tmr minho x reader (realized that I used no pronouns or gender descriptions for reader, so can be read with any gender in mind ^^)
word count: 9.9k lawwdd have mercy i got carried away here...
summary: You were proud to be a Medjack. If only a particular Glader didn't make it his mission to be your patient...
warnings: injuries (poor minho), blood, medical procedures (stitches), cleaning wounds, FLUSTERED MINHO HELLO, literally the whole glade ships it, loooots of banter because I live for ts, also lowk touch-starved minho… perchance..
a/n: i got so carried away with this omg.. longest fic ive ever written i think?? If you dont count finches since its multiple parts? Anyways, thank you @gladii0lus for pitching me minho x medjack reader and flustered minho... ITS SO PEAKKKKK (A03 version here!)
The Med-hut was your sanctuary. It was dark and cool, a refuge from the blazing sun that otherwise shone brightly in the Glade. It was clean and sterilized, a necessity the boys had come to realize after one too many infections from dirty tools. Thankfully, that was long before you arrived in the Glade.
Being chosen as a Medjack was an exciting and nerve-wracking moment for you. On one hand, you were proud that Clint trusted in your abilities. You found that you were somewhat skilled in the medical realm; on your Greenie visit, many of the skills Clint taught you came naturally. You had even proved useful in patching up a Builder who had caught his arm on a saw blade that day. On the other hand, you were nervous. The life of an unlucky Glader could soon literally be in your hands.
It had been a few months since you arrived at the Glade, and you felt you had become quite adjusted to your new life. You didn’t mind the work and were happy to help the occasional Slicer who got himself hurt. Nothing monumental had happened yet, but you felt as if it loomed on the horizon. It tugged at your mind as you organized some bottles, relishing the cool shade of the Med-hut. It was dawn; the rest of the boys were still sleeping. You had gotten up early to clean the Med-hut from the previous day. Having taken an unusual number of patients at once, the place looked like a tornado had passed through it. Clint and Jeff would be grateful once they woke up.
Besides those two, the other Gladers were kind to you. They must appreciate the Medjacks’ work, and therefore went a bit easier on you as a Greenie. You could call many of them good friends by now. It was fun to spend time with Clint and Jeff while you worked, and you appreciated Newt and Frypan making appearances when you weren’t in the Med-hut. Occasionally, one of the two would drop by while you were on the clock just to converse with you. You enjoyed their company and happily talked with them for hours.
However, there was one Glader whom you had tried with all your power to avoid.
When you first saw him, you were positively starstruck. Gorgeous, tall, with a confident posture and a swoop of hair that you couldn’t take your eyes off of. He jogged past you and Newt on your first day, on his way to what you later learned was the Map room. He had grinned at you and waved, something that Newt noted was rare for him to do with newbies.
“He must like the look of ya,” Newt had said. That had led to lots of teasing from him after your face had gone bright red.
You stole glances at him after that and did your best to look cool in front of him at the bonfire.
You had seen him around the Glade lots, and you swore you caught him looking in your direction a few times. You were too nervous to approach him yourself, but your prayers were answered after your Greenie ceremony. Once you had acquainted yourself with the Med-hut, Minho had made his way in. You thought your heart would burst right out of your chest. That was until he opened his mouth.
You learned very quickly that his ego was bigger than his hair. He spent a while calling you a slew of names, mainly shank, and congratulating you on the job. His vocabulary was laden with Glader slang, and it made it hard for you to understand what on Earth he was talking about. He bragged a bit about his job and the title of Keeper, which you learned he took very seriously. He then begged you to treat a scrape he had gotten in the Maze that day. You were excited for an opportunity to be close to him and obliged. You put simple bandages around his little injury while he babbled on, mainly about himself. When you were finished, he grinned at you in a way that made your head woozy and jogged out of the Med-hut.
After that, he always made sure to show up to the Med-hut with even the tiniest injury, declaring that only you could patch him up. He would outright refuse Clint and Jeff’s help, claiming that he wanted to see a “real doctor”. You honestly didn’t mind his presence; it was just that he was so annoying about it. Why did he always need to be exactly where you were, all of the time?
There had been a few close calls with injured boys a couple of days later. You had to practically hold a Slicer’s arm together while Clint bandaged him up. Clint had taught you how to handle those types of injuries, but you had yet to put those skills to practice. You were almost out of bandages, and after that incident, you were fully out of stock. Clint essentially begged you to stop wasting the few supplies you had on Minho, so you regrettably made it a mission to avoid his requests. Unfortunately, that just made him more eager to stop by. The number of paper cuts you had to bandage for that boy, ridiculous.
You shook your head at the memories from the past months as you placed a bottle of acetone back on the shelf. You were reaching for another bottle of medicine when the door creaked open. You heard someone step inside as their heavy boots clunked against the floor.
“Helloooo Doc!” Minho’s unmistakable voice sounded from behind you.
You internally groaned and slowly turned to face him, raising your eyebrows. The very Glader that had just occupied your thoughts now stood by the doorway.
You gave him a little wave, “You’re up early. What’s wrong with you this time?”
Minho had his signature grin plastered to his face. “Dunno what you’re talking about. I’m a patient; aren’t you supposed to diagnose me?”
You gave him a blank stare for a moment, leaning against the shelf and crossing your arms. “My official diagnosis is: You’re fine. Go and eat some breakfast instead of buggin’ me.” You tried to be firm with him, but it came out as a milder annoyance.
Minho tried to look innocent, widening his eyes to give you that puppy dog look that always managed to tug at your chest. You would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive. His hair, which was always immaculate, sat slightly disheveled in the early light. That didn’t stop you from taking a good, long look at it and at the grinning face attached.
“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer, y’know.”
You groaned, out loud this time, and were about to kick him out before he moved forward. Minho took a few, purposefully uneven, steps into the Med-hut.
“I swear, there’s something wrong with my ankle. Must’ve slept on it wrong. Can you at least check?” There were those big eyes again. Something inside of your chest fluttered, but you quickly clamped it down.
You sighed, rolled your eyes, and motioned towards one of the cots that lined the wall.
“Sit, and roll your sock down for me.”
Minho grinned like a little kid and quickly made his way to the cot. His uneven gait was gone, and you smiled despite yourself.
“I thought there was something wrong with your ankle, shank.”
Minho immediately stumbled, favoring one leg. “Ah! It hurts sooo bad! Doc! Save me!”
You let out a stifled laugh as he sat down on the cot. He was bullshitting you; that was clear.
“Minho, come on. You’re fine. Why all the theatrics?”
He lay back against the raised pillow and looked at you with a goofy grin. “You’re no fun. Why can’t you just look at it? Something might be wrong! If I trip in the Maze and get murdered by a Griever, it’ll be your fault!” Minho liked to talk with his hands, and he was gesturing wildly. He mimed being eaten by a Griever while he looked up at you expectantly. You finally broke once he added sound effects.
You sighed, even louder this time, and dragged a small stool over. Minho’s smile got bigger, if that was even possible. You made your way over to his ‘injury’ and looked up at him. “Didn’t I tell you to roll down your sock? Lemme look at it.”
“Hasty, are we? At least take me out to dinner first.”
“Dude. If you don’t shut up, I swear to God.”
Minho laughed. It was a deep chuckle that had him going until there were a few tears in his eyes. While he was distracted, you pulled down his sock yourself. Upon inspection, you confirmed that everything was completely normal.
You looked up to find him staring at you. A smile played on your lips as you spoke, “Minho, really. You’re fine. Now get outta my hair, or else I'll get someone to throw you out!”
Minho nodded, playfully raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, Alright.”
You rolled up his sock for him, chuckling.
He didn’t make any move to leave, though. You looked back up to meet his eyes. He had been staring again. You felt like the breath had been sucked out of your lungs by the way he was looking at you. His gaze was gentle, and a small grin laced his lips.
“Hi,” he said, waving at you from his seat. He then moved his hands to the back of his head, leaning to lounge on the cot. As you studied him, you felt a warmth creep into your chest. This time, for some reason, you allowed it.
“You like lookin’ at me, don’t you?”
You stuttered, then scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. It was then that you noticed a small cut on his cheek. It was fresh, but not bleeding. Angry and red, it had clearly been irritated by how Minho had slept the night before. You furrowed your brows and stood, grabbing an adhesive bandage and Neosporin from the counter.
Minho’s face fell as you turned away. He brought his hands down to rest on either side of him and tilted his head at you. “Whatcha up to, Doc?”
You moved back to him, scooching your stool closer to his torso. He was propped up against the pillow and looked at you quizzically. You placed the bandage and the cream on the nightstand.
“You’ve got a little cut here.” You motioned to your face, pointing at your cheek, “I’ll bandage it for you.”
Minho absentmindedly mirrored your touch and hissed, making a face and pulling his hand away.
You lent forward to bandage his face before noticing a small issue. Your stool was too low for you to reach his face comfortably. That left only three viable options: Stand awkwardly and hunch over him, ask him to lie down, or sit on the edge of the cot. You were absolutely not going to embarrass yourself by snuggling up to him right now, and you felt like lying him down for a quick fix was overkill, so you decided to stand. You leaned over his face, pulling at the sides of the cut for a moment. You furrowed your brow. It was deeper than you thought. A bandage should be fine, though. You’d just have to clean it properly.
You stood back up to grab a rag and a bottle of water to clean the cut, and rubbed your back with a groan. That was not a comfortable position to hold. When you returned with the rag, something was different. Minho had shuffled over, leaving a bit more room on your side of the cot.
“Siddown. Don’t throw your back out for me just yet, Doc.” he winked, patting the spot beside him.
You swallowed. It was getting harder to ignore his comments, especially when they made your heart flutter like that.
You gingerly sat down on the edge of the cot. Your legs hung off of it, and you twisted to see his face.
Minho looked at you expectantly and turned his injured cheek towards you. “I don’t bite, I promise.”
You chuckled a bit at that, “Just slim it and lemme do my job, alright?”
Minho hummed in acknowledgement. You held the rag over the top of the bottle and emptied a bit of water onto it. It was better to clean these types of infections gently. You had learned that firsthand after you had tried to clean a similar injury with alcohol. That had not ended well, and Clint had given you an earful.
You reached up with the now wet rag and dabbed at his face. Minho jumped, jerking away from your hand.
“Ow! What the hell!” Minho whined.
“Hold still,” you said quietly. You grabbed the side of his head, forcing him to stay still as you quickly cleaned the dirt out of his cut. He immediately stopped his grumbling when you touched him. It took you a bit longer than expected; some of the dirt was particularly stubborn. You were surprised at how quiet he was. Normally, cleaning his wounds elicited a slew of complaints from him.
“How did this happen?” you questioned, giving him a momentary break from the rag.
Minho opened his mouth and fumbled around with his words for a moment. His breath was uneven, which puzzled you. “I dunno…”
“Try to be more careful, ok? This is deep; it could’ve gotten bad if you let it go on infected.” You shook your finger at him and returned to his face.
“Aw, you care about me?”
You sighed, smiling. He was spot on in his assumption, but you probably shouldn’t feed his ego any further. “Just doing my job. But seriously, be more careful.”
“Sure thing—ah!” You swiped the rag back over his injury, causing him to cry out in surprise. He took a shuddering breath in. “Shuck, that hurts,” he whispered.
After you finished, you patted his cheek one more time with the dry end of the towel. “Okay, all done. Not that bad, huh?”
“Nope. Wasn’t even worried.” his voice was strained, and you could see he had been white-knuckling the sheets.
You reached for the side table, grabbing the bandage and cream. Completely absorbed in your work, you felt Minho’s gaze on you. You removed your hand from his other cheek, where it had come to rest during the cleaning, and opened the tube of Neosporin. You gently spread some of it on the bandage and returned to his face.
You placed your hand on his cheek again, stabilizing his head, and placed the bandage on his injury. You smoothed over the edges, making sure it would stick. Pausing for a moment to make sure the bandage stayed on, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
You knew what Minho looked like, but it was a whole new experience to see him up close. He had a few freckles and moles dotting his skin that you hadn’t seen before. Something at the back of your mind longed to trace your fingers across them. A muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched now and again, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
It was just then that you noticed how red his cheeks were. You had seen it a bit when you were cleaning, but you thought it was just irritation from the rag. Now that you had a full view of his face, you realized it wasn’t just near his injury; rather, his entire head had taken on a pink sheen.
You furrowed your brow, worried he might have some kind of sudden-onset fever. “Are you ok? You’re really… red.”
“‘M fine.” He breathed out. He was unusually quiet. That only worried you more, and you brought your other hand up to his forehead. Minho flinched at your sudden touch and made a small noise at the back of his throat. You were too focused to notice; his temperature wasn’t hot, only warm. That calmed you a bit, perhaps whatever he had was mild.
“You’re warm. Do you want me to talk to Alby? Get you the day off? I think you might be sick.”
“No, really I’m–” You brushed your thumb across his cheek, and he stumbled over his words. His eyes were wide, and his breathing was unsteady again. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” You tilted your head at him. “You’re acting funny, Minho.” You were slightly taken aback at his demeanor. Where was the confident sass from a few moments ago?
“Yeah! Yeah, I'm sure.” Minho was looking everywhere but your face. “I should probably go. I’m already late.”
You nodded and leaned away from him. Reluctantly removing your hand from his cheek and standing, you gave him room to get up by himself. He stood and quickly brushed past you and to the door to the Med-hut.
He paused at the threshold, looking back at you.
You waved, “See you later.”
He nodded, but didn’t reply. His gaze roamed across your face for a moment. You could see the gears turning in his head. It looked like he was internally arguing with himself for a moment, until he stepped backward, into the Med-hut. He let the door swing shut as he walked right up to you.
Minho stared at you for a moment. You stared back, slightly confused. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he leaned forward.
You only now noticed how close he was to you. Practically chest to chest, Minho looked down at your face.
You looked up to meet his eyes when a flicker of movement entered your vision. He slowly brought a hand to the side of your face. His touch was faint, hardly there, as if he were afraid you’d react strongly. You felt like your insides exploded at the feeling. Everything was warm, senses heightened from his simple touch. What was he doing to you?
Minho brought his other hand to his lips and licked his thumb. He brought his thumb to your cheek, swiping at it.
“Got somethin’ on your face,” he said, voice low.
You let him clean your cheek. If there truly was something there, you didn’t care. Your whole body was on fire, and you could tell your face was just as red. His eyes were dark and inviting, and for some reason, you couldn’t pull your gaze away. You were rooted to the spot, hands at your sides.
Once he had gotten the supposed dirt off, his thumb retreated. Your heart was racing against your ribcage. His pupils were dilated, and he stared at you for another moment before opening his mouth. You leaned closer, and so did he.
His hand suddenly moved. You had almost forgotten that it was on your cheek if it weren’t for the heat it created in your face. Minho’s fingers splayed out, and he gently cupped your face. It made your heart lurch in your chest, and warmth spread to the tips of your fingers. You looked up at him and leaned into his touch. Something in his expression softened at that, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He took in a breath, as if to speak.
Only, he was then interrupted by a loud knock on the door behind you.
“Yo, Minho! You’re late, man.” It was Ben.
You both flinched. You immediately moved toward the door, Minho moving quicker. His hand stayed on your cheek for a moment before you pulled away. He looked slightly hurt at your reaction. He was still looking at you when you pulled the door open. Ben stood there, holding two running harnesses and two towels.
There was a moment when he just stared between the two of you. Your face still felt warm, and a glance confirmed that Minho felt equally awkward.
“Come on, dude. We gotta hit the showers quick if we wanna make it into the Maze on time.”
Minho nodded, running a hand through his hair and walking past you. Ben started leading him to the showers, and Minho followed, seeming reluctant. He glanced back at you a few times before fully committing to walking side by side with Ben.
—---------
You were deep in thought as you crossed the Glade. You were headed for the kitchen. It took you a few minutes to cool down after your interaction with Minho earlier. Your stomach grumbled, and you picked up your pace. Dew coated the grass of the lawn as you walked, the little droplets of water catching the sunlight.
That whole interaction had you seeing Minho in a different light. Every time he had nagged you or made you bandage his fingers, had that all been with a deeper connotation? Why was he freaking out so much when you were touching his face? Did he feel the same way this whole time? Shuck, it was making your head hurt as you looked across the Glade.
It was still early morning, one of the rare moments when the Glade was silent. Gone was the usual hustle and bustle, replaced by the gentle snores of sleeping boys.
The Glade smelled nice in the mornings, like grass and clean air. By the time the Gladers got going, there was a lingering stench of sweat at the more popular spots. It was a miracle to get these guys to wear deodorant. You were lucky to have express access to the stash, it being located in the Med-hut. Minho always somehow smelled nice, though, even after a run. Like campfire smoke and something musky, you thought. Were you really analyzing his smell now? You truly had lost your mind.
You passed by a group of sound-asleep Builders, their hands dangling out of their hammocks at odd angles. The runner’s hammocks were empty, and you could hear talking and laughter coming from the showers as you walked by them. The thought of Minho in the shower had your brain spiraling for a moment before you regained your focus. The only other sounds were your gentle footsteps on the dirt and the low clanging of pots and pans coming from somewhere ahead.
You ducked into the kitchen, eyes adjusting to the low lighting. You spotted Frypan, hard at work at his grill. He turned when he heard you, greeting you with a wide smile.
“Hey! Got your eggs comin’ up in a sec.” he turned back to the grill, turning over some bacon that sizzled when it met the metal surface. Frypan was always so jovial in the mornings. It seemed he truly loved his job. His food was so good that the Gladers often speculated that he must have been a chef in a previous life.
“How’d you sleep, Fry?” You, on the other hand, were tired. That extra early wake-up had not been kind to you. You stood in front of the counter, leaning on it casually. Since you were seemingly the only two in the kitchen so far, you looked at the door expectantly. Clint and Jeff, along with the other early risers, should be here soon.
“I slept great! If I tune out Zart’s snoring, it's actually kinda peaceful in my hammock.” Fry grabbed a plate, loading your favorite style of egg onto it along with bacon and some greens. He held it out to you, but pulled it back when you went to grab it. “How’d you sleep? Did you finally snuggle up with your little boyfriend, or ‘ya still leaving him out to dry?”
You groaned; Fry was such a gossip. “I slept alright.” You tried to reach for your plate to end this interaction, but Fry held it up higher. His eyebrows were raised, and he was grinning like a little kid. After that little interaction this morning, his words took on a deeper meaning. You could feel your ears getting redder by the minute as you relived Minho’s touch in your mind.
Just then, you heard footsteps in the doorway. Clint’s round face appeared in its frame, and you spotted Jeff walking behind him.
“What’s up, y’all?” Jeff greeted. Clint waved to you and Frypan, smiling.
“Nothing!” You grabbed your plate from Fry while he was busy waving back to Clint. You quickly made your way to a table, trying to hide your warm cheeks.
“No, not nothing…” Fry had an evil grin on his face. You sent him your best ‘shut up’ glare to no avail. “You just won't admit that the thought of Minho makes ya blush.”
