#why would you tease us with a good time then bring stale chips and an empty beer can you have brought with you three times before already | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rouiyan · 3 years

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𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ part of the 2020 home for the holidays collective ⧐

synopsis: jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.

✧ lee jeno x (fem.) reader) ✧ childhood best friends to loverz, next door neighbor au, (mentioned college au)

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 19.3k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, underage swearing (?), shirtless jeno, legal alcohol consumption

✧ author��s note — i am unsure as to why you would spend your christmas reading this heckin long fic, but in the case that you do, i hope that you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it. it’s longest fic i’ve written thus far (though only by a hundred or so words) so happy reading <3 and i’ll see you around :D

jeno’s glad his mom’s asked him to go to the grocery store, a two minute walk away, to grab some eggs, a tub of sugar-free yogurt, and a breath of fresh air—the most welcome change of pace to his stuffy bedroom or the dust of the stale garage. he thinks he's the first of his high school graduating class to arrive back in town for the winter but it’s here at the store that jeno sees you for the first time in years. his hand, the right one, clutching an empty basket goes limp and he's two steps away from being fully unconcealed by the far end of the dairy aisle. surely, he must look like a creep with only his head peeping out.

it's been years. your hair is now a faded silvery brown, presumably dyed, and gathered into a messy ponytail. the ends of your hair fight with the hood of your sweatshirt, a distilled blue and loose fitting atop a pair of gray sweats. and the basket, looped upon your left elbow, is as empty as his own but you're overturning a can of condensed milk in your other hand, eyes scrutinizing the packaging for the expiration date, the later the better.

he would go and say hi, maybe even strike up a conversation, ask you how you’ve been, but he can’t bring himself to because he’s wearing that one bright green shirt from his seventh grade math competition that is certainly not up to your liking nor preference. really, it’s not that he thinks you'd judge him, knowing you, you’d probably get a good laugh from it and move on, but things have changed since then.

you are no longer the girl he walked to middle school with everyday in the mornings, in the afternoons. and jeno is no longer the boy that was the same height as you; the glasses are long gone and so is the thirteen year old boy who'd cried at his mom for telling him he'd have to go to a different high school than you. things are different and things have changed.

it was all this, paired with the gut feeling that if he went up to you, shirt stretched out like a muscle tee, he’d simply be cowering in your presence. jeno had not the faintest idea you’d be returning this winter since the last three years were spent without (and the four before, though that was only because he lacked the guts to ring the doorbell three houses down). he sticks his head back before you notice him. rerouting, he goes for a stroll in the chips aisle and then right back to the dairy after he sees the slightest indication of your sweatpant cuffs rounding the corner.

jeno catches his breath there. he gets the goods and makes a beeline for the cash register, keeping his head down and nearly toppling into the display tower of canned corn along the way. the lovely granny at the register, with a nametag labeled 'poppy' on her pink cardigan, is kind enough to check up on his tattered state as she squints at the barcode to scan the yogurt, "young man, are you alright? you're panting awfully hard there."

he only realizes he's spaced out when she repeats with added concern, "sir? do you need some water or-"

"oh, no- i- no, thank you. i'm-" he clears his throat, a plastered smile to aid in his response, "i'm quite alright, thank you." she gives a faltering smile back, one meant to assure, as she discloses his total, "that'll be seven dollars and forty-eight cents." the items are bagged and handed over to him with a receipt. he's in the midst of giving the kind lady a nod in thanks, in the midst of turning and heading in the direction of the exit, in the midst of taking that first step to freedom, the land of no pressures, when he hears your voice from behind, "jeno? is that you?"

well, shit. he swallows thickly. conscious of his every move, he turns deliberately, the plastic bag hanging, swinging to hit his knee and a hand coming up to the scruff of his neck. he turns to see you next in line, smiling and approaching him with paced steps. only, in his mind, it seems as if you are charging towards him at full speed. although conscious of his every move, jeno unconsciously takes a step back. "y- yeah, that's me."

you beam at the words, setting the basket on your hip as you empty the items onto the checkout conveyor belt. "gosh, i knew it!" he sees your favorite gummy worms, a pack of those flamin' hot cheeto fries which are admittedly too spicy for you to handle, both in the mix of what seems to be baking ingredients. dusting your hands off with two definitive swipes, you fist them and set them on your hips, an adorable pose if he were to be honest. hand falling to his side, jeno watches as a corner of your lip lifts into an emerging grin, "so, how have you been?"

he almost coughs as his words tumble their way into air, "i've been well, home for break, you know, from college and stuff." huh, he thinks, not a bad start.

apparently not because you giggle in turn, "well, obviously." the way you gesticulate your hands with each spoken word strikes familiarity within him. "you don't have to be so vague, jen, we were best friends at one point, remember?" the hand is back at his neck as if it never left, the nickname you had used making him squeak, "yeah, of course i remember." jeno watches as you stare for an awfully long time (two seconds) at his shirt. he knows you're just a thought away from commenting on it when dear mrs. pops clears her throat, a half-apologetic smile on her face, "your total will be sixty-four dollars and twelve cents." your eyes go wide, "oh shit- i mean, oh no!" you feel odd swearing around an elderly though you're really only muttering to yourself, "did i buy that much stuff?"

for some odd reason that he's unable to pinpoint just yet, jeno perks up at that and, seemingly involuntarily, offers, "i got you." he slips his wallet back out, eyeing the twenty dollar bill clutched in your hand. jeno holds out a fifty to mrs. poppy and she takes it before you can protest. you protest anyways, "jeno, wait- no, you don't need to- i could just take some stuff out, you know." he merely nods along, a small smile edging upwards on his lips. mrs. poppy hands you the change and your bagged items and you shove the bills towards jeno who, though no longer needed, is just standing there. he refuses with a shake of his head and hand in tandem, leading the way to the exit but before the two of you make it two steps, mrs. poppy smiles wide before mumbling, most likely meant to herself but discernible to your ears anyways, "looks like someone has a crush on you, dearie."

jeno's heart speeds erratically, again for reasons he has yet to comprehend, and his head snaps to make sure you hadn't heard what he'd just heard. eyes wide upon realizing you had, his head snaps back into place to avoid your teasing gaze. jeno utters a curt, "see you around," the second he's out the automated doors and speed walks to his car, the contents of the plastic bag jostling with each ushered step.

the door to his pristine condition '93 chevrolet vette, his baby, shuts behind him. the grocery bag is set in the passenger's seat, mindlessly. jeno starts up the engine but stays put. he can see you across the parking lot, trying to find the keys to your hyundai kona, the white one that's now a certified gray. he chuckles.

he chuckles at the fact that it's been years upon years and you still have yet to fail to put a smile on his face. he chuckles at the fact that it's been years and your cheery, snarky persona has not changed one bit. he chuckles at the fact that he stills finds every aspect of you effortlessly charming, for so many and no reasons all at once. he chuckles at the fact that he still, still feels the need to impress you every chance he gets. perhaps, things haven't changed all that much.

"i'm home!"

shuffling off your shoes, you hear snippets of your mom's voice coming from the living room. a hand on the doorframe, you push yourself up, only to realize that she isn't even talking to you. rather, and upon entering the room, she's on the phone, unaware of your entrance and exclaiming into the jabbed speaker as she crochets a baby blue piece into existence. stepping into her line of vision, you give her a small smile in return to her nod of acknowledgement before moving on into the kitchen.

you've only just finished up with storing the flour into the pantry when you notice your mom has followed you into the kitchen as well, phone supposedly hung up. she sets her elbows, leaning, onto the counter as she watches you put away the baking goods. there's a glint in her eyes that you're wary of. sure enough, "guess what?"

"mom, i'm not interested in going on another blind date. not after what happened last time with that son of your cowork-"

"no, no, nothing like that," and though her words contradict what you thought was to be another stood up date, you're still on edge for the glint in her eyes has anything but subsided, "i was just going to inform you that mrs. lee's son is back in town."

your eye roll reverts itself halfway. crossing the room, you lean opposite of her on the counter. "you mean jeno?" she nods in slight confoundment. "yeah, i just saw him." your mother leans a little further and her voice comes out bordering a whisper though no one is around to hear but you and there's nothing scandalous to what she's saying, "mrs. lee tells me he's almost six feet tall! is that true?" you lean forward as well, not in interest, but in actuality to grab at the nutmeg extract. "pfft, as if. i'd say five eleven at best."

the humor in your eyes is enough to get your mom to defend her trusted source, "oh, i bet he's getting there." you shake your head, "he's twenty-one mom, i doubt he's still growing." turning your back on her to prop open the spice rack, her voice mumbles along, "you never know…" she relents and moves onwards to the next topic in line, eyes eager, "so, did you get to talk to him?"

she's busying herself with tying up the plastic bags for later use as trash can liners when you turn back around, "i did but i mean, it was short," you gesture to the rest of the food you've yet to put away, "but he did pay for most of this." her face is drawn in teasing and she's about to comment on 'how sweet of him that was' when she realizes what you'd just said. "why? did you not have enough money?"

"no, i only brought a twent-"

she hits you lightly with a tied bag before sticking it in the compartment under the sink with a huff, "how dumb can you be to only bring twenty dollars to a grocery store? especially with all that junk food you always buy." now that's the motherly nagging you're more used to. but the teasing comes back soon after when you're upon exiting the kitchen in favor of changing out your clothes. "why don't i make some food for them so you have an excuse to pay him a visit?"

you very clearly remember your mother's propositions of your wedding all those years ago, after you'd gotten your first boyfriend. she didn't even really like him but it was enough that you did. she'd sworn her preparations were all neat and ready when you'd sat her down to tell her that you'd broken up with him. turning on your heel, your mother's eyes expectant, you give her a knowing shake of your head, a warning for ever since that first boyfriend, you'd refused to tell her a thing about your love life, a torturous prospect for her and just the right thing to ward off any of her coming interventions.

as for her incessant questions that were still sure to come, you supply her with this, "i'm sure he'll come visit us first!"

and in some way, you're right.

head and hands on the wheel, you let out the shakiest of breaths, and another and another until the air before you is laden thick with heat. you release the knuckle-white grip that held the wheel, the pads of your finger an angry red. sighing, you let yourself fall back in the seat with your sights set on the blinking red light under the speedometer, your ears ringing at the blaring alarm. another sigh escapes your lips, vaguely resembling a shudder, as you jerk the keys from the ignition. the red light and the alarm cease and you exit your car.

jeno nearly crashes as he turns the corner onto his street. he didn't expect to see you so soon after the horrid scene at the grocery store the other day, the other day being yesterday. he slows the car as he approaches your driveway, rolls down the window of the opposite seat and ducks, only to see you, hands fisted and on your hips, a similar stance to the one he'd seen yesterday; he blushes unknowingly.

the purr of a nearing car sounds from behind and you whip around to catch the red finish of his vette as it comes to a stop along the sidewalk. tucking a lip under teeth, you cross the length of your driveway to meet the boy in the car. the crease in your brow unsettles him. he clears his throat, "hi, y/n. fancy seeing you around here."

"jeno, i live three houses down from you."

he's not in that green shirt anymore, thank goodness, and he'd prepared for this exact scenario with a slightly more put together outfit. the outfit consisting of a hoodie and sweatpants with his socks and sandals. but now that he thinks about it, he still feels slightly underprepared, "that's right…," he does his best to not sound unintelligent, "what happened there?"

"ahh," fisted hands are back on your hips and a war is brewing within him, fighting to keep his composure. you look back at your car, which looks fine to the eye, "apparently i have a flat tire and i-"

"were you driving when it happened?" jeno gets out of his car as he speaks, questions shooting like rapidfire, "was it on the freeway? how bad is it- wait no, are you injured?"

jeno and his furrowed brows are fast advancing on you and you take a step back in surprise but under the guise of moving back towards your car. genuinely, you weren't quite sure why you hadn't thought of jeno being a 'car person,' especially when that's exactly what his car tells of him. "i don't really know but the alarm went off right before i got off the freeway so nothing serious happened." the two of you tread down the side of your house, back up the driveway. "which one is it- oh, i see." jeno bends down the side of the rear left wheel, a solid smack and squeeze applied and he looks up and back at you, "a nail probably, you got a spare?"

you nod, "i'm pretty sure." crossing your legs you cock an eyebrow at him, at your suspicions. there's something about you being right about all your little inklings because he confirms them almost instantaneously, "i can fix it up for you then," a smile eases onto his face as yours perks up, "really? i mean you really don't have to, i can just go get it-"

"how are you gonna get the car to the shop then?"

and that's how jeno finds himself hauling the car jack from his garage, to yours while you cradle the tools needed in both hands, trailing behind him. he gets to work with the wheel cover as you maneuver around your own garage for the spare and when you find it, you sigh. sighs, seem to be very plentiful, maybe a preferred form of communication this one day. "jen," you wedge yourself back to the driveway between your mom's car and the built-in cabinets. jeno's eyes are focused upon the lug nuts but his eyebrows are raised in expectancy.

"gosh, i'm sorry, but it's- the spare's kinda heavy...do you mind? you know…" you feel bad for asking, almost reluctant but with a wave in the general direction of your hands, he gets it well enough, "oh, it's no problem. i'm here to help you anyways." jeno retrieves the tire with a smile on his face.

you stand off to the side and watch as he raises the back end of the car (seven inches, he said), removes the loosened lug nuts, pulls off the flattened tire, and pushes the spare into place. you give remarks and ask questions once and awhile, all of which must seem pretty dumb to him though he answers each one with a smile and a reassurance to make sure you've understood. tightening the bolt, replacing the tire cover, and lowering the car is done within minutes and he's left rubbing his sullied hands on the towel hung upon his shoulder.

jeno stands and looks over at you. the little complacent smile you've put to show tells a lot about how bothersome you feel in the moment. "you don't have to feel bad, y/n. i offered."

you nod as he packs up his things, blindly handing over the wrench and uttering a thank you in your daze. heading inside, you note that the heater is on and that the window next to the door offers a view of the busying boy. you watch as he leaves and you watch as he comes back again to drive his car up into his garage.

there's something about your inclinations that you can't shake. either the fact that you haven't been home in three years is really getting to you, maybe you're just horny, or whatever is brewing in that head of yours is telling you that first loves stick with you even when they're gone, even when you've been given reasons to get over them, and even when you really are over them.

but when they're there, when he's there, in all his glory, there's only so much you can refuse.

thirteen-year-old donghyuck is a mean little shit, that we all know, and when he eventually pieces one and one together to make two, he's bound to act on it.

especially when one is the fact that you've been skipping out at lunch for "group project" reasons for the past two months and the other one is that jeno has also been skipping out at lunch for "club meeting" reasons, also for the past two months. he's dumbfounded at the fact that it's taken him this long to track the two of you down and he almost wants to laugh at the situation at hand.

donghyuck guesses the slats of the bleachers block him out of your view, but he's certainly in the perfect spot to see the both of you, under the bleachers sitting atop jeno's jacket, meaning that there was barely a space in between you and him. his pride would have been hurt, after all his newest revelation comes in the discovery of his two best friends leaving him with jaemin and renjun during lunchtimes, also his best friends but he grumbles at the thought of being left with those two (one being a flirty little shit and the other an annoying little shit, not all that different from himself; you'd think he'd tone down his mean-ness after witnessing, firsthand, renjun's mirror antics).

a hand of yours is flipping through the pages of a textbook while the other holds a subway sandwich, at which he observes jeno to steal bites from every time you look away towards the book. the scene sprawls into a mess as you begin to notice when jeno tugs particularly hard at the string of cheese that's been pulled far too long. the boy gets a flick on the forehead and an impish smile forms; he almost looks elated to be caught by you.

before he even knows it, donghyuck's onto something, and much more than something he can simply tease you about, oh no, this is the real deal. he reroutes his mind to the image he'd retired from—ducking his head back under the cover of the bush—to the image of you and jeno, smiley, giddy, and secluded from everyone else. the image of jeno and the little giggles he gives as red blossoms on his forehead from where you'd flicked him. and the image of you and your suppressed smile as you try to retain your thinly-veiled frustrations from him. this is it, his friends are falling in love. he's convinced and he also has now appointed himself as the wingman, the cupid in disguise.

the thing is, we're talking about donghyuck (mean little shit) here, not jaemin. so when jeno waltzes into his shared sixth period class, spewing some apparent nonsense of how his club meeting went, (perhaps something that you and him had mutually and meticulously coordinated), donghyuck sits him down in the seat next to him and leans in for a whisper, "i'm gonna ask out y/n today, what do you think?"

jeno doesn't respond, he doesn't even seem to have remotely heard him. or if he did, he must've suddenly underwent a malfunction of sorts because the boy is quite literally just sitting there, staring listlessly at the empty beaker and the lab tools in front of him.

"jeno? are you hearing me?"

lee jeno, instead of feeling a sudden urge to race donghyuck to the finish line, to confess to you before he does, rather feels defeated, deflated, discouraged. donghyuck is a terrible judge of his character for he pushes on, "do you think i should do it right after school today or tomorrow?"

he gulps and while his eyes are still deep in rumination, his mouth is already squeaking the worries have come to haunt him in the last thirty seconds, "you like her?" donghyuck's eyes glint with mischief that the heavens wish jeno hadn't missed though fair enough, they think, because his thoughts are all over the place as donghyuck goes on to respond, "yeah, i've liked her for awhile now," sounds familiar," been wanting to tell her for the longest time," me too, "and i've been kinda scared to," well i'm scared shitless, "but i think i'm ready now," i'm not.

"i think you should go for it," jeno deadpans, eyes still trained on the glass, 500 mL beaker that is very interesting.

donghyuck nearly jumps out of his seat, "wait what?!"

"yeah, you should jus- why're you so surprised- no, why are you even asking me?" jeno finds it much easier to play the role of a supportive friend rather than a jealous rival. he thinks it was rather dumb of him to assume that he was the only one going after you all these months and that he could take his sweet time in confessing and growing your relationship. at least, that's usually how his classroom daydreams go.

but at the same time, they only go that way because though it really has been a few long months, jeno knows that he's still a long way from making his sentiments known to you. he's a reliable kind of guy, who's reliance is often built upon trust. and while the little folder in his mind of all the possible telltale signs that you like him back has been steadily growing, he needs to know definitively for really, thirteen-year-old jeno lacks the courage. even more so now that his best friend, donghyuck, displays the exact courage he needs to confess. jeno figures that his folder must be gargantuan in comparison.

donghyuck doesn't confess to you, not at all, but he makes a show of rushing out the class right when the clock strikes three, leaving jeno to collapse into himself in utter despair. shoulders hunched over, he counts the minutes until he deems it safe to leave. his chair scrapes the floor with a resounding squeak as he stands up, the chemistry classroom now empty. running his fingers through his hair, he makes sure he doesn't cross paths with you as he navigates for the exit, purposely avoiding the area of the campus with your locker and last class.

jeno makes it home with a heavy heart, far heavier than what could be the doing of any simple crush. stupid of him to think it a simple crush when the tug of his heart squelches and sqirms like there's no tomorrow, but it's only years after that he realizes the ache in his heart was the payoff of his first love.

he'll admit that he's never asked what actually happened that day, a part of him was terrified to even imagine the prospects of you and donghyuck being a thing. and even if that wasn't the case, he wasn't keen to risk it in the first place.

so jeno cries on the night his mother bore him the news that he'd be transferring schools. he'd have friends there, sure, jaemin had made the same decision and chenle was to follow in the year after. he'd have the opportunity to make new friends, to start fresh as a high school student but the biggest problem he faced was that there would be no you.

no you to greet in the hallways two minutes before class as you rushed your books into your backpack, slamming your locker shut in a frenzy with your elbow. no you to catch dozing off in history, math, english, and probably all the other classes he didn't but wished he shared with you. no you to sneak off with during lunch, far from your noisy (and nosy) friends and a hair's distance apart from each other. no you to stare at when class gets a little too boring, to share an eraser with, to brush fingers with, to steal bites of a sandwich from.

jeno cries because he'll never get the chance to ask you to prom, he's quite sure you'd never want to attend another school's. he cries because he doubts he'll have the fortitude to text you on a daily, to text you at all, to keep in touch. he cries because in his eyes, the dwindling remainders of your relationship are coming to a close.

one day or another, it'll come to him that it was because of those very thoughts that they actually do.

"oh no, no you definitely planned for this to happen."

"did not!"

"so you're telling me that having me go three houses down to ask the boy that you just so happen to think is cute and the same age as your daughter to go tree shopping with me because you can't carry a tree and dad just so happens to be at work right when you desperately need the tree-" your rambling ceases abruptly as you struggle to find the correct structure of your question that, for emphasis purposes, had derailed itself, "...is all just happenstance?"

"yes," your mother has the straightest look on her face. you're sure she's having a hard time keeping it that way. "unbelievable." she keeps the straight face pretty well and the staring contest you're currently participating in with the snowman candle behind her is futile and broken as you grumble, "fine." your mother has the gall to lift her face into a smile almost immediately upon hearing that.

in all honesty, your reflection in the mirror looks pretty damn good. after spending the few of your days back home in tracksuits and large tees—a minimum effort outfit—dressing up a tad bit for today was certainly not a bad idea, your favorite green corduroy coat making its appearance in the december cold.

the same reflection can be seen in the glass of jeno's front door, the door that swings open right as you're about to ring the doorbell for the third time. his mother is the one who answers and she seems a great deal surprised. "y/n! oh wow, you've grown quite a bit since i last saw you."

you giggle with her, partially out of incredulity because of course you've grown, the last time you really saw her was at your middle school graduation. "it's nice to see you, mrs. lee." she opens the door wide, the smile on her face beaming just as wide, "i assume you're here to see jeno. let's see," the door shuts behind you, "he should be over in the garage," and she leads the way through the house, the layout teeming with renewed familiarity.

"the garage is just down there, sweetie," pointing at the door far down the hall, to the left, "tell me if you guys need anything, okay?"

"will do," you give her a warm smile as she treads off.

pushing at the handle, you think first that jeno isn't there at all but then there's the sounds of metal clanking and his legs that are situated outwards from under one end of his car. in a fear to startle him with your presence, you decide upon a clearing of your throat and a small but sure, "jeno, it's me," to which he responds with a surprised grunt and the further clanking of his tools.

there's the squeaking of his mechanic's creeper before he draws himself straight before you. you nearly give a double take because, well because he's without a shirt, he's shirtless, he's half naked. however you want to put it, it's the dead of winter and he's standing there with his toned chest bare and glinting with sweat while the two of you furiously blush without even looking at each other.

