jisung’s wrist, slowing him down slowly before prodding them out of you. You whine at the emptiness briefly but are soothed when Jisung plants wet kisses against your collarbone. You push yourself up onto your shoulders, making Jisung shuffle back slightly in order to not lose touch with you, Reaching over, you dig through your bag and pull out a condom, shaking it between your bodies to bring Jisung’s attention to it.

The sound of the plastic wrapper catches his gaze, “You’re gonna let me put it in?” He grabs the packet from your hand before gently pushing you back down. He kisses you again, seeming to not get enough, as he pushes his pants and boxers down in one go, his tip smacking against the soft lines of his stomach and leaving a glisten. The rip of the packet sounds before he rolls it on, and you shift closer when you feel the tip of his cock lined up with your pussy.

The sheets ruffle around you as Jisung comes down and places a kiss on your cheek before looking into your eyes. “Ready?” He asks, and with a nod of your head, you feel him slowly ease himself into you. The stretch feels amazing, as you both moan into each other mouths, your hands squeezing and wandering everywhere around Jisung’s shoulders, back, torso. 

Jisung sighs, “Fuck,” His grip on your waist tightens, the pressure turning you on even more, squeezing around his cock. “You feel so good, so tight,”

“Fuck, Jisung,” You groan out as he quickens his pace, the sound of his hips slapping against your skin picking up. “Fuck, you’re doing so well. Stretching me out so good,” Jisung throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut at the pulse of your pussy around his member. He looks back down, wanting to see the join of your bodies, pulling out till his tip, before ramming himself back in, losing himself to the blissful feeling.

The knot in your stomach tightens. “Jisung, I’m close—” You’re cut off by your own moan as Jisung starts rubbing at your clit again, building a rhythm to his thrusts into you. 

“Yeah? Fuck, let go baby,” He grunts as he bends down, his cock twitching inside of you as he kisses your lips before tucking his head back into your neck, lapping at your skin as he keeps up his speed with his fingers on your clit and his thrusts inside you. Your body curls up as your orgasm crashes into you, hands hugging at Jisung’s shoulders tighter as your thighs squeeze around his hips, keeping him in your pulsing core. Panting, you release your grip from his hip, bringing your leg down and patting Jisung’s head, wanting to kiss him again. 

As he pulls away from you, you lean up and plant a kiss on his lips, chest bursting with the affection you feel while coming down. Jisung pulls his cock out from you, going slow as to not overwhelm you. He pulls off his condom, not having cum yet as his cock smacks against his stomach, the precum from the tip joining the light sheen of sweat covering his body. He fists his hand around his cock, tugging and pumping himself to a finish. You’re too spent to give him a helping hand, but you decide you haven’t spent your mouth enough.

“Pretty boy, you’re doing so well,” He hunches over your body at your words. “Looks so good fisting your own cock like that,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “If you keep going I’m gonna—”

“Cum baby, make a mess on me,” You run your hand up his thigh, before pulling up and grabbing at his hair and combing through the strands. His moan comes out high pitched as his hips stutter into his fist, before a spurt of come shoots out and lands on your stomach. He twists his fist around the head of his cock as he milks it out, before heaving a sigh and slumping down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before he lies by your side, cupping his body into yours. You continue running your hand in his hair as he settles on your shoulder, his cheek poking out which makes you poke at it. A giggle is shared as the giddiness of you two being together in the moment settles in, and when you go to place a kiss at his forehead, you’re reminded of the wetness of sweat all over your body and the slowly drying cum on your stomach.

“Oh, let me go get something,” He gets up and goes to his bathroom, coming back with a few paper towels and a wet cloth. Rubbing down your spent body, he pats you dry with the paper towel before putting them away and plopping down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and tucking himself close.

“I didn’t know you were the cuddly type,” You say as you hug at his shoulders, hands rubbing up and down as a faux massage.

“Well, I mean, I can let go?” Jisung’s nervous front grows again, as he goes to put some distance between the two of you. But before he could get far, you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulder as you hook your leg around his, stopping him from pulling away.

“I never said it was bad; I like this girlfriend bonus.” Jisung’s hair bounces as he pops his head up to look at you.

“Girlfriend bonus? Does that mean you’re my girlfriend now?”

“Only if you agree to my boyfriend bonuses,” You shrug. He laughs as he places his head back on your shoulder. “What are these so-called ‘boyfriend bonuses’ of yours?” You tap at your chin mockingly as you think.

“You can fuck my boobs next time?” You shrug again. His head whips up faster this time ‘round.

“Are you serious? Don’t joke about it, because if you are I won’t be—” You smack your hands on his cheeks, squeezing his lips into a pout. His shoulders slump at your attempt of shutting him up, eyebrows drooping as he gazes at you, making you laugh at his expression as you squish his cheeks repeatedly.

“Okay, good job guys, take a water break.” Coach Son claps, as everyone shuffles to their bags and grab at their bottles. Jisung’s elbow brushes against yours as he grabs his bottle from his bag next to yours, taking a few light sips before he places it down, looking at you with his cheeks full of water. It takes all his might to not spit the water out as you elbow him back and raise your fingers tauntingly, moving closer as if you’re about to tickle him.

Before you can successfully begin your quest, Coach lets out a sound as to gather you guys back ‘round, clapping his hands twice before waving you guys in.

“Since we’re coming to the end of the semester and you guys have proved to work really hard, I’m gonna conduct one last test to see how much your levels have changed since the beginning of the semester!”

“Oh my god,” You whisper out to Jisung as your hand cups your mouth, wide eyes looking at his as his eyebrows raise in surprise. This could finally be the moment that you can prove yourself, advancing onto a higher level to have an overall better ranking.

“Who wants to go first?” Jaemin steps up and raises his hand, confidently wanting to prove his skills. 

He plays a round with the coach, showing signs of trying his best and knowing how to play, but his reaction speed comes a bit too late as he misses the shuttles by a step. Sometimes two. Sometimes he mixes up his left from his right, but that’s just occasionally. Minji and Ryujin play a round each, and show good improvement throughout the semester.

“You should go next,” Jisung leans into as he whispers, both of your gazes settled on the coach and Ryujin going back and forth with clears being delivered. Your blood rushes quicker at the thought of playing an official round, thinking of all the mistakes you can make that would cost you. 

Sensing your nerves, Jisung places his hand on yours, grabbing it before giving the palm of your hand soothing rubs. “To help with the nerves,” He says when you look at your joint hands questioningly.

“Alright, next player?” Giving your hand a light squeeze, Jisung lets go and ushers you forward onto the court, as you raise your hand slightly, grabbing at your racket once Coach nods you in.

Arranging yourself, you pick up the shuttle left at your side and get into your serve position. You hit the shuttle and serve, commencing the game. You are able to reciprocate most of coach’s deliveries, stepping left and right when needed and angling your racket to optimise your own delivery, but it’s when you’re halfway through the game with Coach Son’s and your score being eleven and ten respectively, coach starts playing with a more advanced method. The drops become more frequent, catching you off guard as you have to run from the back to the front of the court in order to make it to the shuttle, as well as the clears going in different angles making you almost trip a few times as you attempt to make it to them.

Jisung has his fist at his mouth as he watches you from the side, with everyone else in awe at how quickly you’re moving compared to the last time they played officially.

“How did she get so good?” Haechan questions with his hand pressed on his racket. The whole class shifts their head from left to right at the sidelines as they watch you battling it out with their coach, the shuttle relentlessly being delivered with neither of you wanting to lose touch of it.

“It’s the perks she gets for having an almost professional-level badminton player of a boyfriend.” Ryujin’s smile is devoid of any callousness, patting at Jisung’s shoulder as she says this. Jisung can feel his cheeks grow red as he splutters into his sleeve, hiding his flustered expression as the rest of them shout out their reactions.

“All credit goes to her, she’s just a diligent student.” 

“I can be diligent too,” Jaemin bats his lashes as he leans in from Jisung’s other side, but flinches and clutches at his shoulder when Soojin smacks him.

Back on the court, you’re starting to lose your breath when Coach delivers another serve to the back of the court, shuttle going straight as you attempt to create enough distance to successfully hit back. As he does a clear delivery, you position yourself at the back fo the court in order to meet his hit, before quickly centring yourself, preparing for his next move. From a steady pattern of his serves growing in your head, you were more than ready to reciprocate his short hit of the shuttle near the net, as you step forward and hit back.

Usually, you would’ve stumbled to hit the shuttle back at maximum velocity, sending it flying up and giving Coach more than enough time to think of his next move. But from your extra hours of playing with Jisung, you’re picked up the knack of delivering a short end with another short end, making the shuttle travel only the slightest bit over the net and plummeting down into the court. Coach Son is caught off guard when you do this, but his reflexes from years of practise kicks in, and before he could process his actions, he delivers a lob, sending the shuttle high in the air. Jisung gasps from the sidelines, making everyone alert.

He calls out your name, “Smash! Do a smash!” 

With your eye settled on the descending shuttle, you think back to the one class you had with Jisung.

“You hit a clear when the shuttle can meet your hand at twelve o’clock. You have to wait for it to drop to the same level that you’re hand would be at a ten o’clock position to be able to deliver a smash; but remember that you have to keep going with your delivery until your hand reaches six o’clock.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You’re still not sure what he meant, but with the fall of the shuttle, you’re not really at the privilege of recalling things for a long amount of time. 

Positioning your hand at the first base, you wait for the shuttle to be at least a few inches from your head before you reach out, smacking at the shuttle and aiming at the bottom of the court. Coach, who was ready for you to hit the shuttle to the back of the court like you usually do, was not ready for the shuttle which was arriving at a quick pace. In a blink, the shuttle lands just past his ankles, and you’ve officially scored a point.

“Jisung!” You scream once the shuttle lands, looking at your boyfriend who was staring intently at your match. A look of victory glows across his face as his mouth drops in disbelief, eyebrows raised and fists clenched, over the moon at what you had just accomplished.

“I smashed! I did it! I smashed so hard oh my god, I think my arms gonna fall off,” The game is far from done for you to be celebrating like this, but you’re without care when the rest of the class cheers for you, Minji running up to you to give you a hug. You both start jumping with giddy while the rest join in, all while the coach looks at your huddled bunch with a smile on his face.

“This is Juda and this one is Chenle.”

“Why’d you talk about me as if I was a dog?”

“Because you are,” Juda shrugs before she plucks out a Yakult bottle from the packet in her hand, swingin it above Chenle’s face. “Who wants a treat? You do! Who’s a good boy?”

“Nice to . . . meet you guys too?” Jisung’s wave hangs mid air as he looks at Chenle slowly shift from a expressionless face to enthusiastically nodding his head up and down, wanting the drink.

“What did I tell you? You’ll fit just right in with us,” You link your arm through Jisung’s elbow, pulling him into your shared house with Juda before sitting him down on the couch. Juda and Chenle follow after, with the latter having his own bottle open and already emptied halfway. Juda offers Jisung yakult bottle, and goes to pick up the remote, going through the movies to put something on. You quickly grab a few snacks from the kitchen and come back, settling yourself right next to Jisung, leaving no space between the both of you.

“Wait,” Chenle turns to look at you from his positon on the ground, grimacing a bit at the sight of you two cuddled up, before continuing. “What happened with the new ranking then?” Your smile is shy when you look at him and Juda looking back at you expectantly. 

“I got into group B.”

“YES!” Chenle whoops, grabbing Juda and shaking her by the shoulders. “No more whining and complaining and whinging about the class!” You chuckle as you cheer alongside him, with Jisung looking at your interactions with raised eyebrows. 

Laughing, you tuck yourself into his side, linking your arms again as you rest your head on his shoulder. With Juda and Chenle bickering about settling on what movie to watch, you press a quick kiss on his cheek in appreciation.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” You smile at him, to which he grins shyly at. “Even though I lost, the smash pulled me through. Your smashing abilities were so flawless that even I, a young duckling was able to smash through,”

“Okay, thank you for the compliment but maybe don’t say how good my smashing abilities are—”

“You just smash so hard and so well—”

“Please—”

“Jisung the smash master!”

if you liked this, dont be afraid to tell me !

#park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct jisung #park jisung smut #park jisung fluff #nct dream smut #nct jisung fluff #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung smut

[froldgapp]

‘...Keith?’

‘Shiro... you didn’t know. It’s not your fault.’

(So much amazing art on here. I haven’t done art for well over a decade but - er - here’s this bit of tat!)

#keith (voltron) #galra keith #shiro #vld #sheith #he's probably fine #art is well hard innit #finger prints on wrong side oops

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Possibilities [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

Title: Possibilities Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 6 July 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Warnings: Mention of food and alcohol Summary: Tom and you have been friends for a long time and because of that same reason you value your friendship more than to ruin it with some silly feelings. But the event you attend together offers you some surprises that might change your relationship forever.

Tom Hiddleston and Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Real People Masterlist

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Events, galas, award ceremonies. You weren't a popular actress nor a famous singer, or social media influencer. You had a simple 9-5 job that would hardly ever get you into these events. But regardless of your status in society, you were known and not because of any talent you possessed that could have made you famous, but because your best friend was none-other than Tom Hiddleston.

You have been friends for years, you adored everything about the man. He was sweet and kind, always polite, but just as playful. It was a friendship you felt lucky to be in, a friendship that you held so close to your heart, it would have broken every little piece of you if it ever ended. Often, you found yourself staring at him with a little smile in the corner of your lips, watching his every move, the way he joked around with his co-stars on set, the way he exercised in the gym for a role, the way he winked at you with a mischievous smile as he caught your eyes on him.

"Do you need my autograph?" he asked with a wide grin as he opened the door of the luxurious car he booked for the event. Once again you have forgotten your eyes on him— his dashing looks, the perfectly fitted suit, the playful twinkle in his eyes. He never stopped teasing you about it.

"Shove off, Tom," you nudged him as he got out of the car and held out a hand for you, waiting for you to accept his help. So, you did. Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you let him help you out of the vehicle as you rearranged your stunning dress and ran your hand down its length to remove any creasing. Cameras were flashing, reporters' loud voices filled the pathway to the entrance, a long red carpet leading your way inside the building towering over you like a modern castle.

"If I didn't know better, I would think your interest in me goes beyond friendship," he chuckled as he held his arm out to you, waiting for yours to be placed over his, his eyes following every little movement of yours. A sudden rush of heat travelled up to your cheeks, your breathing slightly laboured as you tried to calm your heavily beating heart. He was not wrong after all. It's been years since you have been harbouring these feelings, but you hadn't had the heart to confess them. Tom was more important to you than to ruin it over some silly feelings.

Sometimes, when you caught Tom's eyes on you, watching you intently, a soft smile spread across his face, it made you think if maybe, just maybe he was harbouring similar feelings towards you. But the idea was quickly swept away by your doubts, the thought of such an amazing man falling for you seeming impossible. You knew your worth, you didn't write yourself down, but Tom has always been perfect in your eyes, and you couldn't imagine him wanting you even if at times a certain silly part of your brain whispered otherwise.

"I love your healthy self-confidence," you finally gathered your ability to be able to reply, earning a comical huff from him. You have been trying hard, to deny your romantic interest in him, but rumours about the two of you have become a reoccurring news and it didn't help your case to shove your feelings in the back of your mind.

"Ready?" He asked as his gaze turned towards the red carpet. Heaving a heavy sigh, you nodded and murmured a 'yes' as a response.

As soon as the cameras started flashing, hundreds of photos of Tom and you being taken, you conjured a sweet little smile that the tabloids loved. You were always nervous when it came to these events. It was Tom's job to answer some of the questions journalists asked of him, which meant they were to ask about your relationship. It was becoming repetitive, making you feel uncomfortable. The questions themselves didn't bother you but repeating over and over again that the man you have fallen for is merely a friend, felt like a stab in your heart, each time you responded.

"Tom! Tom!" One of the reporters shouted his name and he led you to the side of the red carpet, halting right beside the metal cordons. Questions were flying around, photos had been taken, but you didn't concentrate. Your senses were heightened as Tom pulled you in his side, his arm now wrapped around your waist, gently, but firmly holding onto you. Looking up at him, you studied his face, his ice-blue eyes focusing on the reporter, an excited smile across his face. He seemed so relaxed, so collected, meanwhile even events after events you were still nervous. As though he could feel it, he turned to you with a soft, reassuring smile, giving you a nod, silently asking if you were alright. For others, the movement could have easily been missed, but to you, it was like an earthquake, shaking your heart, making you fall even deeper for him. In a reply, you nodded and offered him a smile as you squeezed his hand that rested on your waist.

"So, Tom, this might be a bit more personal, but everyone has been talking about the two of you," he started, and your eyes immediately darted towards the man. You knew the question, heard it a thousand times already, so you prepared your heart to give the same reply as always. 'We are just friends,' you repeated time after time, hoping they would finally understand and let you be, but they didn't seem to budge. "You have been friends for a long time, and your fans have been talking about how close the two of you have become. Do you think, maybe in the future, there's a possibility for romance to blossom?" He asked with an expectant expression, a sly smile in the corner of his lips.

"As we have said before," you spoke up, ready to reply as you always did, "we—"

"You never know what the future holds for you, there are many possibilities" Tom cut in with a mischievous smile, your eyes growing wide as you looked up at him. Tom chuckled at your expression as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "Tell me I'm wrong," he arched a brow questioningly, his words starting your heart off at a faster pace, your cheeks feeling warmer under his intent gaze, those blue eyes you often found yourself lost in.

"Well—, I mean I can't argue with that statement," you replied, feeling slightly awkward. A confused smile started growing wider on your face as Tom led you away. "Why did you do that?" You asked as you finally stepped inside the building, his arm still resting around your waist as you headed towards a large room filled with all sorts of foods and drinks, people dancing in the middle, the dim lightning offering a rather intimate mood. "You just created even more gossip," you scolded him, but seemingly he didn't mind. He led you to a table where his name was printed on a nametag and pulled the chair out for you before he took his seat beside you.

"I didn't say anything," he smiled at you as innocently as he could manage, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"You did. Exactly because you were so secretive, people will want to read between the lines. They will think there's more to us than friendship," you huffed as you hid your face in your palm and heaved a heavy sigh.

"And is that so bad?" He frowned, earning the same expression from you.

"What?" A silent scoff left your lungs. "What are you trying to say?"

"Is that such a big problem if people think we are together?" He asked, his confident tone stunning you.

"Of course, not. I don't care what rumours are being spread about me, but I don't want them to gossip about you," you reached for his hand on the table and wrapped your fingers around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. His expression stayed emotionless; you couldn't read him entirely, but you knew he seemed off.

"I will go grab us a drink," he said as he stood up, leaving you frowning. You weren't sure what you said that made him upset, and regardless of trying to put on a straight face, you knew he wasn't happy with your response.

You watched as he walked over to a small table filled with the most delicious looking cakes and a couple of bottles of champagne, ready for the guests before they brought out the main course. Tom grabbed a battle of champagne and two glasses, filling up both halfway, before he placed the battle back into an ice bucket.

"What is it?" You asked as he returned and gave you one of the glasses.

"What do you mean?" He asked, taking a seat beside you.

"We've known each other for quite a long time. I can read you like an open book. What's bothering you?" Trying to get him to open up, you shuffled closer to him, your chair scraping the floor, turning heads in your direction. "Oops," you scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, earning a chuckle from Tom.

"Very subtle," he mocked you.

"Don't change the subject Mr. Hiddleston," you raised a questioning brow, a tiny smile hidden in the corner of your lips.

"Nothing is bothering me," he added, but your suspicious gaze didn't falter. "I'm being honest, darling," the sly little fox knew his nickname for you would make you soften up and he used every opportunity to say it when he felt cornered.

"Fine," you squinted. "But we aren't done! I'm not blind, I can see something is on your mind."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't wait for this conversation to come back around," he mocked you once again, making you huff as you gently punched his shoulder.

Throughout the night, said conversation was forgotten, the alcohol consumption rose, the amount of people dancing around the room grew, meanwhile others sat at their tables, trying to digest the previously served delicious meals. You couldn't deny that you had a good laugh with Tom and his co-stars from all sorts of movies he had been in. It felt like a little family, people coming together to just have a joyous time.

The way Tom smiled at his friends, praising each other, before turning to mock one another forced your eyes to rest on his excited features. He looked so alive, so happy and the feeling of the man you loved being in his element meant everything to you. Tom was radiating enthusiasm and you couldn't look away as you watched his ever-growing smile, his nose scrunched up at an unexpected subject, his head falling back as a loud laughter erupted from his lungs. He was always handsome, but when he was happy, it filled you up with a certain warmth that you couldn't explain. Like you always wanted to make him happy just to be able to see that cheerful smile spread across his face.

He turned to you, catching your gaze on him once again. His arm sneaked behind you, pulling you closer and leaning down to your ear. "You are staring at me again," you couldn't see it, but you could feel his smile spreading wider.

"I like to see you happy," you shrugged with a soft smile as you leaned back to be able to meet his gaze. His smile faltered, but his eyes softened.

"Dance with me," he said as he offered his palm to you, and you placed your hand in it.

"I take no responsibility for broken toes," you said with a silent chuckle as you followed him to the dancefloor.

"Don't worry, darling, it's worth the injury," he mirrored your expression as you stopped in the middle of the dance floor. A slow, romantic song started playing in the background, his arms finding their perfect position around your waist as yours sneaked around his neck.

It was a slow and peaceful dance, not requiring much knowledge and talent. You just enjoyed each other's presence, gazes meeting, smiles forming, swaying to the slow rhythm of the music. You didn't speak a word, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It never was with Tom. A soft smile, a quick glance, a simple gesture meant more than thousands of words when you were with him.

You laid your head against his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat, taking on a quicker pace just like yours did. "I miss you when you are not with me," he spoke for the first time as he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. You didn't move away; his embrace was too comfortable, and you couldn't care about people watching you.

"I always miss you. You are the one travelling all the time after all," you chuckled lightly, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I could be only a mile away and I would still miss you," he replied as you pulled back a bit to meet his soft gaze, but there was no smile present across his handsome face. As the song finished, you found yourself standing in front of him, slightly confused about the conversation. "Do you want to go to the balcony? Have some fresh air?" He asked, taking on a more cheerful expression, but you knew him more than to believe it was genuine. In a response you nodded and linked your arm with his.

Following him through the sea of people, you finally arrived at the balcony, looking down to a smaller version of a park, a water fountain standing tall in its centre. You leaned against the rail as you watched the trees battling the silent wind, fallen leaves being blown across the walking path. Tom joined beside you, his eyes following the same direction as you did before they halted on your face. "You are being strange tonight," you spoke up, feeling his gaze resting on you before you turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"I'm just thinking," he added with a half-hearted smile.

"About?" You asked as you reached for his hand resting on the rail and placed yours on top of his. He turned his palm upside down and lifted your hand, hinting a small kiss on your knuckles as he heaved a heavy sigh. "Tom talk to me," you squeezed his fingers reassuringly, his eyes watching you, not leaving your gaze for a moment. "You have been rather quiet around me," you added.

His whole body turned to you, as though he was focusing his complete attention on you. Reaching towards you, he brushed your hair to the side, gently tucking it behind your ear. You leaned into the touch involuntarily, only realising your actions when he caressed your cheek with his thumb, before moving down and running it across your lips. The feeling burnt you, starting your mind off in a very dangerous territory, one that you have been avoiding. 'He is your friend' you tried to remind yourself. But once the tip of his thumb brushed along your lips once again, you couldn't stop yourself. Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his chest, steading yourself and rose on your tiptoes, pressing your lips against his.

Your own bravery surprised you, but Tom didn't seem affected. As soon as your lips met, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. He didn't hesitate, he wasn't surprised. He just held you, gently running his lips along yours, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. But as much as you wanted to enjoy the moment, realisation hit you. You were kissing your best friend. You gently pushed him away, stumbling back from the force, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm so sorry," you breathed, panic rising in your chest. "I have no idea what happened, I don't know why I did that, I'm so sorry," your words were rushed, your heartbeat loudly pulsing in your ears.

But Tom's gaze twinkled. A soft, warm smile grew wider across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. "I'm not," he said as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I've been wanting to kiss you," he breathed as he closed his eyes momentarily, slightly shaking his head. "I've been wanting to tell you how much I love you; I've been trying to gain the courage to say it out loud," he scoffed. "I'm a fool for dragging it out for so long, but I love you," his voice shook as he said the words, but his arms tightened around you, safely holding you against his chest. It took you a second to understand what he meant, that your feelings weren't unrequited, that he has been harbouring the same feelings you have.