“Oh, my god….” You put your head into your hands, shoveling eggs into your mouth in embarrassment.
Jeff and Clint chuckled, taking their own plates of food from Fry and joining you at the table. Jeff poked you in the side with a grin. “Minho? Really?”
“Aw, come on. Go easy,” Clint chided, taking a bite of his omelet. A beat passed, then he leaned forward, “But now that you mention it, he has been looking at you an awful lot lately, hasn’t he? Especially when you’re working on his injuries.”
You quickly looked up at that, “Wait, really?”
You could have sworn you caught him staring when you worked earlier. After this morning, the idea wasn’t foreign to you. He had been staring an awful lot when you were tending to his face, and when he was tending to yours. Maybe you weren’t crazy, and he actually liked you and— Wait. Clint was having a hard time controlling his smile, and you heard Jeff stifle a giggle from next to you. You shook your head, realizing what they just did to you. “Wait, no. I don’t actually care, I—”
“Oh, you’re so into him, aren’t you?” Jeff was fully laughing now and slapped your back.
“No! I swear, I’m not!” Your whole body was warm again. This time, it didn’t feel as good as it had when Minho touched your cheek. “You guys suck! All of you!” You directed that at Fry, who just raised his hands in mock innocence.
“It’s alright, Greenie. Minho is dashing, daring, and bloody charming. It’s completely understandable.” Newt was suddenly by your side, dropping down on the bench next to you. When he came in, you had no idea. He was another early riser, but you hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen. He threw an arm around your shoulder playfully, “Don't think we haven't all noticed how many times he visits the Med-hut for you and only you.”
“How long have you been eavesdropping?” you sighed, picking at your food.
“Long enough to confirm my and everyone’s suspicions. So, when’s the wedding?” Newt leaned back in his chair, looking smug.
“We aren’t even a thing! Why is everyone so invested in my love life?” You were exasperated and threw your hands in the air as you spoke. Minho had gone from your least favorite customer, whom you had a little crush on, to a boy who made your stomach feel really weird in a matter of hours. This was extremely poorly timed.
“Not like there’s much else to do here,” Newt replied, “‘Sides, it's wildly entertaining to watch. You’re about as red as a tomato right now.”
You shoved down the rest of your food, standing to leave and save yourself from this conversation, “Okay! I’m gonna go to the Med-hut. I think the medicine bottles need more organization.”
“Aw, what?” a new voice spoke from the doorway. Minho walked in, tossing his running harness over his shoulder. “Did I just miss ya? Damn. I guess I’ll see you at dinner, then. ”
The entire morning’s events ran through your mind in a second, and you found yourself dumbfounded at his nonchalance. How can he act so normal after that? Before you could reply, Jeff stood up with you, “Actually, we were just about to get seconds! Come, sit with us.”
“What?” you whispered harshly at him, glaring. He only grinned and pushed you forward. You were flustered, and Newt kept wiggling his eyebrows at you from his seat. You begrudgingly followed Jeff and walked over to Fry.
“Not. A. Word,” you growled, voice low. Fry said nothing, but smiled knowingly as he gave you more eggs.
Minho wandered up behind you, brushing past you to grab a plate from Frypan. The slight bit of contact made your brain short-circuit. Shuck, maybe you were more into him than you thought. God. He was just so… everything. That sweet smile, perfect hair, and enough bicep muscle to go around. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of what he looked like under that blue button-up.
“Yo, Earth to Doc? I’m talkin to ya.”
“Huh?” You snapped out of your daydream to look up at Minho’s expectant face. If your cheeks weren’t red before, they definitely are now. “Oh, um, sorry. Totally spaced out. What were you asking?”
Minho smiled slightly at your blabbering and nodded to the counter behind you. “Just need to get to the condiments, if you don’t mind.”
You looked behind you to see that you were blocking the salt and pepper shakers. He was far too close to you again. It felt awfully familiar. This time, you turned around and awkwardly shuffled to the side, returning to your table and to the stifled snickers from the boys.
“Slim it!” you hissed, sitting back down beside Newt.
“Using Glader slang already, are we?” Newt teased, flicking your shoulder.
You heard Minho’s heavy footsteps coming up to the table. Newt turned and grabbed his now-empty plate. “Oi, Minho! Take my spot; I’ve finished eating.”
You sent Newt a death glare as he walked away, grinning cheekily. Minho looked between you two quizzically.
“Oh, uh,” he looked at the now empty space next to you and averted his eyes, “Sure.” He suddenly looked very awkward, and he approached the table slowly, looking down at his feet. Was that a hint of pink on his cheeks?
Minho was a big guy, and the spot Newt had left him on the edge of the bench was quite small. You went to shuffle over to give him more room, but found that Jeff was blocking you. He smiled when you deadpanned at him. This left you nestled up against Minho. Your heart was doing backflips in your chest. Minho reached for his fork, and his arm brushed yours. You could see goosebumps dotting his skin.
Before you could say anything to him, he started shoveling eggs into his mouth. The guy ate feverishly, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.
“Slow down, shank. You’ll choke.” Clint scolded, looking between you and him with a grin.
“Mmpf,” he replied. Minho took another huge bite of toast. He, of course, immediately started coughing. You watched awkwardly as he chugged his orange juice. That only made him cough harder, and you cringed internally. You looked towards Clint helplessly. Clint circled his palm in the air, encouraging you to pat him on the back.
You swallowed the butterflies in your stomach and placed your palm on his back. Minho froze. It was like he had been struck by lightning, the way he held completely still for a moment. His back felt warm and solid; the feeling sent electricity up your arm. He finally swallowed, and his breathing returned to normal. You could feel his heartbeat racing under your fingertips, and you removed your hand quickly.
He nodded to you, “Thanks,” he said curtly, and returned to his food.
After he calmed down and started eating at a normal pace, you noticed that his eyes were flying everywhere. Not only that, his leg was bouncing under the table. You felt that more than you saw it; his side was practically pressed up against yours. It seemed that your forced contact had an effect on him. The notion brought heat to your cheeks once again, and you also found yourself avoiding any kind of eye contact with anyone.
The rest of the runners had joined your table and were talking amongst themselves. One of them asked Minho a question. Instead of replying, he was staring off into space, scraping at the egg yolk on his plate. They had to repeat their question a few times to get him to answer, and his reply was absentminded. They gave him weird looks, but returned to their conversation. Their Keeper’s mind was clearly elsewhere.
Minho finished his food and immediately excused himself from the table. The other runners followed him, presumably to start their pre-run checks before heading into the Maze for the day. Ben started talking to him about their route when Minho suddenly doubled back, to the other boy’s dismay. He hastily walked over and leaned against the table. He looked at you, seemingly nervous. “Can I talk to you? Later?”
You were quiet, still reeling from everything, and attempted to stutter out an answer before Ben grabbed him by the arm, yanking him away. You managed to squeak out a yes before Ben had fully dragged Minho out of earshot. You let out a breath, slouching in your seat.
“You guys are so cute,” Fry exclaimed, shaking his head as he sat down.
“You guys are so annoying,” you grumbled, picking at the wooden table.
“Whatever you say, ‘Doc’,” Fry replied teasingly.
Clint laughed, gently, “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Minho tongue-tied in my life.”
“Me neither,” Jeff chimed in, “You gotta give us a play-by-play of what happens at this supposed ‘later’ that he wants to see you at.”
A chorus of ‘oohs ’ from the other boys made your cheeks warm, and you stood up again. You finally were able to excuse yourself properly and made your way back to the Med-hut. Across the Glade, you spotted Minho and the other runners stretching. You could have sworn he was looking at you as you entered the hut. Once you had gotten settled, you peeked out of the window to see the boys take off into the Maze.
—-----
The rest of the day had been uneventful. A few guys came in with bruises, needing ice, and one came by to talk to Jeff. You had been relatively quiet, keeping to yourself and thinking everything over. Clint and Jeff thankfully kept their teasing to a minimum, but you caught them whispering and giggling to each other now and then.
It was almost four, which meant the runners would be back in an hour. You monitored Clint’s watch like a hawk. You couldn’t tell if it was excitement or nerves that were bubbling in your stomach. Minho wanted to talk to you. Minho wanted to talk to you. You were practically bouncing around in your corner of the Med-hut in anticipation.
You were repeatedly organizing and reorganizing the shelves. It calmed your restless hands that otherwise would pick at your skin or clothes nervously. After you put the tube of Neosporin from that morning back on the shelf, Clint walked up to you.
“Dude, that’s the third time you’ve put that away. How about you take a break, huh? Go for a walk around the Glade, or something.” When you looked at him nervously, he smiled, patting your back. “If he comes by, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know. Don’t worry, I can handle clean-up today. Go take a load off and chill out for me, ok?”
You nodded and reluctantly relinquished your Neosporin. “Alright, I will. If you see him—”
“I’ll tell him where you are. Don’t worry.” Clint ushered you out, looking at you kindly.
Exiting the Med-hut, you took a deep breath, exhaling gently. The Glade was in its prime during this hour. You could hear talking and laughter nearby, coming from the gardens. You decided to return to the kitchen for a snack. Hopefully, Frypan would go easy on you. There was only so much teasing your heart could take.
You walked across the lawn for the second time that day. The Glade was quite beautiful in the late afternoon light. Shadows were beginning to grow longer, signaling the end of the workday. The grass was warm, having been heated up by the sun. The air was cooler, though, and a breeze washed over your skin.
You spotted a few Gladers playing cards under a tree, and a group of builders putting finishing touches on some new furniture for the Homestead. Honestly, the Glade would be a nice place if you could forget about the gaping maw of the Maze.
You walked into the kitchen, heading behind the counter to locate Frypan. You found him relaxing in the pantry, leaning on a sack of flour with a book in his hands.
“Hey, Fry.”
“Yo!” he greeted, standing up straight and tucking his book under his arm.
“Whatcha up to?” you asked, heading straight for the shelf that you knew contained the sweets. You hoped that if you moved confidently enough, Fry wouldn’t realize until too late that you had shoved a piece of chocolate in your mouth.
“A bit of light reading,” Fry said as he walked over to you. He smacked your hand away from the chocolate and moved to stand in front of the shelf. He raised his eyebrows with a smile, placing his hands on his hips. “I think I know what you’re up to, though. What makes you think that I’d let you steal chocolate right in front of me? At least try to be sneaky, slinthead.”
You let your shoulders fall with a playful sigh, “I had to. You never know when you might be off your guard.”
Fry laughed and walked with you out of the pantry, leaning on the counter as you sat at one of the nearby tables.
He tapped his chin for a moment before looking over to you. “So, you hear back from the big M yet?”
“No–and don’t let him hear you call him that; his ego is big enough as it is.” You smiled. You could picture Minho’s reaction to the nickname clear as day. Lots of smirks and Glader slang. Maybe a slap on the back.
“So, you really do like him, huh?” Fry questioned, tilting his head and snapping you out of your thoughts.
You fiddled with your fingers, toying around with the idea. You had always had a crush on him, but after today, things felt different. More serious. You knew your answer would have to be definitive here. Fry might be a great guy, but he has a big mouth. Word would definitely get out if it hadn’t already. You thought back to your awkward breakfast and your transformative morning in the Med-hut. Would you be happy if people knew? The idea made your chest warm, quickly spiraling your thoughts into what it would be like to be in a relationship with Minho. On the off chance he liked you back, would you be able to make it work? Even if you managed to escape the Maze? Yes, you decided. You would find a way. After a moment, you nodded, looking back up at Fry. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
Fry smiled at your response and went to reply before you heard shouts coming from somewhere outside. His expression fell, and you stood up in alarm as he walked over to the entrance to the kitchen.
“Shuck, what are they screaming for?” Fry said under his breath, looking around the Glade.
“Can you see what’s going on?” You asked, trying to locate where the yelling was coming from. Agitated voices of different Gladers echoed across the walls of the Glade.
“There!” Frypan pointed, and you followed his line of sight until you spotted two figures hobbling out of the West Doors. One was walking, and the other was limp, covered in blood. A group of boys had surrounded them, and you spotted a familiar head of blonde hair directing the crowd to move out of the way.
“Oh my god,” you covered your mouth as you looked on in horror. The two figures began to move towards the Med-hut, and you urged your feet to unglue themselves from the floor. You began to hurry towards the two. The injured boy had his arm slung over the other's shoulders. Something was terribly wrong with him, and you suddenly caught a glimpse of his familiar light blue button-up through the blood that covered it. Minho. You quickened your pace, sprinting across the Glade with Frypan at your heels. You were a long way from them when you saw Clint and Jeff appear, ushering Minho and what looked like Ben into the hut and shutting the door. Worried Gladers began to crowd around the small building, and Newt was doing his best to dismiss them while Alby hurried over.
“Slim it nice and calm! Everything’s gonna be fine, alright?” Newt looked stressed and was waving his hands at the crowd.
Alby nodded, raising his voice, “He’s right. Standing around isn’t gonna make any magic happen. Back to work! Everyone!”
You skidded to a stop in front of the Med-hut. Shoving your way through the crowd, you made eye contact with Newt. You received some complaints from the boys you pushed, but you were too focused to care. Newt looked relieved to see you, ushering you forward.
“What happened?” you asked, panicked.
Newt turned you away from the crowd, speaking urgently into your ear. “Griever. Ben says they weren’t stung, but Minho took a beating from the thing. Go in, they need your help.”
You nodded and quickly pushed your way into the Med-hut.
It was chaos. Ben stood to the side, blubbering and repeating himself to Clint, who was trying to get a half-conscious Minho onto a cot.
Jeff spotted you and called your name in relief. “Thank god! Quick, help Clint, and I’ll deal with Ben.”
You nodded and hustled over to the two boys. Minho was moaning in pain; every slight movement seemed excruciating. Despite that, he looked up when you approached.
“Hey… missed you.” his voice was hoarse, and he immediately coughed. That movement irritated his injury, and he howled in pain. You grabbed Minho’s arm, pulling him to lie on the cot. Clint hauled Minho’s legs up while he groaned in protest.
“Had a… rough day… Doc,” Minho was slurring his words, but still managed to look at you. He had a lopsided grin on his face. Your heart clenched in your chest at his expression.
“Clint, what should I…”
Clint put a hand on your shoulder and spoke hastily, “Don’t worry, I’ll start on him while you get him talking. He needs you. We need to keep him conscious.” He was right. If Minho passed out now, there was a chance he wouldn’t wake up again. Worry clawed at your chest, and you murmured your assent. Clint nodded to you, and you brought your stool over to Minho’s side while Clint worked.
The blood was primarily coming from his front, and Clint immediately went to cut through his shirt. There was no time to remove it properly.
“Woah… take me out… to dinner… first.” It seemed that his one-liners were muscle memory. Minho was frowning now, his attention on Clint. You gently grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back at you.
“Hey, look at me. Look at me, okay?”
“Okay,” he repeated. Minho smiled at you, slightly delirious from the pain. “Hi.”
“Hi, Minho. Can you tell me what hurts?”
“My stomach. There was this… huge Griever. Ben was being an idiot. I saved his ass… freakin’ slinthead.” Minho was breathing shakily. Each sentence was a struggle for him.
Clint finally got Minho’s shirt off and started inspecting the wound. He had a deep gash across his torso. Blood was oozing from everywhere, soaking the cot.
“That’s shuckin’ gnarly,” Minho said, grunting when Clint applied pressure to the gash.
Your stomach flipped at the sight, and you returned your attention to his face.
“You did good, Minho.” You soothed, “Everything’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna clean it now, ok? Just like this morning. You’ll be fine; you’re strong.”
“Well, shuck me.” Minho swallowed, shutting his eyes.
Jeff appeared, seemingly finished with Ben. He grabbed an assortment of medical devices from the shelves. His hands were shaking, and you gave him a reassuring look as he soaked a rag in iodine. He returned your gesture and began cleaning the wound. Minho made a face, groaning and gritting his teeth. You felt pressure on your fingers and looked down to see that Minho had grabbed your hand. You interlocked your fingers with his, letting him squeeze them while Jeff worked.
“Almost done. You’re doing great, Minho.” You encouraged. You tried to keep your voice calm, but were unable to remove the slight waver. You weren’t even sure Minho could hear you. His face was scrunched in pain, and he writhed around on the cot.
Minho arched his back, doing his best not to scream. Instead, he made strangled sounds in between ragged breaths. When Jeff finished, he collapsed back onto the cot, breathing heavily.
Clint immediately started stitches, and Jeff held Minho’s torso down to keep him still.
You felt useless. Your heart lurched at every noise of pain Minho made, and you wished that there was more that you could do to help. Clint and Jeff were far more knowledgeable than you. You trusted them to get the job done, but that meant you could only watch and worry.
Minho looked over to you. His face was contorted in pain, and you could see tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He was still squeezing your hand tightly. You were beginning to lose feeling in your fingers, but the look on his face made you ignore the pain. Your pain wasn’t even a fraction of what Minho was feeling right now.
“I know. I know.” You smoothed a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’ll be alright. Just stay with me, okay?”
Minho made a noise that you could only assume was meant to be a laugh. “‘M not goin’ anywhere. Promise.”
You smiled at him and pushed his hair away from his eyes. Clint made a particularly painful stitch in Minho’s torso, and he cried out in pain, yelling a string of expletives you had never heard him say before. Clint spoke a few hushed apologies, hands trembling as he worked.
“Hey, Doc,” Minho spoke, causing you to look back up at him. “I really like–” He cleared his throat, eyes darting between Clint and Jeff before returning to yours. “...visiting your practice.”
You were taken aback, heart pounding in your chest. Was that really what he meant to say? You went to reply when the door suddenly banged open. Alby and Newt appeared, dragging another injured runner into the Med-hut.
Newt yelled to Clint while Alby dragged the runner onto a separate cot. “Got another one. He's halfway bled out already. Quick, do something!”
The other runner was silent. You realized in horror that his leg was dangling unnaturally from his knee. You could see bone peeking through the mangled flesh.
Clint swore, eyes darting between the new boy and Minho. He called out to you, catching your attention.
“I need you to finish these stitches. Jeff and I are gonna help Dave.”
“What? But I’ve never–”
“You can. I know you can.” His voice was trembling, but his gaze was confident. You nodded, reluctantly unlacing your fingers from Minho’s grasp and taking Clint’s place. The other two Medjacks rushed to Dave’s side, speaking in hushed voices.
You sat there for a moment, frozen in place. Minho called your name. You snapped your head upwards. He never called you by your name.
“I don’t care what anyone else says. I trust you.”
Butterflies exploded in your stomach. With his encouragement, you took hold of the needle. Looking down at Minho’s torso, you got to work.
It was like you were possessed. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you worked efficiently. Stitch, clean, stitch, clean. Everything seemed to move slowly around you, and you were solely engrossed in your work. You stopped now and then to check on Minho, who was doing his best to look like everything was fine.
Your focus was unbroken as you finished the final stitch, much to Minho’s relief. You wrapped his torso in gauze and bandages quickly, tying them tightly.