"y/n," his voice comes out strained, "wha- what are you here for?" jeno fusses around hurriedly for a shirt, any shirt, any article of clothing, any piece of fabric. the shirt he eventually finds is almost enough to get him to put it back down but he's desperate. your eyes glimpse across his body once again, and entirely on accident, before he slips the bright green material over his head, your own head snapping in the other direction.

the two of you stand diagonally in opposition to each other, seemingly speaking to no one in particular, "i'm- i came to ask if you'd want to go christmas tree shopping with me? since i don't think i'd be able to by myself…?" you turn towards him, the tension in the air somewhat subsiding, the difference a mere shirt could make.

he stance is awfully rigid as he responds, "yeah, no yeah i can definitely go with you. right now though?"

"if it's not too much to ask of you then yes, right now."

"oh okay, i can do that, i jus-" jeno catches your line of vision dip down to his shirt, he squirms under your gaze, "-i, do you mind waiting for a bit while i get washed up?" eyes flitting back up to meet his, you nod fervently, "fine by me."

the shower runs in the background of your thoughts as you swing your legs off the side of jeno's bed, the same bed he had all those years ago that's sill littered with random pencil marks and stickers on the headboard. the walls adorn large prints of cars, none of which you can identify but you're intrigued nonetheless by how well his childhood room entwines his whole lifespan together. there's mvp trophies on the bookshelf just opposite of you and if you squint, you can see the fine print that spells 'lee jeno, 2015 varsity swim mvp.' a certificate on the wall titles his participation in some algebra competition, a few ribbons to demonstrate his scientific achievements, and a little under where those are pinned into the wall is a framed and familiar picture you haven't seen in a long while.

it's the five of you, eighth grade graduation, with mark behind the camera and chenle and jisung far off in the background. jeno's in the dead center with one arm draped around donghyuck and the other around you, though you're noticing for the first time how the arm around donghyuck falls limp while the arm around you is held tight. gears are turning and shifting in your mind but before you can come to any sort of conclusion on what that could possibly denote, the door to the bathroom on your left is held open.

jeno's dressed fittingly, you think, for christmas tree shopping that is. the green of his sweater matches the green of your jacket and jeno makes sure to comment on that as he reverses his car out of the driveway even though his choice in clothing was deliberately made to match your own. he catches a glimpse of your car in your own respective driveway on the way out the street and at that, he already has another conversation queued and in mind.

"you took your car to the shop, right?"

you find that your eyes dry out if you face them forward for too long, the heat blasting from the front is doing its job well enough. you don't complain though, jeno's just making sure it's not too cold in the car. "yeah, i went this morning. was also going to get it washed but my mom had other plans."

"other plans being making you go buy the tree, i'm guessing."

you click your tongue, "exactly."

silence hangs between the two of you as he veers into the freeway entrance, mulling over what to say next. bring two seven years disconnected best friends together and you'd think there'd be more to talk about but today must be an exception, the only other words exchanged being the following.

"you know, i could wash it for you."

"i've already asked you for too many favors."

"i mean," jeno gives a smile to the side, "you could help."

a smile of your own forms as you muse on, "i could."

"tomorrow?"

"tomorrow."

jeno pulls into a makeshift parking space for the vast christmas tree lot you've decided to buy from this year, your usual having moved further out of town disappointingly. although with all things considered, you doubt there's much of a difference between the trees that are leftover for the few days before christmas and as suspected, the selection isn't all that impressive.

your town and neighboring seemed to have taken a liking towards fraser firs this year, no surprise in that, which leaves the dilapidating alternatives of douglas and noble firs, both of which would be fine if one wasn't prone to browning in a week and the other wasn't so tall. jeno holds up the last of the trees up and you do your routine inspection by viewing it from three feet away to seven, and ten. the boy scrunches his nose as you give a shake of your head, "too full, how are we even gonna decorate it?" and he sets it back against the fencing with a huff, "now what?"

"now, we…," you're unsure as well, eyes roving across the farm to give any candidate of tree a second chance. that's when you're hit with a revelation, well two revelations. rather sardonically, the wilting pines of the trees lead you to the first of your revelations; you're quite literally standing in a tree graveyard and if you were to go so far as to compare it to a graveyard in itself, there comes the thought that you've came with the purpose of buying a poor, dead tree to take it home and prop it back up as if it were alive, dressing it and decorating it, only to throw it to the curb a few weeks later. funny how all your life that seemed perfectly rational.

but christmas is a tradition, and traditions don't necessarily have to die even though they're faulted from the start, certainly not if you can help it.

jeno gives an eensy yelp as in a sudden flurry, you take the sleeve of his sweater between two fingers and drag him down and through the aisles of decaying trees to find the very thing that'd ignite your little light bulb. he's dawdling behind you, best he can, as your steps quicken and stop almost as abruptly before a sizeable army of potted christmas trees, smaller but also more alive than the usual lot. "how's this then?"

"i'm on board," jeno's beside you now and ever-so-aware that your fingers are still gripping his sweater. it doesn't stop there, however, because now your hands are enveloping his arm in its entirety and you're speaking softly, "of course you are, you're not even needed anymore," the words coming close to his ears from the proximity you've set. they don't warrant a blush by any means and for certain, the reason he's blushing aren't the words, it's you.

you leave his side as you release your hold on his arm, though it seems as if he's the only one who notices. a few steps away, you crouch in front of one that suits your likings to a T. you barely notice jeno's presence behind you, reading off the tag and muttering to yourself, "sustainable, affordable, replantable, eco-friendly, a natural scent, convenient...oh boy, i think we get it." upon further observation you decide that this one's the one—the green is vibrant to the tips and it's just full enough that the pines poke out in all the directions needed to support a modest amount of tinsel. "jeno, i think this is it-"

really, you really really had no idea that he was right there, head right above your shoulder. if you had known, you wouldn't have turned your head in the first place, much less allowed your lips to brush his, however brief. evidently flustered, the two of you snap your sights back ahead, at the same time, with both your hearts beating at the same, turbulent pace. you bring a hand up to your lips, partially in shock and partially in the thought that you basically just kissed lee jeno.

"sorry about that, i didn't think you'd turn…"

even when he's speaking, you don't dare look over at him. but in comparison to the tempestuous replays you're imagining, jeno's thoughts rumble a deeper current than anything he's felt all winter break.

the pot of the chosen tree rests against his hip as he stands a little off to the side to let you pay. he watches you keenly and uses the opportunity to scrutinize what exactly about you makes him feel that one way. as of the late, he finds that none of his emotions are describable and it's frustrating to say the least when all he knows is that the cause of his inner turmoil is you. you and your little sniggers whenever his clumsy side acts out too much for his liking, you and your undeniable affection for all things sweet and all things spicy, and you and your fisted hands on your squared hips, a fighting stance perhaps, a ready-to-throw-hands stance most definitely.

but finally, he gives his feelings a name when he witnesses in the rear view mirror, you and the little smile that creases your eyes, lifts your cheeks, bares your teeth, as you strap in the potted plant to the back seat, giving it a gentle pat as if it were your own child. he names it 'the long lost crush, the one that got away, the second season of his middle school one-sided affair, the-'

"are we...gonna go?"

jeno jumps in his seat, "huh? oh." hand on the gear stick, he avoids your gaze fervently and pulls out of the spot. there's a shift in the air, at least from his end, and he thinks it has something to do with how he's come to terms with the fact that he likes you, again. is he surprised? no. why not?

because he knows this much, the longer you're by his side, the less it can be helped. he remembers every night in high school when, even in the time the two of you'd stopped talking, he'd stare lethargically at his ceiling before he went to sleep and imagine you by his side. he remembers another handful of nights in college when, long after he'd thought he was well over you, he still found himself rethinking your smile and refiling that folder of his. time carried on, and though he didn't necessarily have a heartbreak for it to heal, it wouldn't have mattered anyways because in his case, time could never heal. not for him and not in the face of you.

so jeno laughs along with you when he trips over your front steps, he sets both hands on the doorframe and leans in ever so slightly to say his goodbyes, and when the door shuts behind him, he takes a good look back over his shoulder anyways, hoping that you'd pop your head at the window, that you'd catch his lingering gaze. jeno's steps are resolute because he's not thirteen anymore. it's no longer about whether you like him back or not, it's about dealing with the fact that he likes you. and if his coping mechanisms come in the form of pushing his bounds as just a friend, flirting an obscene amount, and perhaps even confessing, then so be it.

jeno decides that, this time around, he would rather risk heartbreak than love you in silence for seven more years.

propping a knee, you catch the back end of the trash bin before it can thud on the pavement beneath you. a huff and a grunt are uttered into the air as you push it against the fenced side of your house, to the curb. you slide it against the elevated sidewalk, down onto the road, and it gives a resounding thump as it hits the ground. you dust off your hands and pivot to retrieve the last one and upon setting that one down in the spot adjacent to the previous, in the corner of your eye is perceived a figure.

born of instinct, you almost rush back into the house, a case of kidnap tends to loom when you're a young adult female taking out the trash in the dead of night. but another glance is given and the silhouette draws familiar notion, broad shoulders and especial proportions, not to mention the bright green you catch in the light of his porch lamp. it's jeno, and a hand of his clamps over his nose as the other thrusts a plastic bag into the black bin. and it's when he turns to retreat into his residence that his eyes catch you as well and he jumps a bit, recollects himself, waves, and watches as you wave back in the hopes that he could maybe approach you.

instead, he finds that you're the one approaching him and that somehow makes it all the more nerve-wracking as he rushes to meet you in the middle. even a simple, "hi," from you makes his cheeks grow warm. he's breathless when he speaks, and not because of the brisk actions he undertook prior, "hey there."

"are we still on for tomorrow?"

jeno's mouth parts as he retraces his memory to extract what exactly was planned for tomorrow. "ahh, yeah i can do tomorrow...morning?" you clasp your hands behind your back as you nod along, "morning it is then." your lips quirk to the side as you place your gaze on anything but him, to pass time, perhaps to make the silence a little more bearable. jeno's voice is so low the next he speaks, it almost spooks you out of your wits, "have you met up with any of the boys yet?"

his eyes keep their track on you as you take a few steps to the edge of the curb, lowering yourself atop it, "well, i hung out with hyuck the other day," you motion for him to sit beside you and he follows suit, "and i think he mentioned wanting to do some reunion thing at his house. i don't know, i'll have to ask." jeno stirs in his thoughts for the time being. hyuck. though he'd kept in touch with the boy after middle school and a bit after high school, even his name brings up a shitload of memories. "have you?"

"huh?" his eyes whirl to meet yours, "oh. for me, mostly just jaem, and renjun too the other day."

conversation seems to flow intermittently between you two, ongoing or nonexistent at all, for another lapse of silence is thrown into the mix. the air is certainly not governed by awkwardness, jeno feels that the time you've spent with him in the last few days guarantees at least that. but it's also laden with a sort of tension you can't quite place, a territory you're unwilling to traverse into. you move past your thoughts and voice only a sliver of them aloud, suppositionally, "if- if we do meet up, like all of us, do you think it'll be weird?"

"weird how?"

"weird as in…well, a lot's changed, since we were thirteen, and we haven't been in a room together all at once, since we were thirteen."

"i don't know. i think," he shrugs, "i think we'll be fine, me and you at least." jeno likes saying 'we' when it pertains to you and him. he mumbles it over a few times, under his breath, and though it's not entirely out of your earshot, you're far too busy taking long and zoned-out glances at him to notice. that in itself is something he surely notices.

undoubtedly, you must not be the only person in the world to think that jeno grew up well. lee jeno is kind, kind enough to grant you all the favors you've asked of him. lee jeno is warm, you feel he emanates warmth even by simply sitting by his side. lee jeno is sincere, his smiles beam of genuinity and his words are coated in truth. and in the spotty moonlight, flitting in between the boughs of the tree just above, lee jeno is good looking, chiseled jaw, pretty lips, those eyes. but more than that, he lives up to his good looks. you can only wish you'd been there to see him grow up, to grow up with him.

"jen?"

"yes?"

you tap your toes alternatingly on the scratchy pavement, your eyes and his as well are trained on them. licking your lips, you take your gaze from your feet to his side profile and your breath hitches before you speak, "what...what happened to us?"

jeno reverts his eyes onto your own, "what do you mean?" now you're staring right at each other which is usually how any conversation should be, but conversations between you and him seem to always be an exception. fiddling with your fingers, you trace your sights back down to your feet, "you said that we'd keep in touch. well, we both said that."

in truth, as much as the distance that divided the two of you could be denoted from his seemingly unrequited feelings for you, there was much less of a romantic touch in what happened for the most part. for the most part, things panned out as they usually do when two people, once close and once sworn to never not be close, end up being separated by the one thing that brought them close in the first place. that is not to say that your friendship with jeno had no value outside of school and school-related things but really, school was the one thing that made it so you saw the boy day in and day out, shared with him an intimacy that could only be reached with that basis of interaction. more than any derivative of feelings that could drive the two of you apart, your friendship was split by the common ground idea that people come and go. perhaps it was fate that wielded the sorts, perhaps it was merely meant to be. and if you were to chalk it up to fate, you could say that meeting jeno again, like this, was fate as well.

but jeno here, twenty-one-year-old jeno as opposed to thirteen-year-old jeno, would like to come clean with his feelings. at least his feelings of way back when, because this turn of the conversation had churned a past within him that he had yet to be willing to unearth; that is, until now as he susurrates, "because i liked you." jeno feels his eyes gloss over involuntarily, "and with the whole high school transfer and everything, it just kinda all fell apart."

he looks to the other side, as naturally as he can, but there's the unmistakable shuffle of feet from behind him and when he turns back around, sure enough, you've inched closer than his current mental state can handle. you watch as jeno blinks, his eyes lain upon your lap, and a tear proceeds to trace its merry way down his cheek. you catch it with the sleeve of your sweatshirt but even after he's cried through his emotions, your hand stays there, cupping his cheek.

the tips of your fingers protrude from the fabric of the sleeve and they, your thumb in particular, swipe across the heights of his cheeks and the bags under his eyes. your own eyes are soft on his, soft in knowing and in understanding because, "well if it offers you any comfort, i liked you too."

jeno, though fresh in the surprise of revelation, feels an ease pool his mind. he takes a hand and brings it to cup the side of your face as well, mirroring your actions with an equal, loving gaze that holds the memoirs of your cherished past. a past that no longer tugs at his mind, begging for his attention, that no longer muddles his afflictions between what is new and what is old, and a past that he can now move on from, with renewed finality.

you break the exchange with a breathy laugh. a smile stretches across his face. the one hand on his face turns into two and the same is applied to you sequentially. two twenty-one-year-old college students sit on the curb in front of a house that belongs to neither of them but rather lies in between their respective homes. they sit side by side, their eyes boring deeply into one another's and, with both hands clamped on the cheeks of the other, occasionally squishing to produce the silliest of expressions, they laugh and they imbue in the elation of being at peace with their entwined pasts.

when you stand first, brushing off the dust on your bottom, jeno, still sitting, catches your wrist and lets the quirk of his lips and a small, "thank you," express the lengths at which the conversation had gone in its endeavors to mend a somewhat dysfunctional relationship. but now in full functionality, jeno wonders if his feelings still persist.

and if there's one thing to tell him they do, that they're as present as ever if not more so than before, it's the way he blushes warm when you entangle his grip on your wrist into your hand, giving his palm a brief squeeze before you look down upon him with an enraptured smile of your own. he watches you take your leave and, in the blackness of night, he thinks you are the most personable being to have ever walked in his life. he thinks he wouldn't mind another seven years, though only if he was promised to have you by his side the whole while.

"you mind if i tag along?"

yeah, i mind. jeno clicks his tongue, "no."

"you sure?" hyuck edges him on, nudging his old friend with the end of the hose. jeno can only roll his eyes at that, taking the hose from him, "not like i have a choice if she brought you here in the first place." jeno, while watching you roll up the windows of your dirtied car, can't help but wonder why you had to bring this damned boy. he really thought that after such a heartfelt moment the two of you shared just the past night, you would have been more open to venturing into alone, one on one, time with him. he does his best to clip back the snarky tone that's just waiting to be let aloud whenever donghyuck speaks.

"so who do you think's gonna be third wheeling today? me or you?"

"you," jeno bleats with not a second to spare. though he's sure the boy means it all in good-natured fun, jeno's dead serious when he says, "guess we'll just have to see who prevails."

and that, oh dear, that is sure to bring out the competitive temper of the one and only lee donghyuck, winner of all games ever played. jeno knows he's perhaps just dug a hole for himself, a shovel in hand and all, because right off the bat, hyuck is off to hog all of your attention and very rarely does he fail with his witty remarks and his position as 'most recent best friend.' in fact, he's right in the middle of telling you what is sure to be the joke of the century when the idea pops into jeno's mind, a godsend.

he turns the knob on the hose to its fullest power before trudging off to the dial, his absence going unnoticed as you laugh at whatever hyuck has just said. donghyuck's turning to see if jeno has caught yet another point he's scored when he's met with a forceful discharge of water square to his face. it's four seconds of just standing there before hyuck remembers that he has the miraculous abilities of mobility, and upon moving out of the way in a terrible coughing and choking fit, the spray of the hose lands upon you.

jeno gives a squeal that's comparable to yours as you snatch the second hose from donghyuck's limps hands, his body now wilted rather dramatically across the hood of your car, and point it to jeno, dousing him full as you charge right at him. he doesn't move, to your liking and more because he feels bad for having just accidentally drenched you in freezing cold hose water in the dead of winter. the punishment he has willingly subjected himself to is also freezing cold, bone-chilling, and numbing to the core. but he doesn't mind it nearly as much when the gush of water hitting his chest stops and he runs a hand through his hair, clearing his eyes to reveal your smiley, smiling face that looks to be having way too much fun in the face of hypothermia.

he's left kneeling when the water clears and you are as well, though while he's kneeling from the sheer force of the deluge, you're kneeling out of laughter. trudging over to your spot a little ways from him, the blades of the grass of your front lawn beneath tickling the skin of his kneecaps, jeno blithely lifts a few stray and wet strands of hair out of your face, tucks them behind your ear. your laughter subsides into gentle smile, one that erupts into giggles recurrently, and jeno has the gall to steal a look a donghyuck, who has since recovered and is now staring at the scene itself, eyebrow cocked and a tongue jutting out his cheek in a challenge he gladly takes up on.

jeno returns from inside his house with the two towels he had his mom fetch, only two because in his eyes, it's only fair that donghyuck doesn't get one. needless to say, hyuck's displeased as he watches jeno pat and dry your hair as you sit, propped atop the hood of your car. jeno isn't all that surprised when his own towel gets stolen from his shoulder and the boy also props himself onto the hood, next to you. funnily enough, jeno's now the one who's displeased because you've taken the towel from donghyuck's hands and instead of using it to dry the damp ends of his own hair, like it was intended to be, you turn slightly and echo jeno's actions, but instead on hyuck.

and while jeno's nose scrunches in a distaste that only hyuck catches, his eyes seemingly everywhere all at once, you turn a tad bit further to the side to reach the back ends of hyuck's head of hair. jeno complains as your own head moves a little too far for his positioning and a hand leaves the towel to move you back into place. that meaning his left hand holds solid on your right thigh. that also meaning the sudden halt of your actions, jeno's too, as donghyuck simply stares, observes, analyzes, comes to a realization, and smirks.

jeno also comes to a realization that his hand is still, still on your thigh, shown in how his hand snaps back into the oblivion and beyond, and how the tips of his ears are exceedingly quick to flush a cherry red. his thoughts of just yesterday, 'get the girl!,' are now very much diminished as his stare fixates on the ground and the ground only, even as you ask for him to move a little to the right so you could slide off the hood, even as hyuck excuses himself to the guest bathroom, though his hand is quick to fish out his phone before he even enters the house. jeno's eyes are unmoving, even as time resumes around him, and even though he understands how crazed he must look in your eyes. he understands, but that's about it because it's nothing that can be helped.

you quirk a brow at the boy, eyes a flood of worry, and with those same eyes on him, lee jeno, in the middle of winter, begins to sweat. it starts at the palms, a sticky, tacky feeling but then he feels it creep at the back of his neck, coming in the form of a shiver of nerves. and although those two remain unnoticed, you bring a hand to his wrist to catch his attention because the beads of sweat forming along his temple have caught yours. "jeno, are you okay? you seem to be…"

jeno lifts his gaze from the floor, a feat no doubt, and brings his eyes to yours. there are many things he notes. one, the worry in your eyes irks him, he despises even more that he's the cause of it, however silly. two, your hand remains at his wrist, unsure in the lightness of touch but assured in how it stays put nonetheless. three, your lips, they're very pretty; an observation that he's always been aware of, but when your face is only a rough seven inches from his own, the observations become a fact, ingrained in his mind for now and forevermore whenever he so much as looks at you. though more unconscious, there's a four. he wants to kiss you. and in a way that's quite far from the simple, accidental brush of lips he'd shared with you just the day prior. it's significantly far, a dot in the distance.

he almost goes in for it.

"do you mind if i shower at your place? it's fucking cold."

you remove your hand from his wrist, jeno's fingers twitch in longing to reach after it. with your own fingers absentmindedly toying with the cinched waistband of your sweats, you shift your weight from one foot to another. remarkably, only your top half was drenched but that in itself was sure to trail little shivers up your spine. jeno avoids your gaze, feverishly, hand coming up to the nape of his neck. he mumbles a short, "sure," before turning upon his heel, leading into the house.

while hyuck is in the guest bathroom, you venture into the one through jeno's room which is noticeably cleaner since the last you were there. he tells you to wait there while he messes around in the bathroom, cleaning, but he leaves that detail out. one leg crossed over another, you bunch up the soaked hems of your shirt so as to not drip everywhere, standing there in apprehension and also halfway in the dark with the slatted blinds above his bed turned shut, the only source of light being the little that slips in between the slats. resolutely, you cross the room and gingerly lean a knee into the bed, reaching for the handle to twist them open. that's when you see it, slung upon the footboard of his bed.

that's also when jeno calls, voice distant and steps in a hurry as he pronounces, "i'll get you a shirt from my closet, hold up." but as he emerges from the bathroom, it seems that you have different plans. his eyes go wide as he sees the one, unfortunate garment he'd forgotten to put away this morning in your hands. yes, the bright green shirt from that one seventh grade math competition, with the now faded and very corny geometry joke proudly displayed on the front. it's that one that his mom asks him all the time why he never throws it out even though it's been years. he almost lets it show how he sulks into himself because they're his pajamas, and for a reason that he knows that you know and, to him at least, it's all the more embarrassing when you know. there's a lot of almosts today because jeno almost shits himself at the thing you say next.