A heavy sigh left your lungs, as though a weight fell off your chest. Your lips curved into a smile as you placed your hands on his cheeks, running the tip of your thumbs across his jawline. He mirrored your expression whilst leaning into your touch, planting a small kiss on your palm. "I love you too," you replied finally," the words rolling off the tip of your tongue easier than you expected. "I love you so much," you giggled, wanting to repeat the words over and over again, until you finally understood that it was real, that you weren't dreaming. "You never know what the future holds for you, huh?" You asked, repeating his words from earlier in the evening, earning a loud chuckle from him. "So, is this one of those many possibilities?" you raised a single brow.

"Could be. I have a couple more ideas," he said, his soft smile turning into a confident grin.

"You are terrible," you gently hit his chest as you grabbed his suit-jacket and pulled him down to you, meeting his lips halfway, smiling into the intimate moment you have been craving for so long.

Notes: If you enjoyed reading this little piece, please don’t forget to leave a like, comment and/or reblog. Your opinion matters and gives us motivation. Thank you ^^

If you enjoy my stories, please consider donating and supporting me on Ko-fi. Of course, it’s completely your choice, I will continue updating for free anyway :) Thank you <3

Taglists; Send me a message if you would like to be added :)

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston x yn #thomas sharpe #thomas sharpe x reader #jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #robert laing #robert laing x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston one shot #tom hiddleston imagine

[morethanmemory]

Pairing: Hayakawa Aki/Reader

Warnings: None

Notes: This was a first chapter (or well, the beginning of a first chapter kinda?) to a longer fic I was planning to write, but I haven’t been able to motivate myself to finish the whole fic oops :P

---

The first thing you notice about him is his suit. All black, save for the shirt, and much too old-fashioned for someone his age. The pants aren't tapered, and his shirt looks one size too big. He dresses like an old man at a funeral—minus the pierced ears. Though, you push those thoughts aside as he walks up to the register.

"Can I get a pack of Seven Stars?"

He sounds tired.

"I.D.?" you ask. He fishes around in his pockets for a bit before pulling out his wallet to grab his license. You squint to read his birthday and quickly do the math in your head.

"You're good," you tell him as you turn to unlock the glass cabinet holding the cigarette packs.

You ring him up, ask him if he wants his receipt (which he declines), and smile when he thanks you softly.

Fine, you'll admit it. He's cute, and you may or may not have glanced at his name when he showed you his I.D.

"Hayakawa Aki," you murmur to yourself. You doubt you'll see him again.

The next weekend, you're pleasantly surprised to find out that you're wrong. He's back, except he's not alone. Trailing behind him are two unfamiliar faces. A blonde boy with messy hair and a toothy grin, no more than eighteen at most. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt so wrinkled that you’re certain it was taken straight out of the dryer, crumpled up, and tossed into a drawer before he’d pulled it out today. Then, there’s a girl with a cat cradled in her arms and her jacket nearly slipping off her shoulders. She’s got bright pink hair and—wait, are those horns? Oh, shit. It takes you a few seconds to process that she’s a Fiend. You’re more surprised than anything. Most of the Fiends you’ve seen out and about have always been accompanied by someone from Public Safety, and you begin to wonder if there’s more to Hayakawa than meets the eye.

“Hey, Aki! Can we get snacks? All your snacks suck!” the boy exclaims as the trio walk past the candy aisle.

“Yeah, Denji’s right! All your snacks are lame!” the girl chimes in. You hear him heave a sigh.

"No. This is supposed to be a quick stop,” Aki states firmly.

Denji huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “So you get to buy something and we don’t? Seems a little unfair, right, Power?”

“Yeah, this is inequality!” Power shouts so loudly that you flinch. “FIEND OPPRESSION! FIEND OPPRESSION!”

You stifle a laugh, watching as she waves her arms around frantically and screams the phrase over and over into Aki’s face. He looks like he’s two seconds away from ripping his hair out, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of pity.

“Fine!” he snaps in defeat, shutting them up immediately. “You get one item each. Meet me at the—”

They bolt down the candy aisle before he can finish, and Aki lets out a pained groan of frustration before turning to walk toward you.

“I’m sorry about them,” he apologizes. He sounds way more embarrassed than he should be, and you give him a sympathetic smile.

“It’s fine. I’ve seen worse,” you offer in consolation. He asks for another pack of cigarettes, the same brand as before, and reaches for his wallet. Though, his fingers come to a stop, hovering just above his pants pocket, and he frowns upon hearing the thunderous footsteps of his companions as they bound up to his side. Denji and Power drop two armfuls of snacks before the register, grinning like madmen.

“I said one item each,” Aki grumbles, but he pulls out his wallet to pay anyway. Aki’s friends move at the speed of light, ripping open a bag of potato chips the moment their receipt finishes printing. He rolls his eyes before scanning the receipt you hand him.

“Excuse me,” he calls just as you’re about to turn. “I don’t think you charged me for some of their snacks.”

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it,” you respond, lips curling into a shy smile. “It’s on the house. Plus, you seem like you’re in a rush.”

“No, no, I couldn’t!” he politely argues as he tries to hand you his card again.

“Hey, Aki! The hot lady said they’re free! Just take ‘em!” Denji cuts in. Aki elbows Denji in the side followed by a low, sharp whisper of ‘She has a name.’ Denji shoots him an irritated glare, pride wounded, before huffing back, “Oh yeah? Then, what is it? I bet you don’t even know! Stop actin’ all high and mighty just ‘cause you think I don’t got manners!”

You’re about to tell the two that it’s completely fine and thank them for stopping by the store, but Aki speaks before you can get a word out.

“I do, in fact, know her name,” he bristles, and Denji’s grumbling falters.

It’s an odd but heartwarming feeling to hear a complete (but cute) stranger say your name as he thanks you, even more so when you haven’t introduced yourself yet. You try to tell yourself it comes with the territory of customer service, that the smile on your face and the blush dusting your cheeks is how anyone working a thankless job would react when a customer spares a second of their time to glance at a name tag.

“It was very kind of you,” Aki adds while pocketing his pack of cigarettes, “but you don’t have to do that next time.”

“It was nothing, really,” you insist with a light laugh. “Thank you for—”

Denji groans, shifting the bags of candies and chips in his arms. “C’mon, Aki, hurry up. We have to go.”

Before you can finish your sentence, Power and Denji have already dragged Aki out the automatic doors, leaving you flustered and alone. You let out a soft, short sigh and close your eyes as you play back your recent conversation with Aki. You find yourself smiling at the memory of him saying your name, at the chance that you’ll see him again, but the ever-jarring screech of the store’s old sliding doors opening yanks you from your blissful thoughts.

Your aunt stumbles through the doorway, struggling to carry a large box, and calls for you.

“Where are you?! Come help me carry this!” she demands between heaving breaths. As you rush to her aid and take the box from her, you catch a glimpse of the store’s tacky uniform polo and freeze as you remember—no one here wears a name tag.

#hayakawa aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki #chainsaw man #mine

[t-lostinworlds]

Wish You Didn’t (Peter Parker)

a/n: hello, hello. here’s another angst fic as ‘tradition’ since this is my first ever full peter parker fic so yeah, please be kind alska. this is very fluffy from the start but then it’s all downhill from there lol, hope you enjoy this one <3

pairing: peter parker x female reader trope/genre: song fic - Wish You Didn’t Love Me by Jake Miller; best friends to...well; fluff and angst summary: You love Peter Parker with all that you have, but somehow, he doesn't find that as a good thing. Despite feeling the same way, to protect you, Peter wish you didn't love him at all. warnings: wholesome cuteness at the start to set you up for heartbreak, brief dark thought from peter, and swearing. word count: 13.9k+ (i mean, what’s new)

masterlist on bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

"Ugh."

Peter looked up from his textbook just in time to see you drop your bag on the table and then plop yourself down on the seat across him in the library. There was a look of pure frustration on your face, his brows furrowing at the sight of the deep frown written on your lips.

"What's up?" Peter asked, twirling his pen in his fingers as he tilted his head at you in concern.

You let out a big sigh, meeting your best friend's gaze with your frown still intact. "I've got a debate coming up tomorrow," you grumbled dejectedly.

The crease between Peter's brows could only deepen at your words.

You were the best on the debate team, always at the ready to take whatever topic it was thrown at you, headstrong. You're always excited to gush to him about what could be your winning argument, what would put the opposing team at a standstill. So, to see you be somewhat upset about an upcoming debate, it was so unlike you.

Maybe because it seemed last minute but by the looks of it, Peter can't help but feel like it was more than that.

"What's it about?" he asked.

You blew out your cheeks, hand coming up to play with the notebook he had on the table before you blurted out,

"Spider-Man: Friend or Foe."

Peter cleared out his throat just as he turned the page of his book to hide it, sitting straighter in his seat, pretending to get back to reading to avoid your gaze.

He didn't tell you.

Years and years of being best friends yet you didn't have an ounce of clue that you were sitting right across the person who was going to be the topic of your debate.

Peter trusts you of course, he trusts you with his life. His reason was simple really: he just didn't want to drag you into it.

Plus, knowing how worried you can get, he just didn't want to put you through all of that, especially on top of all things college and with what's going on in your personal life. He already feels so guilty with the stress he's put May through, he can't bear to see you have that burden too.

And most importantly, Peter just wanted to protect you.

"Still don't see why you're bummed about it," he said with a shrug, gaze running over the text printed on the paper but none of it was going inside his mind.

"I got picked to defend him."

Peter's head shot up at that, eyes narrowing on your seated form as he asked, "Oh, so you think he's a foe?"

"No..." you trailed off, eyes wandering around his slightly messy table littered with notes, textbooks and books, highlighters and everything in between. "Not really."

Closing his book, Peter leaned forward, arms rested on the surface with his full attention now on you. "Care to elaborate?"

You pursed your lips, shifting in your seat as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I mean, he's probably got good intentions but I've read about the Sokovia accords you know," you started, Peter nodding to show you that he was following. "And it's a debate. The other party would do their best to make him out to be a reckless vigilante. I can already think of so many arguments that they'd throw."

"Such as?"

"That he could be doing this for fame and attention, or that he is doing good things but his drive to do them isn't exactly the best. Is it for revenge? Bragging rights or maybe something darker? Another one could be that he's young, careless and naïve. We don't know what he's really capable of superpower wise which means he can probably hurt innocent people in the future.

"Not to mention if he's on the right or wrong side of the law. Who has to pay for the collateral damages that he has caused? Is it right to let him go scot free? I could go on and on and I just," you paused, resting one arm on the table and then placing your head on it as you looked up at your best friend. "I can't really counter those things with full force because I don't really know the dude nor do I have any real, solid facts about him to back up my claim that he's completely on the good side."

"Research hasn't done you good has it?" Peter hummed, a soft smile playing on his lips as his hand came up to poke your cheek, a sweet attempt to try and rid of your frown.

You shook your head no with a deepened pout, taking his hand away from your face with your own free hand as your nimble fingers then played with his absentmindedly.

Peter's heart grew warm at the gesture.

"There's literally nothing on this spider dude aside from blog posts written by fanboys and girls gushing about how amazing he is. Which is never a great source since it's already so biased," you explained.

"What would truly help you aside from research?" he queried, eyes trained on the way you interlock your fingers together and then letting it go only for a second before interlacing them again, letting it go and repeat. It was such an adorable habit of yours, one that Peter has grown so fond of, your touch always delicate and sweet whenever you fidget with his hand.

"An interview I guess? It'd be nice to get to ask him a few questions. Like, it would help to know why I'm on his side. Get a perspective on why he does what he does, you know?" you sighed, eyes fluttering close with your frown still intact. "At least that way, I know I'm defending someone who I know is worth defending."

Peter hummed as he tore his eyes away from your intertwined hands and back on your sprawled out upper-half on the table. He pursed his lips, gaze on the dip and valleys of your beautiful but stressed face. His brain grew at odds the more he took in your deep frown—one he always hates seeing no matter the reason—as he raked his thoughts on what he could possibly do to help without having the trouble of revealing his secret to you.

"But it's genuinely impossible to talk to him—"

"You could send him an email," Peter blurted before he gave himself time to properly process his words. Hell, he didn't even get to weigh the odds and dangers of his proposition. But now that it already slipped out his mouth—

Shit. I don't think this is a good idea...

Your eyes snapped open as you gaped up at him, brows deeply furrowed as you wondered, "Spider-Man...has an email?"

Too late to back out now, Parker.

"Well, all the Avengers do, under Stark Industries to be specific," Peter said in the most nonchalant way he can muster. "Since, you know, Stark tech in their suits, modifications, upgrades, what color they want it as, etcetera, it's how they talk about those stuff."

You abruptly sat up, dropping his hand as you laid both of your palms flat on the table, eyes now twinkling with hope and excitement. "You think he'd actually see it?"

"Yeah, not many people know about it so," he trailed off with a shrug, opening his book again and flicking through the pages.

You leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze as you narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. "How'd you know?"

Peter scoffed with a shake of his head, never looking away from his book given that you'd notice his lie right off the bat if he does so. "I don't know Y/N, probably because I work there," he pointed out. Well, technically it wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth either.

"And you're giving me it?"

He shrugged, finally meeting your gaze. "I don't see why not? As long as you don't share it around or sell it," Peter warned, shooting you playful glare.

"Yes! Oh my—you are the best," you exclaimed excitedly, jumping out of your seat and rounding the table to give him a back hug. "You're a lifesaver Pete, thank you." With one last squeeze, you pulled away and swiftly snatched your bag, feet in a rush as you treaded towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked bemusedly.

"Sending the email! Hopefully I can talk to him tonight!" you called back to him.

Peter can't help but shake his head at you with a laugh, "I haven't even given you the email!"

"Just send—"

Sssh!

"Oops, sorry," you whispered, finger over your lips as you rushed back to his side with a bright smile. "Just text me it please? Love you," you hummed, hand landing on his shoulder as you leaned down to place a swift but sweet kiss on his cheek.

The skin where your lips once were quickly turned pink, Peter's heart skipping countless beats at that four-letter word, unable to conjure any response the more he thinks about the actual weight of the warmth that's grown in his chest. He's heard you say it to him many times before of course, but despite holding a different meaning—one with friendship laced around it—it never fails to make Peter's heart soar.

Albeit wanting it to mean something else, something more, Peter knows he shouldn't. Always quick to silence his heart on screaming for more given that it wasn't ideal, for your sake. He always reminds himself that he already feels utmost content with what he has with you now, content with the love you make him feel even if it's only to an extent.

It was enough, for your sake.

Nothing but adoration coated his features as his eyes followed your every movement. His heart grew even more when you beamed at him once you pulled away, ruffling his hair playfully before hurrying out of the library, shooting him one last smile and a wave before disappearing from sight.

Peter can't wipe his own grin off his face, just the sight of your beautiful smile and your joyful eyes, easily contagious on his part. But then realization dawned on him and the curve slipped away, replaced by a frown laced with panic as he pulled out his phone to check the time.

"Shit."

He quickly gathered up his things and rushed out of the library, taking the back door out of the building to the nearest alley. Peter had his eyes glued to his screen the whole time as he quickly made a fake but believable enough email before sending it to you.

***

"Heard you were looking for me?"

You let out a yelp, jumping a few inches back as you spun around towards the direction of the voice. A hand flew over your chest the moment your eyes landed on a figure, shock befalling you as you froze. He was squatted down on the ledge of the rooftop of your apartment building, red and blue faint under the night sky. "Oh my—uh, hi," you squeaked, eyes blinking rapidly to see if what you're seeing was actually real.

The wind was blowing cold, your black pants, plain t-shirt and jean jacket doing just enough to minimize it. The sound of the streets of Manhattan was echoing below, very busy but faint due to your distance from the ground, enabling you to still hear his voice loud and clear when he spoke again.

"Hi, I'm Spider-Man," he introduced as he offered you his hand, masked eyes trained on you as you cautiously walked towards him.

"I know. I'm Y/N," you said, hesitantly reaching out to take his hand, the material of his suit rough against your palm as you shook it. You were in absolute awestruck, eyes glowing with wonder as you did nothing but gape at him.

"I know," he said and you can practically hear his smile behind the mask. He gave your hand a squeeze, the odd feeling that coursed through your bones made you tilt your head at him in mere curiosity, brows furrowed in utter confusion. Mr. Spider-Man swiftly cleared out his throat, eyes casted down as he quickly let go of your hand. "It's on your email," he added hastily.

"Oh, yeah," you muttered. A few seconds passed and you just stood there, staring at him like some star struck fan as you rubbed your hands together in both the cold and slight nerves. After a few seconds more, you finally spoke, "Wow, okay, I didn't expect for you to actually show up."

You don't know where to actually begin.

The first thought you had after sending the email was that he'd never actually see it, or if he does, he'll simply ignore it. You had been ready to wait out in the cold for a couple hours, anticipated the letdown to be frank. Yet here he was, the Spider-Man, right in front of you who, amazingly, even arrived right on time.

Spider-Man was making you nervous.

Normally, you have no problem with doing interviews. It is a form of research after all, and being on the debate team, you've done countless of it. But right now feels different.

Maybe it was the fact that he was a fucking superhero. He's someone who has actually done quite a lot and has probably seen and experienced other worldly things just as much if not more. Or maybe it's the fact that you simply don't know where this will go from here.

Will it do well that you'd get to ask proper questions and get answers that would truly help or will he get cocky and rude that this interaction would only end up being a waste of time?

Despite being famous, he was a complete mystery to everyone. The person behind the mask was wholly unknown and that itself makes you very nervous.

With a shrug, he said, "Well, wouldn't pass helping a friend."

"Are you making your voice deep?" you asked, the sound of his voice a little too...computerized for it to be normal.

He nodded. "Voice modulator, it helps keep my secret identity, well, a secret."

"Oh, yeah, figured."

You stayed quiet again after that, arms crossing over your chest as you kept your gaze steady on him, features coated with a mixture of emotions from confusion, amazement, curiosity and everything in between.

He chuckled softly, probably noticing your painfully obvious shyness. "Got questions for me?" he prodded.

You blinked a few times before frantically nodding, recalling how you specifically said in the email that you just wanted to ask a few questions. You then took out your phone, showing him the voice recording app and asked, "Is this okay?"

Spider-Man tilted his head at you with a soft hum.

"Yeah, I trust you with it."

You smiled.

The pressure and nerves turned lighter on your shoulders as you somewhat felt more comfortable...safe around him. And there's just something about the fact that he trusts you that warms your bones. It's like he's certain you only have his best intentions in mind, as if he knows you weren't in this for a selfish gain. It's really comforting in a sense, makes you feel confident that you're on the right track.

It makes you feel good about yourself.

With a soft nod, you hit record, words of curiosity slipping out of your lips soon after. "Those webs, do they come out from you?"

"No, they don't," he chuckled, taking out a vile from his wrist and then handing it to you. "That is what you call web fluid and I make them."

You gingerly took it in your hands, eyes scanning it briefly before you gave it back. "Impressive."

"Thanks. So, the fluid is like the bullets and these right here"—he showed you the black bands on his wrists with his hands open—"Are the web shooters that make me well, shoot webs. Like so," he explained as he pressed the button on his palm, the webs streaming out soon after and snatching an empty can on the far corner before it landed back in his hand.

You pursed your lips with a nod. "So, you can make weapons," you said with a certain tone in your voice that caused him to shift in his place.

"I—uh, no?" he stuttered, placing the can back on the ground loudly and in a not-so-subtle way. "I will never build a nuclear bomb if that's what you're wondering," he rushed when you narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion.

"Didn't say anything about a nuclear bomb," you pointed out with a tilt of your head.

"I-I'm, uh, I didn't—"

"I'm just messing with you," you cut him off with a soft laugh, your nerves diminishing swiftly at how he seemed to be a little shy and awkward but in an endearing way. It makes him appear more human, normal. "You're so tense, just relax."

"Yeah…okay," he breathed out. He turned around to face the city, going from crouching to fully sitting down on the ledge, hands folding on his thighs as he looked at you over his shoulder. He jerked his head, gesturing for you to come closer to which you gladly did.

You leaned on the concrete with soft hum, placing your phone beside his thigh so it was now between you both. You scanned the beautiful city with a content smile, the view never ceasing to amaze you despite seeing it too many times before. The rooftop is your best escape after all. It was nice to be far away from everything, even if it's only for a moment. Nothing but peace coats you whenever you're up here, may it be from the gentle gush of the wind or the bright shine of the moon that spreads throughout the blanket of black sky.

With a sigh, you looked up at the mask man beside you. Flustered was what you came to be when you noticed that he was already staring at your face, the white and black of his eyes looking somewhat soft, and you swear he looked almost as if he's smiling behind the mask. Warmth was quick to coat your body, a stark contrast to the cold breeze as you cleared your throat, causing him to swiftly look away.

"Sorry, I'm just a little nervous," he chuckled shyly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Really want to impress you."

You felt your cheeks heat up, a timid smile growing on your lips as you shrugged. "No need to impress anyone, let alone me," you said. "Just be yourself Spider-Man."

Oh, I truly wish I could just be myself right now Y/N—

"Okay," Peter hummed with a smile.

"Are you sure this is fine?" you asked, gesturing towards your phone in the middle of you two. "I don't want to intrude or make you feel uncomfortable by recording our conversation."

Peter's heart grew warm as his smile widened. Always considerate you are, too kind for your own good. If it was someone else, he probably would've had loads of pictures taken by now. Or maybe even a hidden camera somewhere to catch him at the wrong moment. Many of which would then be posted on the internet to spread like wildfire. Not that he minded the photos and videos but it's off putting sometimes, especially when they churn out not-so-good headlines to match.

"Promise me you won't share or sell it?" he joked, mentally cursing himself soon after once he realized it's the same words he said to you earlier in the library. Although he felt a wash of relief right away when you didn't seem to notice as you only flashed him a sweet smile in return.

"I promise," you hummed, turning to face him as you leaned sideways on the ledge. "What other superpowers do you have?"

"Enhanced abilities such as super strength, I can run fast and heal fast. Dialed up senses meaning I can see, hear, smell and feel things on another level. I'm...sticky, meaning I can climb up walls and stick to stuff like how a spider would. And oh, spider sense," Peter elaborated, watching with amusement as he saw your eyes change from awe, confusion, to impressed and back to confusion.

"Spider sense?"

"I can sense danger and threats when it's coming, like I feel a tingle."

"That's really cool," you hummed, hand rapidly lifting up as you took a fast and big swing towards his shoulder. He caught your fist in his hand way before you could even have the chance to land a punch.

Peter shook his head at you in pure amusement, giving your fist a squeeze before he let it go. "That wasn't so successful now was it?" he chuckled.

"It was worth a try. Just testing the waters to see if it would trigger your 'spidey sense' as you call it," you laughed, quoting the two words with your fingers teasingly.

"It didn't because one, anyone could see that punch from a mile away, and two, I said dangers and threats," he paused, tilting his head at you adoringly. "And you're not really a threat."

"Hey, I can be threatening," you scoffed, chin up with your chest puffed out.

Peter couldn't stop the laugh that escaped his lips. "I'm sure you can. I bet you can handle yourself well, especially with proper training." He took in a deep breath before saying, "But that's not really what I meant."

"What did you mean?

"That I feel safe around you."

"Oh." You blinked at him a few times before you fully broke his gaze, suddenly turning bashful as your eyes watched the busy street below where the cars and people were scurrying about in the cold New York night. Squaring your shoulders, you added, "Well, for what it's worth, I feel safer around you now too."

Peter felt his heart leap out of his chest, a proud smile erupting on his face, gaze dropping on the ground—or lack thereof—shyly as red started to dust his cheeks. "That's worth a lot," he hummed, lifting his head at the same time you did, your eyes locking immediately.

You beamed at him sweetly, shifting on your feet before letting out a breath. "Right, onto a more serious question," you paused, gesturing at the whole of him with your hand. "Why exactly are you doing this?"

"What do you think is the reason why I'm doing what I do?" he asked back, eyes trained on your face for a moment before he looked straight ahead. He can feel your orbs burning a hole on the side of his face, your brows furrowed in a way that Peter could do nothing but grin widely. He always found your thinking face endearing.