It was dark outside by the time you finished. Clint and Jeff had set Dave’s leg in a splint and bandaged him up. The runner was comfortably sleeping in his cot on the other side of the room. They had pulled the curtain partition out, giving Dave some privacy and separating him from you and Minho. The other two Medjacks had long gone to bed, wishing you and Minho a good night as they walked out.
“All done. How are you feeling?” You collapsed onto a chair beside his cot, exhausted. Minho’s posture mirrored your fatigue. Being in excruciating pain for hours was not fun.
“Good. Wasn’t even worried.”
What a callback. You smiled and managed to chuckle a bit before returning to a comfortable silence. You shut your eyes for a moment, listening to Minho’s steady breathing and Dave's snores.
“What about you?” Minho quietly asked. His voice was tired and rough.
You looked at him for a moment, then replied. “I’m alright. That was a lot.”
Minho grinned. “Amen. Too much klunk for one day.”
“Too much,” you grinned back.
Another bout of silence passed. You didn’t really want to leave quite yet. If it were anyone else, you would be back in your hammock already, fast asleep. But for Minho, something in your heart urged you to stay.
You studied him for the second time that day. His once proud hair was now lying gently across his forehead, and he still had the bandage on his face from that morning. He was lying down on the cot, covered with a thin blanket. You wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was injured if it weren’t for the myriad of bloodstained medical devices that were strewn around the room.
“Y’know, you make a great Medjack,” Minho said, looking over at you.
You felt heat pooling in your cheeks. “Thanks…”
“I mean it. You were so focused earlier; it was kinda scary.”
“Well, thanks for encouraging me. Don’t think I would’ve been able to do it without you.”
Minho scoffed, “Yeah, you would’ve. Give yourself some credit, shank.”
“Alright, fine.”
“No, no, I wanna hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“‘I’m a good Medjack.’ Say it.”
You gave him a look, but he smiled innocently.
You sighed heavily. You were too tired to protest. “I’m a good Medjack.”
“Mmh, I don’t believe you. Say, ‘I’m a really shuckin’ good Medjack’”
You deadpanned. “I’m a really shuckin good Medjack.”
“Damn right you are.”
You rolled your eyes at him, tapping your fingers on your leg. “Well, you’re a ‘really shuckin’ good’ runner too.”
Minho scoffed again. “Not after today. What a shitshow.”
“What even happened? No one told me anything besides there being a Griever that attacked Ben.” You were curious to hear Minho’s side of things.
He sighed, rubbing at his forearm absentmindedly. “Long story. Basically, Ben froze up when a Griever ran at him. I jumped in front of him and shoved him out of the way. Stupid shank almost got himself killed.”
“You almost got yourself killed, too.”
He smirked, “I didn’t even realize the Griever got me until halfway back. Ben ended up dragging me all the way here.”
You fiddled with your fingers, suddenly nervous. “I’m glad you’re alright. You had everyone worried.”
Minho smiled. “All thanks to you, my favorite Medjack.”
You tilted your head, earnest, “Really, though. I was scared. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”
That last part was not supposed to be said out loud. Color flooded your cheeks, and you could tell Minho took note of that.
“Sorry… that was kinda weird to say.” You laughed awkwardly.
“No, it was cute,” Minho said quietly.
Your stomach was beginning to feel warm again, and you looked away bashfully. “You don’t mean that.”
“Sure I do.” You could hear the smirk on his face and feel him looking at you. “Why do you think I always stop by the Med-hut, huh? Clint and I aren’t exactly best buds.”
You said nothing, but looked up to meet his gaze. Your face was flushed, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
“I don’t just like ‘visiting your practice,’” he made air quotes with his fingers, a blush tinting his ears. “I like visiting you. And shuck, after this morning, I…” he trailed off, stuttering over his words. “I’m not good with this… stuff. Sorry, I probably sound like a real slinthead right now. Making a freakin’ fool outta myself. You probably don’t even realize what you do to me. It's not fair.”
“What do you mean?” you finally regained your voice.
“I mean. Um. You do things to me. Make my stomach do flips, and klunk. And I can’t stop thinking about you. Shuck, I’m sorry. I dunno what I’m saying. You probably have, like, five other shanks willing to drop everything for you. It’s not fair. Especially after these dreams I started having I–”
“Dreams?” That warm feeling in your chest had spread throughout your body.
Minho was bright red now and was clutching at his bedsheets. “Shuck. Shuck. I didn’t–I shouldn’t’ve mentioned that. Forget it. Seriously. You can go; I’m sorry. Please don’t think I’m weird.”
You paused. After his outburst, Minho took a deep breath in. He covered his face with his hands, groaning in embarrassment. He peeked at you through his fingers. You watched his eyes widen in alarm as you stood, approaching his bedside. He sat up, scooching himself backwards and leaning on his elbows. He grimaced slightly when he moved, his injury clearly causing him pain.
“I don’t think you’re weird, Minho,” you whispered. You sat on the cot, looking into his eyes. “I don’t think you’re weird at all.”
He exhaled, sitting up to his full height. Now at eye level, he blinked at you. “You don’t?”
“No.” You paused, suddenly nervous. “You make me… feel things too.”
A small smirk graced Minho’s lips at that. “Really?”
You nodded. “Uh huh. You always have. Since I first met you.” You sat back, leaning against the pillow beside him. Your shoulders brushed, and you felt Minho stiffen beside you.
Minho blinked, wheels turning in his head. “This whole time?”
“Yeah.”
It was quiet for a moment. Minho slowly moved his hand over yours, covering your fingers with his. You flipped your hand over, intertwining your fingers for the second time that day.
He looked at you. You looked at him.
He leaned forward, your noses brushing. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain. Until you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his.
It was a peck. Short and sweet. You pulled away quickly, gauging his reaction.
He smiled and brought his hand up to the back of your head, pulling you back into him. Your lips met again, and you felt like fireworks were exploding in your chest. Your faces fit together perfectly.
You turned your head, deepening the kiss, and he reciprocated. Minho groaned into your mouth, pressing his tongue against yours. The kiss became heated quickly, and you eventually had to pull away. You both gasped for air, and Minho smiled, chuckling to himself.
“If you told me a week ago that I would get brutally stabbed by a Griever and then get to make out with you on the same day, I would call you crazy.”
You giggled, flicking his shoulder. “Who knew that giving a guy stitches could be a turn-on?”
Minho laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, grinning. “I oughtta go and thank that Griever. What a wingman.”
“You’re telling me!” You kissed him back, then again on his bandage from the morning. “Honestly, we owe it all to that random cut you got on your face.”
“Oh, I totally did that on purpose.”
“Minho!”
“And I also rubbed dirt on it. So you’d have to clean it extra good.”
You smacked his shoulder this time, earning you another laugh from him. That laugh quickly turned into a groan of pain, and he winced.
“Ow. Stop making me laugh; you’ll open my stitches.”
You pouted, rubbing his arm. “Sorry, big guy.”
“I forgive you, baby.” He smiled sweetly at you, making your head spin.
“You’re such a dork.”
“And you love it.”
You both dissolved into a round of giggles. And then a few kisses, some more heated than others. You ended up wrapped in each other's arms on the cot. You carefully avoided his injury and snuggled into him. All Minho seemed to want to do was kiss you, and you happily indulged him.
When you finally broke away, you tilted your head. “What did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
“Huh?” Minho kissed you again, gently this time. You cupped his face before pulling back to reply.
“This morning, in the kitchen? You said you wanted to talk to me. Was this what that was about?” You motioned between the two of you at the last sentence.
Minho smiled. “Guilty as charged. Though honestly, this went better than I could have hoped. I am apparently one awkward shank when it comes to sappy stuff. I got all nervous when you touched me. It was like my brain stopped working.”
You giggled. “But you were so cute. You get a pass.”
“Sweet.”
Minho leaned in to kiss you again, but you put a finger against his lips. He opened his eyes quizzically.
“What?”
“So, what kind of dreams did you have about me?”
“Uhhh…” Minho went bright red again, and you gasped playfully.
“You freak!”
“I can’t help it! Not my fault you’re so attractive and amazing and all that other stuff!”
You laughed, hard. Lying here with him was amazing. You felt like all the stress of the day had been washed away with your laughter. He joined in, and you giggled together for a moment before a voice interrupted you.
“Hey, I’m happy for you shanks and all, but I’m trying to sleep over here.” Dave’s irritated voice came from behind the partition curtain, groggy from sleep.
“Oh, my god…” You mumbled.
Minho burst out into another fit of laughter, eventually calming down when you shook his shoulders.
Both you and Minho apologized to poor Dave and quieted yourselves. You curled up against him, and he tucked his head onto your shoulder. Minho pressed one last kiss to your forehead.
“You look nice,” Ryland says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit.
in which: You need a date to the wedding you foolishly agreed to attend, luckily your co-worker is a willing sacrifice. Extremely willing.
[warnings: eventual nsfw 18+, a bit of fluff, excessively drawn out flirting]
wc: 14.2k (Whoops) [ Masterlist ] [ ao3 Link ]
Woe finds you on a Tuesday at the staffroom lunch table.
Picking apart the leftovers of a miserable thrown together attempt of fried rice that came to be after realising there were no better dinner options with the ingredients you had in the fridge two days ago and the determination to not get take out more than once a week that would surely fade come February. Alas, it is still January and all those new year resolutions are still sticking like cheap adhesive hooks that will eventually be weighed down enough to slip as time ticks on.
Eat take out once a week, maximum. Read one book a month, minimum. Sleep more. Stop turning down social invites
The last one is what leaves you particularly perturbed, as your lunch goes lukewarm and your thumb flicks about on the social media profile.
“I just… I can’t say no.” You lament. “It would be weird.”
“Weirder than going?” Margot asks, pulling her own container of lunch from the oven. It’s also leftovers, but slices of impeccably cooked roast with what looks to be red wine sauce and vegetables- no doubt made by her smokeshow of a house husband (he just works from home, she insists. You’re pretty sure the pair are sitting on a lofty investment profile because no man ‘works from home’ cooks roasts bi-weekly and buys his wife diamond earrings for her birthday).
“I don’t know. Maybe.” You manage, the next bite of fired rice tasting like loneliness packed into an over-salted flavour profile.
“What’s weird?” Ryland asks, sitting down in the chair across from you.
The staff room of E-Block is near abandoned. Of the ten-odd teachers with rooms in the little block of aging brick, most tended to eat in their classrooms. Save for you, Margot and Ryland. Occasionally there will be another visitor, but most days, it is just the three of you.
“Wedding.” Margot supplies, sitting down and shuffling her chair in with a sense of poise so rarely found in Middle-Schools. She’s older, somewhere in her early fifties, and still manages to approach the job with the same level of discipline as before ipads made their invasion into the classroom.
Ryland frowns. “You’re already married.”
He’s… well, Ryland's… actually you’re not sure how to put him into words, which is saying a lot considering the literature degree collecting mildew in the filing cabinet of your apartment.
He’s in the same boat as you in terms of finding yourselves with a teaching career. Studied something else first, got your passion and love for it soured by morons and went back to college for a second round, dishing out more cash for a masters in teaching that has you trying to tame fourteen year olds all day. Delightful, truly. Although, Ryland had certainly lasted a lot longer with that first degree than you had. A doctorate. He hates the kids knowing that though. A handful of them had called him ‘Doctor Grace’ last year, after digging about online and getting their grubby fingers on his linkedin profile.
‘Mr Grace’ as he is now known, is awkward. A little socially inept at times, but not enough to come across as anything other than endearing. Now is one such time, as he looks over the frames of his glasses at Margo, the stack of pop quizzes he’d brought to mark and keep himself occupied momentarily forgotten. His eyes darted from her face to the ring on her finger.
“Mm mm.” She hums, shaking her head as she chews, then levels her fork to point in your direction.
“You’re not getting married.” Ryland states when he turns to look at you, like it’s a scientific fact, one he’s so assured of.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mr Grace.” You reply, still sort of wallowing at the photos on your phone.
His gaze flickers, a little less sure as the corner of his lips fall and, like he had with Margot, settles his eyes on your hands. Your lack of a ring. “You aren’t, are you?”
“No. My ex is, though.” You sigh, despondent. The reminder glares back at you from the overly-bright phone screen.
“Oh. That sucks.” He manages, clicking open a red pen to start circling and ticking the first sheet on his pile. “Happens to the best of us.”
The kettle rumbles away on the tiny kitchenette. You look at him for a long moment. The best of us. Like it’s happened to him. Ryland’s not one to discuss relationships beyond the occasional quip about quitting to be a house husband like Margot’s. He’s never mentioned past romances, you don’t think he’s been in a relationship in the three years since he started at Grover Cleveland Middle. It’s such a bizarre glimpse at his life, that he doesn't even seem to register what he's revealed, marking as he waits for the boiling water to cook another lunch of instant ramen.
You sit up a little straighter in your chair, weary of knocking your shoes against where his long legs sprawl under the small table. The staff room is meant for ten but is cramped even with the three of you, nothing more than a little kitchenette and big whiteboard in the corner. There’s a shelf against one wall, just far enough away from the doorframe that the door doesn't crash into it when pushed open. There’s a long window the length of the wall on the door’s other side, a good view of the eighth-grade outdoor lunch area. The other staff call it the fishbowl, it’s why they opt to eat in their classrooms, not keen on the kids' eyes on them when it is supposed to be one of the fleeting breaks during their day.
Thank god the door is closed- if the kids heard you whining about this, a wedding, they’d never let up. “I’m considering the pros and cons of skipping it.”
“You were invited?” He baulks, dropping his pen.
You try not to smile, focusing on your self pity instead of the three shoddy attempts Ryland takes to catch his pen from dropping out of his hand, rolling off the stack of paper then off the table. “I already said I’d go too.”
“Why?” Ryland sounds appalled, like that one time you’d caught him trying to explain that the five second rule is not an effective barrier against bacteria to a student.
“It’s complicated.” You say, biting at your cheek.
“Bullshit.” Margot aptly calls. Looking over with the same expression she used to call students on their bullshit. You're not a big fan of having it directed at you.
“We went out for maybe two months in college.” You sigh, setting your phone on the table face-down to stare at your lunch, contemplative. “He’s engaged to one of the girls from my sorority. We’re… friends.”
Margot watches. “With your ex or the sorority girl?”
“Sorority girl. Daisy.” That's the better option of the two at least. You think it is, not that there is much left to save you from the impending train wreck of discussing the relationship woes of your late teens and early twenties with the only two coworkers who care to eat lunch in a communal space. The company is nice, Ryalnd had said once, when you’d asked, gets me out of the classroom.
Margot screws her face up for a second, muttering it again under her breath as if the name offends her.
“You were in a sorority?" Ryland asks, face a little blank as he looks at you from across the table.
It makes you falter, the way his thoughts seem to be buffering like the school's slow wifi. “I… Yeah? That’s the interesting part?”
He shakes his head, looking down at his marking sheets and pushes his glasses up from where they’re slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose. “No, I just can’t picture it.”
You purse your lips, consider pulling up some photos from your sorority days, then remember the kind of outfits the lot of you wore and think better of it. “Well Daisy and I were roommates for a year and a half. She’s nice. Works in PR now.”
“But she’s marrying your ex?” Ryland asks, still kind of baffled.
You dismiss it with a lazy hand wave. “I mean, she asked before they went out and everything. I just think it’s a little weird. I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s going to be embarrassing.”
Margot tuts twice, done with her lovingly made lunch that symbolises how successful she has been in the department of marriage when you have all but failed so far. “Why is it embarrassing? Two months is nothing.”
“I was a little head over heels for this guy.” You admit, sheepish.
Ryland stands up, clears his throat as he turns away. “Yeah? How so?”
His back is to you, as he peels the lid off his cup ramen and wrestles with the flavour packet. You come to the conclusion it’s easier to confess this sort of stuff with only one set of eyes on you. “I was sort of convinced he was my soulmate. He was doing pre-law, witty too.”
“Hot?” Margot asks, always straightforward.
You feel a blush rise on your cheeks as you remember the early days of your sorority experience, flopped back on the bed as you made little love sick sighs at your ceiling. “God, his jawline. And his hair- it was so… ugh!”
The thud is dull when your forehead lands on the table, to the right of your now abandoned lunch. “I don’t even know why I said I’d go. It’s dumb.”
You hate how you sound- petulant like the kids you prod for not searching for better words in their assignments, moping like your world is ending over something so trivial. It’s not even the new years resolution that has you mulling this over so intently. You’d agreed to go months ago- six months ago- and said yes to the offered plus one, adamant to yourself that you’d have someone by then, a partner or something. Someone of importance.
Attending alone is going to be even worse than if you had just RSVP’d for yourself in the first place. It’s one thing to watch your college friend and ex-sort-of-boyfriend exchange vows alone, and a whole other monster to do it with a pointed empty seat beside you.
All of it tumbles out your lips in a hurried hurl of word vomit, followed by a few moments of silence that has you cautiously raising your head to peek over the wall of your forearms. Ryland is staring at you, cup noodles steaming in his hands where it hovers over the sink, like he’d been about to pour out the excess water. Margot is looking at you with a frown, the same one she wears when teaching senior mathematics and the children have drawn up an equation for her to solve with the foolish belief they could stump her for more than ten seconds.
And just as in class, Margot is not phased for more than a handful of moments. “Then find someone with a better jawline and better hair to go with you. You can borrow mine.”
You blink at her, mulling the words over before asking, “Are you trying to pimp your husband out to me?”
“Only for aesthetic reasons, of course. It’d be nice to have the house to myself for once. Not like you have better options.”
It would sting more if it wasn’t so true. There were very few options and with the wedding only two weeks away, that was certainly not enough time to squeeze in enough dates with someone to justify taking them to a damn wedding.
“I mean, how good is his jawline?” Ryland finally says, walking over with his little cutlery box, plastic chopsticks he washes and reuses almost everyday, to set his lunch down on the table and settle back in across from you. “Are we aiming high?”
There is no way to un-dig this hole, not now that they’ve both decided to put their two cents in. You concede with another sigh and reach for your phone, arms and chin still on the table as you fish about Instagram for a photo. It’s the one that had reminded you of this awful upcoming event, posted by Daisy. You all but toss your phone on the table between your coworkers, sinking a little lower into your folded arms, awaiting judgement.
The photos must be from a walk though of the venue, the pair of them posed together between some old marble arch where they were having the ceremony at. She was laughing, hand on his chest, showing off the ring on her finger while he looked at her, besotted. The caption made it worse. Only two weeks left till I get to marry my man on these very steps.
You like them both, you really do, but the thought of showing up by yourself, as the lonely friend who’d never found ‘it’, your own version of the love they were celebrating, well it was just nauseating.
Margot looks the photo over critically before humming in a sort of so-so tone. “You can do better.”
Ryland looks kind of at a loss. “This is your type?”
As if to emphasise the point, he lifts the phone up and turns it around to show you the image you were already being haunted by. “This is the hair that had you all…”
He doesn't find the words, just waves the hand with his chopsticks around in a messy motion, looks at you critically over the rims of his glasses.