"can i wear this one instead?"

the shy glint in your eyes and the light smile that glosses over your expression are all he needs to say, "sure," it comes out nonchalant but jeno is freaking the fuck out internally. you asking to wear that specific shirt suddenly made all the embarrassment garnered from it seem significantly less embarrassing.

he sits on the edge of his bed as the sounds of the shower going skirts his thoughts. feet kicking up and down, back and forth down the side, jeno sighs with his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. he's directly opposite and in line with the one picture on the wall he couldn't dare put away in his prior and precautionary cleaning in the case that you would come over once again. the edges of the photo are frayed with time and brash handling, seen even in its frame, but if anything, the memory of it is intact as ever.

jeno thinks of all the things that would have gone differently, had he confessed to you that day as he planned he would. graduation day it was, and it was cloudy and on the verge of raining but his spirits weren't dampened in the slightest, clapping the loudest as you crossed the stage to shake hands with the principal, head awkwardly facing the crowd as your father had implored you to do so for his picture. his spirits were far dampened when you returned to your seat, a row ahead and a few down from where he was himself, mouthing a, "stop it," in annoyance as he mimicked your ungainly actions from just before. he felt that his spirits could never be dampened as he returned to his own seat, looking over in your direction automatically as you posed a thumbs up and another mouthing, this time an, "i'm proud of you," before getting caught by a passing supervisor and being forced to turn back around with a huff.

jeno remembers his spirits plummeting as he sat with you under the bleachers, for the last time, half his body situated on his jacket and the other on the scratchy grass. he didn't mind it as long as you were fully atop it yourself. despite what his quick wikiHow search on 'how to confess your love to someone,' there was no surge of confidence, not one stroke of it within him. he gave small smiles to your animated talking and the bare minimum of responses when prompted. and when you'd fished your phone out of your back pocket at the sound of a ping to see your mom texting you to go back to the field for pictures, he took your helping hand as he stood but even then, he couldn't dare be bold enough to keep your hand in his. with an arm set loosely across the back of donghyuck's shoulder and the other across yours, he made sure to hold you tight by his side, for fear and acceptance that this would be the last time he would have you there, by his side.

but as his gaze is pulled away from the picture, instinctively towards the sound of the door being propped open, jeno's reminded that, for now, you're all for his taking as long as he's up for the challenge. he watches as you linger by the door for a second, lip tucked under teeth yourself as you contemplate your next steps, next words. and as jeno watches, the shirt hanging tight on his figure but loose on yours, he can't help but think that this time around, he's in it to win it.

forms clutched in your left hand, all of them filled out in your neat, pencilled handwriting, you tap your toes impatiently. the line that you were currently in, placing at about the middle, was long and not at all to your liking. against your best wishes, your parents really had the gall to sign you up for this; you have foolproof evidence that math is your weakest subject, the foolproof evidence being a years and years accumulated stack of report cards. they claimed it was for you to get some extra practice and you'd countered that the annual math competition at your middle school was only really for the people in the advanced math placement, which you were most certainly not. you were still forced to go, though you declined the offer to buy the gaudy green shirt, but you were also right in saying that because none of the people in the line, at least of those in front of you, were from your class. you look towards the back end of the line to check the same so that you could provide extra evidence to your conviction, not that you were going to really need it after you took the test but you would like something to pair with your lacking results when rubbing it in to your dad later.

at first glance, there's no one really that you can spot but then you look at the person directly behind you and what you don't expect is it to be that one kid that is indeed in your class, your low level math class. he's quite the sight and you wonder why he didn't catch your eye earlier with his hair sticking up in all directions as he frightfully balances on one leg, his other hiked up and being used as a makeshift table. upon closer inspection, the paper he's furiously writing upon looks to be akin to your filled out form, only it's not filled out at all.

twelve-year-old jeno feels your gaze on him, and though he's verily preoccupied with writing, he's much more intrigued by your interest in him. head snapping up in a sudden movement and snarky in his greeting, "got something to say?" and it reminds you a little too much of hyuck to simply let it pass, "yes, i do." no, you actually don't so the empty pause you leave is in search of anything relevant. when you do happen upon something, your continuation is in equal snarkiness, "your hair's a mess."

at that, he stands up straight and you note how at the age of twelve, the boy is annoyingly taller than you, "shoot, really?" a hand rushes to pat down the straight strands in a hurry. a mild surprise lines your countenance at how the snarkiness ends there, watching as he furthers his comments, "i was in a rush this morning, that's probably why," and when you, again, have nothing to add, he goes to say, "renjun told me about this competition and i just had to do it."

now it's confusion that can be seen in your bewildered stare, you only knew about this since your mom is pta (parent teacher association) president; the competition, though advertised as open to all seventh graders, was only really promoted to the higher level math students, namely renjun and his lot. the kid, whose name you place to be jeno, friend of renjun's who's a friend of hyuck's, is now expectant in a response from you, less the conversations take a turn for the worse. you provide something short but enough to compose your inquiries, "why? who would want to do this?"

a part of you already knows. lee jeno, though you know little of him, sits at the front of your math class and never forgets to bring his glasses to school. a pencil is almost always in his hand when he raises it to ask a question at least ten times per lecture which is also the only reason you actually know of him because unlike him, you don't pay much attention at all in math class. jeno raises his eyebrows and replies as if his reasoning was common knowledge, "well i thought it'd be fun!"

"fun?"

"yeah!"

"fun how?"

jeno's standing complacently but his hands are making vague motions, "because you know…," a hands comes to the nape of his neck and he whispers as if his utterances were frowned upon for a lower level math student. to you they are indeed. "i like math."

"yeah no shit, you're the only one who participates in math." his eyes widen at your profanity, head snapping to see if anyone had heard. upon realizing something else, he motions for you to move forward, neither of you had noticed the line had started progressing onwards.

jeno's still on edge, eyes peering side to side to make sure no teacher had passed while you spat such a vulgar word, "shhh, what if someone hears you?!" a coy smile creases your eyes, you decide that you're certainly very fond of this boy, or at least you're very fond of teasing him. "then how about...damn?" jeno's startled. "ass?" jeno looks like he's on the verge of shitting his pants. thus you go on, "another shit?" the twelve-year-old's mouth drops wide open, "y/n-"

"asshole, dickhead, son of a bitch, mother fucker, your mom's puss-"

he's rushing right up to you and before you can proceed, jeno's hand is clamped tight over your mouth. "y/n, that's-" and as if he weren't already a close seven inches away from you, he leans in further and you swear his lips graze the side of your cheek as he whispers, "y/n, that's illegal," and suddenly and in your eyes, the humble, wide-eyed boy that you'd only thought to tease of has you floored with his gaze locked on yours, breath fanning across your skin. he looks good, even at twelve years, lee jeno is easy on the eyes.

you gulp, push him off, and turn back around to the line that'd moved up four people since the last you'd moved, leaving jeno to stand there, hands limp by his side and in complete neglectance of his still half-filled out form. it takes thirty or so seconds for him to move up in the line as well, the mutters from the people lagging behind him also going unnoticed. and when he does notice, taking a few steps forward and once again hiking his leg up to be used as a viable writing surface, it's only after he spent those same thirty seconds spaced out in aftershock of why he did that, or rather, where the sudden surge of confidence came from that had him in the position in the first place. perhaps that's the first time that jeno ever thinks of you a little differently, only because there's something about you makes it so he does things a little differently, makes it so he can't simply act normally around you.

and perhaps you've also undergone the same predicaments because you pay extra attention when the test is handed out, and the way your brows pull together with your eyes trained on the paper tells a lot about those normally divergent acts. you're the last to turn it in, even after the bookish jeno, and when he takes a glance at you across the room as he returns to his seat, a little smile creeps its way upon his lips.

the same smile is there when you plop down next to him in math class the following monday, right at the front of whiteboard, and there goes the tug of his heartstrings when you lean over, eyes in wonderment, to ask him a thing or two about hypotenuses or some of the sort which he more than happily obliges. jeno beams when you hold him back after class to show him your score on the unit final he'd tutored you for and he beams the year after that when the two of you both climb the ranks into the prestigious advanced level placement.

for many reasons, jeno proved to be a blessing in your life. your parents loved him specifically for the studiousness he instilled within you, something neither of you have ever pointed out but are in mutual understanding of. jeno was by your side through your traumatic first post-breakup stage, the douche of a boyfriend, or rather another twelve-year-old boy, had dumped your ass after two and a half days. jeno was the one who coughed into your ear during that one fateful game of telephone, the one played on the bus to the museum field trip; he'd defeated, and i mean absolutely crushed, donghyuck in a game of rock, paper, scissors to win the spot next to you, still a feat he considers one of his many prides to this day. jeno was the one who picked at your food, but also magically produced his own to share whenever you were without a lunch.

lee jeno was the epitome of right person, right time, and even though the same sentiments weren't carried all the way through, were interrupted, displaced, all the things he gave you, left for you, they stayed.

lee jeno remembers the day he met you with keen lucidity. he remembers all the days after that in a chorus of feelings that swept him in the most unintelligible way, after all, who expects to fall so deeply in love at the age of twelve. at twelve you'd think the thing you'd be most worried about would be having fun before high school, occasionally grades, or maybe even the changing appearances that come with puberty and puberty in itself. for a good chunk of it, jeno thought that his feelings could be explained by puberty but it proved especially ignorant of him to think the same in high school when his feelings that persisted were only sustained by the mere memory of you.

maybe it wasn't from day one, by no means was it love at first sight, second sight, or even third or fourth or fifth, but it was the succession of some inevitable process, the day you met through the day you graduated. to finish a thought, maybe lee jeno could have claimed spot as your boyfriend of seven years, had he not yielded in the face of profession. perhaps, you would have broken up already, the simple outcomes of distance and the natural order of relationships. would he have let you go? or would it have been you to call it off?

it's unfortunate that he'll never know, no matter how much he wonders, but of all the things he's sure of in the moment, it's that your laugh is the prettiest thing known to man, known to him. your feet dangle a significant amount over the edge of his bed, stark from his own toes that are stagnant and grazing the floor. he doesn't look over at you and his mumbles say enough of why, "i'm not kidding, y/n- don't laugh at me! i'm being serious, you really do."

"really now, you're telling me that i look good in your old pajamas. as if it weren't just to tease me."

"really!" his voice hits a pitch higher and he clears his throat, a scrunch of his nose at your laugh follows and denotes much regret in how he accidentally spoke his thoughts aloud in the first place. you really can't tell but he's trying his best to get in a few compliments, he'd heard that girls like flattery (he didn't hear, per se, he'd seen it somewhere online—read: wikiHow). "you look far better in it than i ever would."

with his hands on either side of him, jeno pushes himself upwards the bed, lowers his back upon the sheets, and folds his hands across his stomach. he didn't expect as such but you do the same. it's now that his heart sees it fit to speed its pace, only because of that one pesky thought that's infiltrated his mindset. you're in bed with him after all, and though it's nothing close to what would be considered crossing the line as two friends, the thought itself is enough to ignite a fervid warmth through his cheeks. his eyes are rigid on the ceiling when you speak, "do you even remember where this is from?" they itch to look over at you but he's afraid it'll be too obvious then; his plan is to woo you, not to make a fool of himself.

jeno senses the sheets stir from beside him and he can only guess what position you've assumed, and hopefully not the one where you're facing him while his everything is still aligned straight ahead. he hopes it's not because if it were, he'd be missing out on one of those *romantic moments* that he so wishes to achieve. jeno's inability to think straight, about positioning, hinders his ability to respond, something that's only brought to his attention when you perk up again, "jeno? did you hear me?"

jolted, his eyes instinctively snap to yours in the sense that yes, now he's facing you and yes, he sees that you're facing him also. there seems to be a little something lodged in his throat when he replies because it comes out as if his neck were a squeaky toy that'd just been stepped upon. "of course," he clears his throat with a grunt, "that math competition, seventh grade." jeno concludes that that something in his throat must be his heart because he can quite literally hear its beating in his ears and feel its thrum through his organs. he licks his lips and sits in silence, save the thumps of his heart, as his eyes trace to your own lips, not seven inches away.

"that's...that's when it all started," you muse, a hand coming up to brush a hair from your face and hitting jeno's chest on its way, as if just to remind him of how close you are. "i mean, for me that is."

pushing his rather uncivilized thoughts from his mind, jeno gives a, "what do you mean?" before dutifully returning to glancing at your lips. if you notice, you don't comment upon it, choosing rather to answer promptly, "i think that's when i started to like you." he gulps and says just about the same, "me too." jeno's nerves think they are just about ready for whatever is thrown his way but not until a leg of yours moves to nudge his gently. "wow, it's like we're meant to be." his nerves, they must be on fire now and just about ready to take on the whole world in its entirety because he notes with keen incredulity that your use of 'we're' could indicate that you still like him, the possibilities of it being an 'are' versus a 'were' are only fifty-fifty.

"yeah…," he trails off, misses the look in your eyes, shifts to land onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. you do the same and decide that it's enough of 'testing the waters' for today. but apparently jeno thinks otherwise because just as you're moving to sit upright, he spells a slither of his heart out for you, "you're my first love, you know."

jeno would like to pride himself in the usage of 'you're,' also vague and could be taken either way. upsettingly, he lacks the know-how to understand that what this situation needs right now is certainty to topple over the tension and teetering statements. he's a bit too used to hiding behind the veil of 'what ifs' and resting atop the net of safety to realize.

blinking up at the ceiling, you rustle to sit up once again, but not before donghyuck bursts through the door with an expression that sits pissed at first but melds into his signature leer as soon as he surveys the pair he's stumbled upon. "been looking for you two." jeno's shooting upright himself and all of a sudden, things are happening too fast.

there's two seconds before you're off and bounding towards hyuck as if he were your means of rescue; there's the, "what took you so long?" that slips from your mouth as if you'd been waiting for him all along instead of willingly giving jeno your time of day; there's donghyuck's phone that rests limp in his hand, by his side, but not yet clicked off because the screen gleams bright and it's showcasing jaemin's contact, a recent call most definitely; there's hyuck's response, muttered but in good humor, "i took a shit, that's why."

and then there's the sinking feeling that sets fire within jeno. maybe even jaemin as well but it's for certain and even further confirmed when hyuck's smirk makes its way to meet jeno's benumbed expression, his eyes locking with sickening devilry and the traces of a challenge. donghyuck knows. and though he's sure to take it upon himself to get the two of you together for once and for all, jeno knows far better, with experience in hand, that though his friend's sentiments are in support, his chances fair much higher when it's only him that's left to trifle with the dealings of his love life. only him, and his languishing confidence.

plucking a kernel from the carpet, you toss it into the bin over the arm of the couch. the paper towel on the same arm is used to rub off whatever dust had soiled your hand and it's returned to the bowl to rummage for another, slightly more buttered, popcorn. you wish that your mom was into those hallmark christmas movies, because in all honesty, you're quite the fan but you suppose 'rise of the guardians' ranks close enough. glancing down to the bowl in your lap for a second time, you groan upon realizing that the only reason you've been munching on the terribly unflavored popcorn was because you've already tired out the supply of the buttered ones. that enough gets you to set the bowl on the coffee table, done with snacking for the night as you pick up your two crochet hooks and get to work, your actions mirroring your mom's though she's a lot farther in her chain.

you suppose the movie is just about halfway through when you're sidetracked by how you've somehow messed up a turning chain, warranted though, as you're an amateur in the dark. it's a shame because you really would have loved to pay at least half attention to the very gorgeously animated character, jack frost, but are instead struggling. after reworking the chain a few times, you decided to give it a rest and set it aside as well. it seems that being a quitter is the overarching theme of today.

the sound of your head thudding against the back of the couch gets your mom to separate her attention as well. seeing your state, she opts to make conversation in the light that you're far from returning to the movie. it plays in the background, the only source of light in the living room. "how's the car?"

"clean." a sour mood you're in, it seems. your mom hesitates for a second before approaching a second question, "how's jeno been?"

"great. he's been great, mom." she sets down her crochet for the time being, the foot of hers that's jutting out of the blanket bouncing up and down. you doubt why you even tried to conceal your feelings with curt responses when really, you're unashamed in front of your mom. that's the sole reason why she deems it fitting to dig a little deeper, "anything you want to tell me?"

it's an, "of course," that has her crochet set in her lap for the rest of the night. you turn towards her in full, shifting your weight so that it faced her position on the armchair diagonal of the couch. sighing, you shove a tongue in consideration to the side of your cheek before pulling back the curtains a third of the way, "i think he likes me." your mother's eyes sparkle, she sets her hooks and yarn on the coffee table as well, urging you to go on with a nudge of her head. "but at the same time he doesn't?"

she nods in the processing of her thoughts, "so, mixed feelings?"

you nod along with her, "mixed feelings."

your mother never disappoints you when a situation of yours arises and she's bound to give you her advice, her very blunt, very to-the-point advice. "just ask him. i mean, if he rejects you, you're only going to have to see him for a few more weeks before you're back off to school."

and you never disappoint yourself when a situation of yours arises and you're bound to adhere to her advice, the very blunt, very to-the-point advice because as always, she's right. but then she muses on with the littlest care in the world, "or you could just mess around with him for a bit-"

"mom-"

"what's making you think i mean it in that way? did i really raise such a slu-"

"mom! oh my goodness-"

"i'm just saying," she drags on the word and you almost rush to interrupt her with another exclamation before noting her demeanor, her countenance in the dim light. you lick your lips in apprehension, vaguely reminiscent of salted butter. "i'm just saying...keep him on the hook for a little longer," her crochet reference is bad but you don't miss an opportunity to let a small smile show. it's gone the next second when she resumes with more to her thought, "really, take it slow. i doubt that he doesn't like you. i'm pretty sure he did back in middle school-"

"he told me he did, something about how i was his first love."

she's taking this a lot less seriously than you thought she would. it irks you to know why. your mother has her head propped on the palm of her hand, her weight on the arm of the couch, "then i'm pretty sure he's never had a second." your brows draw in, "why?"

"no matter how much i love you, y/n, i would never pay for your groceries, change your tires, haul your christmas tree, or wash your car after not seeing you for seven years. just think about it, seven years without contact is as good as being strangers." you watch as she pushes herself off the arm, off the chair, blanket falling aside. your mom takes your discarded bowl in her hands, her own crochet, and the tv remote before clicking the movie off. you watch her as she moves casually across the room and you hear her just before she flicks on the light.

"it's either that he likes you or that he's jesus, your pick."

it's a christmas rule, or at lease a rule that you and your friends go by, that if christmas day is for family, then christmas eve is for friends, hence why donghyuck had so cleverly gathered everyone in his basement on the very day, or night actually. he stops you with an arm just before you descend upon the staircase, "what'd you bring?" he motions towards the plastic bag clutched in your hands, the same one that'd bagged your groceries the other day (reduce, reuse, recycle!), but it instead carries, "pumpkin pie, i've come bearing pie," and hyuck removes his arm for you to pass before holding it up again for jeno, "and you, sir?"

"eggnog."

you turn back to see donghyuck give jeno the heartiest pat on the back, "now that sir, that's what i'm talking about." scrunching your nose in good-natured fun, you quip at that, "what's wrong with my pumpkin pie?" jeno's a step above you, hyuck on the step behind as he retorts, "nothing, it's just that jeno here remembered that we're very much legal." shrugging, you trod off down below, missing the way donghyuck holds jeno back for a second. firstly to ask, "brandy or bourbon?"

"whiskey, actually."

and secondly to ask, "so what are you waiting for?"

"huh?" jeno takes a step back up the stairs and away from the hustle and bustle of the basement where you might have lingered to hear what he thinks the conversation is steering towards. "or did you do it already?" he checks himself before jumping to conclusions, "what do you mean?"

hyuck's hand is impatient on his friend's shoulder, after all, it's been eight years and counting since he first discovered jeno's little secret, plus only a day since he rediscovered it. "did you ask her out yet?" jeno's about to disagree with him, partially out of habit, "i-" before he realizes it's for naught, "no, i haven't."

"do you perhaps, i don't know, have a time in mind?"

repositioning the gallon-sized jar in his hands, jeno's response rumbles deep and low for only him to hear, "yeah actually, i was thinking next-"

"next?!"

"what-"

"no next! you have to do it like- tonight!"

"what, why?"

hyuck isn't smirking but the look in his eyes is somewhat akin to it. "because…," it seems that he isn't up to letting his mischief spill for his answer is really quite lame, "because timing is imperative! remember what happened last time?" jeno doesn't let it get to him nearly as much as it should; his plan is foolproof and he's convinced that nothing of what haechan does should be able to catch your gaze tonight, or for the rest of nights. he leaves the boy at the stairs as he treads into the space, ready to take on step one. different plans await him as he draws nearer to the sectional, only to find that the one available seat next to you, at the far right of the couch, has been taken by jaemin.

awkwardly, jeno sets the eggnog on the table and takes the next best spot, the one next to the boy, squeezing beside renjun who gives him a glare and a scowl, "first time you see me in awhile and you decide you want to sit on me? really jen?"

jeno puts his whole heart into apologizing, "oh whoops, my bad," as he turns his body in your direction, and jaemin's, only to feel his stomach furl at how jaemin's body is also aligned with your own, effectively blocking him off. again, the awkwardness that's emitting from him is awfully discernable to renjun, watching the boy turn back around again and give him a sheepish smile, this time in actual contriteness. with step two out of reach and thwarted, he sets his sights on the eggnog. jeno's quite the simple man. his approach was simple. he was sure that simple would get him many places, unlike donghyuck's abundant and conflict-laden schemes.

his plans were simple in that, one: sit next to you, make sure that no one else sits next to you. two: talk to you, make sure that no one else talks to you. and three: ask you out, make sure that no one else asks you out. and that's how it should've gone! though it's certainly not how it's going.

jeno's left to pick up the pieces of your and jaemin's delightful conversation as the same boy reaches for the eggnog at the same time as him. retreating, he watches as jaemin fills a mug for you, then for himself. he listens as jaemin questions, "first time drinking?" pfft, even i know that.