"I don't know, could be a lot of things. Could be money, glory, revenge, bragging rights, most likely fame?" you suggested.

Peter shook his head, keeping his gaze on the building across. "If I was doing this for fame, you'd think I would've shown my face by now?"

"Touché."

"But no," he breathed out, eyes now trained on his feet as he swung them aimlessly on the edge of the building. "I just want to help to the best of my abilities. I feel like I was given these powers, me, for a reason. If I'm not going to use it for a good cause then what's the point of having them?" Peter turned to face you, holding your gaze securely, even behind the mask as he continued, "If I'm not going to help out the little guy, even if I can easily do that then, who will? I can't simply watch the world fall apart when I could've done something to prevent it or provided a little bit of help, you know?"

You nodded. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Peter cracked a smile. "Yeah, exactly," he hummed, gaze dropping to stare at his gloved hands, turning it over before clasping it together with a sigh.

"How do you feel about the people who think you're not on the good side? That you have some hidden agenda?"

"I pity them if I'm being honest."

"How so?"

"I mean, if you're at a point in life where you can't accept that someone is helping simply for the sake of helping, then you've must've gone through a lot to not trust easily," Peter started, fingers fidgeting with his web shooters before he met your gaze. "We've been taught to always think that there's an incentive in all that we do. If you give, you have to receive and vice versa. But why can't we simply give and not expect something in return? People are so accustomed to the whole give and take thing that when someone just gives, it feels unfamiliar. That's why they get suspicious. They overthink that surely I'm doing this for something else when there's really no other reason than simply wanting to help.

"I also get it. It's a cruel world we're living in unfortunately where we have to keep one eye open. But I wish people would begin to accept that someone is helping to make the world a better place by simply wanting to have a safe and better place. No hidden agenda whatsoever," he finished, brown orbs catching sight of how your smile grew wider, brighter.

"You're a wise man," you said with an appreciative nod. "With a really good heart too."

"Thanks. I try my best."

"I'd say you've probably lived a life, traveled the world, seen so many new things, been to space," you trailed off, raising a brow at him in question.

"Yeah, you could say that," he chuckled.

"Are you a billionaire? Are you a prince in disguise or maybe a king? Are you a lawyer? Or maybe some kind of mythical being like Thor?" you poked.

Peter laughed, shaking his head as he shrugged. "Nah, I'm just a kid from Queens."

Shit.

Peter you fucking idiot. You absolute dumbass—

"Huh, I've got a best friend who's from Queens," you muttered, voice barely above a whisper but thanks to his enhanced hearing abilities, of course he heard it loud and clear.

Peter bit the insides of his cheek to stop his smile, even though you weren't going to see it anyway since he has a mask on. I know you do. "Come on, I want to show you something," he said aloud instead, standing up to his full height with his hand out for you to take.

You narrowed your eyes at his outstretched palm before you looked up at his masked face. "Are you going to kidnap me now and sell my organs?"

Peter threw his head back with a hearty laugh, the sound ringing in the air as he shook his head at you. "No, I'm going to show you New York from a different angle," he said, smiling widely as he leaned over closer, hand open wide. "Do you trust me?"

"You did not just quote Aladdin," you laughed, taking your phone off the ledge to stop recording before shoving it in your pocket.

Peter shrugged with a sheepish grin. "What if I did?"

You smiled widely at that, placing your hand securely in his and giving it squeeze. "Then yes, I trust you."

Peter hoisted you up on the ledge with ease, both of you now standing side by side on the edge of the building. A small squeak came out of you when you curiously looked down and saw that the ground was actually very far away, your grip on his hand tightening when all you could think of was splat. He chuckled, moving closer to you as he lifted your arm and placed it over his shoulders, your eyes snapping back up to look at his masked face.

"Is this okay?" he hummed, his arm wrapping around your waist strongly once you gave him a nod approval. "Hold tight," Peter said.

"Please don't let me go," you whispered, worry-filled eyes boring into his own while a mixture of both nervousness and excitement coated your features.

"Never."

Peter jumped.

You screamed.

The strong gush of the wind swiftly hit your face, hair whipping around as your grip around him tightened starkly. You felt your stomach churn while you swung in the air, passing one building to another, going high up and then dropping back down in a swooping motion. Your legs wrapped itself around his waist almost instinctively, all in fear of falling to your death.

"This was a bad idea!" you screeched, head buried on the crook of his neck, eyes shut tight ever since your feet left the ledge.

"Open those eyes Y/N! You're missing all the fun!" Peter laughed, giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. He felt you slowly pull your head away from his neck, lids inching open one by one until you finally gawked at the wonderful lights and blaring colors of the city in awe.

Your mouth fell agape the more you took the sight in, the city a blur but somewhat beautiful in its own unique way. You loosened your grip around his shoulder just so you could lift a hand up in the air, a satisfied hum vibrating in your chest as you felt the cold wind brush through your fingertips in the most comforting way.

That's when you let out a gleeful laugh.

Peter felt his heart melt ten times over at the beautiful sound. His cheeks were hurting from grinning ear to ear the more he took in how you're having the best time.

You looked absolutely breathtaking, the city lights casting a glow over your features, eyes holding nothing but pure bliss and wonder with that lovely, bright smile of yours to match.

The city was pretty sure, Peter loves seeing it at night whenever he does his patrol. But you, you were gorgeous, a stunning sight that he could never ever have enough of. You never do fail to make his heart stop, never fail to take his breath away, never fail to make his limbs all weak and Peter found himself falling deeper despite trying his hardest not to.

"This is so cool—no!" you shrieked, eyes wide with fear as you shot high up midair and went free falling for a few horrifying seconds before you landed back into his embrace, slotting right into his chest. Peter laughed as you quickly went to latch onto him, your grip viselike with both arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist. He wrapped an arm around you securely as his other hand held tightly on the web, both of you now face to face as you continued to swing in the air.

You lifted your head up to look at him fully, faces now inches apart as you stared right into each other's eyes. Peter felt his heartbeat quicken when your orbs held a certain spark, as if you could see the actual him right behind the mask. His eyes fell on your lips, slightly parted as you gawked at him. They look really soft, very pretty, inviting.

He gulped.

At that point Peter wasn't sure if he was thankful or annoyed that he was wearing a mask. Because if he wasn't, then he would've already done something he might regret—or not—later on, especially with the consequences that would come with it.

But when you opened your mouth to start to speak, that's when Peter grew even more nervous on what could possibly be running in your thoughts.

Did you figure it out?

You didn't get a chance to say whatever it was you wanted to say when all movements stopped, Peter releasing you from his hold right as you felt your feet touch the ground.

"That was mean," you said once you gently pulled away from him. "You said you wouldn't let me go," you added, adjusting your hair and clothes before you shot him a pout.

"I'm sorry, I got a little distracted," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy chuckle. It was a full on accident, mind preoccupied by all things you that he unconsciously loosened his grip around your waist which in turn, made you slip out of his grasp. "I'll always catch you though."

You pursed your lips at him with a tilt of your head. "If I hadn't known better I'd say you're flirting with me, Spider-Man."

Peter felt the heat rush up to his face in a split second. "I-I'm, uh—"

"Whoa," you cut him off once your eyes landed on the gorgeous city of Manhattan but much farther away and wider as you stood on a much higher building. The tall structures that surrounded the scene seemed like toys with their size, the lights that gleamed looking like little specks of stars floating in the air with the Empire State Building right at the middle of it all. "I haven't seen it this high up before," you said, giving him a swift glance before your eyes were back on the scenery. "It's really beautiful."

"Yeah, very beautiful," Peter sighed, brown orbs never leaving your features, his heart thumping in his chest, loud and fast, each beat all for you.

He walked over to where you were stood until your arms were brushing against each other. You spared him a glance, your smile wide and soft in a way that made his heart grow warm. But then you leaned your head on his shoulder and Peter swore he might as well die from a heart attack. If it were you with the enhanced senses, then you would probably catch him out quickly with how frantic and loud each beat his heart was making.

It wasn't new to him of course. You've always been the affectionate kind. And being your best friend, he's always at the receiving end of those affections.

But tonight feels a little different.

The fact that you feel safe around him without having to see his face, when all you see is Spider-Man, it makes his heart melt. The simple fact that you're comfortable when you're near him, that you can feel that you can trust him is really reassuring in a sense. It's like your heart is already familiar with who he is despite your brain—or your eyes—telling you that the person you're standing with right now is a complete stranger.

It feels really special when looking at it in that perspective, it makes Peter feel special.

Sudden boldness coursing through his bones, Peter snaked an arm around your shoulder with a gentle squeeze in the process. It took every ounce of his superhuman strength to keep his legs upright when you inched closer to his side, a soft breath coming out of you, a satisfied one. His eyes glowed with utmost adoration as it traced your features, from the soft smile playing on your lips to the twinkle in those irises as you kept your gaze on the stunning city in front. It baffles him how his heart quickened it's pace even more, just the sight of you in pure bliss. God he was so in love with you and you don't even have an ounce of clue.

Just say it out loud, tell her.

No, I can't. For her, I can't.

"It's getting late. I should probably head back home," you hummed, lifting your head off his shoulder to look at him. Peter nodded, arm dropping to your waist as he crouched down a little, just so you could sling an arm around his shoulder. "No dropping me this time," you warned, narrowing your eyes at him teasingly.

Peter laughed with a nod. "Yes ma'am."

The swing back to your apartment building took no time.

Despite wanting to drag the night out a little longer, Peter knew he can't do that to you when your debate was tomorrow, especially among countless papers and homework he knows you need to get to. Plus, he has his own errands he needs to tend to as well. Both of you landed on the ledge smoothly with you laughing at some bad joke he made. Peter helped you down like the gentle man that he is and giving your hand one last squeeze before he lets it go.

"Thank you for tonight," you said as you turned to his figure that remained standing on the ledge. Nothing but a wide, genuine smile played on your lips as you added, "Everything of tonight."

"Don't mention it," Peter said sweetly. "I had a really great time with you—shit. I hope that doesn't sound creepy or anything but I really did enjoy tonight, you know, our conversation, getting close with you and feeling you close to me while we were swinging...okay, I'll stop talking."

You let out the sweetest giggle that Peter could do nothing but swoon, his eyes softening as he tilted his head at you with the most adoring smile he could ever have the pleasure of wearing.

"I had a great time being close with you, too," you hummed, holding his gaze for a moment before you casted your eyes at the ground shyly. Shifting from your heels and toes, you pointed towards the rooftop door, before timidly meeting his eyes again. "I should probably—"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," Peter chuckled, shooting you a curt nod. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spider-Man," you said, swiftly turning around as you went towards the door, giving him one last glance over your shoulder when you pulled it open. He gave you a wave in response, your smile widening before you slipped inside and closed the door right behind you.

Peter had the stupidest, most shit-eating grin on his face that he don't think he could ever wipe off, eyes fluttering close as he spread his arms wide. With a satisfied breath, he slowly leaned backwards, letting gravity take its course as pure euphoria coated every fiber of his being.

Never has he ever felt such joy, freedom and utmost content as Peter lets himself fall.

***

"Hello there."

Peter looked up from his notes only to be met by a set of green eyes, completely taking him by surprise since it wasn't the pair of orbs he was expecting—and really excited—to see. It confused him to the core as to why one of the most popular girls on campus was sitting down right in front of him in the library.

"Hi?" he said, word coming out more as a question than a statement as he furrowed his brows.

"Peter right? Marjorie," she introduced, hand coming across the table to which he shook gingerly.

"Yeah, that's me." Peter smiled shyly, the crease on his forehead deepening the more he raked his brain as to why she's talking to him in the first place. Of course he knows who she is, the whole school does. Hell, he can already hear the whispers of gossip echoing about all because she's sitting right at his table, or as a matter of fact, simply because she's in the room. That's how big of a deal she is.

Marjorie moved forward, both her arms resting on the table with her bust right on top of it, the low cut top she wore doing so little to hide it, cleavage right up his face. Peter was quick to look away with a clear of his throat, eyes trained on his notes as a blush coated his cheeks.

She suddenly brought two fingers under his chin, prompting him to look back up. "Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you pretty boy," she purred, a sly smirk growing on her lips when his blush deepened. She inched closer until she was fully leaning over the table and into his space, her thumb running across his chin teasingly. Peter's eyes grew wide in downright surprise and confusion, keeping his gaze locked with hers and never looking anywhere else—mostly not looking down—as he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Anyway, I heard you're really smart and I happen to find you really cute too. Not just a pretty face, aren't you Peter. So, I was wondering—"

Peter could feel you coming, hear you even, that all too familiar sound of your giddy and specifically patterned footsteps ringing in his ears. And dare he say it, he could smell your shampoo, the scent gradually growing stronger which was a clear indication that you were getting closer to the library.

He was left downright confused when you only stopped at the door, your heartbeat quickening by a mile as you stilled. Peter grew worried at the uneven sound of your breathing, all shallow and labored, the first thing that happens whenever you're in slight panic. He removed his eyes briefly from the girl across him only to see you turn on your heel in one swift motion and then completely disappearing from sight.

What was wrong? Where were you going?

"I, uh, I'm really sorry but I need to go." Peter quickly pulled his face away from Marjorie's hand, standing up from his seat all while shoving his things in his backpack. "I-It was nice meeting you," he said with a small smile before he sprinted towards the door.

He didn't see you anywhere near the building, didn't see you anywhere on campus at all.

It worried him even more when you ignored his texts and calls for the rest of the day. He knew your schedule but somehow, the moment he reached your class, you were already gone. Or maybe you hadn't even attended class in the first place. There was no other way of him knowing your whereabouts and he was growing really concerned by the second as to what had happened. So, he went with the last option he could think of on finding you quicker.

Peter slipped his mask on with a sigh, the sun already going down when he decided to try and pay you a visit in a very different set of clothes.

***

"Hi."

"What the fu—" You jumped with a yelp as you swiftly turned to face him, hand over your chest to try and calm your heart as you gaped at his masked face. "What are you doing here?"

Three times he's passed your apartment building and you weren't home. But by the fourth try, Peter's worry could only grow some more when he saw you out on the rooftop. You never stay out on the rooftop unless something was deeply bothering you.

"Wanted to know how the debate went," Peter reasoned, not the main agenda but it wasn't entirely a lie either.

"Well, my team won so that's great," you sighed dejectedly, leaning down to rest your elbow on the ledge while your chin landed on your palm.

"You don't seem enthusiastic? You still don't think I'm a friend?"

"No, no, I do now. It's just things in here." You tapped your temple, letting out another sigh when you brought your finger down to your chest, right where your heart is supposed to be and added, "Or in here rather."

Peter frowned. "What's up?"

"Who knew Spider-Man was into gossip," you teased, turning to flash him a small smile.

"Just curios," he hummed with a casual shrugged, settling himself down on the ledge, facing you this time around. "Besides, it's always better to let it out."

"It's just boy problems," you breathed out, eyes back on the orange tinted sky.

Peter felt a lump grow in his throat, heart sinking to his stomach at the thought of you thinking about another guy. He was quick to scold himself, telling his mind not to be selfish as he cleared his throat.

"Hit me."

"Well, there's this boy I like—" you stopped yourself, lips pursed as you started to fidget with your fingers, thinking face that Peter knows so well now in full play. "Actually no, I've been in love with him for as long as I can remember," you admitted.

The ache in Peter's heart grew sharper, painful and overwhelming that he felt his body run cold. His throat grew dry that he could do nothing but nod his head with a hum to tell you he's still following.

"He's amazing, greatest guy I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and he has never failed to show that he cares about me. He's always there for me, whenever he can anyway with his hectic life. And he makes me really happy." A love-struck smile grew on your lips, eyes glowing with adoration, face holding that look of love as you bask in the sunset. The golden glow made you look even more stunning, but Peter wasn't able to fully appreciate your beauty when his mind was too preoccupied with jealous thoughts. But a second later, the joy that's coated your features slowly faded off, now replaced by one with worry.

Peter tried his best to keep his tone steady. Despite having the voice modulator on, he knows it will pick up even the slightest shake and uncertainty. "But?"

"I truly can't figure out if he's acting the way he is because he feels the same way or all of it is just an act of friendship," you paused, taking in a deep breath as you shifted on your feet. "There are moments where I do think it's more but then there are moments where I see him with another girl and I start questioning it again. Like, am I reading things wrong? Am I getting too ahead of myself by thinking he could possibly feel the same way?" You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. "I don't even know how to convey my own feelings—"

"You could just tell him," Peter blurted to cut you off, not wanting to hear any more as the piercing pain in his chest could only deepen the more you talk about it. He's already got the drift anyway, no need for you to explain any further.

You turned to look at him fully with furrowed brows. "Just like that?"

Peter nodded. "You are an amazing girl Y/N," he said, nothing but utmost sincerity coating his voice. He just wants you to find someone who's going to make you happy and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. It seems like you've found exactly that, who was he to take that away from you by being bitter? Besides, Peter has long accepted that that someone is never going to be him. "Whoever this guy you're in love with, he's pretty lucky. If he doesn't see that then it's his loss. And if he doesn't feel the same way, then he's not the right guy for you because you deserve someone who'll love you unconditionally."

"You giving out relationship advice now too? A sideline if you're not saving the world?" you joked, only earning a shrug and a soft laugh from him. "But thank you." You flashed him a small but grateful smile.

"Always happy to help," he said. "I better get going, got a city to look after." Peter forced a smile, a useless tactic given that there was no way for you to see it anyway. He stood up to his full height before adding, "Congrats on the debate." He didn't even wait for a response when he swiftly jumped and swung as far away from your building as possible.

The second he landed on top of an abandoned warehouse, Peter immediately pulled his mask off. He couldn’t bear to leave it on a second longer or else he was going to suffocate. Sharp breaths escaped him as his back hit the brick wall, eyes screwed shut to stop any tear from slipping out of his burning eyes. He tried his hardest to calm his frantic heart, to minimize the pain by shoving his selfish thoughts away. He forced himself to think about you and your well-being instead, tried to convince himself that this was a good thing.

He doesn't doubt that this guy you're smitten with is a great one. The way you speak about him just screams it. Add that to you being great at judging character, then he knows you're in good hands. Despite it hurting like a ton of punches in the chest, Peter still hoped that whoever this guy is, he'll catch you in his arms openly and shower you with the truest love because you deserve nothing but. The pain would be worth it if he gets to see you be happy.

Peter knows that whoever this guy is, he would treat you rightly, give you everything you want and need in a way that Peter never could.

Slowly opening his eyes, he lets out a calming breath, mind slowly slipping at ease the more he thinks about how happy, content and safe you'll be with this guy if ever it will work out.

It hurts, unbearably, but his sliver of pain in exchange for your utmost happiness? Then Peter will gladly endure it.

***

The next day, Saturday noon, was when you finally decided to answer Peter's texts from the day before. You apologized for ghosting him, said you got preoccupied and left it at that. And then you asked if he wanted to go for a little stroll in the park, too make it up to him. Peter could never say no to you so here you were, side by side under the afternoon sun, aimlessly walking around a nearly deserted park outskirts of the main city.

"Why'd you disappear yesterday?" he asked, both his hands in his pockets while yours were looped in his. "I saw you stop by at the library but you didn't come and say hi."

You shrugged, eyes trained on the pavement as you kicked at the few rocks that were lying around. "Something came up," you simply said.

Peter can't help but feel a little sting when you didn't elaborate further. Well, he already knew what had happened but that was as Spider-Man. He was hoping you'd tell him too, as Peter Parker, your long time best friend.

"Thank you for the email by the way," you spoke again when he stayed quiet, lifting your head up to spare him a bright smile. "We wouldn't have won the debate if it wasn't for you."

"Winning the debate was all on you and that incredible brain of yours. I'm not going to take credit for that," he chuckled as he shot you a knowing look. Eyes back in front, Peter added, "But I'm always here to help. That's what best friends are for."

You hummed, letting go of his arm as you skipped ahead and treaded towards the nearest tree. "What's up with you and Marjorie?" you asked, settling down on the grass, legs straight with your right ankle over you left as you leaned back against the trunk comfortably.

"What's up with what?" Peter followed you with a deep crease between his brows, sitting right beside you soon after, mirroring your position under the shade.

"You tell me, you were almost kissing when I saw you in the library so," you trailed off, picking at the shreds of greenery, throwing it purposelessly as you still avoided his gaze. "Are you two a thing now?"

Peter shook his head with a roll of his eyes. "First off, we were not almost kissing and second, no, we're not a thing," he clarified, head turned for him to see you clearly. "I didn't even get to hear what she wanted because I immediately left," he chuckled.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. "You bailed on her in the library?"

"Sort of?" Peter scrunched his nose.

"That's a very bold move, Parker," you giggled, bumping your shoulder with his teasingly. "Most guys would've died to just be in the same room as her."

Peter let out a hearty laugh, shrugging his shoulders and said, "Well, I guess I'm not like most guys."

Marjorie was pretty, Peter won't deny that, but she could never amount to you. Even right now, when you're just sitting beside him in casual jeans and sweater, a simple but very charming smile on your lips as you looked up at the clouds, Peter was already swooning ten times over. Then comes the memory of you looking so breathtaking while he took you around the city. The stunning glow on your face as you stared at the scene in awe was still deeply engraved in Peter's mind, and he knows for a fact that that image will never leave him. Not that he was complaining anyway.

"So, how did your meeting with Spider-Man go?" he asked after a few moments of silence. A shy smile slowly grew on your lips, one that made Peter lift a brow at you in suspicion.

"He's really cool," you breathed out, your grin growing wider as you kept your gaze steadily trained at the blue sky. "He's a gentleman too, a little shy and awkward but in a cute way. Plus, very wise and smart, like lived-a-life wise and genius smart. He then took me to swing around the city which was awesome," you gushed, a dreamy glow coating your face as you met Peter's eyes. "That night is going to be a night I'll remember for the rest of my life for sure."

Peter couldn't help the smug grin that grew on his face. "If I hadn't known better I'd say you have a crush on Spider-Man," he teased, wriggling his brows at you.

"Shut up," you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

"It's obvious. You have that dreamy look on your face when you talk about him," he poked even more, nudging you with his elbow playfully.

"No, I don't," you laughed as you pushed him away. "Besides, I've got my eyes on someone else already."

Peter's heart sunk.

He found himself playing with the sleeves of his hoodie as he avoided your gaze, trying his hardest to keep his feelings at bay before you'd notice the change in his demeanor. "Care to share with your best friend?" he offered, wondering if you're finally willing to tell him about this mystery guy.

You stayed quiet, eyes fluttering close as you rested your head on his shoulder. Peter kept his gaze steady on you, everything else silent aside from the sound of the rustling leaves of the tree. But then you let out a nervous breath, heartbeat picking up the pace in a way that made Peter grow curious as to what's on your mind.

"I love you," you blurted out of the blue, a slight shake in your voice as you kept your eyes shut.

Although confused, Peter responded, "I love you too—"

"No, Peter," you paused, shifting in your place, pulling away from him as you sat up straighter. You finally met his brown orbs, all while countless of emotions swam in yours. "I love you," you whispered but with your voice firm and laced with pure sincerity, eyes holding his with such intensity that he quickly understood.

Peter stared at you in shock.

Slowly, but surely, everything started to click inside his head. The confession you shared with Spider-Man. When you said you'd seen this guy with another girl...the library. Was that why you quickly ran out? When you saw...almost kissing. Was that the reason why your heart suddenly grew at panic?

The guy you were gushing about so fondly, the same one you said you were in love with for a long time now, the one Peter was growing jealous of...it was him.

You were talking about him, Peter Parker.

He grew at a loss for words as he gawked at you, a smile growing on his lips as he felt his heart stop its course and then beat again but with twice the pace. Peter was so happy, over the universe as pure warmth filled him up from head to toe. The mere thought that you felt the same, it was too good to be true. But it was, he can see it clear in your eyes, it was real.

You love him.

But then his mood was quick to shift, smile slipping off his face, the warmth and joy that coated his bones replaced by fear and worry in a snap of a finger.

Peter's heart stopped at the sight in front of him.

You were getting held at knifepoint by the throat, tears brimming in your eyes, more of it coating your cheeks as you clawed at the arm that trapped you in their vise hold.