“He slicks it back now. It used to be… I donno. Messy? Fluffy? Good to run my fingers though.” He scoffs a little to himself, dissatisfied maybe with your excuse.
The only forgiving factor is that the photo does highlight the sharp cut of his jaw, which even Ryland concedes to. “He does have a good jawline...”
Yours is better, you want to say. Immediate and impulsive, because it kind of is. Especially when the shadow of his stubble stretches a few extra days between shaves. Your ex is clean shaven- you used to think that was sexy, at least sexier than the patchy beards boys in college had back then. Now you’re kind of obsessed with the so-called ‘5-o’clock shadow’ Ryland sports on Fridays.
It’s not something you’re likely to tell him though, especially not when you glance at the clock and realise you have a duty across campus in three minutes. Saved by the bell maybe, either way you’re able to liberate your phone from the pair of them and their conspiratory whispers, bin the scraps of your lunch and haul ass out of there.
By the end of the school day, you have reached the conclusion that you will blame it on work. That some mandatory day of ‘professional development’ as it is called nowadays, has come up and you will just have to miss the wedding, truly you’re devastated about it all.
Then Ryland corners you in your classroom. The bell’s long gone, as are the students. He’s dressed like he’s on his way out, his green backpack tossed over one shoulder and bike helmet hanging by the strap in one hand. You’re halfway through explaining your plan and the wording you’re going to use in the tragic text message to Daisy when he cuts you off.
“I’ll go with you.”
He’s a little breathless with it, like he’d been saving up all his oxygen to get the words out, leaving him in one big rush as they topple though the doorway of your classroom and splatter onto the linoleum floor between you both.
“I know that I’m not Margot’s husband with a ‘better jawline and better hair’ but we can go and eat nice wedding food- If he’s a lawyer it’s gotta be fancy, right? And we can make fun of his stupid slicked back hair together and you don’t have to be alone or make an excuse and feel guilty about it.” Ryland’s big speech is as flawed as it is heartwarming
Because he does have a better jawline and better hair. And Margot looks between you both during lunch hours and staff meetings like you’re her personal romance drama, there to occupy her during the day.
But the wedding food will be good, your ex will shill out for the best and Daisy has always had a taste for the finer things in life. Ryland is the best company you can think of to have by your side and he knows you well enough to understand how guilty lying about something makes you feel, how it churns your gut.
“Yeah. Okay.” You smile, something warm and fuzzy in your chest.
His eyes don’t move, maybe widen a little before he speaks again, still a little breathless. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It isn’t a hard thought to come around to, taking Ryland to a wedding. As a date is something that goes unsaid between the pair of you, not sure whether it could be classed as such for real, or if this is simply a favour between friends-slash-coworkers. It is certainly a date for show, to the many college friends you’re about to reunite with after a few years, for your Ex, Jack who’s obsessed with his wife, for Daisy who you’d told years ago to ‘go for it, he’s a nice guy’ working under the assumption that she’d only last a few months by his side too.
You’re not sure which answer you’d prefer, honestly; a date or a favour.
He texts you a lot- after school, on the weekend- asking about what he should wear, what you’re going to wear, how he should prepare for this sort of thing. It’s sweet, cute in a way that has little butterflies flapping around in your stomach.
“Okay, I’ll show you. Wait, hold on.” You placate, setting your phone down on the bed, screen up.
“It’s a lovely ceiling fan, but I doubt it fits the dress code.” Ryland drawls, and you can hear the smile there.
“Ha ha.” You reply, a little echo-y as you lean into your closet to pull the dress out.
He’s up in arms about what to wear, says he needs to know what you’re wearing too so he can match. The invite’s dress code called for formal attire in ‘dark colours’. On the facebook page she’d made for the event, Daisy had a full post going into more detail, about how she’d love any and all dark tones- forestry green, navy, even burgundy was fine. You had taken a firm stance against burgundy considering there’s some old wedding traditions that state wearing red indicated you’d slept with the groom. Which you had, but you were not about to advertise that.
So navy it was.
You’d sent Ryland a picture of the invite, where it was stuck to your fridge with letter magnets spelling out ‘woe’- it had felt fitting when you’d stuck it up there- and several screenshots of the lengthy dress-code post Daisy had made that went into excruciating detail. He wasn’t satisfied though.
Even your attempts to describe the dress you’d bought didn’t work well enough.
“I mean it! you expect me to know what any of those words apart from ‘floor length' means?” he bemoans from your phone speakers, face time call crackling. “I need all the data.”
“Oh listen to you, Mr. Science,” You drawl with a smile, pulling the dress out. It’s too long to hang from a door knob so you have to stretch up on your tip toes to hang the coat hook over the curtain rod of your bedroom window.
“I was thinking of changing my name. Very to the point, don’t you think?” He replies, still smiling as you collect your phone. His eyes are sparkling with something cheeky when you appear back in frame.
Ryland’s dressed down, in one of those dumb science t-shirts he wears on ‘Casual Fridays’ as it is called in staff meetings. This one’s dark blue and has the periodic table on it in worn down white transfer ink. You’ve seen it enough to know the punch line sprawled over his lower stomach even though it’s not in frame. I wear this shirt periodically. He finds an extra layer in humor that the shirt is factually correct as well, that he does in fact, wear the shirt in regular intervals as he’d explained to you during a free-period on one of those casual Fridays.
He’s at his kitchen bench, phone propped up against something, while he taps away at his laptop. You’ve not actually been to Ryland’s apartment before, but it sorta feels like you have, the cramped studio always on display in the back of video calls like this one.
It’s just one long rectangle. Kitchen by the front door, a bench, a gap that is probably intended for a kitchen table but he’s stuck a desk there instead, his bed that’s almost always unmade with a tv wall mounted across from it, and a balcony. Like this, you can see the expanse of it behind him. The stacks of paper piled up on his desk, the extra monitors and little trinkets gifted from students, the sage green sheets of his bed, peeled back on one side, sun shining in through his big glass balcony doors. Honesty, you kind of want to see the view from his apartment in person, he’s a little higher up than you are, in a better part of the city too.
Ryland’s not brushed his hair, it’s all spiked up in different directions and you wonder if the mug he’s been sipping from, periodically, is his morning cup even though it’s just past ten. He’s blinking slow behind his glasses, sitting a little too still for his brain to be fully functional yet.
“I’m sure the kids will love it. Harder to spell on their assessment sheets, though.” You can imagine it, the staff badge, the name on his board in fun bubble writing where it would stay untouched for a whole school term.
You flip the camera, showing him the dress he’s been complaining about not understanding for the last half hour over text before he gave up and called you.
It’s cute, how his head tilts and he leans towards his phone for a second before just picking it up and holding it close enough so his eyes and forehead are just about all that is in frame. “Is that velvet?”
“It’s fake satin. I think.”
“Fake satin?” He repeats, confused.
The dress was one you already owned, bought a year or so ago for another friend’s wedding that you had attended alone but not felt crappy about, even if it did seem like everyone your age was getting married nowadays. It’s got a fitted bodice, but there fabric is a little drapey, looks like it pools over the chest and down towards the fluid skirt. "Wasn't expensive enough to be real satin.”
“Okay, I know what you mean by delicate straps now.” That had been his main hang up, whining about, What do you mean delicate straps? Like they’re about to break?, swearing that the shit he was googling was just not helping the mental image considering there were about six different results for everything.
“Yeah, and here, the lace up back.” You say, stepping up to twist the dress away from where it sat flush against the curtains to show the corset style back, with thin cord lace just a little thinner than the straps.
“Isn’t that going to be a nightmare to put on?” He asks, squinting still.
“There’s a zip.” You say, dragging the little hidden zipper down, showing him how the dress fabric parts and slips open. “So it’s fairly easy to get on. The cords are about as tight as they should be anyway, it isn't hard to pull to fit.”
You fumble a little trying to get the zip back up but eventually just conceded to leave out like that until you put the dress away. When you glance down at your phone, Ryland has moved, no longer sitting down and if you had to guess, is now walking the length of his apartment instead. He looks a little distressed.
“Come on, you’ve got the easy part.” You try, a little concerned he’s about to say he shouldn’t go. “You just have to put on a suit.”
“I can’t just ‘put on a suit’.” He whines, flopping down onto his bed like the world is ending. “I’m supposed to be like, your big ‘fuck you’ to the girl who got with your ex. I’m supposed to look good with you. I don’t know if I have a suit nice enough for that dress.”
“Ryland. It’s not about saying ‘fuck you’ to Daisy, or pulling some revenge stunt. I just didn’t want to go alone like a loser when I said I was bringing someone.” You can’t really help the little breathy laugh that weaves its way though his name, because he sounds like you did four days ago acting like the world was about to end, face down on the lunch table. “You don’t have to come.”
“No, I’m coming. I just need to go through my wardrobe.” He’s cute, you decide, in a round-about sort of way. The determination to play this self elected role well, to perfect it and give it his all, like he does with everything else in his life. The whole situation was elevating your ‘aesthetic appreciation’ of Ryland that you’d been attempting to suppress, to a new sort of level.
You flop down on your own bed, roll over on your side and let him derail the conversation towards lesson planning, listen to him talk about the plans he has for the next weeks worth of classes, a couple of activities he’s got in the works. All while you consider the pros and cons of having him beside you instead.
Ryland was probably the teacher you got on best with at work, despite being from two very different teaching areas. When he’d first arrived, you’d assumed he would be a little pretentious, with his Phd and professional experience beyond the classroom. You weren't expecting him to be so awkward. The children took to him so quickly, and Ryland had told you time and time again that he doesn't understand why they think he’s cool.
Over the years you’ve found that he can be cocky, in certain bouts of confidence seemingly appearing via divine-intervention. A local bar had run trivia nights for some six odd months, and it had unleashed a beast within him.
On Monday afternoon he sent you a photo. A little black bag with a logo you’d googled, realising it was a menswear store before the second photo had come though. A tie, sleek navy like your dress, rolled up neatly with a matching pocket square beside it, both nestled in a box that screamed expensive. You’d sent back a random string of praise, imagining him lulling it over in the store. It was nearly five in the afternoon, he’d left work pretty much on the final bell. You wonder how long he spent comparing the seemingly endless ties the shop’s online store offered, considering what would match best to your dress.
It makes you a little giddy, to be honest, has you dreaming of a situation where you’d asked him to come to the wedding, or where you’d already been together long enough that it was simply a given when the invitation turned up in your mail box.
Neither of you mention it during school hours, not keen on the kids hearing whispers of you and Ryland doing anything outside work hours- students will take anything and run with it.
But he messages you about it constantly. Makes a plan; he’d come to your apartment and you would uber from there to the venue, it was a sunset ceremony and evening reception. He lived close enough that it was a brisk walk or quick bus trip. He pointedly mentions that he would not be cycling- ‘In a suit? God, never’- and makes sure you know that the uber would also drop you both back to your flat and he’d walk home or take another separate uber.
There’s talk about your ‘backstory’, which he takes as seriously as he does exam periods. You tell him it’s not super necessary, that saying you met at work is more than enough exposition for the gaggle of college friends you’d not seen in years. But he was never one to do things in halves.
“We obviously would have met at school.” He says, like it’s a given. Ryland is laid out on the reading rug at the back of your classroom, staring at the ceiling. And the fake clouds that are actually just a hobby-fill glue gunned to paper and taped to the ceiling, he’d turned the fairy lights that are threaded though them on before he’d decided the floor was his resting place. “Maybe trivia is where it happened. We liked trivia.”
“We did like trivia.” You agree, pointedly.
It’s almost impossible to not just sit there and watch him, the student folders that you’re sorting worksheets into acting as a very inefficient distraction.
He’s got a button down on, some pale blue that looks nice under his grey wool blazer. The pale wash jeans and white converse are a bit more casual, but he wears the combination well. Too well. Laid out like this, with one knee up, he looks far too attractive for you to swallow. Glasses pulled down to hang off his jaw, sitting there catching the afternoon light as it came through the windows, casting rainbow refractions onto the back wall.
“Maybe trivia was a date. What would you have done?”
“If you’d asked me to trivia as a date?” You glance up. He’s already looking at you, head tipped to the side, something soft, tentative there in his eyes.
“Yeah.” You can see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his chest rises with each breath.
Ryland sounds… nervous, in a way that does remind you of the first trivia night you’d gone to. He’d been dressed similarly there, you remember thinking he looked nice, polished up a little more than he did in the school day with dress shoes and what smelt like cologne. Handsome where he waited by the entrance, backlit by the bar’s warm lighting. He’d been a little twitchy for the first hour or so, but settled into himself by round two.
With the way he’s looking at you, now as he plans out the false scenario that’s beginning to sound a lot more like a confession, you’re starting to get the idea that trivia could have been a date. If either of you had put it into words.
“Enjoyed it, probably.”
“Really?” He looks shy, a bit of a flush working its way up his cheeks.
You smile at him, thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss him in that bar with a sweet cocktail on your lips, dizzy from his flattery about your trivia skills. You hum, nodding a little as you look at the folders and sheets spread out over your desk, feeling a flush rise to your own cheeks.
He knocks when you’re halfway through lacing up the back of your dress, holding the cords with one hand as you open the door. Ryland’s not been to your apartment before, something you’d failed to realise until he called you and asked during his walk over, if you’d have to buzz him in.
He was appalled to find out the front door to your building was sporting a broken lock and had been tied back with a length of rope for the last two months while the landlords procrastinated fixing it.
“See,” You say, opening the door for him, keeping it propped open with your foot as he shuffles in. “My door locks.”
“Still one less lock that you’re supposed to have.” he grumbles, stepping out of his very nice dress shoes. They look expensive- black leather shined up propper.
Actually, Ryland looks expensive.
“You look nice,” he says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
“I uh,” You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit. It’s the only thought spinning around your head. It’s a proper one, tailor made no doubt. Blazer, slacks and undershirt, all three of them a deep inky black. The navy tie he’d sent you a photo of is done up around his neck in a knot neater than you’ve ever seen him wear to work. The pocket square is folded too, fluffed up with a little volume that suggests he did so intentionally.
Suddenly you’re reminded of all those times he’d complained about all the formal conferences and charity gala’s he’d attended during his days in academia. You realise you have made a grave error.
There have always been little parts about Ryland that oozed wealth, the glasses he wore for one, that he told you were antique when you’d asked. The watch on his wrist that you thought looked like some practical sporty thing but found out was actually worth three months rent when you’d googled it out of curiosity. These little things fall out of the spotlight and become footnotes that are often ignored when he’s in his classroom, or tiny apartment.
Dressed in such a nice suit, here in you apartment definitely wearing cologne- the same from that very first trivia night, something a little warm, woodsy like oaky bourbon, sharp and contrary to the fresh nothingness he smelt like at work- Ryland seemed so far beyond you.
“You look good.” You manage, letting the door slip shut and dropping the lace of your dress, it loses its tension a little but stays in the same spot for the most part, to run a hand over the lapel of his blazer. “How long have you had this?”
“Ages. Dug it out of the back of my closet. A little tighter than when I last wore it, but it will do the trick. Right?” He tacks that last bit on, like he’s waiting with baited breath for your approval.
“I’ll say.” You slide your hand down the lapel a little bit, down over the press of his chest. The tightness just shows the subtlety of his build, lean muscle that comes from idle exercise and good diet, maybe even a splash of genetics. He’s tidied his facial hair up a little, slid the electric razor over all of it to make sure it’s the same length, no doubt. Ryalnd’s still got his glasses on, you were a little worried he might have opted for contacts and are very relieved you get to see this outfit complete with the lenses that frame his face so well.
With a realisation you might be getting a little lost in your head, you drop your hand, turning to walk further into your apartment, towards the couch where your shoes for the night sat on the floor. “Right, we'll, I'm nearly ready. The uber will be here soon.”
“Do you need a hand?” Ryland asks, and you’re about to turn, ask him, ‘with what’ when you feel his fingertips against the small of your back. It sends a jolt though your skin, he’s cold. From the outside air, where as you’ve been nice and cosy with the heat on while you’d done your hair and make up.
Goosebumps rise under his hands as they gather the ties for the back of your dress. Something low swoops in your gut, like the dip of a roller coaster, free falling as he chuckles a little behind you. “Sorry, cold fingers.”
You swallow. “It’s.. it’s okay.”
“How tight?” He asks, giving the strings a gentle tug. You almost sway with the moment, feeling a little swept off your feet already.
“Bit tighter.” You manage, as he presses a flat palm against the small of your back, over the criss-crossing cord, and gathers both ties in one hand to pull slow and firm. It tugs you back into his hand, a steadier hold than you’d expected.
“There?” He questions when the dress is pulled in to sit flush with your skin but not dig in. You get the feeling he might have done some research, when he plucks at each string to even them out and make sure none of them are too tight, on how these dresses are supposed to sit.
“Yeah, perfect.” It leaves you like a sigh, as his palm dips, brushes where the zipper sits before pulling back to tie a neat bow, tugging the cords out carefully so both loops are even.
All of it has you lightheaded, directing more effort than necessary to get yourself to the couch and pull your heels on, black mary janes that are comfortable enough to walk in. As you fiddle with the buckles, you eye him.
Ryland’s hair is tousled, intentionally a little messy, not combed or slicked back. Looks like it would be nice to run your fingers though, and you find yourself wondering if that’s why he’d opted for the style, if he’s here, dressed up as the guy with ‘better hair and a better jawline’ that Margot had pitched, unaware that he already was exactly who he’s trying to be.
He holds an arm out for you to loop yours though, walking down the stairs in steady but slowed steps. You smile. “Wow, full gentleman experience.”
“I told you, I can't just ‘put on a suit’. It’s more than that.” He chides jokingly, and you pity the version of you that didn’t realise this was an option.
He opens the door for you- the car door, the door into the building door tied back by a rope (he glares at it when you pass it)- then rounds the back of the little toyota that’s polished up to try and seem fancier than it was. You don’t talk much on your way to the venue, comfortable silence that the driver thankfully settles into.
It’s nearing sundown when you pull into the driveway, a big circular road that’s already crammed with other cars and guests climbing out.
“You can just let us out here.” Ryland says to the uber driver, unbuckling his seatbelt to hop out, then rounding the car again to open your door, hand held out like it’s necessary, when the car is nowhere near low or high enough to warrant such assistance.
You place your palm in his anyway, letting him pull you from the car, no more temperature disparity in your hands since you’ve both been in the car for fifteen minutes, but it still makes your skin tingle. He’s got cufflinks, the same pale gold as his glasses, in the shape of atoms. You flick one lightly. “I like these.”
He smiles, something a little smothered like he’s trying to stamp it down from a grin as he threads his arm though yours again, beginning the small walk to the venue's front steps. “Well I like your dress, so I think we’re even.”
It’s a ballroom, with these big stained glass windows in the room they hold ceremonies in, you’d seen some lovely shots on the venue’s website of sunset light streaming through them. Imagining Ryland in the warm sunlight has you in a good mood, he’s always suited it, even if the city’s never had much to offer.