"yeah, actually," it's because you're mom's strict. "my mom's strict."

"oh wow, so eggnog for a first must be kinda heavy, huh."

i wish that you would start with something lighter, just in case. "i know right, i wish that i could start out with something lighter, just in case. but i don't mind." i'll mind for you. if you can't finish it, i'll finish it for you.

"if you can't finish it, i'll finish for you."

with that, jeno's off to minding his own business because na jaemin is quite literally, stealing his spot, stealing his lines and it's evident that whatever he'd planned for tonight was simply, as simple as his plan, not happening. glare and scowl set into place, akin to renjun's earlier, he fills his own mug, only up to the halfway mark because his last glimmer of hope lies in when he walks you home later in the night. hell, he regrets just thinking that he should've just asked you out on the way here.

setting the mug down, he leans back in his limited space, arms behind his head and an elbow digging into renjun's space as well. the boy is about to comment on it when donghyuck finally returns from his room with the board game of choice this one christmas eve. "since y/n's here for the first time, i've decided to go with something mild," everyone, except you, is transported into the memory of last year when the now-snapped-in-half connect four contraption had bewitched them all into a death match (at least it wasn't raining and at least it wasn't on the rooftop), "so we're going with monopoly." jeno notes the smile that makes its way to your face.

renjun from beside him groans, "monopoly's boring though, ("-because you suck at it-") why can't we just play like-"

"i think it's a good idea," jeno announces rather suddenly, to which donghyuck rejoins, "and i asked neither of you for your opinions." he tugs off the top of the case and throws it back, "my house, my rules." although jeno wants to confront the urge to counter hyuck's sass, he doesn't because you look pleased at the game of choice, elated almost. but then there's jaemin beside you, commenting and remarking into your ear to further the little smiles you give and, change of plans, jeno decides that if he can't beat jaemin in winning your attention, he'll just have to beat him in winning monopoly.

the fake bills in his hands stack steadily as renjun, who'd been appointed banker, hands him, two hundreds, then another fifty. but with each increasing increment of jeno's money and competitiveness, jaemin's seems to dwindle as any inverse relationship would do as such. jeno seems to have forgotten that he, na jaemin, is the self-proclaimed 'least competitive person in the world' and how that held true in most any circumstance, including the case of girls or this case of boardgames. rather than narrowing his focus on winning, jaemin catered his role in the playing of the game to comedics. and while jeno dearly loves to hear you laugh, he finds it unfortunate that you find jaemin very funny.

he thinks he's had quite the night. the two rounds of monopoly, an hour each where he'd won both times but was also unrivaled both times, the movie marathon that followed suit (though is the word 'marathon' really warranted if only one and a third were watched?), and the grand finale, eight rounds of drinking games. certainly any singular event could have ignited a spur within him but after enduring all of them, paired with the fact that he was now mildly drunk, lee jeno is, to put it simply, not having it.

jeno undoubtedly has had a drink or two more than he should have because he sways a bit when he stands. he isn't sure but somewhere in the midst of seeing jaemin's hand rest casually on your thigh (missing the way you brush it off politely) and the way he seems to exclusively talk to you and you only (though your half-hearted responses are just out of earshot), jeno came to the conclusion that drinking copious amounts of eggnog seemed the best course of action. he also comes to duly note the looks that jaemin has been sending him, periodically. it's something along the lines of a smirk without the smile, a challenge set in his brow, and a glint of smugness in the eyes. drunk jeno is having exceeding difficulties in stripping down the implication of those regards, especially when his forefront train of concentration is currently being narrowed towards not tripping up the steps.

the jar of eggnog, now empty, is left behind on the table with the cumulation of also empty mugs and extra beer cans, soju bottles. your plastic bag and the aluminum container that held the pumpkin pie are long gone as well. you track your eyes down to each step of the stairs you take because if you look up, you'd be face to face with jeno's bottom. face to butt, really.

the night had ebbed, slowly but surely, into a mess. for whatever reason, you had minimal interactions with any of your friends except for jaemin, not that jaemin wasn't your friend, just that you had hopes of a christmas eve spent with the boy you talked the least to in the course of the night. the one whose bottom has just backed into your forehead. "jen…"

he pays no mind, perhaps doesn't even hear you at all because he proceeds to stumble around for a bit, taking another step down until you're forced to do the same, else your sanity be damned. both hands on the rails on either side, you suck in a breath. "jen, get your ass out of my face." and at that, the boy seems to get a grip on himself, tossing a dumbfounded, then staggered look back at you before straightening and taking the surest steps the rest of the way up to the utility room landing where donghyuck is seen to have been holding the back door open for the better part of three minutes. jaemin is there as well, lingering to see you guys off, you specifically, and jeno finds that same look being thrown at him, except this time he's slightly sobered up. the haze that had hitherto hindered him from thinking through his thoughts with clarity had cleared. he realizes what's off.

maybe it's the flashback, episodic memory style, to donghyuck's phone displaying jaemin's contact after intruding upon the little moment you'd been sharing with him, only a day ago at that. maybe it's that paired with hyuck's, "you have to do it like- tonight!" something that he'd brushed off but also made a lot more sense when put into consideration with the fact that jaemin's looks emanated of provocations, a dare of sorts. and that in itself speaks volumes of nonsense now that jeno's remembering that jaemin is the least competitive person in the world, not only to his own standards but to everyone else's. na jaemin, jeno's other best friend, wasn't deliberately trying to steal his (soon-to-be) girl. he was rather (rather infuriatingly) trying to rile up his dear friend into asking her out. bitterly, jeno notes that it's working; he's a great deal ticked off, even more so now that he's in the know, and his plans on asking you out have indeed been sped up to tonight.

so as jeno holds an unnecessary hand out to help you up the last few steps, a hand that you take with an apprehensive smile quick to form, he makes sure to give jaemin that same look he's been receiving all night. and while jaemin holds an elbow of yours to steady you as you slip on your shoes, jeno makes sure to take both sides of your open jacket and zip it closed, tugging the garment tight to your frame. he relishes in the feeling of your eyes on him, for the first time that night, as you bid your farewells to everyone else. jeno tries to hide a smile of his own as he says his goodbyes, eyes never leaving yours. he ushers you out of the house soon enough, the door clicking shut behind him and offering him the makings of possibly the confession of the century. he paces himself beside you.

hyuck's house is only four blocks down from your own, the only reason the two of you had agreed to walk there in the first place which was a seemingly good idea, if only you had considered the fact that by the end of the gathering it would be three forty in the morning, on christmas morning. the sky is dark, the moon itself offering little light in the presence of clouds, though the air is crisp as it is cold, nipping at the exposed skin of your face and hands. you shove those same hands into the pockets of your jacket as you shuffle along the side of jeno; just being by his side seems to provide a steady stream of warmth you're unwilling to stray too far from.

it's when the two of you cross the second intersection that jeno thinks to start up the little conversation that's been playing in his head for the last six or so hours. it's also then that an idea, though rather dumb, dawns upon you. your neighborhood circles around a fairly small lot, one with only a lawn of grass and a childrens' playground to earn it the title of being a park. a corner of your lips turns itself upwards as you grasp a hand on jeno's forearm, lightly steering him, "let's go sit on the swings for a bit, how's that?" and he complies, mind rerouting the scenarios of the conversation as the circumstances fluctuate.

the swings, a set of two, creak and groan as you kick up and back, the movement coursing the wind to whip cold across your cheeks. your hands clasp the equally frigid chains from which the seat you're on is sustained, the metal is sure to leave red streaks along the lines of your palms. jeno, who remains unmoving, merely looks on at you with a bemused and adoring gaze, his hands fisting and unfisting in his jacket pockets to retain their warmth in the case that you would be willing to hold them. a wide grin spreads across his features as he watches you dig your heels into the bark to stop, your giddy laughter quiet but perceptible to his eager ears.

with the last bit of momentum edging you on, you almost stumble off the seat. lunging forward with added force, your arms are thrown out on either side to maintain your offset balance. jeno startles at your actions as well, a hand of his own is flung out instinctively to steady you but the distance makes it so the closest he gets is your thrust out hand. he's holding your hand. and it jars him a bit because the sequence of planned events, the notecards by which he was dutifully following, are now jostled and out of order.

he's yet to let go of your hand and that's yet to leave your notice. you don't question it either but you look over just in time to see him gulp, his eyes on the ground before him. the second you revert your eyes, jeno speaks, "do you mind if i ask you something?" his hands are warm.

"go for it."

"i- i said yesterday that...that you're my first love." despite the weather, jeno can almost feel the sweat rush to his palms. he hopes it isn't noticeable and pushes on, "am i yours?"

jeno's banking on your answer to give a green or red light to follow through with all else, he'd phrased the question to deliver precisely just that. never more than now have the differences between 'were' and 'are' meant so much to him.

he turns to see a smile light your expression as you continue to stare into the ground and when he turns back, the fruits of his efforts are bestowed upon him. "yeah, you are my first love."

the green light has been given, jeno's palms are growing clammier by the second. he stands, hand still in yours, and pads over to where you're seated, the sound of wood chips crunching beneath his steps. jeno holds out his other hand and you take it. thumb rubbing over your knuckles, you find that jeno simply stands before you. the dark shrouds the two of you entirely but you make out enough of his features to see that he's smiling, blindingly, and it's in that moment where your mother's advice falls short because in all honesty, you have no willingness to 'take it slow.' you want him fast and you want him now.

"jeno, i like you."

his thumb on your knuckles stills. jeno isn't sure if he's falling or willingly lowering himself onto his knees because that's what's happening, though he's almost positive that he's come to a dead end on controlling his bodily functions. his mind, all those thought out scenarios of how this night could possibly pan out, every plan that's been enforced and redacted, it all short circuits because he's met with the one possibility that he thought unthinkable. you've confessed to him.

"you what?" jeno's looking up at you with what you believe to be wide eyes, they're beautiful to say the least. you give a squeeze to his hands. he almost jumps in response and in his sensitive state. with another five words, "i said i like you," and it feels as if you've decked him in the head with a chair, or ran him over with a truck, flew an airplane square into his chest. he squeezes your hands back, but harder and for longer as if to convey what he cannot possibly fathom into words in the moment. so he gives it two moments, maybe three or four, before he comes to grasp his bearings with a little more certainty.

but jeno can't bear to look you in the eyes. the thought of his sweaty, clammy hands in yours enough to render him an ungainly mess. with the bark digging sharply into his knees and beckoning for his attention, he doesn't think much as he drops his head into your lap. in fact, he doesn't think at all when he mumbles, "well, i love you," in such a casual manner, it's as if he were implying, 'hah, beat that.'

and you do. to add on to the shitload of emotions he's currently surfing atop of, you retract a hand from his hold and bring it to his head, fingers weaving in and out of his locks, back and forth on his scalp. the world of thirteen and twenty-one collide because when he looks up, you're the same, pretty, endearing middle school girl and the same enthralling, though stressed college student that he's been loving for so long—almost too long, for the length of time would have deemed incredulous and in vain had you not uttered in the second following, with your fingers laced into the curls at the foot of his head, "well, i've loved you for as long as i can remember."

jeno goes in for it.

his lips on yours, at first, are hot like fire on a cold winter night. they burn and they scald and they sear until the memory of how they meld in perfect unison with your own has seared itself into the forefront of your mind, riveted and ravaging your every thought. sequentially, the initial pang dulls in the trail it's blazed as your movements settle into the languid pace he's set, lips encasing your own repeatedly no matter how many times you part. on perhaps the seven or eighth time you've met your lips to his own, he stops, though his lips remain on yours, and he breathes, "if that's the case...," he suckles on your bottom lip but falls back before you can act on it. jeno brings a hand to the line of your jaw and traces his finger along it, tilting your head to his as they happen upon your chin. "if that's the case, then i guess i must've loved you since the beginning of time."

if christmas eve is for friends, then christmas day is for family.

and perhaps jeno can be filed under friends and family after all because when you awake on christmas morning, or rather afternoon, it's not to the knock on the door from your dad or the screeching of your mom but rather, to jeno's leg shifting atop your own.

"oops, didn't mean to wake you," is what you first hear and the sight of him, hair messy and without a shirt, is what you first see. the brightness of your room, evidence of how you'd forgotten to draw the curtains closed before going to sleep, is almost enough to get you to shut your eyes again but you don't because it's lee jeno who's in front of you, in bed with you, with his arms around you. you wonder how you even fell asleep the night before.

yawning as you speak, "how long have you been up?" he glances at your bedside table, "since nine," and you follow suit, only to see the time on your alarm clock spelling out a 1:04 PM. "shoot, did my alarm wake you?"

"it should've woken you too."

you let a chuckle out at that and he returns with a hearty laugh that reverberates through you. letting your head hit his chest, you mumble, eyes closing shut, "why didn't you just wake me up then?" jeno's glad that you're unable to see him in the position you're in because he's sure to be sporting a blush when he says, "because you're cute when you sleep."

"and so you just ogled at me for four hours?"

yet somehow, he's anything but embarrassed when he retorts, "oh believe me, i've been ogling at you for years." you look up at him once again to see that his eyes are already on you. jeno pulls you closer until your clothed chest hits his bare one. "why am i the one wearing this?" he eyes the bright green material of the shirt and shakes his head, "i thought i already told you that you look better in it."

"in this musty old green tee?"

"not just any musty old green tee. it's my most prized possession, means a whole lot to me."

a smile finds its way to your face, "then why do you wear it to sleep every night? wouldn't that like, i don't know, shorten its lifespan?" jeno only shakes his head a little more, "i wear it to sleep because i like going to sleep thinking about you, it makes me think about you."

"then do you dream about me?"

shameless as he never was before, he nods, "do you?" you shuffle your legs around with his a little more, "i don't even remember my dreams but i'm sure that if i did, they'd all be dreams of you." the smile on his face stretches wide, neither of you are sleepy anymore.

you move to get up but jeno holds you still. complying, you decide to further your interrogations, "does your mom know that you're here?"

"no, but she probably thinks i just stayed over at hyuck's or something," you hum along, figuring just about the same. "the real question is, does your mom know i'm here?" musing along, you can only imagine the look on her face when jeno trails behind you on the steps down to breakfast (overdue lunch), "no, but i'm sure she'd be more pleased than anything. she really adores you, you know."

"then she wouldn't mind it if i asked you out, no?"

good god, it's like the reciprocation of his feelings has made him out to be a whole different man. gone is the stutter-filled, wide-eyed thirteen year old boy who could not, for his life, lay out his love for the one girl he'd only ever had eyes for. in with this smooth little fucker that has you stuttering over your own words, "n-no, i don't think she would mind." and he seals the deal with a kiss, lingering his lips on your own and pulling your bodies flush.

jeno wishes that things never change, the shoulder stitch of his shirt falling far too low on your arms and far too high on his collarbones, the white paint of your car gleaming and his clothes doused with a hose or two, the eggnog drunk until words string incoherent and his ass is shoved unceremoniously into your face. jeno hopes to keep you by his side, to go grocery shopping with you instead of having to bump into you by chance, to throw out his trash and return to your house instead of his own, to feel the arm of your jacket brush against his as you walk side by side in the blackness of night, to be able to close the distance every single time because you were always seven inches too far; the prospect of you and him had been withheld for seven years too long and since the seventh grade too young. but now, with your forehead pressed to his, legs tangled in ways unimaginable, it seems that he has you all to himself for seven eternities on end, endlessly, forever, forevermore.

✧ end note — it’s ree here, and i hope you enjoyed my christmas gift to you hehe <33 as the new year comes into sight, i’d like to pass on to you some of that *good energy* and say that 1) i love you, very dearly. and 2) if you ever need anything, i’m right here for you, inbox always open. with sentiments as warm as ever, i am exceedingly glad to have been able to spend the latter third of this year with you guys. much more to come, rouiyan.

#neowritingsnet #neothestars #neo-constellations #neoculturecafe #jeno fluff #nct jeno #nct jeno fics #nct jeno scenarios #jeno x reader #jeno x you #lee jeno #jeno angst #nct jeno fluff #jeno scenarios #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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simpingfortheages · 3 years

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//COME STAY HERE WITH ME//

Sally Mckenna x fem reader

(SUSPENSE, FLUFF if you squint, ANGST, has a twist )

Promises aren't words without meaning. They leave a mark on your soul you need to fulfill.

The reader just isn't ready to make such a big commitment. Sally doesn't approve or believe her and she is determined to change that.

~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~

"Sally I love you of course I do. I will come back soon, i promise but you seriously cannot expect me to stay here forever" I argued with her as I hurriedly pack my carryon with unfolded clothes. Sally sat silently on the bed dwelling in her own thoughts. I could feel her sharp eyes bore into the back of my head as i maneuvered my way around the small room collecting my things. She didn't speak after i made that statement, no she just looked upon my sloppy movements .

The atmosphere in the room was stifling, the air was stale of sex and cigarette smoke. I was choking on the suspense of what Sally was going to do. I know she would never kill me, she promised me that. I was almost done packing when I turned around,only to meet her towering figure standing right behind me. She was a hair's width away. " I really wished you'd stay" she said in raspy low octave . There was not a door or window open to let a draft in, that was because it was her voice that sent shivers running and prickling along my spine. " I will come back to you very soon. I promise Sally" I replied to her, with a lack of commitment in my voice. Sally has managed to keep me stuck in the Cotez for 4 months. My family misses me, my job , my house was all waiting for me at home. I love Sally I really do, but I just wasn't ready. Sally slowed squinted her eyes at my response as though she was analyising each piece of word that left my mouth. I gave her a nervous side smile before I bent down to zip up my carryon. As I gathered my bag I made my way hesitantly toward the door. I felt as though Sally could read my mind. She may be a ghost but she doesn't have the special ability to read minds.

The humidity and tension in the room,caused beads to sweat to form and roll down the side of my face, the sticky and disgusting feeling of my shirt sticking to my armpits and my back didn't make my situation any easier. I squeezed my eyes tightly to try and get rid of the on coming headache, my stomach was churning. It was getting hard to breathe at this point. I gripped the copper handle of the hotel door and slowed turned it to make my way out of the room. *SLAM* the door was shut. I blinked a few times to understand what just happened. I looked at the door only to see a black chipped nail polished hand pressing firmly against it. My suspicions were confirmed. It was Sally who shut the door. The coldness from her close proximity radiated off her ghost form, but the breathe I felt on the nape of my neck was warm and inviting. Sally was really close. I didn't even realised my breathe was held, I was making myself feel faint just by her being close to me. I didn't have to turn around and face Sally since she was already leaning over my fraile form . She moved herself closer to place her red messy lipstick lips near my right ear. " You really didn't think I'd let you leave..." Sally began whispering in my ear. I didn't let her finish her sentence, she was cut off from the loud release of shakey breathe I was previously holding. Fuck! Sally was going to kill me right here and now I thought. Her soft frizzy hair was brushing my sweaty hot face, but the way my body was reacting didn't affect her. Sally wouldn't care if i were covered in blood so why would sweat deter her. She was nuzzling her face into the crook of my neck, without thinking I closed my eyes and leaned into her. The gentle kisses that she left upon my neck each sent small electrical pulses down to my stomach. She knew what she was doing. " like I was saying y/n,you really didn't think I'd let you leave....without your phone?" She said in a teasing manner as she pushed the device into my hands. Sally angled her head even closer to the side of my face , my facial expression was one of relief. However my heart still said otherwise, the rapid palpitation of each beat could have been heard if not for the muffled sound of traffic on the streets outside. It took me a while to find my words of gratitude, but Sally was patient. She continued to stare and admire the every twitch and subtle movement my face made. I couldn't bring myself to meet her hopeful eyes. Her eyes held a wanting future with me at the Cortez, she spoke many time how the least painful way to kill me was like Overdose with the use of her white China...but I didn't want any of that. I love Sally. Just not to death. Her body was now pressed against me, it was not one of a sexual manner just one to give the feeling that I was her prey and she was the predator.

Sally does scare me. No one knows the extent that she will go to keep something or someone she wants, there's no real way to stop a ghost such as herself. I forced myself to mumble a thank you, which would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for her face being so close to mine. Sally only replied with a soft pur, she really knew what she was doing because my toes curled at the erotic sound the woman made . We stayed in this position for a couple more seconds but not before Sally moved closer to my neck and licked a wet strip along the side of it. A pathetic whimper ripped it's way from my throath into the still air of the room. She swiftly removed her palm from the door allowing me to leave. My body was flustered and longed for more contact with Sally. She has me wrapped around her finger and boy did she know that. I wasn't going to throw myself into her arms, this time I am committed to leaving the Cotez. As I opened the door to exit, the warm air from the hallway came rushing in to mix with the cold air that was created inside the room. I turned around to wish Sally goodbye....but she was gone. I couldn't feel her presence anymore in the room. Maybe she was else where. The walk to the elevator was a long one, I tried to look down each corridor to see if she was lingering near by. No luck.

Did she not miss me? Will she move onto someone else?. As the elevator doors opened my thoughts were interuppted. The lobby was empty, no Liz and Iris arguing. The help desk just sat there in silence. I fumbled with my bags waking towards the exit. A feeling of unwanted and doubt returned in my stomach. Was this the right choice? I have already made it this far. I have been trying to leave the Hotel for the past 2 weeks. I furrowed my eyebrows at the thought of me succumbing to my weakness . No. I am going to leave. I will return to visit Sally, of course I will, but I just couldn't stay here forever. I took a deep breath, the cold icey air filled my lungs giving me a new sense of confidence. I marched my way towards the exit, taking one last look at the place I called me home for the past months.

I was almost to the door when i felt a sudden drop in temperature. The hairs at the back of my neck was now alert. The silence was in room was filed with Crying??? I turned my heels and saw her standing in the middle of the lobby with black tears running down her porcelain face. My heart broke at the sight. "YOU'RE REALLY LEAVING ME??" Sally screamed into the quietness of.the lobby. I visibly flinched at the level her voice raised, I opened my mouth and basically explained to Sally that it was only going to be for a while and that I would return to the Cortez and that I do love her. Her face that was once filled with hurt and anger was slowly replaced with confusion but slight understanding. The pout her bottom lip did and the way her brown doe eyes looked at me, made me drop my carryon. I

impulsively ran towards Sally and enveloped my arms around her. She immediately returned the hug, while I nudged my face into her chest as she rested her head upon my head. Sally felt like home but there was still so much for me to do outside the Hotel.