"P-Peter, I love you," you whimpered, gaze locking with his, hope slipping out of your orbs, the glow they once held getting dimmer by the second in a way that made a shiver run down his spine. Then Peter heard it, that piercing cackle he knew too well, his brown eyes meeting the yellow ones that glowed right behind you.

"You won't be able to save the love of your life, Spider-Man...or should I say, Peter Parker!"

Peter shook his head frantically as he yelled out your name, running at full speed to get to you only to be met by sudden darkness, your heart wrenching scream ringing in his ears followed by an agonizing sound of a body hitting the floor. Peter's blood ran cold as he frantically called out your name, over and over and over yet nothing but eerie silence echoed back at him.

And then he looked down, eyes landing on his trembling hands, each finger, both palms coated with blood, your blood.

You were gone.

"No, no, no," Peter rushed, voice quivering, hastily getting up on his feet as he looked at you worryingly. "You can't, Y/N. You can't love me."

It's not safe for you to love me.

The look of pure pain that ghosted over you features squeezed at Peter's heart, the pit in his stomach ever growing the more he thought of what he was about to do.

You stood up shakily to be level with him, deep frown on your lips, confusion and hurt swimming in your eyes as you asked, "Why'd you seem disgusted? You could just say you don't feel the same way."

"N-No, it's not that, neither of that because—" he sucked in a sharp breath, a hand running through his hair as he stared into your eyes longingly. "I do feel the same way about you."

You screwed your eyes shut as you shook your head. "Please don't lie to make me feel better, Peter," you pleaded, the break in your voice a sharp stab at his chest.

"When have I ever lied to you?" Peter internally winced at his bold and very false claim. Nothing but guilt filled his stomach given that he lies to you almost every day. He lies to you about his whereabouts, lies to you about his reasons. Peter lies to you every goddamn day by not telling you he's Spider-Man.

"Then why are your actions speaking something else then?" You gestured towards him as a whole, at the obvious distance that he's put between you two. Your eyes were slowly glossing up as you tried to simply understand what was going on.

Peter sighed, "I just don't want to hurt you okay? I—I don't want you to lose faith on the things you love because of me."

I don't want you to lose your life because of me.

"You're not making any sense," you said frustratedly.

"I'm not qualified to be a good boyfriend, Y/N. I won't be there with you all the time. I'd probably cancel on you on so many dates," Peter paused, meeting your eyes so you could see where he was coming from. "Hell, how many times have I bailed on you right now as your best friend huh? The amount of times I've left you on the street to go home alone?"

Your frown deepened as you held his eyes with nothing but sadness. "You had things going on Peter. You're being really unfair on yourself," you said.

"But you still don't deserve to be treated like that. Not now, not ever, no matter the reason," he pushed. "You deserve all those romantic clichés you're always dreaming of, you deserve to be treated like the queen that you are. You deserve the whole world Y/N, but I won't be able to give you that." Peter's voice broke, eyes holding too many emotions as he kept his gaze steady with yours. A painful task with all the pain and betrayal that's coated your eyes, utmost hurt glaring right at him. "Being with me won't be a fairytale."

Peter wasn't ignorant to the fact that you were a hopeless romantic. The countless rom-coms you've watched together have long ago proved that. The specific look in your eyes, that certain glimmer that washes over your face whenever the couple would kiss under the snow or even in the rain, or whenever they'd go on romantic walks on the beach or simply be in each other's arm whenever it's needed, Peter has memorized it. The little changes in your face whenever you see those clichés, he knows it like the back of his hand, knows how you're craving that kind of simple but true love.

But Peter can't give you any of that. Not right now.

"But I don't want a fairytale. I want to be with you. I don't care if we don't get to do any romantic clichés, being with you would surpass all of that, being with you would be more than enough. And I'm willing to try and make it work with whatever you've got going on, even if I have to make sacrifices in the process. Why can't you see that Peter?" you argued, hands clenched into fists on your sides in mere frustration.

Peter winced, the word sacrifice too heavy for him to hear. It was too painful to even fathom what you would possibly sacrifice for him, that you would probably even sacrifice all of it for him, including your life.

"No, no, please don't," he begged. "I don't want you to sacrifice anything for me. I would never want you to sacrifice those little things that make you smile. I don't want you to sacrifice your happiness for me." Peter shook his head in utter distress, palm rubbing at his face harshly that had the tip of his nose turn red. "And what happens then if it doesn't work? You'll only get disappointed. You'll only end up hating me. By then, I would have already put you through so much hurt all for nothing. I don't want that for you, Y/N."

"How'd you know that when you haven't even tried?" you whispered, bottom lip trembling. "It's like you're not even willing to try," you whimpered.

The second Peter saw the single tear that ran down your cheek he instinctively moved closer, hands reaching out, desperate to hold you, to get to tell you it's going to be alright, to apologize over and over for all the pain he has caused. But you stopped him with the palm of your hand. He felt his heart drop the moment you took a step back, shaking your head, bottom lip desperately caught between your teeth to silence your sobs.

Peter nodded gravely, his arms falling limp by his sides, fully understanding that you don't want him near. He doesn't blame you by one bit. "It's not that I'm not willing to, I just," he paused as he let out a shaky breath. "I don't trust myself to be with you. I don't trust myself with your heart because I know I will only end up breaking it. I'll only let you down." I don't trust myself to keep you safe from harm. I'll only fail you just like how I failed them. Peter confessed, brown orbs turning glossy, all from a mixture of pain and anger. He was so angry at himself for putting you through all this hurt, you don't deserve it, not even a single ounce of it.

Yes, he can try, see where this will go and do his best to be there for you at all times. But that's not set on stone, never a clear promise because he doesn't know what his tomorrow is going to bring. He doesn't know if he's staying in the neighborhood one minute and then entering another dimension the next. Being Spider-Man, he doesn't have a schedule where Peter can organize things as a matter of priority, being Spider-Man requires its own sets of sacrifices. Peter doesn't want you to feel the burden of those sacrifices, too.

He doesn't doubt that you would be understanding enough with whatever it is he has going on but that's exactly the problem. He knows you'll take the bare minimum, you'll put him first above your wants and needs. You're just too kind that way, too big of a heart. But Peter can't have that because it's just not right; it's not what you should settle for. You deserve all the dates, all the romantic walks, all the cuddles and kisses whenever you're down, all the stress free nights where you don't have to worry about him or wait for him to come back to you safe and unharmed, all the time and effort, you deserve all of it and more.

And right now, Peter can't give you what you deserve.

"Or maybe you just don't love me in the way you say you do," you accused, voice soft but the sting in it sharp.

"That's not fucking true because I love you with every ounce of my being," he protested in low growl, desperately tugging at his hair, frustrated that he can't tell you his full reasons as to why exactly he can't be with you. "I love you too much and I want to be with you so badly—"

"Then why is that not enough?" you stressed.

"You don't understand—"

"Then make me understand!" you snapped, tears running freely down your face as you looked at him with utmost despair.

"It's not that fucking simple Y/N!" Peter saw you flinch at the sudden boom of his voice, his heart cracking at the sight. He felt everything in him gradually break the more you stared at him with nothing but anguish. He took in a deep breath to calm himself before he slips out any words that he'll only regret later on. Blowing out his cheeks, he croaked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just—"

Peter tried again and walked closer to you, trembling hands slowly reaching in mere need to feel your skin on his to ground him back, relief washing over him when you let him. He felt his heart warm up a little when you didn't pull away from his touch. But the broken sob you let out when he cupped your face, it was too excruciating for him to hear. The agonizing grip on Peter's heart tightened as he stared right into your eyes, the same ones that once held so much joy but was now flooded with tears and grief, their gorgeous glow snuffed out, all because of him.

"I'm just trying to protect you, please, trust me on that," he whispered, not even trying to hide the brokenness in his voice anymore, not even trying to hold back his tears as Peter pressed his forehead against yours.

The little droplets fell down on your face, his tears joining yours on your already damp skin. His thumb oh so tenderly tried to wipe them all away, wishing that it was as easy as that to ease up your pain, to take away your hurt so simply, but he knows it wasn't. It wasn't an easy choice and Peter knows it never will be.

"I love you so much, don't you ever, ever doubt that. B-But we can't. I'm really sorry Y/N, but we can't be together. I-I know this hurts right now, trust me, I know, but I will only make it much worse," he choked, shaking his head when you leaned into his palm with a broken breath. But you kept your eyes open, held his gaze with utter strength and Peter saw it, saw how you still looked at him with love in your eyes. Despite it being mixed with pain, it was there, clear and honest. God he did not fucking deserve you at all.

"You deserve someone who'd treat you the way you deserve to be treated, someone who'd truly show you how it feels to be loved completely and not just the bare minimum. You deserve someone who'd be so much better than me." Peter's voice broke at the end of his sentence, eyes still holding yours just so you could see the other things he can't put into words, the things he couldn't say aloud. He was desperately, silently pleading that you would see right through him, so you could understand why he has to do this. "Maybe in another life, we could make this work. But right now I'm asking, begging you not to love me, because I don't deserve that love, I don't deserve you at all."

Peter practically saw your heart shatter into pieces even more with the simple look in your eyes. It's an absolute torture to look into them right now, to see you be so broken that he found himself wishing that it was only him in pain instead. Even though the thought hurts, he wished you didn't love him. Even though it would be painful to endure, to live in a world where his feelings aren't reciprocated, Peter wished you didn't love him at all if it meant it was going to save you from heartbreak.

Better him in pain than you, always.

Breath unsteady, you closed your eyes with a small nod. "I guess this is it," you sniffled, placing your hands over his, your touch tender as you gave it a squeeze. But then you pulled it away from your face, Peter's hands slipping off your skin as you put some much needed distance between you two.

"Y/N—"

"I don't think we can go back to the way things were after this Peter. I'm sorry I just—I don't think I can handle it." You shook your head with a soft cry, forcing yourself to look back into those brown orbs as you whispered, "I can’t take it."

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes casted on the grass with a solemn nod as he croaked out, "Then I guess this is it."

"Goodbye, Peter."

He screwed his eyes shut at the sound of your broken voice, the heartbreaking sob that followed soon after made him let out a shaky breath. The sound of your footsteps felt like gunshots, each step taken like a bullet wounding him deep but Peter didn't dare to respond, didn't even dare to look up as you briskly walked away.

Peter had to keep his head down because he didn't have enough strength, didn't have the sense of control to stay still in his place. He knows that if he does as much as look up and catch your figure, he'll run after you, full speed. He'll pull you back into his arms; he'll pour all his love into one kiss as he holds you tightly. He'll keep you in his embrace for eternity the moment he gives in into his selfish needs. But he shouldn't. He needs to let you go, he has to let you walk away, for your sake.

The farther the sound of your footsteps got, the tighter his fists grew, fingernails digging into his palms as his breathing became labored, harsh. Peter swiftly turned around and took a hard swing at the tree once you were gone, glad that no one was around to see the whole thing shake from his strength. The bark cracked under his knuckle, leaves falling around him just as his knees gave out. A sharp, broken, frustrated scream escaped his lips as he buried his face in his hands, body shaking with all the anger and pain, trembling from his heart wrenching sobs.

Peter felt like his lungs were about to give out, emotions overflowing and scorching all while feeling numb just the same. But he kept reminding himself why he's doing this for him to get by, kept telling himself that being far apart was for the best.

For your sake.

***

The wind was cold on your face as you stood out on the rooftop to escape. The night breeze was slowly drying up your tears, much to no use since it's replaced by fresh ones the second after anyway. You don't know how long you've been crying for, but it wouldn't really matter. Your tears could run out but the pain in your heart could only deepen with each ticking second.

You were worried, angry, hurt, frustrated and confused all the same, unable to tie everything together as it all just seemed like a whole jumbled mess in your head, an incomplete puzzle.

You're not naïve to think that there wasn't more to this than he's letting on. You know he was hiding bits and pieces, his words completely restrained. You saw it in his eyes how he was battling his mind. You saw how he was struggling to not slip out whatever it was he was holding back. It was painful, all of it, from seeing him so distressed to him breaking your heart with his care-filled yet hurtful words.

You get where he's coming from, about wanting you to experience it all and more and not just the bare minimum. If it was a different circumstance, the things he said would've been sweet, how he wants you to have the world, how he wants you to live all those clichés just so he could see you smile, see you be happy. But right now, his words just felt bittersweet since you lost him in the process.

All those days of imagining all the different scenarios on what it would look like, how it would feel when he admits he feels the same way, not once did you ever expect that Peter Parker saying he loves you would feel like a knife to the heart.

What hurts even more is the fact that he is so keen on shutting any chance, and sliver of hope down. He won't even try, like you're not worth any risks at all. It makes you question how important you actually are to him, makes you question if he really does love you in the way he claims he does.

"Ahem."

"Shit!" you squeaked, head snapping towards the squatted figure, eyes landing on the familiar masked man who seemed to like the element of surprise. "You need to stop doing that!"

"Sorry, should've given you a heads up," he apologized, voice sounding a little hoarse, a little...different.

"No shit," you grumbled, hastily wiping away your tears with the sleeves of your sweater before you turned back to face him. "What's brought you here?"

"Was just in the neighborhood, saw you out here and I thought I'd swing by," he said with a casual shrug, gaze steady on the building across. You did just the same as you turned back in front, fingers drumming on the concrete ledge as you stood in silence for a couple minutes, his company soothing in some odd way. But you welcome it, makes you feel more present, stopping you from slipping neck deep into the chaos that's in your head.

"You okay? You seem a bit down," he said, voice still a little gruff, eyes everywhere else but at you.

"Well, I guess you can say that," you breathed out.

"Want to talk about it?"

You bit your bottom lip when it started to tremble, a fresh batch of tears brimming in your eyes. "I told him," you whispered. "You know that friend I talked to you about? I told him I'm in love with him and he wasn't too happy with it. He pushed me away, I—" You shook your head with a shaky breath, eyes now trained on the busy street below. You swallowed the lump in your throat before adding, "He said he loved me but he pushed me away."

The superhero beside you cleared out his throat, shifting in his place until he was fully seated down, his legs hanging off the side of the building. "Did he tell you why?"

"He said he wouldn't be a good boyfriend and that he won't be there for me when I need him. He said I deserved better, which doesn't make any sense because he's already been doing that, being there for me. And I have no doubt he'd treat me rightly but he doesn't seem to believe that himself," you whimpered, harshly wiping away the tears that rushed out your eyes, not wanting to seem pathetic for a boy, not to seem weak in front of the masked hero.

"Hey, you don't have to act all tough for me," he reassured, hand coming up to give your shoulder a comforting squeeze for a short but sweet moment. "It's okay to cry, it doesn't mean you're weak."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding, flashing him a sad smile for a second before you stared back at the city. "And I get he's got a lot going on, I do too but what's painful is that he's not even willing to try and see if it would work or not. It hurts to think that I'm willing to try and make ends meet, that I would do anything to be with him, but he won't do the same for me. It makes me feel like I'm not worth fighting for, that I'm not enough."

"That's not true, Y/N," he whispered, almost as if didn't want you to hear it, your brows furrowing a little as you spared him a glance. He was already looking at you but the second your eyes landed on his face, he swiftly looked away. "What else did he say?" he asked swiftly, voice louder with a clear of his throat.

"He said he can't be with me because he didn't want to hurt me which sounds so fucking stupid since he's hurting me now. Really badly," you whimpered, bottom lip quivering as you screwed your eyes shut, taking in deep calming breaths, steadying yourself before you opened them again.

"Maybe he is just trying to look out for you," he started, head tilted to the side as he looked at you with a shaky breath. "Sometimes the best way to protect someone is to keep them at a safe distance, to not get too close to them, both physically but mostly emotionally."

You frowned, gaze landing back on the white fabric that's covered his eyes. "You do that too? Push people away?"

"I don't want to but I have to," he sighed, looking down at his hands like they were too heavy, like they hold so much weight over his life, caused him so much trouble and pain. He stared at them for a few seconds more before his fingers started to pick at his web shooters. "It's the best way to keep the people I care about safe."

"Because of all the bad guys chasing after you?"

He let out a soft chuckle as he nodded. "Yeah, you could say that."

You turned to face him fully, deep frown still etched on your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest. "Does that not get lonely?"

"It does." He nodded dejectedly, his eyes still looking elsewhere. "But it's better than seeing the ones I love get hurt because of the sole reason that they love me and that I love them just as much, if not more. Once they find out who I am, they're going to use that against me. They will always use that against me." The pain and hurt that coated his voice in his last sentence, you heard it loud and clear, makes you wonder what hardships he could've gone through to feel this way. "I think it's best to keep them away from this side of my world. I admit, it's really hard for me to stay away but I just keep reminding myself that all I'm doing is trying to keep them safe as much as I can," he paused, turning his head to finally look at you and you felt your heart stop at his next set of words.

"I'm just trying to protect them."

You felt as though that the clouds cleared up above your head, the puzzle pieces falling into place, completing itself as you slowly and finally tied everything together.

All those times he's suddenly in a rush to leave with a half-assed reason, the times where you'd catch a glimpse of the random cuts and bruises he had on his body, it all became so clear. And the night you first met Spider-Man, that odd feeling you had when he squeezed your hand the first time, it finally made sense. That same night, you felt as though you were crazy when you found yourself gravitating towards a complete stranger, a masked superhero at that. You found it ridiculous how you felt like you could trust him right off the bat. When you felt a vast feeling of being safe around him in so little time, initially you told yourself that it wasn't a good thing, that it was dangerous and you should tread carefully, but now the feeling just felt awfully familiar.

That's when you fully understood everything. The knots in your head gradually untangled itself as you gawked at him, mouth slightly agape in pure shock, tears welling up in your eyes for a different reason this time. All the things he's been through, all the pain and grief from the people he's lost, the weight that the world has put on his shoulders, it made your heartbreak. It made you feel so guilty that you weren't there for him through all that.

A new found weight settled itself in your chest because as you stared right at the mask, you saw him.

"Well, I need to go. You know, got a city to look after," he chuckled shyly as he looked away, his voice sounding starkly different from the previous encounters as it now held a sense of familiarity. "See you later."

With that, he jumped off, your eyes following the red in blue under the night sky, gradually getting smaller until disappearing from sight.

You smiled, a small one, didn't quite reach your ears but it was genuine. Your heart was still aching, mostly for him than for you, but it was also now filled with the greatest pride as you whispered, just under your breath,

"See you later, Peter Parker."

-:-:-:-:-

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[littlenahsstuff]

Sally Mckenna x Reader

A/n, geez this took me forever to actually get out. Not reread so I'm sorry but hope you still like it. Also I don't know how to do the friggan read more thing so... sorry again.

WARNINGS: implied death, implied abuse, sally being possessive, unhealthy relationships, sexual reference. Uhhh yeah plz read at ur own risk.

It's a wonder to many how Sally ended up with a girl like you. Sally was a wrecked soul made of ash and fire and the gasoline lighting it and tears and pained laughs. You were a hopeful wanderer made of soft kisses and poems and snowflakes and pretty fragile flower petals and innocence. Or maybe sweetness. Even though, you were a rabbit and Sally, a fox. Possessive and cunning over her prey.

You met when you went to the Cortez to get away from your past, from the people who hurt you, from her. Truth was you were terrified of anyone and everyone and... well she said she could protect you. You believed her too.

***<>***<>***<>***

"Hey babydoll, why ya crying without a drink in your hand? After all, your at the bar and clearly because you don't want to be alone in your room," she spoke husky and blunt. You were awfully shy and you spooked easily.

"Oh I just, I'm not usually one to drink. It makes you do things," you whispered, still not meeting the ladies face. Your twiddling thumbs were looking awfully nice to you right now.

The truth was she was right, you didn't want to be alone. Not after the year of being alone with her. Though, the alcohol only served to remind you of her more, it was the only place you could go with people who you don't know. With people.

"Aw, that's okay. But c'mon I'll keep you some company, only if you let me buy you at least a little liquid courage. We can't have you being this shy with me the whole night," she ended her bargain with a deep chuckle. It was startling how quickly you agreed to her.

So making your decision you let out an okay and decided you should know what this person looks like at least.

Upon your scan of her you figured out 5 important things. 1. This woman was crying earlier and you knew because her eyeliner smudged and dripped in tracks. 2. She was wild. This was given by her frizzy blonde hair that looked as dead as her, yet so alive. 3. She had an odd sense of fashion that complimented her too perfectly. Her leopard print coat and older dress told you this one. 4. She holds more emotion in her brown eyes than in anyone else as a whole that you've ever seen. The fact that even with the immense amount of depth in them, you could still see a twinkle in the depth of them, shocked you. 5. She was and still is the most beautiful person you've ever seen and she's trouble.

"Okay, sure. Thanks," you exhaled. And thus you two were forever in each other's debts. For you both were never alone after that day.

***<>***<>***<>***

"Hey sweets," you called out into room 64, "I brought you something!" You always felt bad for leaving her so you ended up getting her things that reminded you of her. This time it was a new guitar. Sure it was a little expensive but you didn't mind, you practically lived at the Cortez now and for almost free.

You, of course, know that Sally is a ghost and that she can never roam farther than a few steps out of the Cortez. It breaks your heart that you can't take her with you to explore the world you couldn't before but you just have to. Your ex never let you, so having a job and getting to actually do things was something you thought you would never be able to again. Yet here you are.

One problem, Sally doesn't like it either. It doesn't matter how many gifts you give, she just wants you. Her approaches aren't nearly as rough as your ex when she wants you to stay and she would never be too harsh with you. Or so you believe.

Sally had been plotting this night forever, she was gonna ask you to die tonight and stay with her forever. She needed you here. She needed you to stop leaving her.

Of course you were her precious angel and she understood that you loved exploring, but she could never shake the sense that you were too eager and would get yourself hurt or worse, killed. Then she would be alone forever again. She couldn't be alone and she had to make sure you stayed with her. So even if you didn't know better and wanted to still go out despite the danger, she had precautions in place to keep you safe.

So, this night had to be special and romantic. She had made your favorite meal, despite not being a master chef. She had set up a romantic scene in your room and it. Was. Perfect.

How could you say no after this?

"Hi babydoll. I made you dinner, your favorite Y/N," she appeared next to you. You made a slight jump, but collected yourself when you saw it.

"It's gorgeous," you gasped. Your eyes marveled at the candlelight, neat placement of the silverware, and your absolute fav dish on the table.

"The best for my babydoll," Sally smirked, kissing you on the cheek. You twiddle with your thumbs again.

"I'm sorry," you suddenly spoke, eyes downcast. Fear shot through your spine and your thoughts raced. Did I forget something important?!

"Hey, Y/N, look at me. I know that look what's wrong?" Sally's tone was soft and she added some comforting rubbing on your back to ease you.

"I- Did I forget something? I know your birthday's not today or our anniversary or-did we make plans? I can't remember. I'm so sorry, I promise I can do better," You said meekly and decidedly.

"Oh," Sally's heart broke. She hated when you got like this. So stiff and afraid if herself and all because of her. "Babydoll, I just wanted to do something special for you. Dont worry everything's gonna be just fine."

"Well..." you paused, relief had worked itself through you, "Thank you so much, this is so lovely. I love you so much Sally. I um, got you this," you handed her the new guitar.

It was light weighted and had a darker wood, practically perfect to Sally. At least... that was until she gazed upon the not so delicate etching in the side. Sally & Y/n 4ever. A message not long forgotten to her. You meant it too.

You made a deal that when you were ready, you would kill yourself to be with her at the Cortez. Till death do we not part, you had joked. It would be a day when you would at least be no younger than 30, you were 24 now.

So today was not that day. Or rather tonight.

But it didn't make the phrase any less emotional for Sally. Despite the agreement. So with shaky hands she reached out for the instrument.

"I love it baby," she whispered from her messily painted lips. Her fingers brushed across each copper string. They plucked one by one at it, each ringing out with the vibration. It was out of tune but surely nothing she couldn't fix. You must have gotten it at a pawn shop. Usually ones elsewhere come pretuned.

Relief flooded over you as you saw the smirk snake upon the ghost's lips. She did like it, good.

"Well as much as I would like to play this baby. I think you might be a little hungry, it is 10. Can't have my meal without her having hers first Y/n." Sally smirked at the way your cheeks went aflame.

"Okay," you whispered, looking at the table and sitting down. The ghost followed suit.

With a click, warmth was made from Sally's cig lighter.