“Not too much for our first date?” You tease.
Something like a laugh tumbles out of his lips, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “First date was trivia- and you were underdressed. Keep up.”
You flush, crowding a little closer to his side to make it through the entryway without shoulder checking anyone. Had you been? It was so long ago you could hardly remember anything other than jeans, tight ones that dug into your waist when you sat down- tight jeans hardly felt like being underdressed, they probably meant you wanted him to stare at your ass. Either way you let him have the win, as minute as it is.
Doesn't really matter what you wore back then when you’ve got him like this now.
Together you sit about halfway down on the bride’s side, the pew’s nearly empty, only someone on the other end you don’t know but looks vaguely enough like Daisy, that's you’d guess extended family.
“So why’d you like this guy so much?” Ryland asks, quiet enough for it to just stay between the two of you. He’s glancing around, but his eyes keep bouncing back to Jack at the front of the venue, where he’s talking to gaggle of similarly dressed guys, his groomsmen.
“What?”
“Him,” Ryland says, tipping his head a little to gesture at Jack. “What had you talking about soulmates? Couldn't just be the hair, tons of guys have good hair.”
“They do.” You answer, raising a hand to tangle one of the longer stands where it’s dangling over his forehead around your pointer finger and give it a light tug. Ryland’s eyes settle on you, like there’s nothing else to look at. “He made me feel like the only girl in the world.”
“That’s a cliche.” He refutes. “And a song lyric.”
You smile. “I’m serious. He’s like that with every girl he went out with. He’s like it with Daisy. He just loses sight of every other woman, so attentive.”
Ryland stays silent for a moment, eyes searching for something in yours. Maybe permission, or a want, for him to keep digging, it’s almost as if he’s scared what he might find. “What'd he do? To make you feel like that?”
It’s cute, how nervous he is, despite the fact it feels as though all week, the pair of you have been laying this ground work, a path to follow that will lead you somewhere inevitable, like a trivia date, or the messy sprawled sage green sheets or Ryland’s bed. You smile at him, wondering if he’s thought about you in them. You wonder if he knows how easily you could be, that you might just follow him to the edge of the universe.
Still, you answer his question, offering a peek into your brain, the way you used to operate when teenage giddiness was closer than adult yearning. "Took me dancing. Kissed me slowly, cared about how I wanted things to go. It was like he just couldn’t stop looking at me, for me. It was intoxicating.”
“I can’t.” Ryland blurts out, all reckless abandon, and he’s looking at you like you’ve already kissed him breathless just by being here. You let your leg shift to press the length of your thigh against his, warm even through the layers of fabric.
You breathe in deep through your nose, the scent of his cologne sticking dizzyingly to the air, a scent you think is enough to get drunk on even without the assistance of wedding champagne. "Can't what?”
“Stop looking at you.” He clarifies, eyes darting down to your lips. “I can do the other things though.”
A flutter knocks about your chest, unsteady and uncoordinated. “Yeah, you like dancing Doctor Grace?”
“If it’s with you.” He amends.
“And slow kissing? You like that too?”
“Yeah I do.” He’s not even trying to hide it now, gaze settled on the dusty pink line of your lips, his own a little slick with spit when he darts his tongue out to trace one quick line along them.
You almost asked him to prove it, but in your peripherals, down the aisle and pausing at the sight of you, was Macey, another one of your college friends, smiling. So you place a hand on Ryland's thigh, just above his knee. “Good. Really good.”
Ryland looks dizzy with the praise, like it’s all rushed straight to his head.
“Hey Macey, good to see you.” You greet, using your hand on Ryland's knee to tip his legs towards you, making room for Macey to shuffle into the pew.
“Oh my god, good to see you too! It's been awhile, hasn’t it?” She leans down a little awkwardly to wrap you in a hug as you half stand, and it’s good to see someone after so long, to look at them and remember times when things were simpler and you were allowed to be a little stupid, a little dangerous. It’s nice to see her here, for her to sit next to you- Macey’s always encouraged you to be a little wild, and with the way Ryland’s been looking at you all night, you might need her ego-bosting tonight.
“I’m Macey, nice to meet you.” She extends a hand to Ryland over your lap and he shakes it curtly, offering his own introduction.
There’s a big rock on her finger, and you remember seeing it on an instagram post, some dreamy forest scenery with a ‘coming soon to a theatre near you’ caption under it.
“I suppose it will be your wedding next then,” You tease, “Where’s Jamie?”
“Oh she had a work trip, couldn't avoid it. She wanted to come though.” Macey waves off. Her and her fiance met on some film set, both camera operators, at the time, although you faintly recall reading something about Jamie’s name working its way up to director for some upcoming project, amongst the throws of social media posts from people who once knew everything about you and now you only see once every few years.
“So Ryland,” Macey starts with a glimmer in her eyes, something evil and mischievous that throws you back to seeing her in the living room with a bottle of tequila and monopoly board. “How’d you two meet?”
“We teach at the same school,” He grins, a hand sliding to your knee, just along the inside of it, where your dress fabric hangs low with slack, enough for his palm to press there, thumb drawing slow lines back and forth. “A little cliche but I don’t mind.”
Macey smiles, fans her face a little like that’s just soooo romantic. “What do you teach?”
“Science, opposites attract I guess.”
“Please tell me you used that line.” She practically swoons.
Ryland huffs a little laugh. “No, the kids threw that one at me actually.”
“Really?” You question, a raised eyebrow because that was not part of the backstory he’d been cooking up all week.
“Oh yeah. You should hear them. “Mr. Grace, you and Miss are ,like perfect for each other. You should ask her to the spring dance. They’re relentless, I swear.”
He pitches his voice a little, lazy tones and improper grammar leaking out in the way it did when he did impressions of your students and you can’t help but giggle a little.
“Their heads might explode when they find out.” Macey laughs too, then like a stroke of inspiration, slaps her hand against your arm a few times in pure, unrestrained excitement. “God- remember when we found out Professor Morisaki and Professor Collins were married? Holy shit it was like our heads exploded.”
You bark a laugh, muffling it under your hand considering the rather low level of idle chatter in the venue. “Oh my god, I forgot about that.”
“Professors of yours?” Ryland asks, this soft smile spread across his lips still.
“Yeah, we were doing a car-wash fundraiser! They were kissing in the background of one of our photos!” Macey still whispers gossip like she did in college, like your students do now.
Ryland looks a little red in the face when he asks. “A car wash fundraiser?”
Macey smirks, always too good at picking things up from others' words and you kind of want to stomp your heel over her toes to tell her off before you remember how this evening had been going so far. “Oh? Don’t you know? We were a little wild in college.”
You scoff. “A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” She corrects. “The car wash was an annual thing. White tshirts, bikinis. There’s definitely pictures. I have pictures.”
“Macey.” You scold, mostly joking.
She shrugs, straightens up and sits to face the fronts, pointedly not looking at you with a smirk on her face. “Hey- I’m just reminiscing on good times. Don’t you remember the kissing booth we ran? Of course you do you were the most requested-”
Now you stomp your foot onto hers, although she doesn’t do anything but laugh to herself.
Ryland is back to that dazed look, like he’s on some far off planet in his mind, when he murmurs, "Kissing booth?”
You glare at Macey, for a sharp moment. Before patting one hand on Ryland’s chest, leaning in close when you say, loud enough for Macey to hear. “Tell you about it later, handsome.”
He ducks his head a little close to you, a tiny little movement that stops as soon as it starts. His cheeks are the reddest you’d ever seen, looking a lot like he’s about to kiss you now, when there’s a music cue somewhere further up the aisle and a hush falls over everyone. He doesn't look away at first, eyes glued to yours for a long second before he bites his lower lip, to stop himself saying something and reaches a hand up to lace his fingers together with yours over his chest. He pulls it gently to his lap, smothering it in between his warm palms, fiddling with your fingers as the ceremony starts.
It’s beautiful, truly. The light lowered through the stained glass windows, reflecting and casting colour across the whole room, gentle music and teary vows. Picturesque really, and it reminded you of that time you’d all made ‘vision boards’ as a bonding activity, and Daisy had a little corner on hers that outlined the life she’d like to live, from a small sunset ceremony to the little white picket fence outside a cottage. You’re happy she’s finally arrived there, that she has a man who’s willing to give her everything she’d dreamed of.
You tell her as much, when you catch the pair of them in the reception hall. A warm hug for each of them and a firm hand shake between Jack and Ryland. It’s a lot less daunting than you had thought it would be, seeing them with the knot tied, no bad blood lingering or awkwardness about what once was. Just contentedness, with where your lives had led you each.
The food is good and the atmosphere is better, seeing people from a previous life chapter all reunited, laughing and catching up. The reception is held in a ball room, with gorgeous polished hard wood floors and lovely low lighting that hangs from the ceiling in delicate chandeliers. There’s a classical band, a memento board for people to take polaroids and write well wishes on them, a corner with photos from Both Daisy and Jack’s lives, in albums and tacked up on walls, showing where they meet and things bleed together into their future. All of it’s beautiful.
It’s heading into the later part of the night, when some people have excused themselves and cake has been cut, a hefty supply of the champagne depleted, that a nice slow song comes on.
You aren’t really paying that much attention to it, until you see Ryland shift beside you, rising and holding out one hand, palm up, towards you. “Care to dance?”
Something warm spreads over your face, a flush probably, as you lay a hand in his and he ever so gently pulls you to your feet, right in close to him. He leans down again, lips pressing feather-light to your temple before he leads you towards the dance floor.
It’s littered with other couples, celebrating the love they have for each other as well as the bride and groom.
All of it has you a little dizzy, settling a hand on Ryland’s shoulder as his palm slides around your waist, fingers slowing around the lace up back of your dress, pressing into your skin with gentle intent. He’s warm, firm against you, breath fanning across your cheek as you look up at him. “I know this isn’t the kind of dancing you meant, but it’s the best I can do for now.”
You humm, feet shifting in time with his, a slow waltz you weren’t even aware he knew. “I think I prefer this kind of dancing nowadays.”
Ryland’s lips tick up into a smile. “Yeah?”
He looks as good in the warm lamp light as he does in sunlight, kissing across his tanned skin and stubble, showing off the highlights of his hair. You want to run your hands through it, press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. You settle on talking instead, worried he’s not one for such public displays of affection. “Left my wild nights behind in college.”
He sighs, like this is a devastating blow, hanging his head slightly, glasses slipping a smidge down his nose. “A shame. I was looking forwards to an appearance.”
You purse your lips, lifting the hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, tilting his head back up a little, the pad of your thumb pressing his glasses back up to where they're supposed to sit. “Might do a private showing. Just for you.”
“You going to wash my car?” He asks, teasing. Eyes following the movement of your hand as it slips back down into place on his shoulder.
Your forehead falls, pressing against his collar bone as a furious blush blooms over your face, the worst it has been all night, murmuring, “You don’t have a car.”
He must have known what you were going to say, or some semblance of it because you certainly weren’t speaking loud enough for him to catch all of it, but he still sighs, a little dramatic. “Guess we’ll have to go with the kissing booth then.”
You lift your head a little, to look up at him where he’s smiling down, mirth dancing about in his eyes. “Oh, what a shame.”
The drawl has him crack a grin, cheeks flushed as he looks away. Fingers dancing slowly along the skin of your back, between the cords he’d tied up so perfectly for you.
For you, all of it. His nice suit he’d dug out from the back of his closet, the smart shoes nudging against yours with every step of the waltz. Ryland would do a lot for you, the realisation comes a little late, considering everything. You lean forwards a little, resting your cheek on his chest, as the song slows right down, indulgent.
“You got plans after this?” You ask, and it sounds so cheesy, so bland once it’s left your lips.
Still, when he answers, the smile is audible in Ryland’s voice. “Thought I was getting a private show. Is that offer off the table?”
“Think I can manage it,” You murmur, listening to the final few chords echo about the ball room, basking in the way his voice had rippled and rumbled through his chest, low against your cheek.
He lingers for a few seconds in the quiet, holding you close against his chest. You wonder if he, too, is basking in it. The closeness, the idea of having something that you’ve both been pretending couldn’t happen, wasn’t there in the air of exhaled breaths and weighted stares.
When he pulls back, there is nothing but adoration in his eyes, hand that holds yours falling low, but not releasing it, palm soft against your waist, almost as if he doesn't want to let you go just yet. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Bit forward, Ryland,” You tease, “we’ve not even taken photos yet.”
His eyes follow yours to the polaroid board in the corner, considers it for a moment before he’s pulling you gently by the grasp of his hand around yours, towards it.
The polaroid camera is a little hand held thing, there’s a stand for it, and poster board instructions on how to set a timer delay.
Ryland insists on taking one of just you, and while you’re grinning, trying to convince him to join you against the black fabric backdrop, the shutter goes off.
He rolls his eyes, but lets you drag him in beside you for the next photo. The timer is set, and just as you’re preparing to smile, something a little sweet and knowing, he gets one hand around the small of your back, knocks one of those very smart shoes against your heel and tilts you into a dip. It leaves you a little breathless, as he smiles, nose almost touching yours, shutter flashing off to the side.
He lets you choose which photo goes on the memo board. “Whichever one you don’t put up there, I’m keeping.”
You look a little silly in both, at least you think as much, caught off guard, and laughing a little out of breath. Ryland insists you look amazing in both. Something a bit selfish pulls at your gut, as you apprise both photos, and eventually, hand the one of you and Ryland to him- liking the idea of getting to see it again, of having a physical reminder of the night you two have spent together.
He grins like he’s won something, pulling his wallet out from his jacket pocket- a crisp brown leather that looks worn but well cared for- and to your mortification, tucks the photo into the clear slot. The one most people put their licences, or photos of loved ones, like heart-shaped lockets back in the old days. Ryland says nothing on the matter and he folds his wallet back up and slides it back into his pocket, waiting for you to write your message on the other polaroid’s back.
You scrawl some comment about happy endings and humble crazy beginnings, Signing your name on the bottom under the image of your laughter, and tack it up on the board next to the one Macey’s left.
Ryland’s got his arm out, hooked there for you to loop yours through again.
You manage to catch Daisy by the bar on your way out, and give her a tight hug, telling her again how beautiful the wedding has been, how happy you were for her.
The night air is crisp and the second you’re outside, waiting for the uber that’s just a few minutes away, Ryland strips off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders with a lack of hesitation that makes it seems as if he’s been waiting to do it all night.
You look at him and raise a brow, but don’t say anything when you catch sight of his pleased smile. It’s almost devastating to realise he looks even better in just the black button down and tie than he did in the full suit.
Again, the drive is mostly silent, but you notice pointedly, that you’re not going back to your apartment. And when you tilt Ryalnd’s phone and tap the screen awake, you recognise his street name in the trip’s destination.
“Presumptious.” You smile.
He grins back, lets a warm palm wander to the curve of your knee, fingers curling around it then venturing to settle a little higher around your thigh. “How are you going to wash my car if we don’t go to my place?”
“You don’t have a car.” You repeat, curious where all this teasing confidence has come from, if perhaps your very clear signals have finally given Ryland the means to throw out all of that unnecessary nervousness and doubt.
“Right,” He hisses, patting his other hand on his leg, as if to say ‘drat, there goes that plan’. Then he leans in close, whispers to you, “What was the back up plan again?”
“You are much bolder after a few glasses of champagne.”
He hums, a considering sort of sound that rumbles in the minimal air between you. “More so when I know I'm right.”
“And what, pray tell, are you right about?”
“That you like-like me.” He teases, like a child on the playground and if you were a little less level-headed, you might have kissed him right there, leant across the middle seat to lock lips with him in an uber.
But you don’t want the first time you kiss him to be viewed through a rear view mirror by a driver who looks very unimpressed by the conversation happening in the back seat. “You gonna prove that hypothesis in your apartment?”
“That’s very forwards of you.” He teases, head tipping down like he is going to kiss you.
Expect you turn your head, and his lips brush against your cheek, as you tut. “All scientists say experiments are supposed to be conducted in controlled environments.”
He leans back, still close enough for his warm breath to fan across your face. “You’ve been seeing other scientists? I’m heartbroken.”
“Give yourself some credit, your classes are very interesting.”
“Earsdropping, huh? Didn’t think you were the type.” He looks far too pleased by the idea that you’ve listened to him teach, like he doesn't know that when you come for something during class hours that you linger by the door and wait for him to finish whatever he’s saying, as if you could look at anything else when he was so captivating.
“I’ll Tell you exactly what type I am in,” You glance down to tap his phone awake, checking the ride estimate. “four minutes.”
He nods and you wonder if he’d get that head-rush distant expression on his face if you praised him for the patience. It’s something you want to save for later, you decide, for private. Just for you.
Ryland manages to wait, even keep his hands to himself, once you’re both out of the car, leading you though his building with a sort of reverent silence, that you get the impression wouldn’t return once broken. You stand across from each other in the elevator. With both his hands braced on the bar at hip height, Ryland fixes you with a look that echoes in the space, though the mirrors surrounding you and over the idle hum of machinery. You’re still wearing his jacket, over your shoulders, a slight barrier between the handrail and the curve of your back, as you stand with your arms crossed smiling at him.
The giddiness that bubbles up and about inside you, as you huddle in close behind him through the hallway, as he unlocks his door and lets you squeeze in past him, is something you’ve not felt in a long time. There’s not much room for childish excitement in the modern dating landscape, it feels as though everyone is in a rush, trying to get where they want to be with a relationship before it’s too late.
Ryland though, he’s here. You watch him latch the door, before he turns, standing there to let his eyes run up you again.
“Soooo,” He says, pursing his lips and tangling his hands together in front of him, like he’s suddenly nervous.
“So?” You ask, taking a few steps forwards to run your hand down the plane of his chest again, feeling it under your palm just like you did when he’d turned up at your apartment that afternoon.
“It’s been four minutes.” He swallows, and this close you can see how his adams apple bobs. Your other hand reaches up to scratch feather light against the stubble of his jaw, hand on his chest catching on the silky soft fabric of his tie, the one he’d picked out just for you.
Rylands hands are slow, one moves to the dip of your waist, landing where it had during your waltz, if not a little more firm as it presses you close against him. He catches his jacket by the collar, lets it slide back off your shoulders and hang from his grip as it slides to settle on the curve of your hip.
“It has.” You lick your lips.
Tuggin on his tie was not supposed to be a demanding thing, more so a gentle tease like you have been doing all night, stepping around that first move like it was a pitfall trap you’d never make it out of. Expect he pitches forwards much easier than you expected and Ryland's lips are pressed against yours.
Soft and still a little honeyed by the champagne, he moves slowly against you. He takes one step back, then another, pulling you with him and not letting his lips leave yours as he backs himself up against his apartment door.
Your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and a sharp inhale escapes him, almost a gasp, before he melts into the wood at his back, parting his lips and slipping his tongue up against yours.
It’s slow kissing, it’s dizzying and it’s want. Everything he’d promised you hours ago, in the afternoon sun of that venue, looking like a dream come true.