Her embrace was like poison to me yet it was the antidote at the same time. Time seemed to not exist at this exact moment. I felt Sally turn her head and rest her cheek on the top of my head trying to get as close to me as possible. Even though almost every night for 4 months we cuddled like this, I will never get enough of it. However, I really needed to get going, I loosened my grip around her waist in hopes of her understanding to let go, but she remained hugged me in her arms. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, " Sally baby let go" I requested, my voice was still kind of muffled since my face was basically pressed against the material of her dress. Sally silence my request with an elongated shush, as she increased the hold she had around my body. It was getting hard to even breathe, Sally was basically smothering me . I wedged my hands between our bodies and pressed the heels of my palm into her chest . Trying to push myself away with everything I have to break free of her deadly hold. At this point the only think that filled my nose and lungs were the cheap perfume Sally wore that her victim's brought with them to the Hotel. "SALLY WHAT THE FUCK LET GO" I screamed. I wiggled and started to hyperventilate still fighting her. Sally didn't budge. "GOD SALLY WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WIT-" ....no....she wouldn't . She said she wouldn't. My mind was going haywire at the thought. I stopped fighting against her and let my arms drop to the side. What the fuck??? There it was again. A sharp burning sensation in my back. It was hurting to breathe at this point. The pain was unbareable, sounds of agony and pain escaped my throath as hot tears cascaded down my face. The combination of the pain in my back and the difficulty to breathe was too much for me. Sally's grip around me was now loose enough for me to shove her off and step back. I felt weak, my knees buckled and gave out, I fell to the floor landing on my knees. The new angle allowed me to get a good view of Sally. She was smiling with joy, tear of happiness running down her face. The bitch welded a fucking kitchen kife covered in crimson blood,not just any blood. It was my blood .Sally Mckenna stabbed me in my back . My lover was planning on killing me. The wounds she created started poured a bloody waterfall down my back and onto the floor.

Sally smiled even bigger at the sight, she had this glint of something in her eyes. I couldn't tell what it was but my blood or whatever was still left in me began to boil. I hated Sally so much right now. There's no way in hell am I going to die in this fucking Hotel and be stuck here with her for all eternity. I gritted my teeth in pain and forced myself to push Sally onto the ground. It may not have been much but she fell back on the carpeted floor. This gave me time to turn on my knees and crawl towards to exit of the Cotez,to make quicker haste of my actions, I dropped down flat onto my stomach and tired to army crawl my way out of here. I craned my head backwards to see where Sally was but she was already back on her feet, the look of anger and annoyance was casted upon her face. I never stopped crawling away from her, the carpet that decorated the floor was now covered in a trail of my blood, my elbows were getting carpet burn but i didn't care. I heard the movements of Sally shifting behind me,she could have stopped me a long time now,but she just wanted to stand there and look down at me. It was sick. Her heel clicks were muffled into the floor, as they got closer. I screamed for help non stop, she didn't like that I was getting closer to the door. Sally grabbed me by my ankles pulling me away from my freedom. I tried to kick her away but my body was too weak. My nails were breaking and bleeding as I scratch along the carpet trying to grab hold of anything. I cried out in pain but Sally didn't care, " oh baby no come stay here with me" she cooed trying to calm me down. She managed to drag me away from the door. I knew if I even escaped her hold I wouldn't make the distance. So I cried, the adrenaline that was coarsing through my blood was now decreasing. My heart beat was soft and my eye lids were heavy. Sally parted her legs and pulled me flush against her chest. My back wounds made rough contact with her but I was too weak to even hiss. She was cruel, Sally sat me in such a way that I had clear view of the door.