Candlelight brightened the both of yours faces, adding a yellowish tint. This tint was especially viable upon Sally's pale face and the shadows stood in stark contrast, formed from her chiseled cheekbones.

They could cut you.

Knowing that Sally is impatient at times and was highly receptive to others actions and expressions, told you that briskly, you should tuck in. Boy did you tuck in.

The first bite was pure bliss. Enough so that a moan was let out and you craved more from the first touch to a tastebud.

Sally watched as pleased as can be. You liked her food, it was praise that came from your reaction and because of that she's happy.

The second bite happened after of course and this one tasted oddly different. Not bad, but as if it was bitter.

Then Sally ate, she chewed with a hum. Of course eating wasn't necessary, but anybody except some anorexics can appreciate the taste.

She then sputtered a giggle, "Too much parsley, oops." It explained it, it's why it was so bitter.

Then silence as food was enjoyed. The atmosphere was tense with a question wafting through.

Fortunately, Sally exudes so much emotion in that slim frame of hers that you didn't have to wait long to be asked it.

"Will you stay with me?" She asks. Oh dear. Again? Is this why she made me this?

"Of course, I would never leave you for someone else." It's stated firmly but calmly. She needed nothing else.

"No, I mean stay with me, forever... as a ghost babydoll. Tonight?" She clarifies with hesitation. Breathing gets harder a bit, not too terribly but enough to feel as if something's stuck in you esophagus.

"I, but I thought you wanted me to experience stuff?" You croaked. You wanted to cry, because you thought there was more time.

"You have, but I think that now you know life without that much pain, you can stay here. It's not a safe world out there, just like it was with them. I wanted to have you see that. You just haven't," she explains. You think.

If this is what she really wants...

"And besides we can live together. It's not like there isn't anything here. I always moan and groan about it but I could be stuck somewhere worse and with you here it would be p-"

"O-okay," you decide. You sound like a mouse and the tears have only been growing.

Sally stops, not expecting that. She thought you would have said no. She made a grave mistake.

"Really?" She asks dumfoundedly.

You nod slow and with a slight twitch as a sob wrecks you silently. "Yes, but only the way I want. I want to be killed by myself. It's my decision. It's my death. I don't want anybody taking it away, not even you Sally."

Sally really messed up now.

"Oh god." You mistake her statement as happiness that she doesn't know how to deal with. So you take it as agreement to your terms.

Thus you move upward out of your seat to hug her and that niggle in your throat itches, getting worse. The headache brewing ever since eating is tenfold what it was. Bile is a sickly fiend approaching up way your throat.

Pain seeps through your innards to your mind. Pain wracked your bones and breaks your heart. Pain.

The table you gripped was no longer there, causing clenching on nothing but wind while you tumbled down onto the floor, your foot snagging on the chair leg as well.

"Oh Babydoll no," Sally wails, making sure you can't see her, but can feel her presence and hear her voice. She's ashamed and you realized she did this.

That wasn't parsley that tasted bitter.

She's smarter than she looks but blind as well. You would die for her at this hotel and she couldn't see it.

So she had to make sure you would regardless.

You layed there with sorrow and betrayal. She took the one thing you never got, freedom of choice. It was never about protecting you that you held onto. It was that she would honor you. What they didn't do.

She broke fine china, already so fragile and yet handled with improper care still despite it's value.

The etching on the guitar served to mock.

Sally & Y/n 4ever

#sarah paulson x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader

[sinkix]

~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy​ gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef 

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS  MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi’s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork. 

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things. 

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

#hq #haikyuu #hinata shoyo #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #nishinoya yū #oikawa toru #nishinoya yuu #hq headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #hinata shoyo headcanons #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #tendou headcanon #nishinoya headcanons #ushijima headcanons #oikawa headcanons #karasuno #shiratorizawa #aoba johsai #seijoh

[starcrossedyanderes]

A Yandere Among Us (Rygel ft. Mr. Mittens)

Is the Among Us trend over yet? No? Okay. Anyway Rygel is definitely the yandere in this and Mr. Mittens is just making a cameo guest star appearance.

Why is it when it is raining cats and dogs things don’t get cancelled meanwhile if a single flake of snow is seen everything comes to a screeching halt? This situation was slightly different you supposed but the point still stands.

Despite security warnings about pirates and invaders here you were with a bunch of other teenagers on a spaceship by yourselves. 

Most of you were making the Summer commute over to the colony on Europa as part of the colonization program for juveniles. A large portion of you actually had family on the colony long time and as an experiment on juveniles you would all spend Summer there. Or so it was planned. But fate obviously had different plans for you.

~|~

“Green’s dead and you guys are bickering if someone can even fit in a vent!?”

You spoke up this time.

“I just find it somewhat hard to believe that a person can fit in one of those small vents!”

Yellow narrowed his eyes a blue, the one who asked about the bickering. 

“I don’t know blue, you are acting kind of sus right now.”

Blue gained an appalled look from what you could all tell from the helmet.

“What does sus even mean!? Why would I kill Green when I am his BEST FRIEND?!”

Green leaned back a bit in his chair before stating in an overly calm voice,

“Alright if you say so man but just to make sure let’s put it up to a vote.”

You let out a sigh as you sat next to one of the people you actually slightly knew, purple or as you knew him, Rygel. You were already 2 deaths in and 1 person has been thrown out of the ship. In other words it was pure chaos. You merely pressed the skip button and watched hopelessly as blue was eventually put to pasture.

~|~

Murder #3; Green

Unlike the other murders this one seemed to involve a knife based off the puncture wounds. Meaning that anyone could have done it. And with only 5 people left it was harder to point fingers and have more conclusive evidence. So people did what they usually did and winged it.

Cyan made accusations this time. 

“Okay so since this is becoming way too much like a horror movie lets act as if it is a horror movie. Since this is a case of an imposter sort of situation that means this is more of a twist villain sort of movie. Now twist villains tend to be the most plain and average characters. Not to hot, not the poor ugly person, and their personality seems to generally be ‘nice’. Now based off of that I think the person who fits that category the best would be pink- er, I mean (Y/n).”

You let out a gasp at the audacity of such a statement with such a lack of evidence. And did he just call you the most average!?

“What do you mean it was me? You have no evidence in the slightest!”

Cyan turned to you with a sneer.

“And do you have any evidence that you weren’t the culprit? If not then you how can we know you didn’t do it with such a lack of evidence?”

It was during this stalemate an imposing figure decided to speak up.

“Cyan, enough.”

The words of her crush speaking immediately shut her up.

“If you are wanting evidence (Y/n) and I were in reactor together. Also, last I checked, Cyan you are by far the most basic person I have ever met. Now I personally find it suspicious for you to start accusing a person out of nowhere like that as if you were trying to cover up something you did, hmm?”

Cyan was left gapping like a fish as she was sent out.

~|~

Seeing the telltale purple suit you quickened your pace to meet your friends long strides.  “Hey Rygel, thanks a lot for helping me back there. If it wasn’t for you I would probably have taken cyan’s place.”

Rygel simply nodded his head.

“Of course. I couldn’t just have an innocent acquaintance of mine thrown under the rug for something so idiotic.”

You rubbed the back of your neck as best as you could.

“Yeah, I’m just worried that I may be next. Our numbers are getting smaller after all.”

Rygel decided in your moment of panic to remove his helmet to free his long purple locks and grace you with his gorgeous mocha skin.

“If it helps remember that there’s 3 of us remaining. If you are that worried about you being the next on the chopping block you’re more than welcome to stay in my quarters for now.”

A small blush appeared on your skin.

“Oh, now I don’t know about that-”

Rygel merely shrugged as he turned away.

“If you say so. Just know, the offer will still exist.”

~|~

You hated walking down hallways by yourself. Even more so during these times. Also when it’s dark, and quiet, and also there may be a serial killer after you-

Okay (Y/n). You’re just trying to psych yourself out.

As much as you hated it sometimes you get abhorrently thirsty in the middle of the night. 

So here you were in a dimly lit hall, by yourself, in your pajamas, and still rather sleepy.

Where could this ever go wrong?

Yet a death was not what you were face with in the dim light.

Against the stark black of the floor and in the rather low mood lightning you saw a stark flash of white. 

Okay, make that multiple.

Upon closer inspection they looked like little paw prints. 

And they all lead in the same direction.

Now on the ship no animals or pets were allowed for various safety reasons. So why in the world would there be white footprints?

Of course like the stupid person you were you followed the flour path (as you had now determined it to be) down various hallways.

It was met you that you were more so expecting.

In electrical you were met with the dead body of yellow along with the end of the flour pawprints.

A scream was strangled out of your lips as your eyes also landed on the very much alive 2 bodies of black and purple, or as you know him, Rygel.

And both of them were absolutely covered in blood.

“Wha-how? Why? WHO?”

The two of them turned slowly to look at you. Rygel’s eyes widened before a pained sigh left him.

“Oops. Mittens, was it? Your services seem to no longer be needed.”

“Mittens?! What is going on!?”

Rygel rolled his eyes.

“Well, as you can see, yellow is dead.”

“ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh-”

Rygel merely strolled over to your side as he started to chuckle.

“My apologies, moonlight. I suppose you should get a bit of an explanation before you get fully relocated.”

“What the heck are you even talking ab-”

Rygel made a single swipe of his hand and your lips were immediately shut close. They wouldn’t open.

“This ship is being used to transport me to, and well us now I suppose, my home planet. My chauffeur here has been killing off your crewmates to ensure our safe and successful travels. If they were still present we would have been forced to stop at Europa.”

His long arms wrapped around your shoulders as black started to shake vigorously.

“It’s just much easier and quicker this way isn’t it?”

As you squirmed against his grip black’s shaking suddenly stopped and his clothing dropped into a pile.

Did he dissapear?

Then the pile started to wiggle until a two colored small head popped out.

Black seemed to have become a cat..

Wait.. Mittens..

Oh.

“Mittens here caused those footprints you saw as he used them to lure your peers. As you can see he is a shape shifter. This is also the answer to your question of how someone could ever fit into a vent. Now come dear, it’s gotten late and I desire to retire for the night.”

Rygel was saddened that you stood stock still.

“Moonlight, you’re my mate and shall suffer much worse. Now come before I have to leave you to sleep with yellow.”

[jungshookz]

omg ceo!y/n trying to pull a ceo!yoongi on her secretary like giving him purposely difficult instructions to follow because she wants him to have to come see him except she doesn’t wanna be mean to him so she and her friends are like brainstorming through email how to get him to pay her more attention AND ACCIDENTALLY CC HIM

>:-)))))))))))

she asked him to photocopy a fifty-page contract for her but he has to do it where one side is printed in black and white and the other side is printed in colour (which doesn’t even make any sense because there’s absolutely no colour in a formal contract) and she told him that there’s no poinT in tricking her and just printing the whole thing in greyscale because she can tell!!! she can tell if something’s been printed in greyscale vs. colour!!!!! and that takes yoongi almost two hours to do which he thought was completely ridiculous and a waste a time 

and then she said she wanted an email update every twenty minutes even though they both know she’s fully capable of checking her own email but yoongi doesn’t argue because she’s his boSS so he comes in every twenty minutes just to give her an update even when there are no updates to give (“there are currently no new updates in your inbox. similar to how it was twenty minutes ago, forty minutes ago, and an hour ago.”) 

yoongi doesn’t know why y/n’s acting like a psychopath (she usually like 65% goofball most of the time but today it’s been amped up to 300%) and usually he thinks it’s because of him (because he knoWs she likes him) but he can’t figure out if this is about him or not?? because she’s making him do a lot of useless work and it just seems like she wants him to continue to waste time and-

yoongi doesn’t mean to pry, but... 

oh boy. 

it seems as though you’ve forgotten the fact that he has complete access to your emails (seeing as he’s been giving you continuous updates for the whole day) which means he has complete access to whatever private messages you and hoseok are currently firing to each other 

at first he ignored the pings because the messages are literally none of his business and reading them would be a complete invasion of privacy 

and when it was starting to get annoying he just turned the volume on his monitor all the way down 

but the little email tab keeps flashing and yoongi figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what you’re talking about 

it’s not like you’d even know he’d read your messages, right? 

just a little teensy weensy peek and then he’ll go straight back to organizing all your google docs alphabetically

Y/N Y/L/N (5:03pm) - i have no idea what to do!! i feel like a lunatic boss right now!! 

Jung Hoseok (5:03pm) - you are a lunatic boss :)

Y/N Y/L/N (5:03pm) - i’ll fire u 

Y/N Y/L/N (5:03pm) - this morning i asked for coffee like five times just to talk to him bc i didn’t know what else to talk to him about 

Y/N Y/L/N (5:04pm) - my fingers are literally still shaking from the caffeine 

Jung Hoseok (5:04pm) - there’s no policy that forbids two co-workers from going out so i really don’t understand why you’re freaking yourself out like this 

Y/N Y/L/N (5:05pm) - yeah but i’m his boss so it’s weird for me to ask him out

Jung Hoseok (5:05pm) - no i think you’re just a pussy 

**INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE DETECTED. PLEASE DELETE MESSAGE.** 

Jung Hoseok (5:05pm) - oops

Jung Hoseok (5:06pm) - *no i think you’re just a puthy

Y/N Y/L/N (5:06pm) - how else do you suggest i get yoongi’s attention without making it obvious that i want his attention 

Jung Hoseok (5:07pm) - pop open those blouse buttons boss!!!!!! 

Jung Hoseok (5:07pm) - there’s nothing wrong with showing the girls off every now and then 

Y/N Y/L/N (5:08pm) - omg now i’m really going to fire you 

yoongi’s eyes widen and he immediately closes the messages before pressing his lips together to suppress a grin 

okay!

wow!

now he knows why you’ve been acting so dang weird all day 

it’s cute that you’ve been trying to get him to pay more attention to you but it’s noT cute that you’re doing it like thiS 

anyways when yoongi goes in for the twenty minute email update he notices that y/n undid two buttons on her blouse and he knows she’s trying to be sexy for him but in all honesty he just finds it really cute how hard she’s trying 

#answered #baby drabbles #ceo!y/n #yoongi baby drabbles #yoongi drabbles #bts yoongi #yoongi cute #yoongi au #min yoongi #min yoongi cute #yoongi fics #yoongi fic recs #yoongi fluff #yoongi fluff recs

[slashyrogue]

AU-gust Day #31: Vampire & Coffee Shop AU

The first time Will walks into Take A Sip he’s nervous. 

Newly divorced and still not good at social situations, he doesn’t know how to do this. 

The vampire coffee shop is open to all types, vampire or otherwise, and yet he still feels all eyes on him like he’s not welcome. The barista at the counter smiles and her fangs make Will’s body ache for something he’s been denying himself for far too long. 

“Hello, welcome to Take A Sip! What can I get you?” 

She’s blonde, looks young but probably isn’t, and her eyes are a shade between blue and red. The nametag on her apron reads, Mischa, and when he talks Will is sure he sounds as nervous as he feels. 

“Coffee,” he says quietly, “Black coffee.” 

“Cream? Sugar?” 

“No, thank you.” 

Mischa rings him up, eyeing him in that way vampires always seem to do, and when he pays Will is sure she can hear the fast beating of his heart. 

“The name?” 

“Will.” 

“Thanks, Will. We’ll have your coffee up soon.” 

He moves to stand with the other people waiting, all pale and obvious vampires. 

This was a stupid idea. 

Molly had known Will’s tastes were expanding the last year of his marriage when his excitement was down to zero in the bedroom. He’d found vampire porn online, clicked on a whim, and then spent every night devouring all he could find. 

“I’m not enough anymore,” she said, handing him the papers, “I know it and you do too.” 

He remembers signing without argument, and while he misses her it’s not because of sex. 

Will just misses having someone to talk to, someone he feels comfortable with, and someone who makes him laugh. 

His friends mostly went on Molly’s side, all but Bev who is way more social and knows more vampires than Will does. Which isn’t hard because Will knows exactly zero. 

“Take A Sip,” she’d said, wiggling her eyebrows, “Lots of hot vamps hang out there and the owner is really nice. He’ll look out for you if he sees anyone being...all mind-y.” 

Mind manipulation wasn’t even a thought in Will’s plan but now he worries if he’d even notice. 

“Will!” 

Will looks up and sees his cup sitting on the counter. He takes it just as someone else does too. 

“Oh,” the man says, smiling with very pointed fangs. 

He’s blonde, young looking, and way too good looking for Will. 

“I think this is mine.” 

The vampire grins, and Will feels oddly dizzy. “I see that. Hello, I’m....” 

“Your blood is ready, Steven.” 

Will looks up, his mind clear, and sees a man behind the counter with red eyes glaring at the vampire. “Oops,” Steven says, grinning. 

“I guess I looked an easy target,” Will mumbles, “Thanks.” 

The man frowns at him. “Are you alright, Will?” 

He blinks, and suddenly tears are in his eyes. “I’m fine.” 

The nametag on the man’s apron says ‘Hannibal’ and while he can’t see fangs it’s not hard to guess he’s a vampire. A second later he reaches over and hands Will a bagged scone. Their fingers brush and he shivers. “You don’t have to---” 

“Yes, I do. Mind control can drain a human quite quickly and you’ll be even more vulnerable during your stay. This is my establishment and I want every patron to feel safe here.” 

Will nods and walks away, feeling warm even before he takes his first sip. 

The coffee is good, great even, and when he sits down Will looks to see Hannibal watching him. He nods and Hannibal nods back. 

Will stays for the next few hours, sipping his coffee and letting it go cold. 

No other vampires come near him, and he wonders if it’s because he’s doing something wrong. He wants to just experience vampire sex once, and if his fantasies are all wrong he can go back to porn. 

He sighs, taking the last sip, and moves to stand only for someone to appear at his side. 

It’s Mischa. 

She hands him a clear pink drink. “On the house,” she says, smiling. 

Will frowns and takes the drink. “Thank you.” 

He sits down and takes a small sip. 

It tastes like strawberries and he reminds him of home. 

Will spends the rest of the day in Take A Sip and is given several ‘on the house’ things including a sandwich which he eats with Hannibal’s eyes on him. He’s working his way up to saying something, anything, by the time darkness falls and it’s nearly time to close. 

The patrons all start to disperse but Will stays, nursing his fourth drink, and when it’s down to him he stands. 

Hannibal is there within seconds. 

“I imagine you were confused today.” 

He smiles. “Confused, yeah, but well taken care of.” 

Hannibal smiles at him. “I am utterly fascinated by you, Will, and was from the moment you entered my establishment. I did not wish for you to leave.” 

Will blushes and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “This...this doesn’t usually happen in real life.” 

Hannibal takes Will’s other hand and kisses his knuckles. “I assure you, this is happening.” 

He swallows the lump in his throat. “I...came here for a reason.” 

“The same reason most humans do,” Hannibal purrs, brushing his knuckles with a cold thumb, “I expect you’re interested in sharing a bed with a vampire.” 

He nods. 

“I regret to inform you that I am not interested in that with you.” 

Will feels the rebuff and tries to move away but Hannibal pulls him closer. 

“I wish to know you before I taste you. If that is...acceptable.”

He nods. “Yeah.” 

Hannibal smiles and his teeth seem even larger. “Would you care to have dinner with me tomorrow evening at my home?” 

Will licks his lips. “Yeah, that’s...that sounds okay.” 

“Wonderful.” 

He feels the loss when Hannibal lets go of him and when he turns he sees Mischa at the door. 

“My sister is impatient.” 

“She’s your sister?” 

“Yes, we’re...quite close. She encouraged me to keep you here today.” 

Will smiles at her. “Thanks I guess.” 

Mischa grins. 

Hannibal pulls a card out from his apron and hands it to Will. An address is printed on it. 

“I assure you, I do not give these cards out.” 

“You just happen to have them on you?” 

“Always,” Hannibal says, “I have only ever given out two of them. One to a young woman with an abusive husband that I took care of and now you.” 

Will blinks. “I think you just told me you killed someone.” 

“I said ‘took care of’ and that can mean many, many things.” 

He laughs. “I guess. I...I’m gonna...” 

Hannibal nods just as Mischa opens the door and Will feels his eyes on him when he walks toward her. “Thanks,” Will says again, “I...I think....” 

“He likes you,” she whispers, “He doesn’t like anyone but he likes you. That’s important. I hope I see you again.” 

Will walks out into the night, feeling warm and excited. 

The card in his pocket is full of possibilities, and yet he wonders if this will end like Molly. How far can two people go because of a new found fetish? Will frowns, pulling on his seatbelt, and is about to pull away when someone knocks on his window. 

It’s Hannibal. 

Will rolls the window down and he sets a bag inside. 

“I made you something to remember me by,” he purrs, eyes suddenly seeming even more red, “I did not wish for you to...forget.” 

He smiles. “I don’t think I’ll forget today for anything.” 

“Goodnight, Will. Sweet dreams.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Will pulls away, blushing, and he waits only a block before he opens the bag. 

The cupcake inside is dripping red with strawberry filling, and on top is a candy fang. 

He laughs. 

He doesn’t even know Hannibal yet and he already likes him. 

#au_gust_2020 #vampire coffee shop #hannigram au

[kimberly-spirits13]

Bat Pranks and Gun Fights (Request)

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Synopsis: (Reader is like Deadpool) For a month you had been trying to prank Batman with your best friend Jason. The task was easier said than done but one night, you finally get the chance but halfway through the night, you get interrupted by a more serious matter.

Warnings: Language, mentions of getting shot but not anything graphic at all, also at the end there is some mention of some stronger pain killers that eventually cause the reader to fall asleep really quickly so if that bothers anyone just FYI it’s there

Word Count: 2502

           As an antihero, you did what you saw right. You knew the law, you follow the law... mostly... but besides that, the point of your job is to find loopholes and ways to go about your business technically not breaking the law. Another added to that is that you also go around annoying those who are very precise about following the law as best they can. Take Batman for instance, one of the most terrifying and iconic heroes you knew, lived just outside your base city of New York. That’s where you and Jason worked most of the time if he wasn’t in Gotham anyways. The Batman was someone to be feared, someone to be honored. You on the other hand had heard the stories of what he had done to Jason and thought he was an old grumpy asshole that needed to be taught a lesson.

           So, for the entire month that’s what you tried to do. All you were really doing was prank Batman in a harmless way so that you wouldn’t be thrown off a building but every time you got close, something happened. Now you were suiting up in your apartment ready for another night of crime fighting. Tonight was your night to prank the Batman. You were heading out to Gotham and meeting up with Jason for the bust. After a few minutes, you found yourself hopping onto your motorcycle and heading down the interstate down towards Gotham. __________________________________________

 It seemed like no time had really passed by since you were on the interstate and now riding with Jason to where Bruce would be.

           “So, any other plans tonight other than possibly being thrown off a building by the old man?” Jason asked.

           “No, not really.” You replied on the headset of your helmet, “I’ve been tracking a group of people that are smuggling contraband into the US through the Hudson River. It’s weapons like guns and a shit ton of modified explosives.” “You know, the usual.”

           Jason laughed some before making a sharp turn into an alley. You did the same, stopping behind his bike and putting the kickstand down. The important thing about keeping your bike in some random alley way was making sure no one could steal it. That was what your codes and finger print was for. That thing wasn’t moving but for only yours and one other person’s finger print ID. You hadn’t revealed who that other person was.

           “So, what’s the plan?” He asked.

           “I figure until he catches us, something simple like making his smoke shields go off randomly.” You answered shrugging.          

           “Oh come on, that would be lame.” Jason side eyed you, “The demon could do better.”

           “Not if we did it in front of Gordon.” You smiled, a glint of mischief glazing over your eyes, “I mean just imagine the commissioner giving a rundown of some serious crime happening and suddenly Batman starts smoking from behind.” “The look on his face would be hilarious.”

           “You’re not wrong.” Jason thought about it for a second, “Okay, until we get caught he escalate more and more in what we do. But for now, this sounds like it could be fun.”

           You smiled at the look on Jason’s face. Whenever he took off his helmet, his hair would always swoosh over. You liked how it looked, just not really how it smelled when it got really sweaty. You always made a face when he did and sometimes would spray a flowery perfume that you got as a joke in his hair to improve on the smell. It’s not like he would do anything to you for it but maybe jokingly flip you off.

           The two of you climbed up onto the building where Gordon and Batman typically meet. Lucky for you, tonight was a full moon as you liked to call it since you really couldn’t see the moon that well in Gotham with all of the pollution and possible rain clouds. A full moon here meant that the Bat-signal was up and running. There was something big going on somewhere and Batman had to be notified.