For what could be hours, you stay there, pressed up against him, kissing at his skin, until he shifts his legs, just slightly, enough to press one somewhere between yours, a soft presence halted by the fabric of your dress.
Breathless, you break the kiss and he lays a sweet peck against your temple, an echo of earlier, before he begins to nose at the line of your jaw, your neck. Kissing then sucking at the divot along your collar while you pant. “Ryland,”
He says your name, just as breathless against your skin, his hand dropping the jacket to pull at the chord of your dress.
“Is your doorway where you take all the girls?”
“There are no other girls.” He murmurs like a confession, far more earnest than you’d been prepared for.
“Just me?”
He pulls back, pupils blow wide and face flushed blotchy and red. “Yeah.”
Ryland leans forwards, crowds impossibly close until your feet begin to shuffle, back, back, back into his studio apartment. It passes in a blur as he presses in to kiss your lips again, glued to them until he deems it’s been enough backwards paces and presses another kiss to your jaw. Using his grip on your sides, Ryland turns you around, folds in around behind you.
His bed’s unmade, messy sheets splayed out in front of you, a pile of sage green cotton that feels like a promise, a sight you’ve dreamed about far too many times.
There’s pressure there, against your ass, a hard length that’s tight against his slacks and it makes your stomach swoop to know he’s so turned on by the slow kissing you’d been thinking about all night. His shuddering breath rushes like wind by your ear, as his fingers pull at the bow he’d tied himself. “Been thinking about this for too long.”
“Yeah?” You shudder when his lips find their place against your neck, sucking and biting at the skin there in a way that will probably result in a lasting reminder. “Since you laced it up?”
“Since you showed me this zipper." He pulls at it and the fabric gives, parting to sit low on your hips. Ryland kisses at the juncture of your throat, biting, and nipping.
The dress doesn’t fall, not with the straps still hanging loosely from your shoulders, but it’s a damn near thing. One of Ryland’s hands winds around your waist, dragging you back against him as he presses up with one slow grind that has him choking on a groan. His cock, still trapped in his slacks, drags between the zip and against your underwear in a tease that’s maddening with far too much still left to your imagination.
You try to turn but he’s got you wrapped up so firmly in his arms that it’s not plausible, so instead you reach a hand back, over your shoulder to tug at the knot of his tie, fingers slipping against the silky marital, catching in the bulk to it to tug. A particularly hard tug has him whining.
“Okay,” You huff out as he sucks a little harder just under your jaw that will definitely result in a hickey if you let him continue for much longer. “Come on, don’t you wanna fuck me?”
You punctuate this by groping around between you both until you get a hand over his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Need to remember this bit.” He mumbles, hand around your waist retreating to slip inside your dress from behind, curving back around so his fingers can skate over the soft skin of your stomach, tips slipping just under the waistband of your panties.
It has you clenching down on nothing and you become actually aware of how uncomfortably wet you’re beginning to get. You squeeze your thighs together, squirming in his grasp.
“Next time, Ry-” He splays his hand over your stomach, using it to press you back into him. “Ryland, come on. Need you.”
It tumbles out in a breathy whine, and it’s like you’ve said the magic words. He’s turning you around in his grasp, hands reaching up to slip the straps off your shoulders and marvel at the sight.
He swallows as you reach for his tie again, loosening it gently now you can get your fingers into the knot properly. Ryland’s hands hover nervously before settling against your rib cage, fingers brushing anxiously against the underside of your breasts.
Your dress was not one that lent itself to a bra, so you’d gone without. You had assumed that he’d figured that one out, given how he’d both laced and un-laced the back of it, but now that it’s out of the way, he’s looking at your chest like he hadn’t expected to see it so quickly.
“You mean it?” He manages, sounding all tongue tied as you pry the tie off, letting it fall onto the floor, blending into the puddle of your dress- a perfect shade match. “I.. I get a next time?”
“Yeah.” You breathe, working on his shirt buttons, one after the other, coming apart as easily as Ryland did under your gaze. “As many as you want.”
When you get to the bottom of his shirt and reach for the belt buckle, Ryland’s hands move from where they’ve been gently nudging your breasts, to your wrists, snagging them gently as he pulls them back. His shoes nudged against yours, another one of those silent signals to step back that you didn’t know you understood so well until tonight.
“Let me.” He says, one hand coming to your hip to push you gently back and down onto his bed.
You land softly, mattress springing underneath you as you shuffle back, leaning on your elbows to gaze up at him as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, a little off balance like the whole path from the door has altered his centre of gravity.
Ryland is a sight, heaven-sent.
His hair’s spiked out in six different directions, and you want to scratch at his scalp and pull at the strands all over again. He slides his glasses down his nose and sets them on the nightstand. The skin of his chest is just as tanned as his arms, a wide expanse that’s begging to be marked up with your teeth and nails.
The belt buckle clinks softly in the empty air as he slips it open, unbuttoning his slacks before he shrugs the black dress shirt off. God, you want to bite his shoulders.
Your teeth clamp down on your tongue at the thought, kind of wishing the tie was in the picture so you could pull him down on top of you. Just when you’re about to reach up, aiming for his shoulder or maybe even his cheek, Ryland surprises you by taking a knee.
His fingers are a little clumsy as they wrap around the heel of your left shoe, pulling it up onto his bent knee as he fumbles with the buckle. He’s gentle with it, more careful than he was with his own shoes that are certainly worth more than your cheap pair, right shoe, then the left.
Still, it has your stomach tied up in knots to witness with just how much reverence he’s treating you. And the sight of Ryland between your legs is certainly one you could get used to.
He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee before blinking up at you. “Are you… Can I-”
Ryland cuts himself off and that same unwarranted nervousness from before takes over his face, fingers curling tightly around your ankle, as if to ground himself. You smile at him, something that feels a little too giddy and a little too much like your 20 year-old self from college, fumbling and laughing your way to bed. “What is it Ry? You’ve already got me on your bed, no need to be shy.”
He bites his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth as he considers the words. “If you say so.”
Then he gently leads your leg, by the ankle that’s still gripped tightly in his palm, off his propped leg as he drops it to kneel, and hooks it over his shoulder. Ryland kisses a path up your calf and along the inside of your leg and with an overwhelming flood of realisation, you fall back against the bed, bracing for the moment where he presses a soft kiss on your clit, through the fabric of your underwear.
Despite his earlier hesitance, Ryland does not dilly-dally. Once he hears your shuddering breath that sounds more like a moan than anything else, he hooks a thumb though the crotch of your panties, pulls them to the side and presses another slow kiss against you.
It’s maddening, has you gasping out his name as he licks a stripe up your cunt, sighing into it like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’s been teasing you long enough that when he presses two fingers along your folds, teasing the resistance of it, they sink in easily. He hooks them up, pressing up against the spongy wall and pulls another moan from your lips.
You're not sure how long Ryland spends between your legs with your hands in his hair and name on your lips, but it’s got you dizzy, clenching around his fingers as he strokes them inside you, languid and slow as he lays gentle kisses over your clit. His stubble scratches against your thighs in a way you’d expected to hate, but are getting rather fond of.
It’s a slow build that crests with you moaning his name and clenching around his fingers as his tongue slows, your hips twitching a little with overstimulation post-orgasm. He moves his kisses to the inside of your thigh, the one not hooked over his shoulder as you catch your breath and it’s highly plausible that he’s leaving another hickey there.
When he does pull back, Ryland is just as breathless as you. Cheeks flushed and chest stuttering as he licked his lips clean. His pupils are blown wide, so much so you can hardly see the blue as he gazes up at you. “You said I could fuck you, right?”
“Yeah,” you swallow, throat scratchy and dry. “You can.”
With your head still spinning from the attention and care he’s taking with you, it’s a moment before you realise his hands are back at your hips as he shuffles you around the bed, up until he can fit his palm behind your head and lift it onto a pillow that smells like him.
Ryland’s above you, propped up on one elbow and a knee to keep his weight off your body. You can feel each heavy exhale on your cheek. “Like this?”
“Just like this.” You say, nodding hand reaching up for his cheek to pull him down into another slow, languid kiss.
He leans in close, whining against your mouth as you part your legs for him to set his between and get a hand on the small of his back, pressing until he gets the hint and grinds downs. It has you both moaning and panting against each other.
You’re getting impatient, and while he must have ditched the pants somewhere between eating you out and repositioning you right side up on the mattress, he’s still got his briefs on and you’re still wearing your underwear.
“Off,” You grunt, hand pulling at the waistband of his briefs.
Ryland’s head drops to the space beside yours, just above your shoulder as he reaches a hand down to pull his underwear down over his cock and down his legs, kicking them off somewhere at the end of the bed.
He gasps, a shaky exhale hitting your skin as you wrap your hand around the length of him.
Warm and heavy in your palm, he’s bigger than you’d expected. When you slide your hand up, swiping a thumb over the head of his dick, there’s so much precum that it pools on your thumb pad. You give him a slow pump, slide eased by the wetness.
Ryland mouths at the skin of your shoulder, and the hand he’s not using to keep himself above you finds its way to your hip, slipping under your panties, pulling at them.
“Condoms. I need-” He cuts himself off with another groan, biting into your skin then kissing it softly like an apology. “I need a condom.”
His hand slips out from your underwear and he gets his knees up either side of your hips to reach over, straining for the nightstand. You take the moment to kiss along his collarbone, using the hand that’s not wrapped around him to tug your panties down, wriggling them off and down your legs.
It doesn’t go unnoticed, and he drops the condom wrapper somewhere beside your head as his gaze whips back to your face. “I was going to do that.”
He sounds a little bit thrown, like he’d really been looking forwards to pulling your panties off.
“You were also going to fuck me.” You prod, giving his cock another languid stroke, watching his face contort with pleasure as he groans. He eases himself back over you, legs between yours and his weight pressing down in a way that has you sighing in contentment.
“Not fair.” He pants, forehead dropping against yours. A hand, so gentle and far too tender comes up to brush the hair by your temple, away from your eyes. “Next time, you let me take my time, okay?”
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We’ll take turns.”
The condom wrapper crinkles in your fingers and you pinch the edge of it between your teeth and rip the corner off, splitting it open with your thumb. Ryland whines, louder and needier than you’d heard him all night, when you roll it over his dick, hips bucking into your hand and cock bumping against your stomach.
He gets his hand down between your bodies, runs three of his fingers through your folds, making your breath hitch. Then he nudges your hand out of the way and runs his cock though them next. You whine, high pitched and stuttered.
It’s a slow steady push when he slips inside you, one that draws out a long moan from your lips. Ryland moans your name, panting and kissing at your throat.
“God,” he pants. “You feel so good, baby.”
A broken whine sneaks past your lips, one hand reaching up to slide around the back of his neck, to lead his face back to yours so you can kiss him all over again.
This type of slow kissing might have been your new favorite, Ryland’s tongue teasing the seam of your lips before you slip them apart, tracing the line of his teeth with your own tongue. He rolls his hips, grinding down in a slow motion. The curve of his cock drags along your walls, along that spongy spot before bumping so deep inside that it must hit your cervix.
You hook a leg up around his waist and it has his stomach pressing up against your clit when he moves again. Moaning into his mouth, you see stars. “Fuck, that’s perfect- so good.”
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling in a way that earns you a whine and a jerky thrust of his hips. “Y-yeah?”
“Yeah Ry- perfect. Feel so full.” The praise kicks him into gear and his slow occasional grinds turn into a building pace, hips pushing against yours and he buries himself to the hilt with every thrust.
You kiss at the line of his jaw, mouthing and biting at the stubble there. He moans, sharp exhale hitting your cheek. “‘M not gonna last much longer, sw-swetheart.”
“S’okay. Let go, baby.” You murmur by his ear, free hand slipping down to press against your clit.
The pressure alone is almost enough to tip you over the edge, pussy spasming around him. Ryland groans, loud and unrestrained, his rhythm falling apart as you do.
When he does come, he manages a couple more thrusts, shallow as they nudge up against that perfect spot inside you. Ryland whines, shaking a little with over stimulation.
“Couple more.” You moan, fingers winding tight little circles over your clit. “Almost there.”
Your spine goes stiff and a drawn-out whine slips out as you cum, clenching around the weight of him. Ryland stills inside, buried deep as he pants.
Slowly, he eases himself down over you, the gentle pressure of his weight relaxing. Ryland only takes a few moments there though, before sliding an arm under you and around your waist, slowly rolling you both, so he’s sprawled out with his back on those sage green sheets with you draped over him.
He kisses your temple, mumbling your name like a prayer. “‘S a good kissing booth. Might be a repeat customer.”
You push up a little to look at him, hands either side of his chest, and a hitched breath sputters out of his lips as you shift, his cock still inside you. “Might? What happened to ‘next time’?”
He smiles at you, hands reaching for your hips as he draws slow lines up and down your skin with his thumbs. “Well, I don’t wanna push my luck.”
“You’re not pushing anything.” You murmur, leaning back down to kiss him proper.
Once the aftershocks of your orgasm have faded and the idea of being empty no longer pulls painfully at your chest, you raise your hips up and let Ryland’s now soft cock slip out. He exhales heavily, and you lay beside him, eyes on the slow spinning ceiling fan.
He sits himself up not long after, slips the condom off and wanders off to the tiny door that you now know is his bathroom. He comes back with a damp cloth, smiling at you shyly as he cleans you up, gentle swipes over your core and along the inside of your thighs.
Ryland walks over and pulls some boxers on, then returns to the bed to slide a pair over your hips too. “You want a shirt?”
You bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to smother a grin. “Only if it’s one of your nerdy ones.”
He kisses the smile off your lips and wanders back over to his wardrobe, throws a shirt in your general direction then goes about fixing the sheets.
You admire the sight. It had never occurred to you how nice his arms were, you want them around you again. He pulls the sheets straight, then up over you before he crawls in beside you.
“This okay?” He asks, pulling you over to lay up against him.
“More than okay.” You snuggle closer, cheek pressed against the warm plane of his chest. “Been thinking about this.”
The confession slips out in a rush of endorphins, like you’re so happy to be wrapped up in his arms and sheets, smelling like him, that you just can’t help but let him know.
You can hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks. “Having sex with me?”
No. You almost say, even though you had. It wasn’t where you were trying to go with this though. “Sleeping in your bed. With you.”
The rise and fall of his chest, of a heavy exhale, moves beneath you. “Oh.”
“I think our next date should be trivia.” You declare, a quiet sort of smile on your lips as his fingers trace slow little circles on your back between the waistband of your borrowed boxers and the ridden up hem of the shirt. “So we can get it right this time.”
“Deal.”
[ Masterlist ]
baby's first Goose fic? more proabaly on the way, although next fic published will proabaly be an oc one, with either Ryland Grace or Holland March from the nice guys.
Summary: ever since you and robert have gotten more acquainted, working in the same building has caused a chain-effect of increasingly bizarre situations. unfortunately, finding a healthy balance on dealing with said situations is where things seem to go sideways. in the fun kind of way, of course.
Content tags + warnings: Very Suggestive, though not explicit. (18+) HR!Reader, workplace dynamics and jargon, loosely based on events of the game, expanding and inserting headcanon where otherwise blank, skirting around coworkers, a couple of steamy scenes (accidental voyeurism), robert's def a smartass, potential butchering of robert’s character, language, some more puns and double entendres, probably.
Note: 8.4k wc - so hey, guys. are we still reading dispatch stuff? because...almost a month later, and here it is. and i've got like. another five solid oneshot ideas, and at least one more part i'm starting to outline for this short lil series. i love this game so much, i've gotta finish my fourth playthrough soon.
this is part ii. part i can be found here!
also, if you want to read more robert stuff, please, please, please check out @rarware, their writing and characterization of robert is amazing.
It had literally been less than 24 hours since going over Robert's benefits together, and it was technically off the record, and yet he still had not elected to go with any of the options. And as much as you would have loved to have reminded him there was a timeframe availability for this, you also didn't want him to think you were actually referring to anything else.
Despite it all, you seemed to be able to handle your workload so much better for some reason, and ontop of everything, even with all of the visits you were getting from staff around the building, you felt like you were able to deal with it. Though, it was never a question that you weren't already capable to manage several things at once, yet— you felt like you had a total mood shift— a boost?
Blazer had been the second, or maybe third, who said something along the lines, 'You look like you're in a good mood.' 'Sleep well?' or your favorite, 'Already on your third cup?'
Had it really been that long for you? You swallowed, hand hovering over the mouse as you worked on some of your reports, and emails, all that jazz. Suddenly, work didn't seem all that bad, but it also didn't feel particularly interesting, either.
Was it possible that Robert was helping you become a more functional person? Nah, that didn't seem likely. Whatever it was, you figured it might be that he brought something new, and interesting into your life.
After yesterday evening? Well — okay, technically there were some gaps inbetween, so you guys were kind of reconnecting, but even now, it felt so out of order. As if, just maybe, it shouldn't have happened the way it did. Timing always had a weird way of integrating itself in your life, but you knew better than to dwell on it at this point.
Especially, since you were absolutely past the point of breaching the previous lines — and it was clear to you, that you were open to exploring whatever this was, safely, of course.
But for one thing, you couldn't help the fact that you felt even more drawn to him now. Though, you must admit it was going to be a challenge, especially while you were in a lot better mood, you also had a certain thought nagging at you throughout the day. So for now, you decided it would be best to keep your distance.
You reconsidered if you should even pay him a visit while at work, or if it were preferable to wait till after. It's not like you guys had exchanged numbers. But you also figured that maybe you should just be patient and let it happen naturally. Besides, he might see you now, and decide not to engage. Perfectly fine, and even expected for a one night stand.
If that was the case, maybe it would be better to just shelve it for now, and not expect anything. You were technically, kind of in a position where hooking up— a relationship, or whatever else— well, it was completely unprofessional.
Oh well. It was then, as you had stood up from your desk, using the copy machine in your office to print several sheets of the 'job expectations' for some of the candidates coming in for interviews later that week. It wasn't always your favorite part of the season, then again, the job had a somewhat active turnover rate for some positions. And with your mind, still shuffling through your tasks for the day— well you couldn't quite shake the image of Robert rudely interrupting your thoughts.
And then, in the middle of your mind replaying the ridiculous, but unfortunately alluring things he'd said to you the day before— there was a beep alerting you to an error. And with the copies having stopped about halfway, on the small led screen "Change Out Ink Cartridge."
Blinking, you could have sworn you must have taken care of refilling it just last month. The next move, and you were pulling at the drawer of your desk, where you normally stashed things so you wouldn't have to leave your office regularly. Well, as you shifted through paperclips, loose pens, half used post-it-note stacks, and assorted other things you didn't need at the moment, you realized you would have to leave your office.
So naturally, you hurried to make your trip down to the floor where the most of the supplies were stocked. Mentally, you were pacing yourself, thinking of all the things you might say to Robert the next time you'd see him. You were already imagining where the conversation might branch off— as you quietly mouthed a response to yourself. You had it all figured out.