I could see it, the sun shining down on all the people who walked the streets, the cars the hurriedly drove pass the Hotel . I detested the sight. I could have been one of those people who went about living their life. I was no longer crying, the tear tracks on my face were fresh but no more followed. Sally repated kissed the side of my temple whispering silent I love you's. I zoned her out at this point. If i was going to die in the Cortez that doesn't mean I have to interact with her. I hate you Sally. I hate you. "Y/N?" Sally spoke, breaking my silent brooding. I didn't acknowledge her but she knew she had my attention. " I'm going to speed up the process, so we can be together even faster" I ignored her, there was nothing more i could do. Sally gripped the knife that was covered in my blood and quickly slashed it across my neck. My eyes went wide. All i saw was red. My lungs quickly filled with my own blood, the only taste that painted my tongue was metallic. I cried for help but blood gushed its way out instead. My body began to feel prickly and cold. So this is how it felt to die. My vision became blurred, the doorway of the hotel was now unrecognizable. " close your eyes baby I am here...I will be here went you are awake" Sally whispered into my ears as she held me tighter. I complied, I closed my eyes and felt all the warmth slowly leave my body. This is how I died. I died by the hands and embrace of my so called ghost lover.

~~~~~~~time skip ~~~~~~~

I groaned as I stirred awake, I couldn't see properly but I could feel a weight on my chest,but it wasn't uncomfortable. I needed to blink a couple of times to clear my vision. I knew I was back in the Hotel but where was I exactly ? Apparently my shifting cause the weight on my chest to be lifted. I looked down and saw that it was Sally who was resting on me. My vision was still a little blurry, but i could have seen that she was smiling at me with her red bottom lip tuck away under her teeth. I tried to move but Sally moved her hand that was resting on my thigh and pressed it against my bare chest,shoving me back down onto the mattress. It dawned on me that I was completely naked,expect for the fact that I was wearing her leopard print coat. She saw the perplexed look on my face and answered the question in my head. "Your clothes were bloody, so I showered and wrapped you up in my coat.". I looked around and now realised that we back in her apartment. Room 64. I had so many questions, I wanted to yell at her but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a soft "why?..." She looked at me with admiration and love. Her hands were wondering all over my naked body, ghosting over all my moles and scars. " You were going to break your promise, I just made sure you fulfilled it." She said in a matter of fact tone.

Sally punctuated the sentence with a kiss upon my chest. "You stabbed me and slit my throath why that way?" I further questioned the ghost. " You needed to hurt Y/N like how you hurt me , but it's all okay now because we are the same and we have each other" Sally justified . She moved to straddle me and cup my face as she recited the statement. Her forehead was now pressed against mine, and I could have felt the warmth of her breathe brushing across my face. Sally kissed me, but the kiss was not one of love ,it was one of fulfillment. She got what she wanted. Sally slipped her tongue pass my lips to deepened the kiss, I could hear the change in her breathing. It was loud and heavy. She was created a heated kiss, but I couldn't allow that to happen right now.

So i took my hands to shove her off of me.*CLINK* what the fuck??? I cut off Sally's kiss to turn my head and see what was the reason for the sound . My right hand was handcuffed to the bed. Sally looked down at my chest smirking as she rubbed her hands up and down from my chest up to my neck. She was ignoring the look of concern that was painted on my face. "Sally what the fuck??? Uncuff me" I demanded. All she did was laugh at my words. Sally crawled further up my body and played with the curls of my hair with her index finger. " no" was all she said. "What do you mean no??" I raged. Her patience was running thin now, her smile transformed into a scowl. Her hands gripped and dug into my jaw, " You are dead so that means you don't need food,you don't need sleep, you no longer need the requirements of the living."she spat her words out like it was venom. "You think I don't know you baby?"She continued, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes shifted from between my lips and my eyes every few seconds. " You cannot escape me and I am not going to let you avoid me" she finished. I was scrambling for words," wha-i but- sally you cannot keep me chained here" my voice was lowered this time, I spoke softly trying to get on her good side." I know baby but when you come back to me and understand that what i did was for us, I will uncuff you." Sally kissed my forehead and returned to her previous position of lying down on top of me. Her head was resting on my heart ,but I doubt she would be able to hear a beat. Silence surrounded the both of us, I tilted my head backwards hitting the bedrest with a soft thud. I accepted that this was now my faith and my future. My eyes were glued to the ceiling, taking in the smallest details, eventually focusing on the small cobweb being built in the corner. Sally whispered softly into the peaceful silence " y/n my love next time you should remember that promises are not just words spoken."

#sally mckenna x reader #sally mckenna #Angst #w/w #lesbian #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #ahs hotel #hypodermic sally #ahs fanfiction #Hypodermic Sally x reader

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sorcerersofnyc · 3 years

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The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 9/9 - The Epilogue

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Nine: You Carry On

Angst, brief allusions to sex, I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian.

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

You watch him go.

You watch him leave you once again— watch him go off into some dark, unknown future you can never be a part of.

And it hurts.

It hurts to know how much you’ll miss him, hurts to think you'll never see him again.

You take a deep breath (and another and another and another) but the pain only spreads faster as dread closes in all around you.

You feel lost in it, drowned by it, changed by it—but you won’t surrender to it. You’ve walked this road before and you know the way forward. So you take a step, then another, and you turn away from the outside world with a heavy, ragged breath.

The kitchen is far too cheery now. The sun streams inside through the open curtains, and the smell of coffee lingers in the air. Helmut washed the dishes before he left, leaving only his favorite mug behind. It stares at you from its place on the countertop, its dark ceramic gleaming in the light.

You don’t feel your knees buckle or your hands shake, you don’t feel the mangled sob rising up from your chest, you don’t feel the tears that gather at the corner of your eyes and pour down your cheeks like heavy rain.

Your body lurches forward. You reach out to steady yourself but somehow manage to knock the mug over instead. It strikes the title with a sickening clink that echoes through the air.

It chips, but it doesn't shatter. The coffee spills from the mouth and spreads fans out in every direction, staining the tiles on the floor.

Helmut would never know you chipped his favorite mug—but you cry about it anyway.

You cry for the life you could have had together, one where you dumped the stale remnants of his coffee every morning, one where your first kiss wasn’t also the last, one where he held you every day, and you healed your hearts together instead of apart.

You cried because your feelings had no place else to go.

Time passes.

You’re alright; you don’t break, or bend, or toil beneath the weight of your grief. The world moves forward, and so do you:

Anežka returns. (“How was the Baron?” She asks you. “We’re the two of you able to… become familiar with one another?” You wish.)

You learn Helmut was taken to the raft. (You order his affairs and have his things sent over to him.)

Sam Wilson becomes Captain America. (He gives a speech that inspires the world to do better.)

The Flag Smashers are killed in a car bombing. (‘No suspects as of yet,’ the report says and your heart tightens at the thought of who might have been responsible.)

You carry on.

You receive a package in the mail one day, a thick brochure from The Raft outlining the specifics of a Prison Work Rehabilitation Program.

The front photo was disturbingly picturesque, framing the facility as less of a prison and more like a seaside resort.

'Propaganda,’ you think as you flip through the glossy pages. The program is endorsed by some guy named Thaddeus Ross. You think he was a general or a secretary or something but you aren’t quite sure.

The back of the brochure displays an image of a happy family reuniting and you roll your eyes. Prisoners on the Raft don’t get to go home to their families.

You toss the brochure away without a second thought.

A few weeks later, you’re sent flowers after an art show. It’s a beautiful arrangement; twelve thick-stemmed roses wrapped in gold foil.

It adds a classic touch to the modern look of the Visiting Artists’ Office, standing out amongst the dark tables and chairs. But it’s the card that catches your attention; it was left completely blank.

You aren’t sure how you feel about having a secret admirer but you take the flowers home regardless. They’d look nice in a vase near the window, the bright reds mixing with the autumn leaves.

The trip home is short and uneventful and you thank your driver on the way to the door.

You slide your house slippers on and are surprised to see Anežka’s pink one’s by the door as well. You can hear her in the kitchen, opening and closing the doors of the pantry as the air grows warm with the spices of her favorite tea.

“Anežka,” You call out, “I’m home!”

You set the flowers on a side table, barely conscious of the soft footsteps trailing in from the kitchen till Anežka sets her mug down on the coffee table.

“Look what I’ve got. A 'secret admirer’ sent them. Should we put them here or downstairs?” You take an artful picture of the arrangement.

“Neither is a wholly appropriate place.”

You freeze.

Your mind draws blank as it fails to process the words you heard someone other than Anežka speak.

You turn around quickly, knocking the flowers off the table as you do.

“Helmut?” Your voice lowers as a million feelings bubble up inside of you. They threaten to explode.

Helmut is there—right there—dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and his house slippers with a cat-like smile stretched across his handsome features.

He strides forward with confidence, stopping so close you nearly reel back.

“These are special flowers, драга, brought all the way from Ecuador.” He kneels before you, the hem of his robe splitting at the knee to offer a very seductive glimpse of his thigh.

He reaches around you, grabs the fallen bouquet, and sets them gingerly on the table as he stands. “We should place these in your bedroom so you may admire them every night.”

“What’s happening?” You finally manage to ask him, “what’s going on?”

“I’m home,” Helmut teases, speaking as though you failed to notice his soft brown eyes, his damp hair, or the heat that surges between you as he stands close enough to touch, to kiss if you wanted.

He brushes a hand against your cheek.

“Helmut,” you whisper again, but your voice is stern and more controlled this time. “How are you here? You’re supposed to be in Raft.” Despite your words, you lean a little closer, resting both hands against his chest, near the opening of his robe.

“It seems someone of great influence decided my sentence was better served outside the walls of the prison.”

“Like civil service?” You ask, but then you remember the brochure you received in the mail— the propaganda, or so you believed. “Or… Prison Work Rehabilitation?”

“Something like that. There’s a team,” he makes a flippant gesture with his hand before bringing it to rest on the curve of your hip. “Though I needed time to address the matter of my… financial limitations.”

“Limitations?”

“Of course.” He pulls you closer, encircling you in his arms. “The holder of my assets is quite a formidable woman. I thought it best to pay her a visit, to request access to the full extent of my resources. As stubborn as she is, I assume it will take a great many visits.”

“That would be wise,” You nod slowly, a wide smile coming to your face.

“I can’t be with you always, драга,” he tells you, “but I will be here.”

And you don’t quite remember what you promise in reply (or if you promised anything at all) because he kisses you.

Your fingers slide down his chest, brushing past his chest hair and the little charm he wears around his neck.

You don’t know how long you stay there, kissing, and sighing, and melting in the arms of the man you love, but you’re vaguely aware of being walked back against the wall, of the front door opening and closing at some point, and of Anežka pausing by the threshold, groceries in hand.

“Anežka,” He greets her, but his dark and hungry gaze lingers on you, only you.

“Hello, Baron… It’s good to see you.” Her voice waivers, but the sentiment is real. “M-Miss,” she nods in your direction.

“Hi, Anežka.” You’re not quite sure what to say.

“Why don’t you take a few days off?” Helmut suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take care of things here.”

“O-of course, Baron—Thank you.” Anežka glances between you one more time before setting the bags down near the door. “Good luck, Miss!” She calls out before leaving.

And as her footsteps grow quiet and hush in the distance, his eyes meet yours and his kiss finds its home upon your lips.

(And later when Helmut comes undone beneath your gaze and the rocking of your hips against his, you bring him home once again.)

And he keeps coming home to you.

***

And so we've reached the end. Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate all the support. This was my first fanfic in many years and I'm glad I could bring it to a close.

The end is a bit of wishful thinking on my part but I wanted to end on a happy note.

I'll probably write one or two bonuschapter that's basically just smut. So if you're 18+ and would like to remain on the taglist (or be added,) just let me know!

Taglist:

@actuallyanita, @fillechatoyante, @viviace, @buckyandlokicanhaveme, @sapphiredreamer26, @robur-bellicum, @apparrio

#Zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #mcu zemo #reader x zemo

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youarejesting · 4 years

Text

Hope in the Sheets.1

[Masterlist]

Beta: @LunarLxve, @jamaiskook

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, (Implied sex, Implied impreg, cock warming.) Friends2Lovers,

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things. What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

You had a lot of titles, you were his Neighbor, Colleague, Wing-man… well woman, and you were most importantly, his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger, barely, but he didn’t let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things.

How did you get here? One minute, you are keeping Hoseok out of trouble while he chases skirts in high school, at work, at the club and even in your gosh darn apartment building. The next, you are lying in your bed listening to him argue with his current fling.

Sighing as you hear her leave, you drag yourself from the comfort of the soft single bed. It was a modest addition to the small apartment. Snatching your hoodie from the back of the couch as you made the short trek to the kitchen.

Reaching into the cupboard above the fridge where you kept a collection of liquors and spirits for all cooking and commercial occasions. Grabbing a bottle of vodka and locating a cold bottle of his favorite mixer Sprite, you scuffed in your slippers to the front door. Phone in your pocket, you pressed open the door using your foot to swing it closed listening for the beeps that signified your apartment was securely locked.

You thanked the new age apartment complex for its technology, you never had to carry keys you just had to remember the keypad lock. How could you forget it, the code was Hoseok’s birthday. Walking next door, you knocked looking at the door imagining him moving through the apartment. His sigh was audible through the door, heavy with the weight of the thoughts on his mind. It was almost heartbreaking but why were you happy? He was sitting at the kitchen table, confirmed by the gentle scrape of his chair against the tiles. “Y/n, I really don’t wanna talk.”

“I didn’t say we were going to talk Hobi” You leaned your head against the door frame, you used the nickname you had given him when you were younger. It was a special privilege, and no one else was allowed to call him that except you.

He unlocked the door, making you tilt your head up to look at him. Raising both hands brandishing the two bottles and your plans for the evening. When he didn’t budge you walked in on your own accord, opening the bottle of vodka on the bench. He walked dutifully to collect a mug for both of you.

Hoseok didn’t have many fancy glasses as the girls he would invite over in their fake tipsy stupor would smash them. Hoseok hated people with a passion when they were drunk and he wasn't, it all seemed so fake. When he was drunk, he wasn’t happy. So why do they pretend to be so happy and bubbly. Why do they think that acting like a crazy person was acceptable because they had one drink.

You both sat there drinking slowly, he seemed to unwind telling you everything that was wrong with his relationship. His ex-relationship with his -now- ex-girlfriend. Between his extensive rant and his belly full of liquid courage he was feeling a little better.

You both were strewn across the couch, surrounded by empty chip packets and more bottles of liquor this time from Hoseok’s personal stash and not yours. As you were drifting off beside one another, you took your best friend's hand in yours letting him pull you closer to cuddle against his chest.

The next day you woke late, groaning , “Hobi it’s time for work, we are going to be late.”

He inhaled sharply, eyes flying open when he finally processed your words. You both scrambled around his apartment, with no time to shower you brushed your teeth and sprayed a decent amount of deodorant hoping to cover any stale smell of alcohol.

You stepped into his closet and in the bottom drawer on your left was your clothes. You each had some of the others clothes, just over time things got left behind and neither of you cared. You removed your baggy shirt and sweatpants, clasping a clean bra behind your back.

This was your really good bra you had been wondering where you had left it and here it was washed and folded. You stood there in clean undergarments, taking a moment to quell the uneasy feeling in your stomach. Interrupted from your deep breathing, he walked in wearing boxer briefs with his hair brushed down. He grabbed his work uniform and slipped it on as you did the same slipping on your uniform dress with a small smile. This was your favorite, these domestic moments with your best friend left you feeling warm.

“You ready to go?” he smiled, brushing your hair back securing it in a hair elastic adding a as you put on a little bit of makeup. Hoseok ties up your heeled boots for you as he saw your nauseous expression if you so much as leaned over you would vomit everywhere.

Hoseok decided to take a taxi because he couldn’t deal with the idea of sitting in a crowded bus, just to turn up late. At least taking a taxi meant you had time to stop for coffee and still arrive ten minutes to spare.

“You’re here, you look like trash” Taeil chewed his gum looking over his clipboard, “Come on, your pair are working in the booth for the first third, then the stage midday and the last third you have ride duty okay?”

You and Hoseok were performers and attendants for multiple rides and booths within the Seoul Land amusement park. Taeil who was in charge of the ‘kids korner’ of the park complete with cartoon mascots, activities for all ages and the highlight the kids fun house. “And Jesus you smell like trash, go to Jaehyun at the smoothie bar and get his hangover remedy,” Taeil was responsible for all the employees making sure they were able to provide safe and reliable service to the visitors in the park.

You nodded and headed off to the cafeteria area within the park. The park doesn’t open for another hour but there's a lot to prepare before people come in. Hoseok frowned looking over the counter for some service as you pressed your forehead to his back and wrapped your arms around his waist to hold yourself upright. “Hey if it isn’t Hobi what can I get for you,” Jaehyun said jokingly.

“Don’t call me that?” He sighed “two hangover cures please”

“Alright coming right up, two hangover cures for the party animals,” he said you lifted your head and he paused “it’s best if you don’t know what's in it take a seat and I will bring it to you”

You walked Hoseok to the picnic tables and sat down letting him sit on your lap, “I want to curl up and cry” You whined letting your arms fall from around his waist.

“Are you feeling okay?” He laid his head back on your shoulder turning his face so he could gauge your reaction.

“Mm I will be?” It was true as the time passed the bitterness surrounding his ex lessened until the woman and her superficial ways were erased from your memories.

“I am going to get a greasy burger. Do you want one?” Hoseok hummed

“Like you have to ask, get some chips too” you slapped him on the behind, sending him away.

The two of you ate and drank feeling better already. “Thanks Jaehyun” you called and he leaned out waving a cloth.

Hoseoks’ hand wrapped around yours and he led you across the cafeteria where the two of you thanked Johnny and Mark for the burgers and continued back to your work area.

You sighed setting up the booth; it was a green screen where you could edit kids to be in their favorite cartoon pictures. You smiled as they started up the music and you turned to Hoseok. This music haunted you. They played the same soundtrack repeatedly, listening to the same thirty songs on repeat everyday was hell.

It was when you went on your lunch break that you got some relief taking food from the cafeteria to the staff room. You both usually packed your own lunches but after everything that happened earlier that morning you had to resort to spending more money.

The staff room was packed. Lucas and Taeil were talking about how they already had to clean vomit six times from their ride and it was only the first third.

“How many thirds are you on?” WinWin asked as he and Taeyong put on their dance costumes and make up. They were performing in the mid-day park parade.

“Two” Taeil frowned “morning and afternoon”

After lunch you both got changed into your costumes for the park parade and then performed with the cartoon character Ryan on stage for the kids. You made sure to take a snap and send it to Namjoon, your friend who worked as a bouncer at your favourite club.

Namjoon was a beefy guy, people called him RM. You weren’t exactly sure why but you knew underneath his tough exterior he had secret dimples hiding away. His pecs —which you lovingly referred to as the Joonpillows or chest monsters— were eye candy to anyone entering the club.

Namjoon kept telling you about some kid who would come to the club every Friday and he would just stare at Namjoon's chest as he waited in line. Just last week he texted you saying ‘The kids eyes are practically sparkling’.

After a quick change, you were back in your regular uniform working on the fun-house ride, buckling people in before reciting the safety instructions and sending them off. You were starting to get tired and once your shift was over you cleaned up and headed to the staff room to grab your things and heading out the front.

You took the bus back to your street, walking home exhausted. Hoseok hugged you in the elevator and leaned against the wall. “I’m going to shower and take a nap.”

It seemed however your friends from ‘Jin and Tonic’ —your favourite club— had other plans blowing up the group chat.

[Baby G: Are you coming in tonight we miss you?] [You: Idk, it has been a rough day] [Jin: come on drinks on the house] [DJ Gloss: imma be there tonight come dance for me 😉] [J-Hope: I mean I do feel like dancing 😚] [DJ Gloss: I meant y/n but you can dance for me too, I got no qualms against it 😏] [You: I ship it] [Baby G: So you are coming?] [Namjoon: I will let you in, I know a guy 👀] [Jin: Joon you ARE the guy] [J-Hope: Little Darling are we doing this?] [You: Sure, wear the new outfit I got you.]

Seokjin and Jimin were two of the flirtiest bartenders you had ever met. Both young men had their own charms and on many occasions you were almost swept up by their good looks and sweet words. DJ Gloss was the best in the business and Namjoon was the secretly cute Bouncer. All in all a great bunch and it was always fun to see them and hang out on your nights out on the town.

You dropped your phone onto the mattress taking a moment to stare at the ceiling, before a grin spread over your features. Throwing yourself out of bed you got to work getting ready.

Dressed in one of your club outfits, a small neon purple dress with cut outs under the breasts and some heels that you would definitely abandon on your way home. You got to work on hair and make up with something simple yet sexy.

Hoseok knocked on the door; you raced towards the entryway and peaked out the spy-hole watching him send smoldering gazes up at you posing on the other side of the door. He played around swinging his hips and dancing for you, his bright smile never leaving. “Open the door, Little Darling” You opened the door and drank in his appearance with eager eyes. He was looking extremely attractive in the outfit you had bought him, it was definitely his style, fun funky and street wear.

When he first saw you his lip curled in borderline disgust, “Are you sure about that dress, it is awfully bright?” Hoseok stepped into your apartment, eyeing the dress in question. The disdained expression easing as if he was growing to appreciate it the more he looked at it.

“A girl has to grab attention on the floor and under the black lights, she's gonna be lit” a sly grin painting your painted lips as you danced around rolling your hips as if you were trying to demonstrate how you would look on the dance floor.

He nodded realizing you were right and that must have been why you had bought him a neon green shirt. You looked like you were part of a really amazing hip hop music video and he was all for it.

“Are you ready?” He said looking at your heels while he spoke.

“Yeah I am just going to grab my phone from the charger” he followed you into your room opening your drawer and grabbing something placing whatever it was in his bag.

“I’m just grabbing some socks” he said

“Oh yeah you left them here last time. I washed them and put them away.” You said the two of you heading out for what you expect to be a very stress relieving evening.

Wasting no more time, you walked out the front of your apartment and across the road to the pizza joint. The familiar delivery driver sitting on a stool in the corner blowing bubbles with his gum while flicking through his magazine. “Hey Yuta, can you give us a lift to the club.”

“Again you ever going to get a car yourselves, how old are you two?” He sighed, placing the magazine down and checking the computer screen. “I got a delivery in about two minutes”

“Uh… Well Hoseok is what ten this year right?” You playfully turned to your best friend.

“Definitely, that makes you nine, little darling” Hoseok replied

“Yeah, Yeah, I get it. I got a delivery right now, jump on?” He carried the pizza boxes; You and Hoseok followed, stepping out the side door to see a delivery Vespa and blanched.

“What happened to the car?” You whined

“It’s in the shop, you want a lift or what?”

Squeezed between Yuta and Hoseok, you felt warm. Yuta was quite a thin guy, he was built to be very agile. Hoseok however was broader with muscles hidden away in his lean form. It felt safe and warm in Hoseok’s arms, he was always the one to protect you. You really enjoyed being in close proximity with him. Even his subtle scent was enough to make you smile, it had been so long since you had experienced it like this uncontaminated by his ex.

Riding along, you arrived at a house party in less than thirty minutes. You walked up to the doorstep with a grin, holding the five pizzas and the door opened. Recognizing the kid who works at the convenience store, two doors down from the pizza place “Heyyo Kai baby, you order some pizzas?”

“Uh yeah,” he seemed flustered before continuing, “Soobin where’s my wallet?”

“Take your time, sweetheart,” you grinned. They were so young you almost felt bad being the one to deliver the food, but Yuta wanted to get a big tip with your assets.

He gave you some money and blushed “You can keep the change.”

“Thank you so much” You flashed him a brilliant smile stuffing the notes into your bra before turning and running off in your heels. Throwing your leg over the bike, Hoseok climbing back on behind you.

The wind in your hair was pleasant despite Yuta’s small ponytail tickling your cheeks. It made you giggle when Hoseok brushed your hair to the side, he must be dealing with the same problem. Yuta dropped you off at the club, stepping into the curb as you pulled the money from your bra.

“Here you go” You handed Yuta the collection of bills into his hand, Yuta counted them quickly and handed you a ten dollar note.

“Thanks y/n, they always tip double when they see your pretty face”

“Alright, you kids have fun, but not too much fun you hear?” Yuta grinned pointing at the two of you. Hoseok laughed at the two shaking hands.

“Yeah, we hear you Yuta” You laughed fluffing up your chest under your dress.

“I will keep her safe, you know me” Hoseok squared his shoulders and couldn’t hide the cheeky glint from his eyes.

The line into the club was backed up around the corner and you grinned walking forward. “Hey, Monster, looking particularly buff this evening” You grinned, squeezing Namjoon’s bicep and he snuck you and Hoseok in ahead of the line.

“Why do they get to go in first?” Two boys in line shouted, they looked at you and blushed.

“We’re the dancers” you called happily down the line “What’s your name, I’ll see you inside?”

“Jungkook” The deeper voiced one grinned gesturing to his friend, “and my name is Taehyung.”

“Well, boy’s, you can find me on the dance floor, you won’t miss me.” You wiggled your fingers in a cheeky wave, Hoseok grabbing your free wrist and pulling you inside.

The two of you stepped inside nodding to the two bartenders. Hoseok handed over his back pack over the counter to Seokjin, the two exchanging words quietly before the bag was placed out of sight. “Baby G, my love, can you get my friend here a drink? It seems tonight he’s on the Hunt.”

“Again!” the bartender said, shocked, before mixing two drinks and sliding them your way. “On the house. Happy Hunting.”

“Hey Mister World Wide, I better get a dance from each of you at some point tonight” You gave Seokjin a pointed look, the two laughed nodding promising you a dance. You didn’t realize it, but as you danced, Hoseok seemed reluctant to leave your side. He spent the night circling you and warding off any unwelcome dancers, reluctantly letting you have a moment with the bartenders when it got quiet.

You don’t know how it happened but Gloss played an original song that turned everyone feral and you were dancing with Hoseok.

Not the choreographed routines you both played around with no this was animalistic, grinding his chest to your back and his hands on your hips, he couldn’t deny it when his hip hop baggy jeans grew tight. You noticed but didn’t question it. Boys were unlucky that the slightest things could set them off, so you didn’t even think it had anything to do with you.

You had some more drinks and Hoseok was quiet, his face pressed against the back of your head and neck, breathing in your sweet smell and groaning to himself. He was losing to his senses and the only thing that kept him dancing was the feeling of you against him.

You smiled knowing he must be really upset with what had happened with his latest girl and you let him cuddle you and dance, hoping he wasn’t falling into his usual abyss of drunkenness where he just existed and nothing more.

It seemed you had a few too many drinks because you needed to go to the bathroom. “Hobi, I need to pee” You whined; Hoseok nodded and took your hand, walking you to the bathroom. He was always a gentleman and never let you walk to the toilets alone. It was too loud in the club to hear anything that might happen in the dark hall and you had one bad encounter there before. So it became a sort of tradition that he walked you every time. When he was unavailable, he made sure to have one of the boys at the bar escort you in his stead.

“Hobi, I’ll be back okay, do you need to go as well?”

“I’m okay,” he smiled and you nodded, heading inside and picking a toilet that looked the most presentable before hurrying back out to wash your hands.

When you opened the door, you saw his face buried against the neck of another girl kissing and touching her and she moaned. The door to the bathroom closed with a click making Hoseok’s eyes lift to meet yours over her shoulder. You don’t know why but there was a tightness in your chest, you wondered if he had seen the distaste on your face.

Whatever the reason he gently pushed the young woman away and apologized to her and she made it clear that he could find her at any point during the evening. You suddenly wanted to go home, was it nausea from the alcohol in your system or a stitch from the dancing.

“Ah you’re back, is everything okay?” His hands slid around your waist watching the young woman retreat. His eyes turning to meet yours once more, arms pulling you forward until you were pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around you and breathed in gently. You frowned at the lingering scent of that woman on his body and you didn’t want to admit it made you upset. It always did, but you never admitted it. It was just so hard to watch your best friend turn his attention on to someone else, because there was always that fear that he would leave you behind.