           As you reached the top, you and Jason ducked behind a cover spot on the building closest to where Gordon was waiting.

           “Move over, I’m in the open Hood!” You hissed nudging his side.

           “I can’t move over or I’ll be open too.”

           You huffed and looked at the height of what you were trying to hide behind.

           “Fine then.” In order to solve this dilemma, you laid on top of Jason. You were both facing the same direction, you were just stacked. You laid your chin on his helmet some and smirked down at him. You couldn’t see the look on your face, but judging by his change in position, you could tell he wasn’t expecting that.

           “What the hell are you doing?” He asked.

           “Fixing the issue. Anyways, why are you so tall? My feet hardly touch yours.”

           Jason sighed, “Maybe it’s cause I’m not short like somebody here.”

           “I’m not short!” You demanded, “You’re just a giant Jason.”

__________________________________________

           Time passed and you two were getting tired of the pranks that were being played on the Bat. You were pretty positive he was tired of it too. You weren’t doing anything to get anyone killed, just to cause minor annoyances. It was funny to watch, but now your mind was drifting elsewhere. You wondered what Jason thought when you climbed onto him. It wasn’t like you were doing something to get anything started, you were just curious what he thought of you. You thought that maybe there was a chance that he possibly liked you back.

           Your thoughts would have consumed you longer if you weren’t alerted by your tracker on the smugglers. At the sight of what you were seeing, your eyes widened.            “I’ve gotta go.” You said jumping up from next to Jason.

           “What is it?”

           “The targets have almost reached the docks. If I go now, I can make it and stop them.”

           “Do you even know what you’re walking into?” Jason asked.

           “I have somewhat of an idea.” You lied a tiny bit knowing that there could be more than you originally planned, “I’ll be fine.”

           “You’d better be.” He was quick to say, “Don’t go getting yourself killed tonight. Trust me when I say it isn’t fun.”            “Yes, yes, I’ve got that part.” You rolled your eyes, “Anyways, I’ll call you when I’m done with this party.”

__________________________________________

           Now you were at the docks. It was colder than you’d expected with the breeze coming in and reinforcements were waiting for the cargo load. You would have to strike fast for this to work. The one problem was you didn’t know how that would play out. Dropping from your hiding place, you crept up behind one of the guards on the outer rim of security. With a sword in hand, you took him out.

           “Oops, didn’t see you there buddy.” You smirked some and moved onto the next one. It was an easy job so far. The security was terrible on the rims as you’d imagine and no one was raising any sort of alarm.

           After finishing this part, you climbed back up to see that there were even more heavily armed men aboard the ship than you had ever anticipated.

           “No big deal.” You mumbled, “Just like all the times before. Crack a few jokes, kill a few idiots, and at the end, blow some stuff up. It’s just what you do now a days.”

           Time was ticking and the slot for best entry was getting smaller and smaller. You looked around once more and then dropped to the ground when the shipments were on the docks so that they couldn’t be moved after the boat caught flames from the devices you’d planted around it.

           “Hey boys. I hope you don’t mind but, I saw you were having a moving in party and wanted to drop by and give a house warming gift. Well, then again, I guess catching the boat on fire wasn’t the best gift, but it certainly did the job well.” You smirked taking the approaching ones out and avoiding the flying bullets.

           You only slowed down just a bit when one slightly grazed your arm, “Okay, who did that?” “This was a brand -new suit and I did not want it damaged tonight.” “God, who taught you manners? A fish?”

           It was all running well again. The advisories were being taken out, weapons were being destroyed and... you looked up to see one of the crates of explosives. If you wanted to, you could light that baby up and let it do your job for you. The issue was making it out on time without any other survivors. You didn’t need any lose ends on this mission. There was a moment of pause before someone called out your name.

           “Y/S/H/N, need any help?” You looked behind you to see Jason shooting at some guys.

           “What are you doing here Hood?” You looked almost a little too shocked to see him, you really were a bit too shocked to see him.

           “Got a bad feeling and figured you might need back up at some point. Not saying you’re not capable, just watching out.” He explained loading in another magazine.

           “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” You looked back up at the crate, “Say there is one thing you could do though.”

           “And that is?”

           “Cover me while I go take out whoever is hording that massive crate of explosives.”

           You didn’t give him any time to protest on your actions. It was always unclear to you why he was so protective of you in those regards but no one else. It wasn’t like you were his significant other or something. That is, no matter how much you wanted to be.

           “You had no business coming here tonight.” Some taller man said shooting at you.

           “Neither did you but I guess we both found some.” You retorted firing back as well.

           “If you’re here for information, you won’t ever get it.”

           “Trust me buddy, I have all of the information I need.” “You’re not really a hard group to track.” Rolling your eyes, you shot the man in the arm, making him cry out in pain, “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

           “Not if I detonate these.” He gave you a look like no other you’d really seen before.

           Sometimes you’d meet people that had fairly evil motives. Other times it was just the run of the mill henchmen. But sometimes, like just on these missions, you’d come across a group or one singular person that was so dedicated to a cause or leader, they’d rather die themselves with what they were hiding than give it up. Those people were some of the scariest.

           “Hood get out of here!” You said into the coms.

           “What’s going on up there?”

           “I’m about to try and stop this guy from taking the docks out.” You answered grimly knowing that this wouldn’t end well for either you nor the man in question.

           “What are you crazy?” Jason yelled.

           “maybe.”

           You jumped over the crate to where the man was and shot him down before looking over at the count down. There wasn’t much time before it set off. You quickly started typing codes that you had picked up into the device. It wasn’t until after a few seconds that you noticed how close the time was getting. Sighing, you knew the only thing to do was leave. You turned around, not seeing the last remaining henchmen behind you and was shot in the side. The moment Jason registered what was going on, he shot the man who was now aiming at him and jumped onto the boat to grab you. That was when he noticed the spot on your arm as well as your bleeding side.

           There were less than 10 seconds on the clock. Jason ran as fast as he could when the explosion went off. It sent him stumbling to the ground since he was a decent distance, that stumble didn’t help you though. You were sure you hadn’t been hit anywhere super important, it just hurt, a lot.

           “Come on Y/N/N, stay with me.” He went to your bike which was the only one there since he zeta beamed to New York.

           He was in too much of a rush to remember that your bike needed finger print ID to start going. With you straddling him so he could make sure you didn’t fall off, he cursed under his breath.

           “I know you’re not going to like this, but I need you to get the bike going.” He said to you.

           “You can do it.” You groaned.

           “No, I need your ID fo-“ He stopped when you cut him off.

           “I told you, you can do it.”

           That was when he realized what you meant and started up the bike himself with his own ID. He smiled at the gesture. Maybe you really did trust him enough. Maybe you actually felt the same about him as he did you.

__________________________________________

           High on pain killers you sat on your bathtub ledge getting stitches from Jason while draped over him for support. He was pretty sure you would either start ranting about something extremely random that he might be able to use for blackmail, or you’d start snoring. Either one was fine to him as long as you didn’t stop breathing. That was when there would be issues.

           “Jaybird, you know I really like you right?” You asked making his cheeks heat up.

           “I didn’t know that.” He had to clear his throat.

           “Yeah, I’ve always thought you looked really nice. Then I got to know you and now you’re even better.”

           “Well what if I told you I liked you a lot too?” Jason asked smiling at what you had said.

           You sat up and looked at him quickly, “Really?”

           “Yes, and don’t rip out your stitches. I don’t want to put them back in.”

           “Well if you really liked me, you’d kiss me like what they do in the movies.” You smirked some at Jason.

           “What kind of movies have you been watching recently.” He scrunched up his nose faking a look of disgust.

           “Jason Peter Todd, I mean it.”

           Jason gave your stiches a once over before pulling you into a kiss. You could feel him smiling into the kiss before pulling away.

           “What else do they do in movies?” He asked.

           There was no response.

           “Y/N? ...Doll?” Jason looked down to see you asleep sitting up, whatever Alfred had recommended, it worked because you were out like a light.

           He laughed and carried you into your room, tucking you in. He went to go sleep in the living room but stopped when your hand didn’t let go of his. Jason sighed holding in a chuckle before changing into his own night clothes and climbing in next to you.

I hope you guys liked this one. I know it’s a bit longer but I really liked the request and things just kept coming to mind of what to add to it. I’ve got something big coming for a fic unless I scrap it. It’ll be long and Idk when I’ll finish it, but you’ll know when it gets here. Anyways, I hope you’re all having a wonderful day and week and continue to have a great one. Stay safe and healthy and make sure to take care of yourself when you need it.

#batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #dc comics #dc x reader #dc characters #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x you

[thejollyroger-writer]

One for the Books (1/1)

SUMMARY:  Killian Jones is a grad student who works for the Storybrooke University Library. He's searching for some lost books, last checked out by the elusive Teaching Assistant Emma Swan -- and when he goes to find them, he finds a lot more than he bargained for.

Rated G // 5.6k // on AO3

Thanks to @shireness-says​ for always cheering me on

Some interested folks: @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines​ @thisonesatellite​ @scientificapricot​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @pepperspotts​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @teamhook​ @ultraluckycatnd​

-- -- --

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

August 20 10:14am

Dear Miss Swan, 

I hope this email finds you well. My name is Killian Jones, and I am the new records and collections graduate assistant for the Storybrooke University Library. I am writing to you today because, according to our records, there are quite a few volumes from our library that you have borrowed and never returned. You will, of course, not be fined for these items; I am simply reaching out to make sure that they are still in your possession, and to ask that you kindly bring them to the library to return or renew as necessary. The list of items is as follows: 

 Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume I. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume IV.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume VII. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume X.

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume XXI. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, 1953, Volume XXIII. 

Leuven University Press, Sexuality and Psychoanalysis: Philosophical Criticisms, 2010. 

Moore, Burness E. Psychoanalysis: The Major Concepts, 1995. 

 If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out to me in any of the ways listed below. 

Thank you, 

Killian Jones, 

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University 

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

September 23 2:46 pm

 Dear Miss Swan, 

I hope the first few weeks of the semester have gone well for you. I am following up with my previous email, where I sent a list of volumes from our university library that have been checked out under your name. We now have a graduate student writing on psychoanalysis and he is hoping to utilize a few of the volumes you have checked out over the next few weeks. If you would be able to return these items to the library at your earliest convenience, we would greatly appreciate it; even if they have been misplaced, we would still like for you to come and fill out the paperwork so this student can request them from another library. I am in my office every day from 8-3 for you to do this, or I could send you the form for you to print and return. Again, if you have any questions, please reach out. 

 Thank you, 

Killian Jones

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University 

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

September 29 8:36 am

 Miss Swan, 

I am writing once again to inquire about the Freud volumes checked out of the library under your name. Since there is a graduate student waiting for them, and since we are unable to request copies from another library until they are officially marked as missing, I would appreciate your response in regards to these items. If it would be easiest for you, I will gladly come to your office to retrieve them. 

 Killian Jones

Records and Collections, Storybrooke University 

Gold Library, rm. 120A // 545-1212

Killian slams his laptop shut with a huff, then runs his fingers through his hair. “This damned psychology professor,” he mumbles, though he realizes when he hears Dr. French’s laugh coming from her office that the door between them is wide open.

Oops. 

“She’s not a professor, you know."

"Pardon?" he asks, mostly because the humming of his mind was much louder than his advisor's comment.

"Emma Swan," Belle says, and Killian leans back in his chair so he can see her. "She's not a professor. She's a TA for Dr. Hopper."

"A TA should still know to respond to emails and return books to the library."

Belle laughs again. "Well, you're not wrong."

"So what do you suggest our next move is?"

Belle pushes her chair away from her desk and steps out into the open area where Killian's desk resides, then leans against the doorframe. "If we didn't have a grad student looking for them, I’d say just let it go. But for the sake of Mr. Mills, might I suggest visiting her office during her posted office hours?” 

This is just about the very last thing Killian wants to do, despite offering to pick the books up in his last email. If she wasn't watching him, if she was still sitting in her office, he would have held his head in his hands, wishing for any other option. Six years in the naval reserve he can handle, but trying to get books from enthusiastic academics? He does a much better job with his head buried behind the computer screen, politely (or, if the case requires, slightly passive-aggressively) asking them to return books or to come talk to Belle.

But he knows he can't get out of this one, not when there's a bright lad like Henry Mills relying on him. “When? It’s been a month since the first email, and almost a week since the second.” 

Belle squints her eyes to look at the calendar hanging behind him. “Today is what, Tuesday? If she doesn’t get back to you by Monday, I would go to her first office hours of the week. Those usually have fewer students.” 

He just nods, but when she returns to her office, he does hide his face in his hands. 

The days pass like calendar pages flying off, cartoonishly, all with no response from the elusive Emma Swan. Every time he hears the ping of his email notification, he hopes it is a response from her, stopping him from the embarrassment he knows will ensue on Monday morning, at her 10:00 office hour. 

But alas, Monday comes with no response from her, and he tries to hold his head high and he knocks on the door to her office. 

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side of her door, but the bright green eyes and high golden ponytail is certainly not it. He had a whole speech in his head, practiced while driving and in the shower, demanding the Freud volumes back for the sake of Mr. Mills — but the face that greets him erases all of his carefully-practiced words in one fell swoop. 

Absolutely speechless. 

A few moments pass without him uttering a word, after which she raises a single, perfect eyebrow at him. “Can I help you?” 

He clears his throat, trying to put some of the confidence back in his posture — and trying to slow the quickening pace of his heart, even as he feels it in his throat. “Yes. Uh, hi. You don't know me, but I’m Killian Jones, from the—” 

She cuts him off with a breath of a laugh and a hand held up between them. “You’re from the library.” It's not a question, but he nods anyway. “You’re here for Freud.” 

His confidence deflates. “Uh, yeah,” he mutters. 

She cocks her head to the side. "You're older than I expected." 

Now he is dumbstruck once again. Absolutely speechless, save the weak "Pardon?" that comes out as barely more than an exhale. 

But she ignores him, turning away from him, though she leaves the door to her office wide open behind her, so he steps through it and into her small space. The entire room is lined with bookshelves save the space that her small desk takes up and the two filing cabinets beside it. 

He realizes in this moment, watching her scan her shelves for the missing items, why he is suddenly so tongue-tied, why his practiced speech flew out the metaphoric window the moment she opened her office door: she's beautiful, without a doubt the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen, from her shining emerald eyes to the confidence that seems to exude from her very being, attractive in ways beyond the physical, ways that he can not even begin to explain. 

"I really appreciate your coming all the way across campus to find these," she says, starting to pull books off one of the higher shelves. "I've been out the past two weeks at a couple conferences, and I forwarded the list of items to a friend of mine in hopes that he could come and pick them up, but it appears he's as bad at doing favors as he is in bed." 

Killian feels the tips of his ears turning red even as she immediately spins on her heel, covering her face with her free hand. 

"Oh my god," she mutters. "I'm — I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to say that out loud." 

Killian does the only thing his body allows him to and laughs, though every neuron in his brain screams at him to stop. 

Thankfully, she joins in, and for a moment, he can swear that her smile actually brightens her dark office, that her laugh brightens his dark life. 

"Neal Cassidy, ladies and gentlemen," she says between laughs, which only causes them to laugh harder. "Altogether grossly incompetent." 

Killian is glad he's never heard of this man before; he's not sure how he would have handled it if he had. 

"Anyway," she says after taking a few deep breaths to try to calm herself. She turns back to the bookshelf to add a few more items to the pile in her arm, but one of them almost falls to the ground. It happens in a flash, really: Killian rushes to try to catch it, though the pile in her arms also begins to topple, and his ankle catches hers as she tries to stop the books from falling — and just like that, they're both on the floor, surrounded by volumes of Freud's Complete Works, Standard Edition. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, reaching towards the book that is closest to him only to find that it's one titled Sexuality and Psychoanalysis. 

The irony of it doesn't stop his embarrassment from reddening his cheeks once more. 

"What the hell is happening in here?" another voice asks, and they both realize there's someone standing in the doorway to her office. "Ems, who is this guy?" 

"Oh my god," Emma mutters, moving onto her knees, and he uses the bookshelf to quickly pull himself up so he can help her to her feet. "What do you want, Neal?" she asks, avoiding his question entirely. 

Neal? Killian wonders if it's the same Neal she mentioned before, but he pushes the thought away when he finds himself wondering just how good in bed this man can be by the looks of him. 

(A bit Freudian? He would say so.)

"I just wanted to bring you some coffee," he says, a hint of anger in his voice as he holds up one of the to-go cups he is holding. "Only to find you on the floor of your office with some guy." 

Killian is suddenly overcome with an unexplainable anger, something he knows he has been trained to repress — but here, he feels incapable. 

Thankfully, Emma speaks first, crossing her arms over her chest, and he takes the time she uses to speak to calm himself, seeing that she is fully capable of handling her own battles. "I've told you so many times, Neal, I don't even drink coffee. And not that I have to explain myself to you, but it was an accident. I dropped some books and…” She falters, realizing she never learned his name, but continues past it:  “... he was just helping me pick them up, which wouldn't have been necessary had you come to my office last week and taken them to the library like I asked." 

(That answers that question, he thinks; then, My God, I have to get out of here.)

"I really should go," Killian mutters, his anger replaced with embarrassment, and he focuses his energy on picking up the books from the floor, trying to wish the obvious signs of embarrassment off of his face. 

"Yeah, you should," Neal spits. 

Killian would swear, looking back on this moment, that he could feel Emma's anger in this moment, swelling like a balloon and filling her small office, almost radiating off of her. 

"No, Neal," she says, crossing the space between herself and the door before pushing her hands against his chest and expelling him into the hallway. "You should leave." 

And then she slams the door in his face. 

A beat passes, Killian focused on the rise and fall of Emma's shoulders, though she is still facing the door. When she turns around, there is a smile plastered across her face, but he also notices the shine of held-back tears in her eyes.  

"Sorry," she mumbles, and Killian struggles to find a way to change the subject to anything except what he just witnessed, but finds himself unable to speak once more. "It's just — he's…" She takes a breath, sitting down on the extra chair opposite the one behind her desk, and she hangs her head. "This whole thing was a mistake, really." For a moment, Killian thinks she's talking about him, his stomach turning violently with the thought that something he did caused this goddess this much pain — but then she continues. "I never should have… when I met him at the bar, I didn't even think that he could work at the university, even if he works for maintenance. I'm usually much smarter than that, I swear, but it was the beginning of summer and most of the students were gone and I finally had some free time to myself, so I just wanted to—" 

She turns her eyes up at him, the moisture that's filled them threatening to run down her cheeks, but he's in the seat across from her in an instant, his own hand reaching out to cover hers. He's terrified, afraid that he's made the wrong move — that he's no different than the asshole she just had to kick out of her office. 

But then she smiles. 

"You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to," he says, the words as soft and honest as he is able to make them. 

He only hopes it's enough. 

She nods, pulling her hand away from his to wipe the bottom of her eyelids, and the last thing he expects is for her to return her hand to his — but that's exactly what she does, and he can swear his heart does a little happy dance against his ribs. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing," she says softy, smiling down at where their hands are touching on the desk. Killian shakes his head in disagreement, but she doesn't see it, shaking away another soft, embarrassed smile. "And Freud thought the women he saw were crazy." 

For what feels like the millionth time since he knocked on the door to her office mere minutes ago, he has absolutely no clue how to read her. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" he asks, though he immediately regrets it, watching her face fall. 

"If that's what you want…" she says, letting her words fade before finishing the thought. 

No, he realizes, and the thought rejuvenates him; he sits up straighter, he can feel his blood flow faster, can feel his heart pound with a little more confidence. 

(Christ, Jones, heartbeats don't have confidence.) 

"That's not what I want." 

"Good," she whispers, the smile returning to her face. “Because he might — knowing him, he’ll probably come back, and I don’t really want to deal with that quite yet.” 

“Well, I’ll just stay here until you feel comfortable again.” 

“Thanks.” 

A beat passes, and Killian realizes for the first time just how awkward this whole situation is. Thankfully, Emma seems to be much better at small talk than he is: 

“So, tell me something about yourself…” She trails off again, and this time, Killian offers her his name. 

“Killian. Jones.” She nods, a soft smile spreading across her face, and he continues. “But I’m, uh, just starting the lib sci grad program, and I came here since my brother knows Belle pretty well.” 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she mumbles, looking up from the desk that sits between them. “You look a little old for a first-year grad student.” 

“That’s not technically a question, love,” he jokes. “But yeah, you’re right. I’m not technically what they call a traditional student. I got my bachelor’s all over the world in the naval reserves, but decided to settle down for my masters.” 

She huffs out a laugh. “In Storybrooke?” 

“There’s a base not too far from here where my brother works. I was done with traveling, done with the hustle and bustle of cities, and this just seemed like the perfect place for me to be.” She hums. “What about you, Swan?” 

She shrugs, and for a moment, Killian thinks this is going to be her only response. The silence of the room becomes deafening for one — two — three beats of his heart, but then she opens her mouth to speak. “I never had any roots, and I just wound up in Storybrooke. College was the first time I was able to make decisions for myself, and I just… Stuck around, I guess. I changed my major three times, got two master’s degrees, and I think Archie — I mean, Dr. Hopper’s going to keep me here once I get my PhD.” She sighs. “Sorry, that was a lot.” 

“Well, I mean, we are stuck here.” 

She laughs, but another silence fills the small office. This one lasts longer than the last, Emma even going so far as to chew on the cuticle of her thumb, her gaze traveling around the room instead of looking at him. 

Killian, for some reason, can only think of the man that they’re in this situation because of — Neal. He knows that different people are attracted to different things, and he… Well, with no better way to think of it, he could think of nothing about the man they saw that was even slightly attractive. Sandy brown hair, average build, average… Average everything, really. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says, not even meaning to break the silence around them. 

She hums, though her attention still seems to be outside the small window behind him. 

“Why him?” 

“What?” She sounds angry, but also something else. Killian kind of believes it’s humored. He hopes it’s humored. 

“That guy. Neal? He’s — well, not to be crass, love, but he seems like he’s kind of a bastard.” 

She laughs. Not just a huff, not just a breath, but a real, straight-from-the-belly laugh. And it lasts for a while, longer than Killian feels like it should have, though he’s certainly not complaining. It’s a beautiful sound, a lovely sound, a sound that (almost literally) brings light to his life. Nothing bad can happen when that sound is around him. 

(Christ, Killian, pull yourself together.) 

“Damned if I know.” 

“Well, what do you look for in a guy?” he asks, not even meaning for it to sound as… well, as desperate as he realizes it does. 

“Why?” she laughs. “Are you interested?” 

Shit. He already feels the tips of his ears reddening, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment that he has no defense against. "Uh, I mean—" he tries, and he could swear that his chest is radiating heat. "That's not — I didn't—" he stammers, and she laughs again. Sure, he's an absolute idiot, no way to hide his embarrassment from the beautiful woman sitting across the desk from him, but just hearing the sound of her laugh again makes him feel better, even if it is at his own expense. 

"Relax," she says, reaching out to touch his hand again, and she offers him a soft smile. "Besides, there really isn't any rhyme or reason to it anyway." He has just started to relax, his heart pounding a little lighter and his body temperature returning to a normal number, when she asks, "Why, what about you, Jones? What do you look for in a woman?"

Beautiful, brilliant blonde goddesses like yourself, he thinks. 

For what he could swear is the longest moment of his life, he's unsure of whether he only thought it or not. 

And then, she's leaning across the desk, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck to pull his lips to meet hers. 

It's far from his first kiss; he's been in the company of enough women to know his way around one. But for some reason, this moment, this woman in particular, catches him off-guard, and he is only able to focus on the soft warmth of her, the feel of her lips against his and her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers sliding up into the longer hair at the base of his neck. He's frozen, unable to respond in any way beyond simply opening his lips slightly to her — 

Until he pulls away, cursing himself even as he does it, especially once he sees the terror in her shining green eyes, so obviously wondering if she has done something wrong. 

"I, uh… thanks," he stutters, running his fingers through his hair as he jumps up from her desk chair. "I, uh, I really have to go." 

As quickly as he is able, he removes himself from her office, though he shows enough self-restraint to not take off down the hallway at a full sprint even though it is what every bone in his body wants him to do. 