Except, no, you really didn't.
You pulled down on the lever of the supply room, though your hand froze over it shortly after. And wouldn't you know it? As if you had simply manifested him from all your earlier thoughts. Robert, who didn't seem to even notice who just opened the door, as he continued searching through the contents of an unlabelled box. Clearing your throat, and with caution, you began to approach him.
You stepped in, and the door clicked shut on its own, which finally alerted Robert, his head craning towards your direction.
"Oh, hey." he greeted you. The closed smile gracing his face should have been a fireable offense, it looked so natural, but laced with something only the two of you would discern.
You cleared your throat before you cautiously began to approach him, and before you could even properly greet him back, he decided to tease you further.
"Are you following me?" he asked, slight rise in his brow.
You scoffed, crossing your arms briefly as you looked from the metal shelving rack he was stationed by. "Yeah Robert, I know exactly where you are all the time." you replied, playful sarcasm evident in your tone.
Robert lowered his eyes back to the shelf he was examining, scooting around a couple of more things. "So what do I owe the honor," he drawled.
You were a bit bothered by the way he casually created chaos amongst the organization, especially when everything was labeled… accordingly. Mostly.
"Printer's out of ink. And, you?" You were still in anticipation, wondering just what was going on in his head even now. Had you left him so unaffected? Was it just you going through the new emotions?
Well, of course… you couldn't simply think that far ahead. Now that an itch had been mutually scratched, it was probably for the best not to seriously consider anything more.
"Ah, yeah— looking for a stapler." he mumbled. Robert couldn't help but wonder when the last time the inventory was counted here.
You just watched him, not quite intervening to offer your help just yet.
"Are they an endangered species around here?" he asked, recalling Sonar's persistent accusations just the other day.
"I'll be sure to add it on for the next supply order." you defended.
Robert then unexpectedly brought up the elephant in the room. "Hey, you doing okay?"
You hadn't realized your arms were still crossed, presenting body language that very much screamed just how wound up you felt. You immediately retreated them back to your sides, leaning your weight towards one of your heels. "What? Yeah, of course."
His eyes narrowed, and a curious twitch of his lips as he continued. "Sure."
You tapped your foot, inhaling a breath and releasing it shortly after, and it was quite clear there was some obscurity that needed defining here. "Peachy, infact." Maybe you were a bit too insistent.
Robert was watching you, and there was much too long of a pause for this situation to just mean nothing to either of you. His eyes were unshy to flit down to your lips, and then back to your gaze, rather smooth— natural, to be seen by him.
"Look— I," you began, already folding.
And of course, you had every intention to divulge your thoughts on where you stood with him, and just when you were about to start— you heard the lever shift, and someone was entering the room. Quickly, and with purpose, you yanked him with you, retreating into a blindspot. So there you were, cramped into the hidden corner, bodies pressed right into each other. Though, you likely may have shot yourself in both of your feet, there was no way you could explain yourself out of this one, that is, if you were caught. You could feel each silent breath leaving him, his mouth closed, jaw tight with his eyes still set on you like you were his target.
Whoever had entered, quickly located what they needed, since they were in there not even for two minutes. Yet, for you, those were the most excruciating two minutes you had ever experienced.
Robert, not moving from the position quite yet, his lips veering into something smug. "You were saying?"
He wouldn't dare close the distance even more by kissing you, knowing that was likely crossing boundaries you weren't exactly enthused about during work hours. Though, his mind was whirring, flirting with the idea of restrictions officially lifted once the two of you were clocked out.
"There's an office supply store a couple miles from here. If it's so urgent." you said, changing the subject.
"That's fine, it's not for me." he paused, figuring out the rest of his reply, "I'll just make sure to check in for the next shipment, then."
Slipping out from the warmth of his body, you proceeded to head over to the door. He cleared his throat rather abruptly, which caused you to turn back. And a groan nearly left you. But this time it was strictly professional, and he was holding out something. You realized it was the actual reason you came here.
In his hand was the black ink you needed, so you took it from him quietly, feeling too embarrassed to comment on the mental hiccup.
"Thanks." you said, keeping your tone polite.
Still, you felt an inching anxiety resting under your skin, especially since you were no closer to having addressed the day prior.
Once you were out, you could feel how tense you were, your face felt a rush of warmth settling, making you feel like a teenager for the first time, in a long time. You may have claimed this kind of feeling was unwanted, but you couldn't help shake the effect he had on you. At least not yet.
You were a little more than halfway into your shift now. After having your lunch, you were currently sitting in on a video call that was essentially an over glorified board meeting. And though you knew it was a mandatory one, it wasn't like you hadn't heard it all before. Infact, you were mostly on auto-pilot, simply looking up now and then between your note taking. Again, they were nothing more than bullet points for you.
Another ten minutes rolled by, and the higher ups, ones you hardly ever actually met in person, went over the previous quarter— and then began to evaluate the current one. If anything, you were certainly aiming to be on your best behavior, especially since Blazer was also present during the call. Part of you did think it was kind of amusing for the thumbnailed suits droned on about civilian perception, while she was the only masked up hero on screen. Then again, it all seemed to make sense why she was personally invited, once the topic of the Phoenix program came up.
Blazer unmuted herself and politely intercepted in behalf of the program she was overseeing.
"It's completely understandable why it's a concern, but believe it or not, they've been making strides in improvement."
One of them quickly countered her. "There's already an ongoing lawsuit about one of them setting an employee's car on fire. Which, doesn't exactly instill confidence to continue such a program."
"Okay, that's. Well— yes, we are certainly working on that, sir."
You nearly made a face, but you didn't want to push any buttons or interrupt her. And while it was certainly an incident, like she explained, you silently agreed that there had been improvement. Though, it further irritated you that she had to plead their case, as professionally as she could muster. Asshole.
"Working on it, how?" he pressed.
She composed herself, keeping her tone as unaffected as possible. "We've already had to cut one of them from the team. While it was not an easy decision, we're taking these issues very seriously."
You certainly began to slowly understand just how much was riding on this program working out, and how Robert had been handpicked for this. She had the confidence in him, and so did you.
"Look, I understand they may seem like a liability, but there's also room for growth. SDN is one of the first to even attempt something like this. Yes, criminals should be held accountable, but given the chance— if under different circumstances, we can't assume anyone is beyond help."
They didn't seem to be interested in excuses, but she was also someone with a kind of presence that made many willing to hear her out.
"Yes, maybe we've bitten off more than we can chew, but that just means we'll put in the extra effort required." she firmly continued, "And I have faith in our team, and our dispatcher is already breaking new ground."
You smiled, silently supportive of her passionate defense. No longer taking notes, you simply admired the fact that she truly believed it was not a waste to help them grow. She believed in people. You could sense the sincerity in her tone. It was honestly pretty refreshing, further backing up your conviction that you truly appreciated working together.
"We'll give you another two weeks. In the meantime, put together an action plan you intend to execute. We can't continue to fund something so unproductive."
"Understood." she simply said.
Was she somewhat worried this would fail? Maybe. Even so, the way she handled it was certainly respectable.
Snapped from your thoughts, your personal superior spoke up, calling you out by name. "Did you get all that?"
You pressed to unmute as well, giving a practiced smile. You hoped this might mean it was nearing its end. "Yes."
"Good, I think that just about wraps everything up. We'll check in again, and send a summarized email of what was discussed."
Once you hung up, you ran a hand over your face, realizing just how much was riding on this. You didn't want to have to be the one to break the news if it meant terminating the whole team, along with Robert, which seemed to be part of that implication.
Just then, right as you were gathering up your notes, you saw someone standing outside of the window of your office. Speak of the devil.
She gave a friendly wave, and you acknowledged her presence, giving her the okay to open the door with a motion of your hand.
"Bosslady, was wondering if you had a sec."
"Malevola, you don't need to call me that." you simpered, a bit amused.
"Well, Mal's fine, too." she added casually.
"Mal," you corrected. "what can I do for you?"
"I'm starting to feel like there's a bit of favoritism going on around here. And I thought you might be the one to talk to about that."
"Of course. What's going on?"
Within your chest you felt a pang of worry, wondering where exactly this was going— especially since it was all too apparent that you did favor a certain someone.
"Ever since Robert started, the vending machine is always stocked with those sponge cakes— and the guy who usually comes by once a week doesn't bring the trail mix anymore."
Patiently you waited, letting her continue since you figured there most be more to this. "Okay, and get this, there's literally two spaces full of them now. Who does that?"
You looked at her, obviously a bit confused at first, especially since you were expecting something more serious.
"What? It's got protein and the…little chocolate candies—" she started, almost innocently explaining the contents.
"Well, we honestly could just stock the cupboard with them. I'll send someone out to pick those up, it's not a big deal." you offered, finding it almost kind of cute. It seemed like such a small issue, but she was polite enough that you were willing to take care of it promptly.
"Sweet." She seemed rather satisfied with your answer, but before she turned to leave she decided that she had to air out another pressing issue. "Oh, one more thing, actually."
"Yes?" you asked.
Part of you hoped that wasn't a knowing look on her face, though you resolved to keep your cards hidden. Shit, how were you going to last in this position if you were constantly worried people knew what was going on. Especially with your suspicions about what Visi had likely seen by now.
"So. Since you're HR and all, we were wondering if you know Robert's, like… superhero identity?"
"Excuse me?"
"So we actually have this betting pool on which hero he was. But haven't figured it out yet." she groaned, remembering his avoidance on the matter recently.
"Mal, I can't give out information like that." you carefully said.
"Shit, that's fine. Thought I'd try, thanks again."
Out she went, as you then looked back at the job description print outs you were stapling together earlier. Almost done.
Another hour in, and you had gone out for a bathroom break. Though, as you made your walk back, you noticed a post-it note stuck on the door of your office. Scouting the area briefly, all you could heard were the clicks and clacks of keyboards and work discussion, though the further you looked, the more you couldn't pinpoint any particular suspect across the cubicles. You sure as hell weren't about to start asking random people, 'Hey did you see the person who left this here?'
'hope you stay good yeah. your smile, so bright!' - R (with a big smiley face hastily drawn near the signature)
You smiled to yourself, rolling your eyes playfully as you peeled it off and went about the rest of your day.
Cute. you thought, nearly begrudgingly, but regardless left you feeling flattered.
Well, things seemed to run a bit smoother for the remainder of your time there, all things considered. Especially since that note was a bit unexpected, but entirely welcome.
And by the time you're making your way out of the office, the sun was nearly set now; you had put in a bit of extra time today. Taking the elevator back down to the ground floor, you rolled your neck a bit, stretching yourself out as you pondered over the somewhat eventful day, at least from the moments that stuck out to you.
But like a sore thumb, you picked out Robert immediately lounging on one of the couches in the lobby. Was he waiting around for when you were leaving?
That gave you enough pause as you cautiously watched him, noting the way he slowly turned, hearing your familiar footsteps approaching. Your lips nearly parted, and you could feel the ghost of a word lingering on your tongue, though you refrained from doing so. Robert got the hint, figuring that if you wanted to talk, it would be somewhere more private.
Robert fell in step from behind you at first, and then picking up his pace to catch up to you by your side. A slight quirk of your head, and you were trying to refrain from being sassy, but ultimately failed, "Are you following me?" echoing his own words toward him.
"Look, I figured you might want to talk. Just get things out in the open. You know… on the same page." he said, a genuine earnest in his eyes.
You kept walking till the two of you reached your car, fiddling with the contents inside of your bag, so that you could fish out your keys. "I… well," you attempted.
"We also don't have to, we don't even need to address it, if that's what you prefer." he expressed, sighing with his whole body, shoulders slumping forward for a moment. The weight of the day must have gotten to him.
You looked him over, feeling a tad guilty for likely adding onto it. "I would like to talk. I do, I just… I don't want this to get out of hand." you admitted.
Robert nodded, his lips pressed together thinly, as he realized what you were likely leaning towards. "And, I respect that. It was never my intent."
You nodded and then looked over your shoulder, hoping there were no passerbys who might start asking questions. Again, it was natural that you felt paranoid— it wasn't everyday you risked your job for someone.
Mulling it over for the next few moments, you gave in, realizing that if you were ever going to either 1) get closure or 2) explore this in a healthy way, you had to talk. There was no escaping that.
"Let's talk."
The private setting? Well— you chose your home, again. It seemed like… the safest, somewhat. But you were still on high alert from what happened yesterday. Though, this time, you were here to actually discuss where this might lead, like the adults that you were.
"This probably sounds crazy, but I can't stop thinking about… it."
Robert nodded, knowing exactly what you were, or moreso who you were referring to. "Right, yeah. It didn't cross my mind. How something like that… would happen. But we're already working on that."
"Okay." you simply said, as you both sat there at your table.
There were two mugs of hot tea, as you gingerly sipped on your own, hoping to ease your nerves.
"Things are… looking promising." he offered.
"That's good." you quietly said. Your eyes were cast down at your tea, fingers tapping it gently as you seemed to be stewing on his comment.
"Whatever happens, I'm taking full responsibility. Since she is under my watch." his tone, serious. "Besides, I know she's a little on the difficult side. But I can tell there's something there…"
You definitely sensed you could trust him, especially since he took the initiative to make sure you felt at ease, and did not keep you hanging. His communication, while sometimes seeming cagey, or questionable, may have been something you conjured up during your anxious bouts. Though, in spite of that, your mind painfully reminded you that discretion was vital.
"Well, I think that maybe, we should lay low for a while." you said, choosing your words carefully.
"Yeah?" he echoed, searching your eyes for any underlying message. "In or outside of work?"
Even now, and especially now, with what you hoped meant that you were the only two here— you couldn't tear your eyes away from his own.
And that's when it happened, with the last strings of restraint snapping, it led to a sudden race to your bedroom. Hands in his hair, as the two of you were kissing as if you'd never do it again, as if there weren't any force strong enough to break you apart. Oxygen? That's what your nostrils were for. Fuck, things weren't making sense.
Though, in a sense, this seemed to be the only thing that was keeping you afloat, willing to keep pushing forward. You hadn't been this passionate, this interested in someone— not since forever.
You turned the knob of the door, pressing your back into it to open it the rest of the way, and carefully he walked you backwards, helping you onto the bed gently. You laid there, with Robert settling ontop, still quite invested with your mouth.
"Hey," he breathed, parted from your lips temporarily. "you looked nice today. Am I allowed to say that?"
You squirmed a bit, noting the way he held himself above you, careful to keep his weight from being fully pressed into you. But the comment itself had you feeling rather bashful, though you didn't want to admit it. Your defense mechanism? Shut that shit down. Playfully, of course.
"Well… we all have free will." you teased.
You were easing yourself up the pillow a bit more, as you laid your head there, smirking up at him.
"Alright, you know what I meant." His eyes narrowed, though he was just as amused, and should have expected the retort. "I wanted to tell you earlier, in the supply room,"
"Why didn't you?" you probed.
"I don't know, you kind of threw me for a loop when you grabbed me like that." he swallowed, thinking back at the moment. Obviously, he was a man. Of course he was turned on. "And, you left in a hurry."
"I wasn't—"
"Couldn't stop thinking about you…" he admitted.
"Shut up." you retorted, clearly affected by him, and probably a bit shy over being the one he desired.
"Shutting up." Who was he to argue?
Especially not with the way you were leaning up towards him, arms loosely draped over his shoulders, bringing him down closer to reacquaint with you.
Within moments, one of your arms retreated, hand next running up his chest, and then back down, untucking his godforsaken shirt fully. That was way too distracting, why couldn't he just commit to it? Instead, here he was, looking like a beautiful disaster and it was driving you insane. He was just effortlessly your type, and that annoyed you to no end. You didn't want to be attracted to ridiculously inconsequential details like that. Though, what you hadn't realized was that Robert did initially tuck in his shirt, it just got loose throughout the day, and he couldn't be bothered to retuck it. Infact, he never really thought about it, especially with his behind the scenes kind of work.
Another minute or so passes, and there's a particular stray thought gnawing at you. "Hey," you murmured, lips pressed into his.
"Mmhyeah?" he said, in a daze. He was blinking his eyes open, to show you he was listening.
"I got your funny little note today." you purred. Your lips just then missing his own, as they landed right at the corner of his mouth.
It threw you off guard, as he lifted his head back, squinting his eyes as he looked down at you.
"What note?" he asked, seemingly clueless.
You looked thoroughly confused as well— and he couldn't exactly focus in on it, especially with you lying there, lips parted and glossy from his saliva.
"You left it on my door." you paused, "R?"
"I have no fucking clue what you're talking about."
Okay, well now you weren't letting this go.
Robert's mind was piecing it together slowly, and he then started laughing lightly. "Sorry, I just…" then, he gathered himself. "Do you remember what it said?"
As you slowly phrased it out, and as you said it aloud, you realized just how it sounded. Well, Robert seemed to be having a genuine in a fit of laughter, obviously amused by this.
"Yeah, Royd leaves sappy notes like that for everyone." he said, recovering now.
"Suddenly…that's making a lot more sense."
Robert, slowly moved to lie on his side beside you, sensing the mood having shifted. You were somewhat disappointed, but it gave you two the time to talk. And with your conversation unfiltered now, you were simply thankful that you were getting more than just a glimpse into his life.
The soft timbre of his voice, describing what it was like growing up for him; the seldom moments he cherished and held onto. He especially had a lot of good to say about Chase, and all of the fun they had. Which, once you really thought about it— was in part, where he must have developed his sense of humor.
You didn't think to ask about his dad outright, instead Robert, volunteered it instead. Though, to you, it largely sounded as if he viewed it through the lens of an outsider. Despite lacking any substantially positive memories— most of the painful ones, he seemed to hold back from speaking on. Though, where he felt connected to his father, it almost felt superficial. And besides leaving behind his own name, as well as a legacy he was uncertain he could ever truly live up to. It also just seemed like the only plausible thing for Robert to do— shoulder it on himself.
And sure, he likely fucked up a lot on the way up to this point, and even more recently. But Robert was simply wired this way, he was never one to stay down. Even if it meant killing him in the process. Which, was probably why he stumbled upon becoming a dispatcher in the first place. It was clear that Robert was still affected to this day, and hearing a more in depth version of it, made you realize just how damaged he was.
Robert was quiet now, and just so he knew you were really still there, you continued to lightly trace over his arm with a hand, as the two of you lied facing each other on your sides.
"Still want to stick around?" he remarked, voice rough, with a hint of something else.
Almost like he loathed himself.
"Well, yeah. It's kind of my place." you answered. You figured, if you kept it light, he might discern that you were certainly not one to judge him.
You had your own issues, and things to work through, too. Your sense of purpose seemed to have run out on you lately, and you were uncertain if you would find it again.
Robert's eyes playfully rolled, as he groaned, stuffing his face into your pillow briefly. "You can be really fucking irritating sometimes. You know that?"
You started laughing, and he picked his face back up, the sound of you absolutely contagious.
"Right back at you. Do you know how many times I've been flagged for things your team has done?"