“Yeah, everything is okay, Hobi” Your hands carding through his hair trying to gauge his condition. He groaned against your neck and nipped at your jaw. He used his hands to roll your hips against him.

“You’re my best friend and I love you” he mumbled before he realized and stilled them once more. Sure, you had been close like this a few times in your drunken stupor but nothing ever happened because of it. “You are my beautiful, sexy, best friend who needs to get laid.”

“Yeah I really do,” You knew people say things when they are drunk, often people mistake their feelings of attraction with feelings of love. “work has been tough”

“We should quit” he grinned

“Slow down stallion we can’t just quit, you're drunk” you flicked his forehead and moved along. You knew not to trust Hoseok’s rambling.

“Hobi, I want to go home,” You said, not feeling like seeing him find another girl to turn his attention on, you wanted him to be single for a while so he had more time for you. Was that selfish? Probably, but you missed your best friend dearly.

As the two of you were leaving, you walked past the bar ready to head home. In the midst of bidding the two bartenders and a good night, kissing their cheeks. You spotted the DJ sitting off to the side taking a break. You walked over trying to have a quick conversation, sometimes it was hard to catch up with the DJ when he was busy on stage.

“I really like your work tonight Gloss, you always play bangers” You smiled as his ears turned pink, he preferred to hide behind his music station. Finding it difficult to talk with others, especially girls. You smiled giving one final goodnight wave and went to leave.

“Oh y/n! this is Jhope’s bag” Seokjin Shouted grabbing your attention before you had the chance to exit the club. Turning to see the older bartender holding up Hoseok’s bag above his head. You had forgotten that he had placed it behind the bar at the beginning of the night. With a grateful look you headed back over.

Hoseok surprised you by grasping you around the waist and lifting you onto the bar, he opened the bag pulling out socks and your sneakers. He unbuckled each of your heels and exchanged them for a pair of comfortable sneakers that you kept at his apartment for nights like these. Tying the sneaker slowly, he then pulled out a coat from his bag, and slipped it around your shoulders. He placed your heels in his bag and threw it over his shoulder.

“We will be going” He said softly, lifting you off the bar and sliding you down his body. You scrambled to fix your dress which had ridden up, and tried not to blush as you could still feel his semi-hard length.

“One more for the road?” Jimin smiled handing out shots, and you took yours and Hoseoks, preventing him from drinking any further. “She is a knight in shining Armour.”

The two of you walked home, holding hands and you felt yourself recharging. You also felt the strong burn in your tummy from what you suspected was tequila. It seemed to spread warmth through your stomach and you couldn’t feel the cold. As the walk dragged on, your head grew cloudier and cloudier, Hoseok looked half asleep and you were unsure if either of you would make it home.

The sun was way too bright. You felt like you wanted to remove your eyeballs with a rusty spoon than to look at any speck of light. You felt arms tighten around your waist, the warmth of skin against your bare chest was a wholesome feeling. Your eyes flew open, and you regretted it, groaning and closing your eyes from the sun. You tried to turn and bury your head in the pillows when you felt some resistance between your legs, something heavy inside of you.

You felt kind of sticky and warm, biting your lips to keep from moaning as the sinful heat in your lower stomach bloomed making you feel wet. You gently placed your hand on Hoseok’s thigh behind you and slowly tried to lift yourself from his rapidly hardening member.

You were best friends but you hadn’t seen each other's genitals with the exception of an accident when you were in university. You remember walking in on him and a girl from your Introduction to Writing class. The image of her mouth around him and you had caught a glimpse of how thick he was.

It had been embarrassing then but it seemed even more so now. Well maybe not embarrassing you trusted him, it was just weird. Although you were both open about everything and anything, you still had a line. A subconscious unspoken rule that you both just seemed to know. This, this is definitely across the line, this is the entire length of a football field across the line. It was just weird.

But now you were the one wrapped around him and his deliciously thick cock, you were so close to escaping when the head of his penis brushed against your G-spot. You took a few sharp breaths and the arms around your waist seemed to hate the cold empty space and pulled you back against his chest. With the precision of a heat-seeking missile, he pressed back inside you simultaneously and the two of you groaned. You laid your head back down exhausted. It was too early to be awake but you couldn’t sleep whilst he was nestled inside of you.

“Hobi,” you called gently and his hips bucked against you and he mumbled in your ear. You almost swore and figured you just had to do what you had to do. Gripping his thigh, you removed yourself quickly from around him and left the bed to his shower. As you walked, you felt the remnants of the night before trickling down your thigh.

After your shower, you stole some of his clothes from the back of his cupboard and left. You laid in your bed, mind racing, but you couldn’t bear to think of it anymore. The ache in your lower limbs and the ease of the muscles in your body are a testament to being dicked down good and hard.

It was just weird that it was your best friend.

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184 notes · View notes

capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Old Friend, New Family (8 - End)

Not a Witcher fic lol the gif just fits the mood

Requested by Anon | Prompt:

Hey I was wondering if you’d take a prompt where the reader is an ex-padawan who’s master died pretty early on in order 66, and was instead saved by a clone that removed his inhibitor chip. Then maybe they get separated, and years later when the reader is a crew member on the Mantis, they come across the clone again? How would the crew, especially Cal and Cere, react to meeting a friendly ex-soldier clone who’s close with the reader? Could you make it full of angst then fluff? Love your writing!

Tags:

Defected! Clone Trooper, Jedi Survivor! Reader, Order 66 Survivor

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Masterlist

8 of 8

The next morning, you decided to introduce Strig to Cere. Cal helped out in prepping Cere into a calm mood, although the outcome usually ends up in the exact opposite of what he intended to do, and you stepped in with Strig in tow.

After introducing Strig as your guardian, Cere had the exact reaction as Cal, except that she handled herself with more calmness and curiosity in the guise of skepticism. When her lips parted, ready to say something, you immediately beat her to it.

“It’s kind of a long story, but I’ll tell you in the Mantis,”

Things calmed down between Cere and the three of you. Greez greeted the clone with his usual stinginess, it comes to show that he has never seen a clone without its helmet. The Lateron captain, hospitable as they are, decided to go whip up some snacks for the guest; while the four of you settle down on the lounge couch just below the dining area.

Strig answered all of Cere’s questions, many of which were the same as you and Cal’s, but she had more of her own that neither of you asked last night.

“What legion were you from?”

“The 167th Legion, ma’am,”

Cere asked about the inhibitor chip, suddenly the cogs of her curiosity were spinning again—more or less, she’s becoming quite like her inquisitive master—and Strig was more than happy to oblige in answering her queries. Perhaps the most chilling bit of his narrative was the fact that it was the Supreme Chancellor—later, the Emperor—who called the shots.

“Truth be told, to this day, I still don’t understand why,” Strig confessed.

“It’s all past us now, soldier. What matters is you’re doing good things here now,” Cere reassured.

Later that day, everyone was in their duties. Cere kept herself busy in the Mantis, trying to splice the Imperials’ signals in case she can fish for some intel; meanwhile, you and Cal needed to find Tarfful.

“Tarfful?”

“The Wookiee chieftain. Do you know where he could be, Strig?”

“I’ve only heard from the Wookiees that he’s taken refuge in the deeper parts of the forest,”

You sense the hint of concern in his voice, and there probably seems to be a good reason as to why.

“What’s wrong, Strig?”

“Well, you’re not probably used to carnivorous plants in dense jungles?”

“Believe me, each planet has their own freakshow, and Cal and I just have own fair share of it.”

“Then you’ll be fine,” Strig chuckled.

Cal gently tapped your arm, “Come on, let’s go check the other spots before we head out.”

“Okay,” you flash a small smile to Cal and then turn to Strig. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time, kids,”

The clone watches the two of you run off through the elevator and head to God-knows-where. He smiled to himself with his arms crossed together until you disappeared from the landing pad and through the AT-AT. Cere approached Strig, noticed the way he looked at you and Cal.

“Something on your mind, Strig?”

“I was just thinking how she had fared when I was gone. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t think of her—if she was eating well, sleeping in a place with a roof over her head, or if she’s cleaning up after herself. That is until she found Cal. Was he your Padawan, ma’am?”

Cere’s eyes wandered, “No, I had a different one. It was a girl.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I—”

“Please, Strig, no need to be so formal. Just call me Cere.”

“Cere,” Strig repeated then composed himself again. “Has she… Has [y/n] been taking care of herself ever since she was with you?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about your little girl, she’s been doing quite well ever since she’s joined the crew,”

“She was in Corellia when you found her,” Strig recalled.

Cere nodded, “Yes, she was somewhat lost—but in the way you’re thinking of. I don’t think she planned on staying in Corellia for long. That is until Cal found her and the next thing I saw—she appeared to be healing. Maybe because she and Cal pretty much have the same experience.”

Strig sighed, having nothing else to say back to that. However, he wholeheartedly agreed with Cere and sensed the sincerity in her words; but the fact that you’re healing with Cal—the same way he was with you—highlighted in his mind.

Meanwhile, you and Cal find yourselves at the same area as last night. You take the lead and he followed you to one of the supply bays. You find that the ropes in the pulleys weren’t undone and still hung below.

“Strig said there’d be ship supplies that we can use here,” you blurted.

“I’m surprised that you still trust him, even though it’s been a long time,”

“In a situation like this, with the Empire and all that, do we really have the luxury to harbor hate?”

Apparently, your words caught Cal off-guard while the two of you walked together, heading to one of the supply bays beyond the one where you reunited with Strig.

“Wow, that’s… that’s actually a mature thing for you to say,”

You chuckle in reaction, “I can be mature too, you know.”

After a few minutes’ worth of trekking, the two of you finally found the supply bay storing machine and ship components. You only took what you needed but stuck around when you got a view of the river without Imperial ships trashing the landscape.

Cal can sense something troubling your mind, seeing as to why you’re suddenly quiet as you stared at the landscape. He joined you by the bannister, overlooking the river, and propped himself on his arms next to you.

“Something on your mind?”

“Is it bad if I ask if we can bring Strig along?”

“I don’t think I’m in that place to say so, sweetie,”

“I understand. It’s been so long and I feel like I haven’t caught up with him enough,”

“I envy you, you know,”

You jerk your head to Cal, shooting him a puzzled look.

“You already had someone else you knew before the Purge, before meeting me and the crew. Even if you and Strig got separated, and only met again just now, at least it must’ve crossed your minds that you had someone; unlike myself, I only had… well, myself.”

You nudged closer to him, slipping your arm around his and leaning against his bicep.

“Well, neither of us have to be alone now, right?”

He smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead, “Never.”

Hours have passed and the two of you continued strolling around until you came across the shoreline of the great Origin River. To you, it didn’t exactly look like a river, it was more of an ocean. As you walked by the shore, colorful rocks beached and dotted the sand, your eyes caught one or two. Cal watched you take off your boots and roll up the hem of your pants, he did the same and both of you dipped your toes into the water—it was nice and cool.

“Don’t tackle me or anything!” you squealed.

“Not if you tackle me first!”

The two of you gleefully frolicked, kicking and splashing at one another, dipping your arms up to your elbows into the water to cool yourselves off. Cal put up an act saying that he felt something slip past his leg.

“Very funny, Cal,”

“No, really!” he picked up a thick strand of freshwater kelp that’s blackened with age. “Oh God, [y/n], it’s a river snake!”

“Cal, you psycho! Get that away from me!”

He chased you with it, you were too freaked out to realize that it was only a piece of plant that looked the part. As retaliation, you scooped up a handful of water and threw it over his head; water dribbled at the tips of his hair. His revenge was the same as yours; now the two of you are drenched. He dropped the kelp, he ran his fingers through his wet hair—little strands strayed off from his hairline even after he smoothed out his hair—and caught you staring.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” you cooed as you briskly shook your head. You had to look away to bite your lip, fighting off a private smile.

The playtime became mellower. A breeze picks up conveniently enough to dry yourselves. The scent of petrichor was rich in the air as it drifted into your direction. You were growing tired of the stale air of the machinery in Zeffo, only the windswept ruins had its flora intact—no metal, just grass and flowers.

Cere radioed the two of you, she wasn’t able to hide the urgency in her voice when she spoke.

“I think we have a lead about the tomb at Zeffo. Mari said it’ll take a while before she can disclose Tarfful’s whereabouts.”

“Alright, we’ll head back there now,” Cal replied.

You and Cal rushed back to land, sat on the shore to dust off the sand on your feet before putting your boots back on.

“Race you there?” Cal started.

“No fair, you have a headstart! You’re close to finishing on your boots!”

“Well, gain on me when you can, slowpoke!” he teased, stealing a quick kiss on your cheek while you’re still struggling to buckle the strap of your boot.

“I hate it when you do that!”

“You’re falling behind!” he chortled.

The two of you raced across the shore, back to the forest, and finally reaching the landing pad. Whoever sets foot onto the metal floor wins—Cal came up with that seconds before he could plant the balls of his feet on the floor. Both of you arrived desperate for air, hunched over with your hands on your knees as you breathe in and out.

“Well, that’s a weird warm-up for you,” Strig commented.

“We do this all the time!” you beamed.

“You two are soaking wet,” Cere pointed out.

You pointed your thumb at Cal, “His idea. No, his fault!”

When your energy subsided to the needed level, Cere briefed the two of you into further detail about the lead she picked up about Zeffo. It’s possible that the Inquisitors are on the way to the planet to try and crack the tomb to get the artifact there.

“That is if they know what they’re looking for,” you commented.

“Inquisitors have a lot of researchers and scholars at their disposal, let’s hope they haven’t found the tomb yet,”

“Let’s hope they haven’t cracked the code yet,” Cal added.

“We leave when you’re ready,”

The two young Jedi make yourselves busy in doing last-minute tweaks and inventory checks. Strig walked up to you, apparently he’s overheard that you’re about to leave Kashyyyk any minute now.

“So, out on the road again, Spinner?”

You dropped everything and spoke to him. Your tone was somber and pleading, like a child begging to go with their parent.

“Don’t you want to come with us, Strig?”

Strig’s eyes wandered over your shoulder, glancing at Cal and then to Cere and Greez. He took the deepest sigh his lungs could muster and gingerly took your hands into his.

“Spinner, my place is here; the same way your place is with them. Even for just a short time of meeting everyone, I can tell that you belong with them—especially with Cal. You’re so happy with him. Maybe the happiest I’ve ever seen. This kind of setting is no different from back in the Clone Wars,”

“But I can fight,”

“I never doubted that for a split second, [y/n]. But eventually, you’ll find your own battle that you’re sure to win. Do you understand that?”

You nodded sincerely.

“You know what? Whatever happens, I got your back… always.”

You threw yourself into his arms, in a burst of tears, this time it was you who was pooling tears on the shoulder of his shirt.

“You were never a great motivational speaker,” you dryly joked while choking back on your tears.

He chuckled, “Yeah, never was, eh?”

You planted a goodbye kiss on his cheek before pulling away, even though you hesitated to let go. Strig turned to Cal as the boy approached the two of you.

“Take care of her, will ya?”

“I will. She’s in good hands,”

“I know she is,” he turned to you again, bracing your arms and giving you a quick shake. “I’ll see you soon okay? I won’t go anywhere anytime soon.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Now run along, Spinner.”

With one last hug, you whisper in his ear, “I love you so much… Dad.”

Strig released a sigh, tightening his embrace around you one last time.

“Aww, you’re gonna make a mess outta me, Spinner,” he awkwardly chuckled, trying to conceal his crying but is failing epically. “Run along, now, kiddo.”

As you withdrew from his embrace, you felt his grip still tight around your arm but it was gentle. You take one step, a little secret tug to prompt him to let go—even though he’s finding it greatly difficult to do so—and allowed his fingers to loosen up a bit until your fingers have unhooked from one another.

Your other hand takes Cal’s, but you take one last look behind you.

All of a sudden, the memory of you as a child flashed before his eyes—it was the exact moment when you looked over your shoulder when he asked if you were okay. He saw the face of the scared little girl he picked up from the wake of destruction; he blinked once and now he’s looking at the grown girl smiling back at him.

It may not be him who helped you heal wholly, but he’s glad that he was a part of it—and that was more than enough—for he knows perfectly well that no one can take that away.

A single tear rolls down his cheek as he watched the Mantis take off, with you standing by the partially-open entry ramp and waving goodbye at him.

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

Note

Ever heard of the song Mrs Jackson can you make that into hizzie! Love you work in the hizzie oneshot series like seriously I live to read those oneshot's.

[a/n: Thank you so much, I still feel like I struggle with their dynamic a bit. I also can’t explain why this song made me think of this type of one-shot, but I for sure got this energy from it.]

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts

Title: Miss Saltzman

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman

Hope Mikaelson felt the cool edge of drywall push up against the wet of her back. Her legs ached, the apron digging into her stomach as she sat in the small corner of the business office. Different sticky notes in foreign writing littered the walls and a small fan hummed in the corner- but all it did was circulate hot air.

“This has officially been the worst day of my life.” She mumbled into her hands, tasting the salt of sweat against her lips.

The hotel was in the middle of its busiest season; with graduations and regular vacations to the large amusement park that sat thirty minutes from the coast. Every single room had been booked up to capacity and more than half of them called down to the kitchen with ridiculous requests that could be fulfilled with one easy trip to the grocery store.

Penelope worked an easy hand through her sweat-dampened hair. “You’re telling me. Room fifty-four keeps calling down for fresh strawberries because she saw another room with them, and you know Rick is too cheap for shit like that.”

“Rick is too cheap for everything.” Hope moved her hands and put her head against the wall behind her, letting the cool air hit her neck.

Ebony Creek sat at the end of a long city block packed with bakeries wafting with sweetness. There was a bookstore and a small local grocer. All of it was overshadowed by the large sandstone building with emerald awnings and fresh-cut roses.

The kitchen was located towards the back of the hotel, facing an alleyway where her coworkers would pull in heated breaths of nicotine. There was a cool breeze seeping in through the office, the door propped with a plastic bucket once used for large quantities of ice.

Three monotone rings echoed through the small space and Hope had to fight off a groan. Penelope sighed and grasped the phone from the hook. She listened silently for a moment, nodding as if the person on the other line could see her. “Yes ma’am, I’ll send her right up.”

There was a beat of silence after Penelope put the phone noisily back on the hook.

“Hope,”

“No”

“It’s room 237.”

Her breath caught, and it felt like lead in her throat. Hope had grown dreadful of the calls, and that very floor; but the guests there had a permanent stay in Ebony Creek. They paid a good sum of money to have keypads on the doors from the stairwell, to have a personal elevator that brought them to the fanciest rooms that were more like apartments. They rented month to month, and most of them nodded politely at the staff but never made use of them.

Most of them weren’t Elizabeth Saltzman.

She was a modern heiress with extreme taste when it came to extravagance. She enjoyed the post-modern art that hung on the walls of her hallway and deep gold crown moldings at the corners of her rented room.

Lizzie barely ordered anything from the kitchen; but with each phone call, she would request Hope. And each time Hope fixed her a vodka soda with barely any seltzer and bring that with her on a metal tray. Her hands would shake and the ice would clatter.

“Can’t refuse that,” Hope sounded out eventually, rubbing the sweat from her collarbone.

“No, I suppose not. Don’t take too long, alright? We can’t afford to be without you.”

Hope pulled herself to a standing position, not paying much mind to how her legs burned, or the good amount of wetness that built up behind her neck. She quietly mixed Lizzie her drink and pretended not to notice the cooks staring at her with curious eyes- despite knowing the weekly ritual by heart.

Hope set the crystal glass on a tray and walked through the double doors into the shocking coolness of the hallway. She could smell the chlorine of the indoor pool and hear the hum of the vending machines that were marked up in price when all you truly got in return were stale chips and out of date chocolate.

She got into the elevator that leads only to the second floor and found herself pulling out her hairpins with her free hand. The sweat had dried and her palm shook under the metal tray, the ice sounding like fairies that were robbed of their gold dust. All of this, she ignored too- all the way to room 237.

Hope schooled her shoulders, knocked three times (loud and sure of herself) before losing that nerve and stepping back like a timid child delivering cookies, or passing out pamphlets about the church of Christ.

Lizzie took her time answering the door, but when she did, Hope could swear she had to swallow her heart because the heiress would be able to hear her in a moment. She was dressed modestly in a nice blouse that cut too low and a pair of gray slacks. Hope knew from experience that the matching blazer would be slung against the back of one of the chairs in the room.

It was a rare occasion to see the woman smile, but each time the corner of her lip turned into something of a smirk, Hope’s legs would lose their feeling and her mind would run faster than any living creature could.

“Miss Saltzman, here’s your drink.” Hope balanced the tray and Lizzie took the glass as if it were a formality, and neither of them could fool one another, it was. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“You can come inside, let me grab a tip from my purse.”

The first time, nearly two summers ago, that Elizabeth Saltzman asked Hope to follow her into her room, she hesitated. The year before that she had delivered pizza’s and the golden rule was to always stay on the porch unless you wanted a knife in your back or a healthy dose of hoarders syndrome.

But it was a classy hotel, and there were cameras in nearly every hallway. Penelope had told her to always make sure the guest had everything they wanted; and if someone as powerful as Lizzie asked her to wait in the little area by the door in order to collect a tip, she would.

Hope tucked the metal tray under her arm and obliged.

Lizzie had the AC on and that seemed to do nothing to appease the intense burning across the skin of her cheeks. She felt the exhaustion of the day and the cool metal that pressed close to her side. More than anything, she felt the closed door against the skin of her back the second that they were locked away from the rest of the world.

A knee was between hers and the tray clattered to the carpet with a dull thud. Lizzie’s nails dug trails of acid across the back of her neck and their lips met with all exhaustion forgotten. Lizzie tasted like mint and bourbon.

“I had a rough day,” Hope said as the woman nipped slightly at her jawline, and then a little further down. “So if you can go a little easy on me-“

“I can have whoever wronged you fired on the spot.”

Hope scoffed; Lizzie wasn’t one for affection, not the ordinary kind and after a while, Hope realized that. She had fought hard to carve out a place in the city for herself and her brand. People found her brash and power-hungry, but her words were always calculated and both of them knew that it was a sign of how much she cared.

She found herself consumed by the woman in every aspect. How soft her movements were, how much she smelled of fresh-cut flowers, how she had just enough arousal built up inside of her to get her through the rest of her shift.

Lizzie led her to the small sofa that was a deep crimson and shuttered gold. She lifted Hope’s shirt above her head and took with it the scent of a kitchen, of freshly peeled garlic and sink water. She was being straddled and the coolness of the couch mingled with the heat of her skin.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Lizzie growled, soft like the purr of a motor, before unhooking Hope’s bra and throwing it to the corner of the room with her t-shirt. “It’s a shame that you’re trapped in that hot kitchen all day long. Aren’t you just begging for some kind of release?”

Hope was, in fact, close to biting her tongue to keep herself from whimpering requests. She writhed under Lizzie’s touch and let out a small gasp when the woman ran her tongue over her nipple delicately. She liked to tease, and part of Hope didn’t have the patience but knew never to rush her.

Lizzie palmed Hope’s other breast and kissed lightly down her stomach until she reached the waistband of her pants. Each movement felt like a new form of lava as energy pulsed through her. She lifted her legs, allowing the girl to pull her jeans down to her knees, taking her underwear with it.

Lizzie was attentive and tender, biting ever so slightly at Hope’s thighs as a wetness slowly formed between them. She moaned at the sensation, at the anticipation that overwhelmed her in every sense of nature.

“For fuck's sake,” She mumbled, biting down on the edge of her arm. The walls were the only expense that Ebony Creek didn’t double down on. They were thin and every single staff member took bets on which room was seeing the most action- Hope always knew it was 237.

“What was that?”

Lizzie’s breath was scalding against her center, and Hope wanted nothing more than to push herself further down the couch for any type of contact. “Please, Miss. Saltzman.”

Her southern manners were something prided in food service, and the same expectation carried to encounters like this. They weren’t on a first-name basis. Hope was the help even though sometimes it felt like the other way around, depending on who did the pleasuring.

Even with her quickness, Lizzie was gentle. She moved her tongue against the length of Hope’s sex, soothing the innate energy, if only for a moment before she got to work. Hope found her nails digging into the red fabric, leaving little crescents in the cushions. Her other hand guided Lizzie evenly, fingers laced into blonde hair.

“Holy shit,” Hope purred, waves of satisfaction rippling through her as Lizzie latched onto her clit.

She suddenly forgot all about the stress in the kitchen; the way seven meals had been sent back, and how room fifty-four wanted fresh strawberries that still needed to be defrosted from the furthest reaches of the freezer. The only thing that mattered was the skill of Lizzie’s tongue and the vodka soda that chilled on the table by the door.

Hope suddenly tensed, that build-up of pressure inside of her was releasing. She felt the tremors move through her body and bit down on the side of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Despite herself, she was successful in muffling the sounds of her own satisfaction.

Lizzie pulled away, clearly impressed with herself. A dumb and prideful smile sparkled against her lips, even as they met with Hope’s once more. Her palm was on Hopes collarbone, both of them could feel the strength of her heartbeat as it pounded close to her ribcage.

Hope could taste herself, masked with vanilla, on Lizzie’s lips.

“You always tip me the most,” Hope panted

“You work hard.” Lizzie frowned and then focused her stare back on Hope’s, those deep indigo eyes. “You deserve it.”

#lizzie saltzman #hope mikaelson #Hope x Lizzie #lizzie x hope #Hizzie fanfiction #hizzie #legacies fanfic #request

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venomade · 6 years

Text

Ruse

This is a secret santa gift for @takasshishirhoegane over at the @allurancexchange! I apologize for being late - this fic kind of got out of hand, but I really hope you like this confession AU and Lance realizing just how much he adores our beloved princess!

Pairing: Allura/Lance

Summary: Allura's complete joy at meeting Matt sent Lance down a spiral he had been unwilling to explore. Feelings and wants he had suppressed because he had been afraid, too weak to realize the extent of his affection. [Allura/Lance - High School AU]

Read on AO3 HERE

"You know, Allura," Lance propped his elbows onto his desk and leaned towards Allura. He rested his chin on top of his intertwined fingers, relaxing his face until he felt every line vanish. Finally, his lips drew into a lazy smile, and he hoped his tone coaxed a casual, dreamy atmosphere between him and the girl across the aisle. "Have I ever told you your hair is the perfect length to cosplay Princess Leia?"

"Yes, Lance - you have," Allura replied, her eyes still glued to the study guide in front of her. "And if you remember what Ms. Haggar said at the start of class, we've turned our desks towards one another to prepare for the test this Friday. Not to setup your next disastrous pickup line."

"Okay, okay - but hear me out!" Lance lowered his head and wagged his hands in defeat. The atmosphere wasn't salvageable, but maybe he could redeem himself through a hearty chuckle. Or a broad smile. Or hell, even a glance in his direction with the explicit purpose to roll her eyes. He'd take anything at this point. The last three years had taught him to cherish every small victory.

He cleared his throat and, despite Allura's gaze pointedly on her assignment, Lance winked and drawled. "Are you Princess Leia? Because this Han doesn't want to fly Solo tonight."

Allura's eyes stopped skimming the study guide, and her grip on the yellow pencil nested between her fingers tightened. Lance held his breath, afraid he might have overstepped their established, yet unspoken boundaries. Allura didn't mind his emphatic (her words, definitely not his) flirting, so long as he held back when Allura had important matters to attend to. This test was worth thirty percent of their grade, and Allura already had a hard enough time studying in-between varsity volleyball and her part-time job at the smoothie joint down the street. Not that Lance was worried she'd fail - AP chemistry was part of her intellectual domain. Still, maybe she was on edge: the volleyball team did lose to their rivals from the city over, and her father had another month to go on his business trip.

Maybe you should try being her friend, Hunk had told him. I'm sure she'd appreciate it more.

But I am her friend! Lance had retorted, even as guilt shot down his spine. I'm not really flirting with her - it's just for fun! She's cute, I'm cute - and anyway, it's a healthy distraction. It totally lifts her moods most days. I can tell; I look at her face a lot.

Lance could tell by the way Hunk's chin jutted out and his eyes narrowed that he didn't believe him, but his best friend had shrugged a moment later, and continued to walk to their English class. Whatever you say, Lance.