It’s not until he’s out of the building that he takes a moment to slow down and really realize what he has just done, ifsting his hair with both of his hands. 

“Oh, Killian, you absolute idiot!” 

He wants to scream, and if he weren’t surrounded by undergrads who he knows are already judging him, he just might. 

An idiot. An absolute dunce. Why did it have to be this week that Liam is training in Rhode Island? Why now, when the thing Killian needs the most is advice from his older brother? 

Okay, not most; the thing he needs most is to go back a mere minute and not run away from the girl who kissed him. 

But he can’t do that. And even just walking back up to her office would be too embarrassing, too much for him. So he does the only thing he can do, and continues down the sidewalk and back to the library. 

(It’s not until he’s back in his office, with Belle eyeing him questionably, that he realizes he came back empty-handed.)

 She spends most of the afternoon wondering what to do. She knows she acted out of turn, knows she made a mistake, but there was just something about him, not an innocence, per se, but something… different. Something that sets him apart from most, if not all, of the men she finds herself in the company of. 

For one, he didn’t seem like a total idiot, unlike the majority of men whose beds she tended to find herself in. Even in the little time she spent with him, she could tell that he was different, and she liked it. She liked that he saw her as a person, with a brain and a personality, and not just as body parts, not just as a vessel that could provide pleasure. Even the men she meets at conferences have all been assholes, men like Walsh ___ who feignd interest in her presentation just to come waltzing up to her afterward and ask her to dinner — which he just talked through, barely giving her a chance to speak. 

But Killian, from what she could tell, is nothing like Walsh. Or like Neal, who keeps ignoring her refusals and turning up at her office. (She’s glad she went back to his apartment and not the other way around, because she fears what he may have done had he known where she lived.) 

Killian, who came all the way across campus to retrieve books from her office, agreed to stay to keep her company, and then she kissed. Like an idiot. She saw the way he got flustered when she started to flirt with him and it got to her. Was it an overreaction? Maybe. But there were definitely alternatives to taking that sort of action against someone whose shyness was apparent all morning. 

She gets nothing done for the rest of the day. The piles of ungraded papers that cover her desk taunt her, but every time she picks up her pen and starts to read, her mind begins to wander immediately — to Killian, to his response to her. Wondering if she made a mistake that she can never fix. Wondering if he is sitting in his office, unable to work, only able to think about her. (Maybe even hoping for this one?) 

The screensaver on her desktop tells  her it’s 2:23. Literal hours have passed since Killian left, and she has accomplished nothing. 

Tapping her password out on the keyboard, she pulls up her university email and types his name in the search box, hoping that one of his previous emails answers her question. She vaguely remembers seeing the hours he’s in his office in one of them, she just needs to figure out which one. 

Bingo. 

“8-3,” she says to her empty office. She should stay, should at least try to accomplish something after being gone for almost two weeks, but she knows it is useless. So she grabs her red leather jacket off the back of her chair, locks her office door behind her, and makes her way out of the building. 

(When she gets to the steps, she realizes she has left the library books behind, just as Killian had when he left earlier that day. With a huff, she turns around, stuffs them in one of her tote bags, and leaves her office once more.) 

Pushing through the library doors, she realizes that she’s been at this university for upwards of ten years, and never learned where the Records and Collections Office is. She knows Killian included his office number in his signature, but finding that would take more time than she wants to spend, so she approaches the desk. 

“Can I help you?” The student who sits behind the desk catches her attention for a moment, a tall male, probably in his mid-20’s, with blond hair with a pink tinge to it, wearing a dark purple satin shirt and matching purple eyeliner in perfect, identical wings. His name tag reads Tyler. 

“Uh, yeah,” she says, hoisting the canvas bag higher on her shoulder. “I’m looking for the Records and Collections Office?” 

He offers her a smile. “Sure! Room 120. Up the stairs, to the left, all the way down.” 

She returns his smile, doing her best not to just run off to find what she came here for. “Thanks.” 

The room that houses the main collection seems much larger than the open area that fills the same space the floor below it, and with every shelf she passes, she feels like three more come into view. But, finally, a row of doors come into view, with the words “RECORDS AND COLLECTIONS” hanging on the wall above them. 

119. 121. 

Didn’t Tyler say 120? 

She tries 121, knocking softly though the door is wide open. She is greeted by a younger girl, most likely an undergrad, with one side of her head shaved and the rest of it pulled into a braid that hangs over her shoulder. “What can I do for you?” 

“Uh, I’m looking for Killian Jones? I thought they said it wa room 120, but—” 

“Yeah, they can’t seem to number rooms in a way that makes sense around here. You have to go through room 119 to find Killian and Dr. French. I don't think Zoe's in her office, so room 119 should be empty." 

"Thanks." 

Room 119 is, in fact, empty, but the door inside, the one with Killian's name on it, is closed. 

She takes a deep breath, hoisting the bag of books up again, and knocks on the door. She wonders if this is how Killian felt knocking on her door that morning, with her heart pounding in her throat. Probably not, she tells herself, breathing out a laugh to try to calm her nerves. 

"Come in!" his voice calls, and she can feel her heartbeat in every cell of her body. 

What the hell, Emma. 

But when she grabs the door knob, she realizes that at least part of her nervousness is valid, because for all the time she spent sitting in her office thinking about their earlier interaction, she has given zero thought to what she's going to say to the man on the other side of the door. 

Too late now. 

Deep breath. 

And she opens the door. 

He looks as flustered as she feels, with his hair standing in all directions, as if he's been tugging at it and running his fingers through it. The thin-framed glasses perched on his nose just add to the ensemble, his bright blue eyes already wide through them, and they only widen more when he sees her standing in the doorway. 

"Hey." 

He blinks. Then again, as if trying to convince himself that she's really there. That may be exactly what he's doing. "Swan," he breathes, one corner of his lips ticking up in a smile. "Hi."

She holds up the bag full of books, offering him a small smile. "I think you're looking for these." 

He returns the smile, but it disappears after just a moment. "Well, I thank you, love, but you didn't have to bring them all this way." 

"It was the least I could do after all the trouble someone went through to pick them up this morning." 

"You could have dropped them off downstairs." 

It's now that she realizes that just because she wanted to see him again, he doesn't necessarily feel the same way, and that could explain his cold responses to her. 

She lets her smile fall. "I could have."

"Why didn't you?" The question is simple enough, straight and to the point. 

"Christ, Killian," she huffs, letting her anger get the best of her. "I didn't come here to return the books."

"Then why did you come?" 

"I wanted to apologize," she says, dropping the bag of books on his desk — and when she opens her mouth to speak again, the words tumble out like a waterfall, unable to be stopped. "I could tell I made you uncomfortable and I've been sitting in my office all day, wishing I did something differently, but since I can't go back, I decided the least I could do to make up for it was to bring you these books and ask you if you wanted to go to dinner with me, but obviously you and I aren't on the same page, so—" She shrugs, throwing her arms in the air, and turns away from his desk. 

There's a shuffle from behind her, but it's not until he says, "Yes! Yes, okay," that she turns back around, realizing that he's stood up. 

"What?" 

"Dinner. With — with you," he stammers. "That's — I want that." 

Again, she just says, "What?" but this time it's paired with the beginnings of a smile. 

"I've been thinking about what happened all day. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, even with everything I was supposed to be doing." 

She takes another step towards him, her smile growing. Finally, he returns it with one of his own. "Yeah?" 

"Aye." 

Rocking back on her heels, she looks down at her watch. "It's only 3:00." 

He laughs, already seeming much more relaxed than he has been since she opened the door to his office. "I suppose it is.” 

Their gazes meet for a moment. She raises her eyebrow. He clicks his tongue. 

“I, uh, didn’t really eat lunch,” she says with a smile. 

“Ah,” he replies, returning her smile as he scratches the back of his ear. “You see, I was also a little distracted, but I am almost off the clock.” 

“Good,” she whispers, setting herself in the seat next to his door. “I’ll just wait.” 

He nods, sitting back down in his office chair. He is able to check her books in, then sends an email to Henry Mills to tell him he can come get the books whenever — but he is more distracted by having her in his office than he was all day when she was just on his mind. After every few words, his attention leaves the computer screen and travels to where she is sitting, scrolling on her cell phone. 

And every time he looks at her, he smiles. 

It’s only a few minutes before he logs off his computer, accidentally startling her when he pushes his chair away from the desk. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his jacket on over his sweater. “I’m ready now, though.” 

 Their first pizza date quickly becomes a regular occurence, sharing lunches in their offices on days they don’t go off campus. It’s two weeks before Killian is bothered they haven’t been on a “proper date,” and he picks her up from her apartment with flowers, which she keeps in a vase in her office. 

But, most importantly, she never forgets to return a library book again — especially the next year, when she and Killian move into a small house near the campus. 

Together. 

#cs fics #captain swan #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael

[mcu-padawan]

solace

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x gender neutral senator!reader

Description: Obi-Wan comforts you after a particularly stressful event.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: panic attack triggers, canon typical violence, flashbacks, my attempt at making a fic of a scene that’s literally been replaying in my head for the longest sorry if it’s incoherent, my main motivator was the main scene and I didn’t develop much of a background oop

A/N: Had a pretty scary event happen last week that I don’t think I’ve fully processed and so it's still been lowkey in my head so I wanted to write this quick fic about how I’d appreciate Obi-Wan’s comfort 😪 Hope y’all enjoy! (PS I’m nearing a milestone so I might make a celebration soon stay tuned!)

— — — — — — 

Your room in the ship is large and spacious. Certainly much larger than any of the other rooms on the ship. But at the moment you feel as if you’re confined inside a small room that just keeps on shrinking. 

You are fighting hard to keep the tears back at this point. The overwhelming emotion of the events of the last few days are becoming too much, but you still try to keep your emotions in check.

I need to be strong, you think, taking a deep breath. If I’m not strong for my people, who will be?

Your hands are clenched at your side as you continue to pace. You decide that first you need to stop pacing, so you do. You stop, take a deep breath, and dry your hands on your thighs. As you wipe your hands down your thighs you feel the outline of an object in your pocket, an object that was handed to you by a certain Jedi Knight.

“What’s this?” you’d asked as Obi-Wan handed you what looked like a small out of order speaker. 

“It’s an old fashioned comm link,” Obi-Wan had told you. “It’s linked directly to this comm link.” He showed you an identical device. “Use it to call me in case of anything. The comms are an older model, so they’ll only send a signal, not a specific message.”

You grabbed the comm link from his hand and looked it over, slightly confused as to why he’d given this to you. “How is this different to the comm I received earlier?” 

Obi-Wan looked at you seriously, as if trying to communicate something else to you. “These comms are only connected to each other. Use this if you need me for anything. Nobody else.”

You’d nodded, a warm feeling settling in your chest. Now you took the comm out of your pocket, looking at the device. The device was simple, much more bare than the newer comm models. It had a single button on it, which you had to assume was the one that sent the signal to the other comm.

Your finger hovers over the button, slightly traces the outline of the button, but doesn’t press it. As much as you hope that what you and Obi-Wan have is more than just a bodyguard-assigned protectee relationship, you know that you know the code of the Jedi. No attachments. No attachments.

He said I could call him for anything, you think. But you can’t decide if needing someone to talk to constitutes as part of the anything he meant. 

So you continue to pace, this time with one of your hands gripping the comm tightly. And as you continue to pace, the thoughts you had been trying to push away come rushing back, and the emotions back with them. 

Suddenly you’re not in your room on a transport ship taking back to Coruscant. No, suddenly you’re back on a planet close to the Outer Rim which you had been sent to in order to negotiate a treaty with. The treaty was meant to help ease trade in your home planet, currently the major issue your people were experiencing. The lack of trade routes available to your planet restricted the materials that were able to be delivered to a planet that depended heavily on the agriculture of neighboring planets in order to feed its people. And so you had made the move to work on a peace treaty, despite the multiple warnings of your friends in the senate and in your home planet. 

Instead of a peaceful arrival, you and your entourage had been met with deceit. You were welcomed to negotiate, but attacked as soon as you had let your guard down. You’d had to flee the planet, leaving behind any hope of a quick, peaceful resolution. 

Tears blurred your vision again. You had almost died. A shot from a blaster had grazed your left cheek during your escape. Had you moved your head a second later... 

You had almost died.

“Fuck this,” you say. You look at the comm in your hand and with only a second of hesitation you press the button. You expect a light or sound or something to inform you that the signal had been sent, but there’s nothing. 

“Oh great,” you say and toss the comm on the desk in your room. You start making your way to bed, settling on attempting to catch some rest, though you are certain you won’t. 

But then you hear a quick, silent knock on your door. Had you not been hoping for it, you probably would not have heard it. 

You make your way to the door, opening it to find the only person in the entire galaxy you wanted to see. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, stands in your doorway, his eyes filled with concern.

“I was beginning to think this comm didn’t work,” you joke, trying your best to keep Obi-Wan from noticing the emotion in your voice.

“Are you alright Y/N?” And for some reason, hearing him ask you if you were okay makes you realize just how not okay you were. 

You shake your head, unable now to hold back some tears from falling down your cheeks. “I’m not,” you whisper.

Obi-Wan steps in your room, taking your hands and leading you to sit on your bed. He sits next to you, letting go of your hands. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he says, concern lining his brow. 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” you say as you look down at your hands on your lap. “I just needed someone to talk to.”

“Don’t apologize Y/N. You know I’ll always be here if you need to talk. So tell me, what’s wrong?”

And you tell him. You tell him how much of a failure you felt like. A failure to your people, to the republic, as a senator. You were a newly appointed senator and had wanted to leave a print in your term. When you were younger you had taken note of the difficulties your home planet endured with depending on others for a majority of their source of food. But given the extreme weather growing their own crops wasn’t an option for many. So taking up this negotiation was a reasonable next step. 

“But I should’ve seen it coming,” you said, your breath coming out shaky. You keep your eyes on your hands. You had not noticed just how much your hands were shaking until you feel Obi-Wan’s stable hands hold yours, his warm fingers cradling your hands in his. 

“Love, look at me.” Your heart jumps at what he calls you, but it absolutely melts at the way Obi-Wan looks at you. 

Understanding is what you are met with when you look into Obi-Wan’s eyes. Obi-Wan understands your pain, your feeling of failure, your fear of the future. Something you would’ve thought a Jedi was incapable of feeling, but it’s clear as day in his eyes. 

“Listen, I won’t tell you to get over the feeling of failure. I know that no matter what I say, you’ll still feel as you do. But I will tell you this: failure is part of the process. It sounds cheesy, trust me I know it does, but you can’t learn if you don’t fail.” His words don’t heal your pain, but they warm your heart as you realize you’re not alone in what you feel.

“And I want to remind you of something else,” he continues. “This has taken me time to learn, but know that failure once doesn’t mean absolute defeat. You’re more experienced now, you know who you’re dealing with. You know the danger that’s involved. ” He pauses, moving to trace the healing wound on your cheek as a result of the blaster that narrowly missed your head. “And you’ll be able to formulate a plan to solve this issue once and for all.” Obi-Wan cups your cheek, his thumb wiping a tear away. 

His face is close to yours, much closer than you realized, but you can feel his breath on your lips and you can’t help but bite the inside of your lip. His eyes briefly look down at your lips, then he looks into your eyes again. “And I want you to know that I’ll always be here to help you out with anything you need.” He kisses your forehead and you close your eyes, breathing in his scent and hoping the moment could last forever. But he pulls away (too soon for your liking) and leans his forehead on yours. 

“Stay with me tonight, please,” your voice is just above a whisper, but you know he hears you. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” he answers, his voice as soft as yours.  “I’ll always stay.”

The night ends with both of you curled up with one another in your bed. Nothing else is said, you two just lay and sleep, enveloped in one another’s comfort.

~~~

Tagging some friends :) 

@anakin-danvers​ @nobie @catsnkooks @captainrexstan @thedevilwearsbeskar @obirain @corellians-only @acciokenobi @goldenkenobi @hxldmxdxwn @jediforce @snips-n-skyguy0501 @anakinswhore @kaminobiwan @sweeetteaa @cherieboba @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky​

#yay! a second fic! #I'm glad because i was fearful i'd only write one fic and just... stop haha #i welcome feedback! #let me know what yall think! #usernobie #userkarina #ayatlovesme #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x gender neutral reader #obi wan kenobi x you #aileen writes?! #my fic #my work

[guessmonsta]

In The Woods Somewhere (Fae! Akaashi x Fem! Reader) (NSFW)

Hi cuties :’) Do I even need to apologize for being inactive at this point? Lmao. I’ll never return to my peak in 2016/2017, haha. Anyway, this was a request from my friend that I realized I never posted. Oops. I hope u like it I luv yall sm!!!!

______________________________________________________________

The first time she saw him it was May. Dewdrops danced on Silver Dollars and Lamb’s-ear, and Jasmine and Lily of the Valley were braided into her hair. She spent her days in May collecting flowers and herbs for her mother, ever since spring came, her mother had been bedridden, and worrying __ mad. She knew the herbs would help substantially, but she also knew the roses and carnations would heal a different side of her mother. On her way down to the carnation field just beyond the woods that swallowed her quaint little property, she saw him. She knew who he was, rather what he was before she had the opportunity to approach him. If she hadn’t the knowledge very little would have kept her from running to him. Her mother always warned her of his kind, they were dangerous, they would rip out your womb and starve you of food- but the way his gunmetal eyes stared into hers the moment he noticed her walk past him was enough to have her in his trance. He sat inside a faerie ring, several small birds clung to his sides, and a Barn Owl perched on his arm. If it weren’t for her mother on her mind, perhaps she would have been bolder- instead, she just broke a moment of eye contact and walked right past him, choosing to ignore his existence, and he ignored hers. 

The second time she saw him, she wasn’t so timid. Spore prints were her intention that day, or at least that’s what she told her mother, and while toadstools grew at random in the clearing in her backyard, she couldn’t help but be attracted to the faerie ring in which she had seen him the first time. 

Much to her disappointment, the face she had stumbled across weeks ago wasn’t present. It would’ve been easier for her to acknowledge him if he was already there, but she figured she would have to take measures into her own hands. With little to no forethought, she held her breath, closed her eyes, then stepped right into the vacant ring in the clearing. 

Before she even had the opportunity to open her eyes, she felt her body being vaulted backwards. She shrieked, then groaned as her back hit the ground beneath her. Upon opening her eyes, she saw him, the Fae with the beautiful eyes staring down at her. She couldn’t help but smirk at the slightest- lore always said that the Fae folk would do anything to make you miserable, but it almost seemed like this one was looking out for her. Before she could say anything to him, he disappeared just as fast as he came. She picked herself back up, sighed, then returned back home. 

Then she didn’t see him for a while. While she knew it was for the best, a part of her ached for a missed opportunity. There could’ve been so much adventure at hand if only she had acknowledged him, even if it meant giving up her womb. All she could do was fantasize about what could’ve been at night before she went to bed. It was all she ever did. 

Until she woke up to a pile of feathers on her windowsill. They were kept still by a small pebble from her garden, but the array was beautiful. A Blue Jay, a Crow, a Cardinal, and a Goldfinch. Accepting gifts from the Fae was strictly prohibited, yet she grabbed the feathers, and sprinted towards the faerie ring in which she had paid her visits to one too many times. 

She didn’t sit inside the ring, instead, just kneeling on the outside with the feathers cradled gently in her hands. 

“Hello?” She called out. If anyone caught her, she would look terribly foolish talking to herself while holding a handful of feathers. “This gift is beautiful, but my mother would tell me I cannot accept it.” 

She waited a moment, then heard the soft tap of footsteps on the grass behind her. Spinning around, she saw him, in all of his glory. He really was a beautiful thing, and that’s why she reckoned she thought of him so much. There was something about his aura, and those beautiful eyes, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw him. 

“Hello.” 

“Are you a fool?” He replied, towering over her as he stood across her. 

“Maybe.” She replied. “Or maybe I just want to be your friend.” 

“That would make you a fool.” Uncharacteristic for a faerie, he sat down next to her, and handed her another feather- a Great Horned Owl. 

“Thank you.” She smiled, and she immediately watched his stoic expression switch to a frown. 

“You weren’t supposed to say that.” 

“I wasn’t aware that this was a test.” __ shrugged, twisting the Owl feather between her fingers. “So, what do I owe you?” 

The Faerie looked at her, baffled, and cocked an eyebrow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it, merely shaking his head in response. 

“You wanting to involve yourself with the Fae takes the fun out of all of this, you do know that, correct?” He sighed, and __ merely giggled. 

“Am I making your job difficult?” 

“No, no, just interesting.” 

“Well, you were the one who pushed me from the ring and brought me a gift. From my side, it feels like you’re the one who’s seeking me out.”

“Perhaps I’m looking for companionship.” __ felt her heart skip a beat as her eyes locked with his. Before she thought they were a light shade of bluish gray, but under the canopy of leaves, they looked a deep green. Maybe his eyes were magic, too. 

“My name is __.” __ smiled, taking a feather and reaching it out to brush it gently against the bridge of his nose, causing him to jump back in confusion. “And yes, that is my real name. __ __. Use it at your will.” 

“Are you that bored?” A slight chuckle passed the lips of the Fae as he shook his head. “Or are you that trusting?” 

“Perhaps a little mix of both…” She trailed off, searching for the name of the Fae across from her. He blinked at her slowly, the mechanics of his mind working out whether or not he could trust her with his own name or not. She smiled softly as she watched his thought process, fiddling with the feather in her hands as she did. 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji.” He smiled softly. “You may call me Keiji.” 

“Keiji.” The name felt like honey butter against her lips and she smiled, bidding him farewell using his lovely name, Keiji, and skipping back to her house. 

The friendship that blossomed between the two was unusual, yet __ had somehow managed to keep it a secret from her mother. It wasn’t difficult to sneak around, especially since her poor mother had been bedridden for quite some time. It had gotten to the point where it was worrying, her rendezvous with her companion cut short, and missed as the weeks progressed. Keiji still left small gifts on her windowsill, almost as a beacon for her to visit him, yet she felt overwhelming guilt at the thought of her leaving her poor mother alone in a terrible time. Between praying to every deity for her mother's safety, and attempts to nurse her mother back to health, she found it hard to think about anything else besides her mother, even if the word “Keiji” found itself tumbling off her lips at random times throughout the day. 

Then, as his name fell from her lips once as she brewed her mother a chamomile tea, she realized her situation. Keiji, he was a Faerie, he could heal her mother. The adrenaline of this realization ran through her body like lightning, and as soon as she handed her mother her tea and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead, she left through the front door and sprinted through the woods. 

Keiji must have felt her energy, because as soon as she stumbled towards the ring, he was already there. She looked like a decent mess, the hem of her skirt and her knees covered in grass stains from tripping over herself. Keiji looked at her in surprise and what he could only describe as his form of excitement. 

“Oh, Keiji, Keiji.” She gasped, attempting to catch her breath. “Can you please help me?” 

“You’re aware everything comes at a cost, correct?” He muttered, offering her a seat next to him on the grass. She sat down quickly, then grabbed his hands in hers, causing him to flinch at the slightest. 

“Keiji, please, my mother…” __ still struggled to catch her breath, a mix between sprinting and her adrenaline. “My mother has been gravely ill for quite awhile and I’m afraid she isn’t going to make it much longer.” 

“And you would like me to…” 

“Please make her better. I will do absolutely anything in return.” 

“Ah, health.” Keiji sighed deeply and cocked his head. “It isn’t impossible for me. When your mother wakes up tomorrow morning, she will be in perfect health. Memories of her illness will be faded and distant and she will be up and active just as she was before she was ill.”  

“Are you serious?” __ responded, almost giddy, a smile cracking on her face. 

“Yes. It’s very possible. However, you are aware that there is a heavy price to pay.” 

“God, Keiji, I gave you my name when we first met, I don’t care about prices.” 

“Well, this one might be different for you.” He blinked slowly, catching __’s gaze. “In return for your mothers health, your mortality belongs to me.” 

“Woah.” __ inhaled sharply, then exhaled deeply. “So, does that mean that I have to die, you own me until I die or-” 

“It means you’ll have to live in limbo between your realm and mine for the rest of my eternity.” 

“Immortality doesn’t seem so bad.” 

“You might eat your words.” 

“Do I still get to see my mother?” 

“Yes, until you gradually outlive her then-” 

“Well I would’ve outlived her eventually.” 

“You’re insatiable, woman.” Keiji sighed, rubbing his temples. “Is there seriously nothing wrong with giving away your precious human life to a Fae?” 

“Not when it’s you, Keiji.” 

__ watched his eyes roll into the back of his head, then watched his chest rise and fall heavily. Soft hands fell onto hers, and her eyes met his. 

“You’re completely and utterly confident in your decision?” Keiji asked once more, almost insecure about their transaction. 

“Yes, Keiji. My mother means everything to me.” __ nodded. 

“Enough to give yourself away to me?” 

“Well-” __ paused, giving his gentle hands a squeeze, “This is just a win win situation for me.” 

She watched as Keiji’s frown twisted into a silhouette of a smile, and his hands crept up her arms, up to her shoulders, and he pushed her gently back against the soft grass beneath them. 

“In all my years I’ve never met somebody quite as insane as you, my dear __ __.” 

“And yet here we are. I’m the one you chose to give my mortality up to you.” 

“Yes I did.” 

Keiji leaned down and ever so gently kissed the tip of her nose, her cupid's bow, then her lips. __ all but eagerly kissed back, the softness of his lips something completely foreign to her. A shiver of excitement ran up her spine as she kissed him back, her hands running up his back to bury themselves in a mess of wavy black hair. 

“You’re so enticing.” Keiji muttered against her lips. “I was waiting for this.” 

“You didn’t have to wait for me to come crying over my mother to have me.” __ giggled. “You’ve had me all along.” 

A guttural groan came from the back of Keiji’s through as he kissed her again, deeper and rougher than the first time. 

“A human has never made me feel this way before.” 

“And I take that as an honor.” 

__ buried her nose in the crook of Keiji’s neck, kissing his collarbone then ever so gently nipping her teeth against his copper flesh. She felt him sigh against her cheek as she kissed his collarbone rougher, then trailing a mix of gentle and bruising kisses up the column of his neck. 

“If I’m going to be yours forever…” __ cradled Keiji’s face in her hands as she kissed him on the lips once again, “You’re going to have to show me how worth it it’ll be.” 

Keiji wasted no time in crashing his lips into hers, kissing her so gently, so feverishly it brought chills up her spine. Her arms snaked around his neck again, kissing him deeper, deeper, feeling every pulse in her body beat for him. Heaven knows she’s wanted this, it was even more enticing now that it was magically bound. She felt his cold hands run under the hem of her dress, and wordlessly she let him slip it off of her body and over her head- she wanted to be exposed for him. It was silly, foolish, throwing herself at a man like this, it was something completely foreign to her, yet lit a spark inside of her core the more she thought about it. The embarrassment and inevitable realization was sure to come later, but in the meantime, as Keiji began to place cold, gentle kisses below her navel, the only thing she could focus on was him. His fingers danced over the sculpt of her hip bones, and eventually, the softness of her inner thighs. 

“Dare I ask for your consent?” He muttered, leaving __ giggling. 

“After I sell my soul to you?” 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to be respectful.” Keiji  hummed, his hands running up her body again and leaving goosebumps in their wake. __ sat in silence, unaware of what his next move would be. Her heart was in her throat as Keiji got closer and closer in between her legs, and he could tell. When he reached the seam of her bloomers he chuckled deeply, and placed a deep, open mouth kiss against the fabric. She all but jumped, the feeling wasn’t foreign ate her own hand, but being caught engaging in these activities with the boys in her village was taboo, and she was far from being experienced. She wondered if Keiji wordlessly knew, or assumed she knew what she was doing. Nevertheless, Keiji gently slipped her bloomers off  of shaking legs, and wasn’t late to rubbing at her slit. 

“Oh!” She jumped, completely surprised. She hadn’t anticipated him finding her sweet spot so quick, let alone touching her at all. Keiji paused for a minute to unbutton his thin shirt, and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him. His skin was the most beautiful shade of tan, she noticed, her eyes running up and down his torso and noticing the veins that webbed around his sculpted arms. Next were his trousers, he was expressionless as he did this, and it would’ve been frightening if she hadn’t previously learned that he majored in stoicism. When his member popped out of his boxers, she let out a tiny exhale. It seemed perfect, pretty even, and definitely wasn’t lacking. She moved to throw her bra off of her, she found no shame now in being completely exposed to him. Their bond was eternal from here. And as if it were on instinct, she opened her legs more for him, which was greeted with more rubbing against her clit. 

“Oh god, Keiji.” She threw her head back and whimpered. Her eyes blurred for a moment as she focused on the full moon above her, and all the stars that danced around it. She found it harder and harder to keep herself propped up on her elbows, her high chasing her the more he moved against her. 

Her arms collapsed underneath her, and the moment her back hit the grass, the first heavy wave of her orgasm hit her, a deep and heavy sigh escaping her as it did. His name was all she could moan as she rode out her high, strangled breaths leaving her mouth afterwards. It hit her like a train, the pure and unholy satisfaction of pleasure wasn’t foriegn to her, but in this circumstance, it left her dripping onto the grass below them. This didn’t go unnoticed by him, he ran one finger up her slit, which caused her to jolt from her after high sensitivity. Keiji merely smirked, leaning over her body to catch her lips in a kiss once again. 

“Kei-” She stammered against his lips, trying to prop herself back up on her arms to look up at the gorgeous Fae who she was enamored with. “Keiji.” 

“Yes, my dear?” 

“Oh god, Keiji, fuck me.” 

There was a foreign thrill of being exposed in nature the way her and Keiji were at the moment. She could feel her heartbeat all throughout her body as Keiji positioned himself above her, his lips on her chest as he got a feel for her body. An owl hooted off in the distance, crickets chirped and other gentle sounds of nature were all that she could hear besides Keiji’s gentle breaths. In one slow, fluid movement, he slid himself inside of her to the hilt. She almost felt paralized, nothing else dared cross her mind besides Keiji. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she kissed him. The numb pain was worth it, anything was worth being close to him. 

“You’re doing so well.” His voice was still so monotonous, it spawned butterflies in her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak again, but at that moment Keiji pulled out and slammed into her again, only ammitting a small, gentle squeak from her. Keiji began to rut into her at an even pace, leaving her wordless and tingling on the earth below. She let out another pathetic moan, wishing she could do more for him from her submissive position. 

“You’re so fucking-” She stopped to sigh, then grabbed at the roots of the grass underneath her. “You’re so fucking etheral, Keiji.”

Keiji chuckled in response, his thrusts getting deeper and deeper the more he moved. The feeling of being exposed to him and mother nature sent chills across her bare body. She wished she could do more for him, make him feel better too, but her had her locked in this pathetic position, all she could do was spread her legs further apart and let him fuck her senselessly. 

And he did. The soft pants that came from his parted lips made her feel even more full than before, and the more she thought about the way he stretched her, the wetter she felt herself become. This didn’t go unnoticed by Keiji at all, him making a comment on how she was such a good girl. Her senses were clouded by chills and sex and butterflies in her stomach. 

“You’re doing so good.” Keiji hummed, yet his monotonous voice sounded a little more strangled. “I’m gonna come.” 

“Come inside me.” She muttered, not even thinking. “I’m yours.” 

Moments later, with a gentle groan, his thrusts came to a halt, and spilled himself inside of her. She felt fuller, fuller than before, and warm. She sighed softly, holding him against her with his cock buried deep inside of her still. 

“Am I worth it for forever?” She asked, her fingers running through his hair as she kissed his forehead gently. “Do you really want me forever?” 

“Yes.” Keiji hummed, kissing her back. “And I wish you found me sooner.”

#akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! #anime #haikyuu scenarios #fairytale #fae #magic #cottagecore #forestcore

[cythieus]

Mario/Peach Fic Rough Draft

Tasteful flower arrangements and buffets flanked by smaller round tables had transformed the palace courtyard from a spot for solitary reflection into somewhere guests were entertained. Clustered people engaged in conversation wherever room permitted, though no one had taken a seat yet. A semicircular bar guarded the southern side of the fountain, staffed by three Mushroom people. Servers used the bar as a kind of base, but spent most of their time flitting between guests and tables.

Most in attendance were Mushroom people or humans. There were a trio of Tostarenans noticeable because of their neon colored skull-like heads and short stature and a single Pianta with blue skin, his long nose jutting out from under the tree that grew from the top of his domed head. The ease with which Mario had become used to creatures that had no parallel on Earth was amazing, but everything on this side of the warp pipe was bit jarring.

If only he could get used to the reverent splendor of the Mushroom Kingdom and its Princess.

The kind of parties that Mario knew typically took place in cramped rent controlled apartments or the darkened spaces of Brooklyn bars that might have been built in repurposed alleyways. He never would have dreamed he would attend something hosted by royalty just a few short years ago.

You also didn’t think you would be breathing the same air as or get a kiss from an honest to God Princess, yet here we are.

His suit sleeves felt rigid and unnatural because of how he was holding his drink up near his chest. It had been some time since he last wore a suit and he felt the need to get a new one for this occasion. He considered letting his arm down to his side and pinching his fingers around the rim of the glass, but years of rooting around in muck as a plumber still made him cautious about the idea of touching a drink with his fingers right where he would be putting his mouth. It was different for food, he didn’t understand the strange quirk, but it was something that he didn’t think he would be able to alter anytime soon.

A chime of laughter broke through the monotony of the distant conversation and clanking dishes. Princess Peach stood on the middle landing of the wide grand staircase that led back into the castle with her head tossed back in enthused laugh. While most of the women in attendance styled their hair up in buns pinned in roll at the back of their head Peach wore her blonde hair down. It cascaded off her bare shoulders and down to the middle of her back.

The crown that she usually wore was accented by a ring of pastel flowers that stayed firmly in place even as she looked down at a pair of children. One of them was tugging on her dress and she turned to the side, her laughing turning into a smile as she addressed them. Mario couldn’t tell if she knew these children otherwise. It was hard to judge with Princess Peach—she had a way of making everyone feel welcome.

Peach stepped in close to the kids and sank down into a squat, presumable so she was at eye level with them. The dress she wore today wasn’t something Mario had seen before; a pink off the shoulder dress that has a much flatter, more ruffled skirt than usual and fell to the midway point between her knee and ankle. She rested her slender, pale arms over her lap (no gloves today) as she spoke to the children.

Though she was across the courtyard he could tell by her smile and the way she squinted her eyes until the skin at the sides of her nose crinkled that she was sharing some irreverent, endearing tidbit with the kids.

Mario lifted the cap off of his head, smoothed his hair back, and placed the hat soundly back into place. It would have felt wrong without something up there. The gray newsboy cap wasn’t quite the same, but it offered a kind of comfort.

Better not stare, someone might notice.

He glanced at a waiter passing with a tray propped up on the bulbous pileus of its head. Mario had come to learn that the Mushroom people’s heads and the patterns and spots on them had all kinds of meanings to them both superstitious and founded in hard fact.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caused Mario to glance in the direction that the waiter had headed. Daisy’s orange dress seemed like a flare in the middle of the pastel and floral print of the worn by everyone else at the party. The big floppy orange hat perched atop her hair bounced as she wove her way around obstacles and people in her bid to get to Mario.

Without slowing her pace, she spun, plucked a pair of champagnes from the tray and used the back of hand to push the sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “I guess it’s sad boy hour over here,” Daisy said before downing one of the champagne flutes.

“Those white trays are for non alcoholic beverages.” Mario kept his eyes forward, not looking at her as he spoke.

Daisy tilted her head down over the glass, letting the liquid empty back into the glass. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me. And I was kidnapped by fucking aliens once. Is Peaches tying to poison me?” She said as she poured the contents of both flutes into a bush just behind the raised dais where they stood.

“Maybe you could slow down? I can smell vodka on you from here,” Mario said.

“Oh, a bird shit on my dress and I used the vodka to clean it off. I wouldn’t drink that cheap bilge-water they’re serving over there.”

Daisy glanced around as if expecting to see someone. Mario already knew what the next thing out of her mouth was going to be”

“Where’s your sexy brother?”

That hadn’t been how he had thought she would phrase it. “You know how Luigi is about crowds.”

“Right. He’ll eventually turn up.”

Mario nodded.

“Why don’t you stop moping in the corner and go talk to her?”

“And say what?” Mario asked.

“Whatever you normal-types say to each other. She likes you. She claims you’re dating now and here you are hiding from her like one of those little fat ghosts with the nub hands,” Daisy said.

“They’re called Boos. You’ve spent time with several of them over the years; you’ve got one’s number in your cellphone.”

“Know what your problem is?” Daisy asked.

Mario didn’t have time to answer before she leaned in closer to him, the smell of alcohol mixed with floral perfume dominating the air around her.

“You’re hung up in the minutiae of every situation. Go try to put your arm around her while she chats with those children, maybe grab a drink and try to have a little fun? Who knows, maybe she’ll let you turn her guts inside out.“ She said the last part very quickly and before he could cut in or correct her she waved a hand at him.

“—I need to go find something to drink before I have to suck this vodka out of my dress. There is too many boring people out here for me to remain sober.” Daisy rushed off toward the bar in a frantic pace, leaving the glasses resting on the railing behind where she had been standing.

Mario lifted the glass to his lips and drank; the after being clutched in his hand for so long the liquid had warmed considerably, but he found it was often better to have something to take the edge off the things Daisy said.

She wasn’t wrong though.

It was rare that Daisy lied. He wasn’t sure that she had enough shame to know that she should really omit things in most cases. The lies she had told might have just been out of some sense of needing to conceal something for someone else or honest mistakes.

Daisy believed deep down that Mario was right for Peach and that her efforts in talking to him would help. Mario finished his drink and wandered near enough to the bar to exchange his glass for another. For a moment his reflection was visible in one of the decorations on the bar and he noticed his mustache looked a little frazzled. He reached inside of the breast pocket of his coat and plucked out a comb. Careful to tilt it just right to go with the grain of the hair he brushed down and away from his nose in clean, even strokes.

Peach leaned in beside him trying to rest her butt against the bar, but it was obvious that she connected to it with a bit more force than she intended and cause the whole thing to rock. One of the Mushroom People behind the bar grasped it to steady things.

“Oops! My apologies! Sorry, sorry!” Peach went to grab one of the glasses in a bid to keep it from falling over, but she bumped it onto its side instead. “Oh no, I am so sorry—this is my fault.”

A bushy eyebrowed Mushroom Person gave her a deep, close-lipped grin. “It’s fine Your Highness, we’re all used to your little accidents by now.”

Redness crept across the space on either side of Peach’s nose. While he had been admiring her with a kind of starstruck awe from across the room, being this close to her was like staring into the sun. Peach seemed to glow with more than just embarrassment as she pressed a slender hand to one cheek, the blue jeweled ring on her index finger catching the sunlight.

Right, the spill.

Mario tore his eyes away from her and spun to grab for a bar cloth. He pushed in close to Peach where the spill was and mopped it up. “Excuse me, Your Highness. I’ve got that,” he said hurriedly brushing the ice into his hand and depositing it into the glass.

The color in her cheeks faded as she turned to help. She took the glass and sat it behind the bar on the lower shelf before letting out a truncated giggle. Her blonde bangs had were pressed to one side, she seemed to notice at that same moment and used her fingers to fan them back out. She moved a tendril of hair away from her cheek, tucking it back over her ear.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” She brought the hand that had been up by her ear down to rest against the side of her neck and her bright, blue eyes searched his face before nerves or something else got the best of her and she averted her gaze.

Somehow Peach was both graceful and awkward; he guessed that she fought to compose herself most of the time, but he had seen the woman trip over literally nothing while simply walking around. The only person he could think of less prone to accidents was Luigi.

“Very smooth, Your Highness,” Mario said with a smile. He left bar rag and took the time to remove his hat.

“You’re actually not allowed to call me that,” she said.

“Princess?”

“Uh-uh. It’s Peach, just Peach.” She shook closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Peaches?”

“Daisy only calls me that because when she was a little she had a speech impediment and couldn’t seem to say my name without messing it up. But I will be sure to let her know you’re making fun of her.”

“Don’t put me back in Daisy’s crosshairs…”

“Ha, you’re actually so scared of her! I won’t tell if you do me a favor and walk me around the back gardens.” Peach offered her elbow out to him as she often did when she wanted her to loop his arm through hers.

So he did.

“We hardly got to talk today so I’d—well I think I’d like that,” Mario said. Peach smelled like perfume, some scent that they didn’t seem to have on earth or if they did not one he could place, and sugar and flour from baking earlier.

“We haven’t had time together because you always seem to be as far from as this garden will allow.”

Now Mario was sure that there was some redness in his face. He moved to put his hat back on, hoping it would hide some of the color.

“Toadsworth!” Peach called to her steward.

Toadsworth was an older looked Mushroom Person with brown spots on the cap of his head, unlike most of the others of his race that part of his head was beige. He had a bushy mustache that concealed the bottom half of his face and when he spoke his words were always slightly muffled.

“Yes, Princess?” He said turning, his weight rested partially on a cane at his side.

“Can you watch things here for me? Mario is taking me on a romantic stroll.”

Mario swallowed. How even she shade from his cap’s brim wouldn’t hide the redness in his face. He could feel the heat bubbling up and a shiver shot through him.

#mario bros #supermariobros #super mario bros #princess peach #fanfic #fan fiction #just peachy #mario #mario and luigi #luigi #princess daisy #daisy #mushroom kingdom #mario fandom #rough draft #my writing #toadsworth #short fiction #short story #creative writing #writers of tumblr

[chilling-seavey]

A blurb with Penelope meeting uncle chi chi’s girlfriend for the first time and being like super protective over him!!

Omg I was literally thinking about something like this today. You’re reading my mind 😳

Penelope’s more of a not-confrontational lil girl so it’s not as protective as it would be heart-broken…at least at first

I chose to throw in Vanessa (like from Twin My Heart deal) as the gf because I’m too picky for ABM Christian and I want him to be single forever dkm oops 🤭 but anyway that’s my own issue…ON WITH IT

When Penelope got attached to something, she really got attached to it, and her sweet little relationship with Christian was no different. Each year when it was time to fly home, the poor girl would go into hysterics to try and stay with him, making it such a hard time for her parents to get her on the plane peacefully. But arriving in Vancouver was the complete opposite.

Both girls loved their annual trips to Vancouver and even tiny Lucy was growing used to the routine of it all at merely two-and-a-half. This time around, Penelope held a little homemade card for Christian in her backpack along with a painting she made at school, staring eagerly out the plane window as they made their decent towards the snowy mountain peaks of the west coast.

Keri was there to pick them up as usual and, after long awaited greetings, they all got into the van to head towards their second home. Clementine was rambling on a mile a minute to her grandmother, telling her all about school and her friends and everything in between, while Lucy started to fade in the car seat beside her. Penelope, on the other hand, was clutching her card and painting in her hands, swinging her legs back and forth eagerly as they drove closer and closer to the house.

Arrival was always hectic, with so many people in the house to greet plus getting all the bags and suitcases and presents inside in one piece and put away quickly, it wasn’t an easy feat. But Penelope knew her target from the second they even boarded the plane back in Toronto and as soon as Daniel had unbuckled her out of the car and set her on the ground, she was off running towards the porch, a huge grin on her face. She went up on her tiptoes to ring the doorbell a few times and Tyler opened it first, barely getting a greeting out before she was pushing past him and running into the house.

“Chi-Chi!” Penelope shrieked, throwing her arms around him the second she saw him.

“There’s my girl!” Christian picked her up and she cuddled right into him, their mirrored grins buried into each other’s shoulders. “I missed you!”

“Me too.” Penelope mumbled. She kept her arms locked around his shoulders as he greeted the rest of the family and the other adults started to help bring the bags upstairs.

Penelope finally opened her eyes, her peaceful smile faltering as she spotted an unfamiliar woman standing a few feet away in the living room. She was always a shy girl so Penelope simply clung tighter onto Christian and looked away from her. As everyone started to get settled, Christian finally set Penelope down and she finally remembered the present she had for him.

“I made these for you.” she smiled, holding out the card and painting to him.

“Oh my gosh, thank you, pumpkin.” Christian grinned, crouching down to take them and he opened the card, reading her messy first grader printing and all her dozens of x’s and o’s and hearts drawn around the border. He flipped to the painting, the messy colours finger painted with care to form the two of them with the mountains in the background. “Penny, this is so good. Thank you.” Christian smiled, pressing a kiss to her head and pulled her in for a quick hug. “I’m going to hang this up in my room when I get home.”

“Really?” Penelope grinned.

“Really!” Christian promised.

The six-year-old looked up at the woman who approached them and Christian stood back up to greet her with a hand around her back and showed her the pictures. Penelope’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked between the two of them.

“Nice to finally meet you, Penelope.” the woman bent down to hold her hand out to the young girl and Penelope took a shy step back, looking behind her habitually to find Daniel but he was gone upstairs.

“It’s okay, Nell. This is Nessa, my girlfriend.” Christian said.

Penelope’s small gasp couldn’t be heard but her face said enough, her bottom lip starting to tremble as she looked between Vanessa and Christian, blue eyes filling with tears.

“Hey…” Christian tried to reach for her but she just snatched the artwork from his hands and rushed up the stairs. “Penelope!”

Daniel was startled by his daughter rushing into his room in tears, crying loudly as she reached up to him with pink cheeks and wet eyes. He didn’t even second guess it as he scooped her up, sending Tyler a reassuring nod to get him to leave them alone as he sat on the end of his bed, Penelope curling into him tightly.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Daniel asked softly, rubbing a hand over her back as she cried against his chest. The pictures still in her hand peaked his interest and he took them from her gently to look at them, “Did you not give Christian his present?”

Penelope nodded through another blubbering sob.

“What happened, bug?” Daniel frowned, pressing soft kisses to her head.

“He doesn’t love me anymore.” Penelope wept.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true.”

“He has a girlfriend!” Penelope frowned at her father like he was an idiot.

“I see.” Daniel sighed, silently remembering that Florence was right in the sense they should have prepared their sensitive daughter for that fact instead of showing up cold turkey. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He just needs to talk to someone who’s his own age.”

Penelope sobbed louder.

“Oh my gosh, baby.” Daniel leaned her head against his shoulder. “Your first heartbreak, hm?”

“We got married!” Penelope cried.

“I know, I know.” Daniel tried to supress his chuckle. “But you know you’ll always be his favourite girl no matter what. You think I like that he’s always stealing you away from me?”

Penelope sniffled.

“You gotta learn to share the people you love. Think you get that?”

Penelope nodded, sitting back from him to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Daniel swiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and head down for dinner, okay? You should give Chi-Chi his paintings back.”

Penelope nodded and he helped her slip off his lap and led her to the bathroom to wash her face free of tears before they were heading downstairs with the rest of the family. When they came into the living room, Christian got up from the couch right away, not even getting a word out before Penelope was shoving the artwork back at him.

“I’m sorry if you’re upset with me.” he whispered, bending down in front of her.

Penelope shook her head and wrapped her arms around his neck and he scooped her up. She stared silently at Vanessa over Christian’s shoulder, tightening her arms around his shoulders as if claiming exactly what was hers. When it was dinner time, Penelope insisted on sitting right beside Christian and made him hold her hand the entirety of the meal which meant he had to somehow eat left-handed, but he’d be dammed if he made his niece cry again. Penelope kept sneaking glances at Vanessa as if to make sure she was watching. Especially after dinner when the family sat around the living room to watch a movie and Penelope sat herself right on Christian’s lap and held his arms around her waist. If he even made one move to try and hold his girlfriend’s hand, Penelope would pull him back by the wrist, shooting an expressionless stare to the girl beside him.

When it came time to say goodbye, Penelope was more than relieved, watching Vanessa finally put her shoes on and say a polite thank you to the family from her spot at Christian’s side. The poor woman barely got her foot out the door, still mid-sentence, when Penelope shouted a loud “Bye!” and slammed the door after her.

“Penelope Magnolia Seavey!” Daniel and Florence gasped, pulling their daughter back as Christian rushed to open the door to the stunned woman on the other side. 

The rest of the family laughed about it, even Christian and Vanessa themselves too, but Penelope only narrowed her eyes at them. Daniel might have told her to share but Penelope was never good at sharing. Especially not when it came to her favourite uncle.

#i sorta love this one LOL #christian seavey #daniel seavey #daniel seavey imagines #anything but mine