After a few more stagnant moments passed, Allura lifted her head and caught Lance's stare, eyes vacant and mouth closed. Lance braced himself for the inevitable scolding that could possibly lead to a further scolding from their abrasive teacher, but it never came. Instead, Allura deadpanned. "That was one of your more impressive ones, Lance. To compare yourself to Han Solo is quite a feat."

"O-Oh? You think so?" Lance asked, hopeful. He cupped his chin and grinned, ready to continue the conversation, "Well, I have a bunch more. If you play along as Leia, we can -"

"I hope you plan to find a fascist empire to overthrow soon. Oh, and of course - you'll have to find a Jedi to create an unnecessary, melodramatic love triangle," Allura interrupted, turning her gaze back to her study guide. "I'm afraid it's the only way we can date now."

Lance's face fell, an unintelligible "huh" escaping from his mouth as the pair to the right of them snickered at Allura's comeback. Lance whipped his head around and shot both of them a glare, though he knew that wouldn't stop these particular cretins. They were his best friends, after all. "Yeah, yeah - laugh it up. Shouldn't you be studying, pigeon brains?"

"Wow, real original," the girl beside Allura rolled her eyes and adjusted her glasses before continuing. "Gotta hand it to Allura: she got you good."

"And Pidge and I are studying, Lance," Hunk frowned. "It's not our fault if you're right next to us, talking Allura's ear off with all the pickup lines you found from the -"

"Okay, okay. You can definitely stop talking now," Lance growled, elbowing Hunk's bicep. He ignored his best friend's yelp and glanced at Allura, completely engulfed by her studies. Time to admit defeat and save the rest of his material for another day. "And fine, you all can have your way. I'll shut my trap and focus on...whatever chemical equilibrium is."

"Blessed be this day," Pidge sighed, smirking as Lance sucked in a breath. He resisted the urge to fire back, and instead bent down to unzip his backpack and attempt to find his crumpled study guide. As he reached into his front pocket, he heard Allura cough and shuffle her papers. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Allura cover the bottom-half of her face with her left hand. That wasn't unusual for her - often, during tests or finals, she'd cover her mouth to quiet her thoughtful mumbles. Lance might have thought the same now, and yet...

Her eyes were crinkled, amusement flickering across their vibrant blues. Allura was smiling.

And doing a poor job of hiding it, Lance thought, doing his best to suppress a smile of his own. He'd done it: Allura was a little less stressed, and he had a little bit of fun. It was perfect. He wouldn't want their relationship any other way.

"Or so you think," Hunk said as he and Lance waited in the nacho line together. Lunch had to be Lance's favorite period of the day. He could spend time with all his friends without having to listen to a teacher prattle on about something he didn't care about. Well, except English. Most of the books they read were a little stale, but they were ripe with prime romantic material to lavish onto Allura when her stare was distant and her body slumped against her chair.

But, that was besides the point. While he loved lunch, he did not love Hunk bringing up this topic, quite possibly for the seventh time that month. "Yeah, yeah. Heard the whole spill, big man. You ever gonna stop nagging me about this?"

Hunk smirked, "Maybe. If you ever decide to admit you actually like Allura."

"I do like Allura!" Lance exclaimed and pivoted until he was front of Hunk, fists at his sides and lips pursed. "What's not to like? She's smart, funny, kind, generous - and pretty."

"Okay then," Hunk acknowledged, nodding. "Then why don't you ask her out on a date? You've been her friend since we met as freshmen. The worst she could do is say no - I doubt it would harm your relationship."

"Ugh, Hunk - you don't get it," Lance sighed, crossing his arms against his chest. "I do like Allura, but it's not serious. I mean, this is high school. You're supposed to flirt with pretty girls, but there's no point to being tied down when there's so much of the world left to see. I gotta be available to ride the waves wherever they take me."

"Oh my god, where'd you learn that from? 90s' high school romcoms?" Hunk asked, incredulous. "Lance, I know you being completely clueless at times is a huge part of your charm, but take it from the guy who's known you since you were, like, five: you got it bad, man."

"And you know what? Your opinion is completely valid," Lance replied. He chuckled as Hunk groaned, slapping his palm against his forehead. It appeared that this particular round was over, and Lance turned back in time to grab a tray of chips.

Once the pair made it out of the line, they found their way to their usual table on the outskirts of the quad. Pidge and Allura were already waiting - Pidge had decided to stand in the short baked potato line while Allura had packed her lunch, a brown paper bag filled to the brim with fruit, granola, and nutrition bars. Allura had volleyball practice after school, and needed all the extra energy her lithe form required.

"Of course you two had to get nachos today," Pidge said as they approached. Her fingers drummed against the table and her foot tapped the grass beneath them, her nose crinkling in some form of exasperation.

"We always get nachos on Wednesday," Lance said, taking the seat next to Allura. "Is something on your mind, shorty?"

While Pidge would have usually fussed about another one of Lance's flippant pet names, the whole of her face was filled with a bright, wide smile instead. She looked to her three friends and threw a fist into the air. "My brother's coming back from his research trip in Sweden today!"

At the news, her friends burst into excited shouts, Hunk the first of them to say something coherent, "That's great, Pidge! It'll be nice to finally meet him after all the cool stories you've told us."

"Yeah, should be fun to learn why he skipped three grades and you only skipped two," Lance teased as his grin remained earnest. While it felt like Pidge had been a part of their little cohort since the start of high school, she had only recently moved into their school district last April. She'd been a straggly fourteen-year-old sophomore surrounded by teenagers two years her senior and four times as hormonal, using her lunch hour to read video game magazines in the library. It was a subtle stroke of luck that partnered her with Hunk for their final presentation in Spanish, and he used the opportunity to invite her to their weekly outings to their favorite cafe. For all his wisecracks, Lance respected Pidge's intellect and sarcasm, as well as her hunger for challenging RPGs. He especially admired her unabashed love for her brother. Coming from a large family himself, he appreciated her stories of sibling misadventures far more than he let on.

"You're lucky I'm on the other side of the table," Pidge pointed a finger in his direction, but the threat was empty. The girl was on cloud nine; she wasn't drifting back into reality any time soon.

"Yes, Pidge - I'm truly happy for you," Allura finally said, her smile polite and friendly. Pidge's smile grew wider, but Lance darted his eyes towards Allura, noticing the way she glanced at the bracelets around her wrists. They had been presents from her father before his trip - ten carat gold with pink and blue diamonds encrusted into their bands. Her smile faded, and she looked towards her food as Hunk and Pidge excitedly chatted on the other side of the table, lost in conversation about Matt's arrival. Lance frowned, and wondered if Allura was in the mood for a few flirtatious compliments. Maybe something about her hair? No, he'd already done that this morning.

Oh, her eyes - that's always a crowd-pleaser! Lance thought as he smoothed out his hair and prepared himself. He had to make sure he looked suave enough to garner a reaction from Allura. Maybe her face would soften, her eyes appreciative and shoulders relaxed. That was one of his favorite reactions by far.

So lost in his preparation, Lance didn't notice a tall young man approaching the table. It wasn't until Allura looked up and paused, lips parted and face curious, that Lance caught sight of the stranger. Chestnut blonde hair grew passed his shoulders, and his hazel eyes sparkled, matched by a smile so wide it was probably bordering on painful. Lance was about to ask why the man was creeping on his friends with an enthusiasm that could rival a ringmaster when said man raised a finger to his lips and used his other hand to point at Pidge. Lance crooked his brows, confused, when Allura's face brightened and she beamed, her face completely void of any wistful quality. Another second, and then -

"Oh my god!" Lance gasped, immediately clasping his hands to his mouth as Pidge and Hunk halted their conversation, their stares curious.

"What is it, Lance?" Hunk asked. "You forget about the water polo's bake sale after school? I told you I have you covered - baked up a mean batch of snickerdoodles last night!"

"Yeah, quit spazzing out over there. The dramatic overexertion of your face tissue may produce premature wrinkles," Pidge added, turning to Allura. "There's gotta be some kind of study on that, right Allura?"

"Actually, it has nothing to do with how many times one smiles or scowls," the man interjected, his form just a few feet away from the table. Pidge whipped around, her eyes wide and her face frozen. "But rather, it's all about the skin's diminishing elasticity. So, the older you get, the more likely a smile will affect the grooves on your face and create a wrinkle."

Pidge screeched, her voice uncharacteristically high, empty of its usual sardonic tone. "Matt! Oh my gosh, Matt! You're here, you're really here!"

The younger girl lifted herself off the table and threw her body into her brother, her small frame easily engulfed by his tall, lithe form. Matt wrapped his arms around his sister and laughed along with her, sheer delight visible in his face and loose posture. When Pidge pulled away, Lance was surprised from the tears that streaked her cheeks. He knew she loved her brother, but it wasn't until now that he understood the weight of her affection. She chuckled once more, and wiped the tears from underneath her glasses. "I missed you so much, Matt. I thought you wouldn't be home until dinner."

"Well, dad pulled a few strings, and my layover was reduced from twelve hours to two," Matt grinned down at his sister, his eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "And I missed you too, Pi - or, I mean! Katie - of course I mean Katie! Don't want to embarrass you in front of your super cool friends."

"Oh?" Pidge looked back to the table, as if she'd forgotten her three companions were witnesses to their reunion. "Oh! It's fine, Matt. I go by Pidge with my friends here! Let me introduce you."

Pidge cleared her throat and stepped away from her brother, masking her excitement with faux poise. She bowed to the table and lifted her arms towards her brother, as if presenting a suitor to a prospective bride, "Gentlemen. Fair lady. This is Matthew Holt, eldest son of the prestigious Holt family. He's a senior at Garrison University, and has recently come back from his nine month research trip in Sweden studying astrophysics."

"Wow, impressive!" Hunk exclaimed, laying on the charisma a little too thick for Lance's liking. As if they hadn't heard about this trip and Matt's specialty a hundred times in the past summer alone. "It's really nice to meet you, Matt. The name's -"

"No, no! Let me do it!" Pidge jumped in front of Hunk and shook her head, causing their friend to jump back at her sudden interjection. Pidge looked back to Matt and gestured to Hunk, clasping her fingers onto his mustard yellow shirt. "This is Hunk, the first friend I made here! He likes astrophysics like we do, and he's a mechanical genius! He's also a really great chef, and bakes the best triple chocolate chip cookies this side of the Pacific Ocean."

"Ahh, Pidge - I'm blushing, I'm actually blushing," Hunk pressed his hands to his face in an attempt to hide the red in his cheeks, but it was to no avail. The table laughed as Hunk batted Pidge away from him and she moved over to Lance's side of the table.

"Hey, it's true," Pidge shrugged. She glanced at Lance before plastering a smirk to her face, a mischievous glint wafting over her eyes. "This is Lance. He's on the varsity water polo team, and generally spends his time goofing off and trying to woo any teenage girl that will look in his general direction."

"Well, at least you got my name right," Lance huffed, knowing Pidge would take this opportunity to take a stab at his ego. Regardless, he offered Matt a cheerful smile and waved. "It's great to meet ya, Matt! I also, you know, have hobbies outside of lazing around the couch, but your sister always seems to forget what those are. Sad, really - I guess she just doesn't know me that well."

Before Pidge could retort and rip Lance's hands away from wiping mock tears from his face, Matt burst into a genuine laugh and crossed his arms, at ease with his sister's group of friends. "I'm sure you do. My sister just loves to tease, it's part of her charm! It's really nice to meet both of you. Pidge is so lucky to have you. And..."

Matt turned his body towards the last member of their group, his eyes widening as he took in her rich, dark brown skin and long, luscious white hair. Wonder danced across his stare, mouth open and breath stilled. Lance scoffed, unperturbed by Matt's immediate infatuation. Dozens of boys felt that way about Allura - why wouldn't they, she was gorgeous! But Allura never accepted any of their invitations to fancy restaurants or late night movie showings. Not only did she not have the time with her schedule, but she also wasn't interested. When Allura declined their dates, her back stood straight and her smile never reached the corners of her eyes. She mustered enough grace to let each and every potential suitor down with kind lies. It had happened before and it was about to happen -

"Wow, you must be Allura, right?" Matt asked as he walked up to her, extending his hand. "Pidge has mentioned you before. Says you really know your way around the periodic table."

"Oh, has she?" Allura replied, the lilt in her voice growing softer, bashful. She took his hand and shook it, her grip appearing firm. "Well, chemistry is one of my passions. We actually have a test this Friday, and I feel dreadfully unprepared."

"I'm sure you'll do fine - you all will," Matt smiled. "But you know, Pidge didn't mention just how pretty you were. Your hair especially - it's so full and wavy! What do you do to it to make it look so soft and shiny?"

Okay, now Matt had gone too far. Lance was sure of it. Allura was going to revert to her standard-issue politeness, thank Matt for his compliment, and then turn the conversation to the rest of the group. He'd seen this scene play out too many times it felt like he was watching a movie.

But then Allura giggled - giggled as if Matt had said something truly worth giggling about (hair! he was talking about her hair!) She ducked her head into her shoulder, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. Her smile was shy but earnest, and Lance felt his chest chill despite the warm sunlight. "Thank you, Matt. I appreciate your compliments. And I guess I was just born lucky - all I use is shampoo and conditioner three times a week."

"That's amazing - wish my hair was that strong!" Matt chuckled, and gasped as he caught sight of Allura's bracelets. "Those bracelets - they're exquisite! Are the diamonds real?"

"Oh yes, they are! Thank you for noticing," Allura stared at her wrists, the smile soon fading from her face. While Lance didn't want to rely on Allura's pain to sour the conversation, he relished in the way Matt paused at her shifted mood and lifted his hand in front of his chest, unsure how to continue. "My father gave them to me, for my birthday last year."

"That's...wonderful," Matt looked to his sister for guidance, and Lance frowned as Pidge encouraged him. She and Hunk were to the side, motioning him to continue. Did - were Pidge and Hunk okay with this? Did they want Allura to like Matt? "He must really love you, with a gift like that."

"I don't doubt it," Allura folded her hands into her lap, the bracelets clacking together. "He's been away for sometime however, and I miss him terribly. It's why I'm so happy that you're here with Pidge. I know what it means to miss your family."

Matt's lips drew in a soft smile, and he radiated so much warmth Lance begrudgingly admitted it could rival the sun. "Well, I know that when you see your father again, you're going to hold him just as tightly as Pidge held me. There's no greater feeling than reuniting with loved ones. I promise."

"Your words have been so kind, Matt. Pidge is so lucky to have a sister like you," Allura thanked the man in front of her, her eyes shining. Not with tears, but with newly-acquired admiration. For a man she had just met.

For someone who could sweep her off her feet.

"Oh man, Matt - there's so much more I can tell you about Allura!" Pidge ran up to the pair and looped an arm through Matt's, ecstatic that her brother was getting along with her friends famously. Didn't Pidge see what was happening? Matt was making moves on Allura! That was his -

I do like Allura! But it's not serious.

His words from earlier poured into his thoughts, and regret washed over his shoulders. His throat grew tight and hot as Pidge prattled on about Allura's record spikes and her volunteer work at the pet shelter. He watched Matt continue to pile compliments onto Allura, and the girl beside him continued to drink them all in. As if she had never heard Lance utter similar words, as if everything he had done had never and would never be enough.

"You did this to yourself, you know," Hunk said, his voice laced with an unspoken 'I told you so' that further irritated Lance.

Lance ignored his friend as he placed the snickerdoodle cookies on top of the table. Their bake sale was at the cafe across from the school, students crammed into every booth and table. A few of his teammates were off to the side, talking about a party their captain was setting up for the weekend, but Lance was in no mood to join in any possible gossip. As their scorekeeper, Hunk participated in team activities, and while Lance enjoyed having his best friend around most of the time, having him around after school on this particular day prevented him from sulking in a corner and sipping cocoa.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lance finally said, his eyes cast down and glued to the brownies his teammate, Daniel had brought.

"Ugh, do not do this to me right now, Lance," Hunk groaned, pushing the whole of his body into Lance's vision. He scowled, his stare skirting towards hostile. "You're only going to have yourself to blame if you keep this up."

"Yeah, what am I keeping up?" Lance turned his attention to his friend, shoving his balled fists into his jacket pockets.

"This whole ruse that you're just playing with Allura," Hunk said, exasperated. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, apparently gathering his thoughts. "Look, Lance, as your best friend: just think about it. What Allura means to you. I'm just, you know, a little sick of seeing you dance around your feelings."

"Well, as your best friend, you should trust me to tell you the truth," Lance shot back, winding his arms closer to his form, watching as students walked by their baked goods with plastic cups and tacky smiles. "And I've already told you: it's just for fun. None of it is real."

It took a few moments for Hunk to respond. Lance noticed him glance down the street, where Allura's part-time job was located. "And...if Allura started dating someone - like, someone she likes, someone she thinks it's cute and cool - you would be alright with that?"

"Yeah," was Lance's direct reply. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hunk dropped the conversation after that, focusing his energy on the prospective buyers. And, for the next week or so, he didn't pester Lance about his feelings.

He didn't have to.

Allura's complete joy at meeting Matt sent Lance down a spiral he had been unwilling to explore. Feelings and wants he had suppressed because he had been afraid, too weak to realize the extent of his affection. It had all been a ruse, and Hunk knew it. Hell, maybe Allura knew it, too. His harmless flirting was just a way to prevent him from rejection, from being like all the other boys Allura had declined. He had thought he was better than them: Allura let him compliment her eyes, call her all sorts of cutesy pet names as they studied or went window shopping. In Lance's teenage mind, that had to count for something. There was no harm to any of it - Allura would crack a smile now and then, but nothing else ever came from his advances. And if there was no harm, there was no risk. And if there was no risk, there was no reward.

Now, there was a boy - an older, more sophisticated, more traveled boy - that had made his attraction instantaneously known and his words count. No flimsy, childish declarations of love, no quasi-inappropriate pickup lines. He had helped Allura, sympathized with her situation and talked to her. When was the last time Lance had talked to Allura without a flirtatious comment settling at the back of his throat, waiting for the right opportunity? It had been a while - maybe since her father had left.

"And that was almost five months ago," Lance whispered to himself, body underneath his bedsheets and gaze locked onto the ceiling. Maybe there was no coming back from this - if he told Allura how he felt - how he really felt now, would she listen? Would she reject him in favor of Matt? Or would she reject him for himself alone: someone too loud, too flippant, and too closed-off to his true feelings to pursue a romance with?

He had never taken his relationship with Allura seriously; and in turn, she hadn't either. He knew when she was about to cry, knew when she was in a mood for a chocolate milkshake, and knew when her mouth was about to spill out delightful, genuine laughter. But he had never acted on his impulses to console her or relish in her joy. Instead, he had shielded himself from her feelings, and used pretty, vacant words to distract himself from the painful, lovelorn stirs in his heart.

Lance was in deep, and he wasn't sure if he could ever recover from the damage.

----

It had been over a week since Lance had spoken more than five words to Allura. And frankly, it was starting to grate at her.

"I know I didn't do anything wrong, so it must have been something he did," Allura theorized, her arms crossed and eyes absently glancing over the cookie selection in the cafeteria's main food line. "He did something and he's trying to find a way to fix it before I find out what it is."

"I'm pretty sure if he did do something, you would have found out by now, princess," Pidge replied as she stacked her tray with potato wedges. "Lance is terrible at covering his tracks."

Allura hummed in agreement. Before she continued the conversation, she snagged a double chocolate chip cookie from the top basket, deciding she could indulge herself. "Maybe you're right. Still, that leaves me completely befuddled - Lance hasn't complimented me since last Wednesday, and the last thing he asked me was if I had a pencil in our Trigonometry class."

Pidge snorted, quickly putting a hand between herself and Allura once she noticed her sour expression. "I'm not laughing at your dilemma, I promise. Just - befuddled, Allura? Really?"

"What?" Allura quirked a brow. "It's a fine word."

"Okay, okay. Fair, I guess," Pidge shrugged. "But back to you and Lancey Lance - maybe, I don't know, talk to him?"

"Isn't how this whole conversation started? Because I thought I made it abundantly clear that he's not talking to me," Allura countered.

"No, no - what I'm saying is actually talk to him. I know Lance is the instigator of most of your conversations, but maybe something's up, and he doesn't know how to communicate it to you. I mean, that's what friends do, right? Talk to each other when there's a problem?"

"Well, we are friends," Allura admitted. Still, their friendship had felt one-sided in the last few months. Allura had grown comfortable with their unspoken arrangement: Lance would flirt, and depending on the timing and the quality of whatever lines Lance slipped to her, Allura would reciprocate. She knew Lance cared about her, that he respected her time and appreciated her friendship. And yet, she felt as if there was something missing between them. Something that had kept Allura from enjoying Lance's compliments wholeheartedly. "But he's usually the one that starts our conversations."

"Okay then," Pidge said as she made her way to the cashier. "Maybe it's your turn."

Maybe it is, Allura reflected. Perhaps this was a conversation long overdue. Something that should have been discussed when her father had left the country, and Lance had stared at her like the whole world could be found within her chest.

She caught Lance outside of his class after sixth period, her heart stammering as she called out to him and his head shifted to meet her gaze. His eyes had widened and he clenched his backpack straps, but he strutted towards Allura nonetheless. Allura motioned for him to follow her, and they walked in silence, the tension thick between them. Allura tucked her hair behind her ears, nervous and excited all at once. Had tension ever wedged itself between them before? Their relationship was nonchalant, sweet, harmless. Was this tension supposed to make Allura's heart feel like it was about to burst? Was this tension, this thick wave of anticipation, supposed to shudder her shoulders and dry her throat?

I guess...I'm about to find out.

Allura finally paused near the gates of the tennis courts. Tennis practice didn't start up until winter, so the courts were essentially empty during the fall semester. It was the perfect place to have this conversation with Lance. Well, as perfect as it could get. They were still on the high school grounds, and she was sure the cross country team would be out to start their laps around the soccer fields soon. A mutual friend of theirs would be leading said team, and she would hate for any sort of argument to be overheard.

Lance stopped a few feet behind her, his posture straight but his body appeared defeated, tired. Had he been sleeping, eating right? Allura did her best to put her anxieties about their relationship aside, and began the conversation as Pidge had suggested, "Lance...you've been distant recently, and...and I was just wondering if everything's okay. Did something happen with your family? Or water polo?"

Or with me? Allura thought, her last question unasked. She was too afraid of the feelings that such a question could charge, feelings Allura was too ill-prepared to handle.

"No," was Lance's short reply. Before Allura could press him further however, he elaborated, stare unwilling or unable to meet hers. "Everything's fine at my house and, you know, water polo's water polo. Bunch of attractive assholes with egos like Adonis."

Allura chuckled, unable to help herself. Lance was funny - she would always adore that about him. "I see. That's good to know. I'm glad everything's okay. But..."

She trailed, and clasped her hands together, squeezing her fingers. Her bracelets clacked, and she bit her lip, remembering the last time she had felt vulnerable around Lance. When her perspective of him had shifted, and she had done everything to keep her feelings at bay. Lance wasn't supposed to make her breathless, wasn't supposed to warm her chest and set her soul alight. But he did, and she had refused to deal with her feelings in turn. Lance was a flirt - and he was her friend. It was a disastrous combination, but Allura couldn't avoid the situation any longer. Lance deserved to know the truth.

"Then...did I do something wrong, Lance?" Allura asked, her voice almost a whisper. It pained her to admit, to think she had harmed her friend in some way. Perhaps she hadn't been paying attention - perhaps he had found someone else to tease him back, who he liked more. The thought chilled her veins, but it could not be helped. If Lance didn't want her - if he had never wanted her and it had all been a game - she would accept it. She had to.

Lance tore his gaze from the ground, his eyes wide and mouth open. As if he were horrified by Allura's words.By the very notion. "No - no, Allura! Of course not - you didn't do anything wrong! You never do anything wrong. I - this is all on me, I promise. You didn't do anything."

Relieved, Allura took a step forward, her hands close enough to grab onto Lance's wrist. She hesitated still, this untested territory scaring her, causing her to doubt her intentions. "Okay, that's good. Yet, that doesn't explain why...well, something's going on then, right? Between us? You don't talk to me in class, you don't flirt with me at lunch. Something must have happened."

Lance fidgeted under Allura's stare, her eyes never leaving his face. It was hardly a burden, however: Lance was quite pleasing to look at. "Something...something did happen Allura. And I've spent the last week trying to think of what to do, and I've kind of been ignoring you in the process because I'm not sure how I should to talk to you or what to say without sounding..."

He tapered off and frowned. Allura could notice the bags underneath his eyes from this distance, along with his chapped lips and unshaven chin. Stars, what could be bothering him this much that he'd forget to shave? Emboldened (and a tad impatient), Allura grasped the ends of his fingers, her thumb grazing the back of his cool hand. "Sounding what, Lance?"

Lance drew in a breath. "Fake."

"Fake? Why would that be?" Allura encouraged him to continue, pleased that he had yet to pull his hand away.

"Because nothing I do is real with you, Allura," Lance admitted, his words stilling her breath and her heart slamming into the back of her throat. "Or at least, it wasn't supposed to be. I've always flirted with you just because I could, because you let me. But it wasn't supposed to mean anything."

"It wasn't...supposed to..." Allura's words trailed, her stomach squirming. If it wasn't supposed to mean anything, did that mean...

Sudden resolved filled Lance's face, and he took Allura's other free hand into his. He intertwined their fingers together, and while his eyes lacked a smile, they radiated heat, reminding Allura of warm ocean waves. "I like you, Allura, and I don't want to play pretend anymore."

His words encapsulated Allura, filling her with a giddiness she had yet to experience before. Her chest was light, her knees wobbled. Her heart stopped. Was this how her body responded to declarations of affection? It was pleasant: she could get used to it.

But before she could reciprocate his affections, before she could admit that she wad done playing pretend, Lance turned his head away, their hands still bound together. "I mean, that is - if you want to! If you like someone else, like Matt or that idiot runner, then it's totally -"

"Wait, Matt?" Allura interrupted, perplexed. "What does Matt have to do with any of this?"

Lance blinked and met Allura's skeptical stare, tilting his head to match her confusion. "I thought...weren't you - okay, how would you say it - taken by him last week? And didn't you two exchange numbers?"

"Yes, we did. But that doesn't mean I like him," Allura replied, frustration bobbing up and down her throat. Her romantic moment was absolutely ruined, and it was all thanks to Pidge's older brother. "He was nice and admittedly cute, but I've liked you for months. My affection won't be swayed so easily."

"Months?" Lance's voice cracked and he lifted their hands up to their chests, leaning his body closer to Allura's. "You've liked me for months and didn't say anything?"

"I'm sure you've liked me longer than that, and I didn't see you doing anything about it," Allura challenged. This was fun, this back-and-forth that flushed her skin and warmed that pit of her stomach. Now, they felt like partners, neither one hiding behind a stack of books or a debonair smile. Perhaps she should air out her feelings more often, instead of relying on Lance to pick up on her moods.

"Yeah, but - you know me!" Lance exclaimed, as if that explained everything. "I hide my feelings to protect myself from rejection - I'm insecure! You could have just -"

It was quick, but Allura pressed her lips onto Lance's cheek, and savored the way Lance's voice evaporated under her touch, his breath caught in his chest. She giggled as his cheeks flushed, and she squeezed her fingers against his. If any doubts had lingered, they assuredly had just vanished. "That's in the past, darling. You can make it up to me by planning our first date."

Lance's lips drew into a slow smile, his body melting at the new endearment. "Darling...man, I could really get used to the sound of that."

And before Allura could respond (and possibly entice him with another kiss), they both heard someone shout from the other side of the field, thick black hair bobbing against their lean shoulders. "You guys finally got together? Congratulations!"

"Ha, ha - keep running, Keith! It's the only thing you're good at!" Lance shot back. He released his hold on one of Allura's hand and led her towards the high school's back exit, body at ease. "Let's get out of here, Allura."

"Of course," Allura nodded, more giggles sprouting from her lips. "My Han isn't flying solo tonight!"

---

"Keith just called," Pidge said as she snuggled into the sofa, bare feet perched atop the lacquered coffee table. "Operation Two Peas in a Pod was a success!"

"Dude, it worked?" Hunk's ears perked, "I can't believe it. Your brother was so chill about all of this, too. They're finally going to date!"

"Yep - I'm so glad Matt came back a few months early. Could you imagine what winter break would have been like?"

"Ugh," Hunk gagged. "You're lucky. You didn't have to see any of it."

Pidge chuckled. "That bad, huh?"

"Oh, my fair lady: they're dating now. You haven't heard bad yet."

#allurance #princess allura #allurancexchange #vld lance #venom writes #my fics #text post #voltron: legendary defender

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