"I don't want to talk about workkk…" he drawled.
You could tell that Robert was passionate, and though he was calling it work, it was clear that being their handler was not just a job to him. He was integrating so well, and especially navigating each of their personalities, any truly sane person would have lost it already.
Feigning a sigh of defeat, you squeezed his arm, leaning in closer to peck his cheek. "For what it's worth, and if no one's already said it— you're doing great."
"Not sure how to take that, especially coming from you." he laughed, teasing you.
"It's a compliment. Just take it." you chided.
He simply nodded, letting that be his answer for now. You were watching him, the tired seem to be settling in his bones just a bit more, as he looked genuinely comfortable in your bed.
"Fuck…I don't want to leave, just a few more minutes." he murmured.
His eyes were heavy, and just as he was about to speak something else, his mouth parted and remained open. And since you weren't about to let him start drooling, you gently cupped his chin, hoping you'd be able to close his mouth.
Just like that, Robert was out. Ironically, you expected a different reason for him staying overnight, it tickled you to think that he had felt comfortable enough to doze off. Then again, you truly had no idea how fucked his back and everything else was from his current living space. Your bed was like heaven, even though he hadn't said it out loud.
When Robert woke up the next day, he had to adjust his eyes as he began taking in his surroundings. He hadn't really paid it any mind when he first entered your room last night. But now, with the sunlight peeking through the window, he slowly pulled himself up, stretching as the night prior came back in segments. He was still in his work clothes. Damn.
You were already up doing something in the kitchen, which was apparent from the scent of coffee in the air. And after teasing him about his bedhead, he mumbled incoherently, and took a seat nearby. Once you offered him his own cup, the English he knew began to boot back up as he stirred awake.
Then, ever the meticulous one, you insisted that he would leave for work first. There was no way in hell you were giving him a ride, or would even consider showing up at the same time, in the same car. So, just to be safe, you exchanged numbers, just so you'd know when he arrived, that's all. Not for any other reason, of course.
So, even though you were noticeably late to work, you felt very much well-rested. And your mood, a lot less fickle than the day prior.
Infact, you felt relieved enough to make an appearance on his floor again. You had some things to post on the bulletin boards, and even checked in to make sure certain snacks were stocked for the week. If they'd even last that long.
And as you were walking out from the breakroom, you noted the way Robert turned the corner, crossing paths with you. You nearly stopped, but decided to just walk a bit slower, and once you were a few steps closer, your eyes curiously flicked down to his shirt— half untucked, again.
"Coming back from the bathroom, Robertson?" you asked, a bit too casually.
He stopped, likely thinking there would be more to the interaction, but you continued walking, shoulder gently brushing past him intentionally. Robert stood there a beat longer, as he blinked. To try and catch you in time, he turned his head, smirk threatening to curve up, with an eye twitching. Looks like you two were back to being playful. That, and he clocked the forced formality of his name immediately, though it was anything but.
"What, a guy can't take a shit around here?"
No response, at least not a vocal one, though before you stepped into the elevator, you turned back to glance at him. The look on your face, absolutely criminal. He knew you were getting a kick out of this.
The smile on your face was wide, and as you rode the elevator back, others probably were wondering what had you looking so smug. Though, your reputation was well known enough as being work-focused, and while you were personable enough, it didn't mean you attempted to be part of any inner circles. Definitely not required for the job. So naturally, they knew better than to probe you for answers.
Robert was back at his desk, and he was tapping his fingers ontop of the surface methodically. Just as he was about to move to slide his headset back on, Chase popped up from his cubicle.
"Chase." Robert voice droned, clearly not amused with whatever it was he was going to say.
"Look, I can't say you should. But also, I'm not saying you shouldn't." he started, motioning his hands as if weighing out the pros and cons for Robert.
Robert groaned, realizing that he was not going to live it down. Even if, hypothetically Visi hasn't spread anything yet, he knew that Chase was also very well aware of what was going on.
"Hey, I've been around long enough, I think I know my shit."
"We probably shouldn't talk about it here." Robert said, his teeth pressed together, attempting to answer him without moving his mouth too much.
"I know, that's why I didn't fucking say any names."
"Yeah, yep. Got it. I'll be sure to pick up the bread after work." Robert said, emphasizing his words, covering up the conversation with a fake one.
"Word of advice, just don't get caught."
Robert paused, holding his breath, though his whole face deadpanned. Silence.
"You got fucking caught." Chase said, huge sigh incoming. "I'll get you a box for your things."
A forced laugh escaped his throat, as he shook his head, finally putting back on his headset to resume his shift.
After work, you're home and fixing dinner. And with your phone laid there on the counter, you were starting to wonder if texting Robert would be a good idea. I mean, you had enough lasagna for several servings, so it just made sense to share, right? Except, you most definitely did not accidentally use your extra large dish, the one you reserved to use for gatherings.
Honestly, you weren't really sure what he ate. You weren't really around him long enough to know, besides noticing the desk littered with wrappers or in the bin by his desk. Sneaky as you were to even pick up on that, at least. Yet, little did you know, Robert's diet seemingly consisted of prepackaged and criminally processed foods; lots of junk food. And in reality, you were definitely rewarding his stomach a courtesy with a homecooked meal.
So once it was done, steam coming off from it still, you decided to snap a picture of it to send to him.
"Do you like lasagna?" you texted, being direct.
Shortly after you sent it, you noticed that he read your message, and then the three dots came up, indicating that he was already typing. It was like that for the next 20-30 seconds. And then it stopped.
You waited a bit longer, and then his response came through. A simple thumbs up emoji: 👍
Rolling your eyes, you then replied once more. "I'll bring it tomorrow then."
You cut into it, giving him at least two generous helpings, making sure to leave enough room for some steamed veggies for a side.
The next morning comes, and your goal was to make it into work a lot earlier than your normal schedule. Plus, less people to bump into on the way to his floor's breakroom. And as discreet as you could be, left the plastic container inside of the fridge. Just to be sure, you placed a post it note with his name on it.
And for the first half of his day, Robert had been anticipating his lunch hour, and by the time it rolled by, he was careful to guard the microwave as it warmed.
Well once he's pulled it out from the microwave, the others lingering in there were instantly intrigued.
"Shit, that smells good. Is that you?" Prism asked, looking up from her phone.
Robert shut the microwave door a bit harder than he planned, and he quirked an eyebrow. "What? Me?"
"Uh… well yeah." Malevola added. She was leaning against the wall as she eyed him curiously.
"Huh. I dunno." he said, tone disinterested. Robert then lifted his arm, the one not holding onto the container, pretending to sniff his armpit. "Yeah, no. Probably not."
The two of them looking at each other, and then back at Robert. What a shithead.
"Are you eating someone's lunch?" Prism probed, needing to get to the bottom of this.
"So you're the thief?" Malevola asked.
"Yeah no, guess it's still a mystery." Robert sighed. "Good luck with that."
He honestly was indifferent if there was an actual lunch thief, he didn't have anything to bring that could get stolen anyway. So he just walked out, deciding to have his lunch elsewhere. Leaving the two of them just as clueless as they were moments ago.
Once he was back at his desk, and he took that first bite. Well, you can imagine. Food normally tasted good, but when you were starving? It was a whole 'nother definition of the term. And though he may have been biased— imagining the work you put into it, made it even more enjoyable. Robert was also seemingly unaware that his enthusiastic hums and mmms alerted a few others nearby. Not that he would mind either way, it took a lot to embarrass him these days.
It was the same day, now bordering into the evening, and you were pulling quite a bit of overtime again. Especially with your current workload, ontop of the extra tasks you were delegated to take care of by today. Your goal? You were simply trying to get ahead of the game and ensure you would meet your deadlines.
And as frazzled as you may have been, if you could just organize the rest of the upcoming week, at least in a way that you could manage— sparing any unexpected mishaps, you would be golden.
You weren't entirely miffed or anything that Robert didn't say anything about the food. Which was fine, you didn't expect it to be some kind of transaction. But you were hoping… even if he had just texted a simple thank you, to indicate that he even ate it at all, it'd probably make your day. But you had to shelve the thought for now, assuming he was likely not much of a texter anyway.
Eyes shifting to the clock mounted right above the door of your office, you squinted, watching the minute hand tick down. Sighing, you then gently rubbed at your eyes, realizing that you really should just take off for the night soon.
Just. Thirty more minutes max. You wanted to be sure your scheduler was updated so you could look it over the next morning with fresher eyes.
Right as you were typing away on your laptop, you heard your phone's notification alert you. You ignored it first, but it's when you hear at least three more come in right after each other. "What is it now…" you said out loud, frustrated.
You froze, eyes glazing over the messages with rapt attention. From Robert, no less.
"Hey. -7:35 PM.
I know you're probably busy. But could you check something out? -7:36 PM
There's a little problem here in the locker room. -7:36 PM
Also, yeah. I'm still dressed, so don't freak out." -7:36 PM
"What the hell…" you muttered quietly to yourself.
You bit your lip, as you looked back at your laptop's screen, and though you were caught in a slight conflict, you ultimately decided you should probably find out if it is actually serious. Might have to log another workorder…
You hurried over, and with your instincts kicking in, you quite literally came right in without knocking— though, you probably should've.
Robert was standing there, near his locker, shirt mostly halfway unbuttoned, as he looked at you. "Oh, you actually came."
"Of course. You told me there's an issue, what's going on?" you blurted out. To be fair, you were a bit high strung, especially since you were running on fumes, mentally at least.
Robert led you to one of the stalls, and the water pressure appeared to be so low, you could only assume there had to be some kind of buildup or clog somewhere. You sighed, making a note of it on your cell. "Okay, we'll get something scheduled."
Robert gave you a half smile, looking a bit fatigued himself, but also appeared to have more to add.
"That all?" you asked.
"Well… thanks again for lunch, by the way. I owe you one."
"Oh, no need. But I'm relieved… I was worried you hated it."
You both stood there a bit awkwardly, the silence deafening since there weren't any others lingering about at the moment.
"Well, I should… probably let you get to it." you finally said. "I mean, the rest look like they're available, anyway."
"Wait," he murmured, voice low.
You tilted your head, wondering what he could possibly want to say now.
"Since there's no one else around…" he started.
Swallowing, you looked at him, trying to gauge what he was trying to say. You could sense the suggestion in his tone, especially with the way his eyes dropped, and it's like the two of you remembered the same thought— how the night prior left the two of you wanting, and your activities postponed.
"It's pretty roomy in there, almost like it's meant for more than one person." he suggested.
You nearly choked on your next response, trying to remain calm about the insinuation. "It's more than likely because they're ADA compliant…"
Robert wanted to roll his eyes. Though, it was honestly kind of… a temptation, even now. You never would have expected to consider doing anything like that in public, and certainly not here of all places.
You could feel the temperature rising, as if someone turned up the heat, though you knew it was just him flicking your switch on. It probably didn't help that you likely were subconsciously giving him a vibe— or even in the way you simply looked at him.
Even with your comment, Robert pressed on once more, and though he was about to let it go, he couldn't help but slip one more joke in. "You know, since you're all about… going green, save the trees— water conservation."
You wanted to counter that, but you were speechless for a few moments more. "Are you… fucking insane?" you whispered.
"Clinically, or for you?"
"Robert, you are such an ass… I swear." you muttered. Though, even though your patience was running thin in more than one way, you began walking forward, closing in on the space between the two of you.
He shrugged, but you had him cornered back near the benches, he looked down at his bag.
"If it helps, most of the office has already filed out." he reassured you.
You sighed, sorting through your options, and it was getting worse because you were actually starting to consider it to be the only choice.
Closing the gap, you began kissing him, cupping his face along with you. His arms casually slid down to hold you by your waist, keeping you with him.
"I don't even have a spare change of clothes…" you mumbled, still kissing him.
"Just uh," he started, still very much invested with the way your tongue felt against his, "put them back on when you leave…"
"Gross."
Yet, there you were, continuing the trek down his shirt, plucking apart the last couple buttons. Maybe without it, you would think less about him being employed in the same building.
"I am not… wearing the same underwear." you said, pulling back.
Robert reached his hand a bit further, grasping your ass in the process, "Who said you have to put them back on?"
You were about to smack the shit out of him for that, but… decided to help him out of his shirt instead.
"You are terrible." you muttered.
Why were the two of you arguing playfully each time, as if it was your foreplay? You had to admit it was kind of exhilarating, and you were not actually complaining.
So once more, you would pause now and then, looking behind your shoulder for anyone else before you began undressing. And making a race of it, you decided to stuff the remainder of your clothing inside of his gym bag.
"Get over here." he breathed, tugging you into one of the stalls.
It was only a matter of minutes, before Robert had you pinned against the shower wall, and part of you hoped it was cleaned regularly, and daily as it should. But those thoughts seemed to melt away, since Robert was actively and particularly engaged behind you, open mouth over your neck as the heated water seemed to add to the sensation.
"Rough day?" you asked, a bit breathlessly.
Robert's eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to be concentrated on the motion of his hips, the smacks of wet skin echoing off the walls, finally replying back to you. "What gave it away?"
A soft huff of a laugh left you, and you could feel the way his hand laced through the one you had on the wall, planted on for purchase.
You tried your damn hardest to keep yourself quiet, but you couldn't help the few moans that did escape you, especially since Robert was rather insistent on working you all the way. How suiting for a couple of absolute workaholics.
Unfortunately, for the two of you… what you failed to realize was that Waterboy was working the nightshift and of course, one of his last tasks for the night would have to be here— to disinfect the locker rooms and showers. And technically, they shouldn't have been in use even now. He agonized, realizing that he should have posted the "Currently cleaning" sign on the doors much earlier.
He could have sworn he heard Robert say he was going to hit the showers like, over 30 minutes ago, which should have been plenty of time.
And he nearly dropped his mop since he wasn't entirely sure what was going on, not till it was confirmed for him, as he heard the mutual groans and soft moans. In the thirty seconds it took for him to decide he should probably hightail it out of there, it was so quick… he had forgotten to also bring his cleaning cart back out with him.
Well, after some time, the two of you were out and drying off with a couple of towels. Then looking towards the doors, you noticed that there was a cart left in the corner. "Hey, was that there…earlier?"
"Probably." Robert responded, not looking up since he was getting dressed.
Though, that wasn't a particularly comforting thought, especially as you stared at it a bit longer, trying your best not to be so paranoid. But you really couldn't remember it being there when you walked in originally.
Regardless, the two of you agreed to leave separately. Robert about fifteen minutes ahead of you. And once you checked your phone, you decided that it was probably long overdue for you to get going too.
Once you were out in the hallway, making your way over to the elevator, you noticed Waterboy lingering by the area. You greeted him with a smile, and let him know that he's been doing such a good job.
Which causes him to stutter more than he normally did, especially as he noticed your damp hair, and the way he could have sworn the flats you're wearing now were the ones he saw by the lockers.
"T-Tha… Thanks! Have a good night!" he sputtered. His ears were burning up as well as the rest of his face, immediately connecting the pieces together. Not a word. He would never speak about this to anyone.
It wouldn't be long till the whole building knew that Robert couldn't keep his hands off of HR.
HIII i am begging can you write a Peter Parker x reader one shot where peter and reader are married and have a toddler and maybe the avengers team find out PLISSSS ANS TYYYY 🫶🫶🫶
baby 🥺
pairing ➳ peter parker x reader
requests are open (but i barely write stuff)
masterlist
“what is he doing on the ceiling?!” kate yelled as soon as you entered the lobby, searching for your little toddler ben. you rubbed your eyes as you approached a very baffled kate, “your child is on the ceiling! how are you so calm?!”
“it’s 7 in the morning.” you winced as you looked at ben, him giving you an excited look and extended his arm towards you, making you do the same, “come on, benny, come to mama.”
and he did so as, un-sticking himself from the wall as he perfectly landed in your arms.
your two year old was way better at this than peter when he had started out as spider-man. his hand kept getting stuck to different places and after a bunch of ripped t-shirts and a couple of haircuts, you bought him rubber gloves. however, that didn’t work either.
as your little boy nestled against your chest, you looked over to kate who still had surprise written all over her face, “he’s spider-man’s child.” you explained simply.
“but- what if he fell down?”
“oh, he wouldn’t. he’s way too smart for that, aren’t you, benny?” you booped his nose and he gave you a grin.
“yes, mommy.”
you and peter had kept your relationship secret for a couple of years, at least from peter’s superhero gang. so it didn’t come off as a surprise when the avengers found out that you two had a one year old. they were very disappointed in you two for not telling this big a thing but the second they saw ben’s cute little face and his smile, you were forgiven and everyone was happy.
when you agreed to move into the avenger’s tower, tony was more than excited. he added a bunch of toys to the huge playroom that was originally built for morgan.
you were surprised to see that thor was the most attached to your baby. he spent time with him and thursdays were reserved to thor and ben taking a tour of the city. you trusted thor, however you had only allowed this after ben turned two, which was only a few weeks ago.
whenever natasha was around, she would tell ben all kinds of stories about how she kicked bad people’s butts so that little kids could sleep peacefully at night and ben would adore those “tales” even though they were real.
“next time you find him on a ceiling, just show him a cookie, he’ll come right down.” you told kate as you patted ben’s back, gently lulling him back to sleep.
“if you say so.” kate replied, chuckling as she watched you for a minute, “you should get some more sleep too, you look tired.”
“he refused to sleep last night because tony let him have extra ice-cream.” you rolled your eyes.
you noticed ben had fallen asleep, already drooling over the material of your t-shirt as you carried him back to his crib, placing him securely under his blanket before you made your way to your own bed. your husband, peter was still fast asleep. you laid down on the bed, peter already pulling you closer as if it was a reflex. you felt his arm relax against you, his head resting close to your shoulder and soon you felt the soft caress of sleep take over.
the bedside clock showed 10:34 as time when your eyes opened again. the room was empty, peter and ben both gone. you quickly freshened up before making your way out of the room and into the main gathering area once again.
only this time you were greeted with everyone sitting around and laughing as steve held his shield on his lap with ben sitting on top of it.
“hey, babe.” peter was the first one they greeted you as he placed a kiss on your cheek and dragged you in the middle of whatever was happening.
“uh, what’s happening?” you asked, looking around.
“your child is stuck to cap’s shield.” tony said, an almost proud smile spread over his face to which steve gave him a glare.
“guess who inspired it.” natasha rolled her eyes at her two friends, however a small smile remained on her face at the little banter going on.
just then kate ran into the room, holding a cookie in her hand as she handed it to steve, “got it!”
“come on, kid.” steve said, waving around the cookie in the air in front of him. ben’s eyes lit up and steve smiled, “it’s yours if you leave the shield.”
however, cap’s efforts failed as ben reached out one hand to grab the sweet but didn’t move a bit to release his shield.
“i bribed him good.” tony shrugged as he sipped on his black coffee.
you watched the whole scene unfold, amused to say the least. you noticed peter snickering as he stood beside you. you smacked his chest lightly, “you think this is funny? go get your child.”
“and forget the spider-bike mr stark promised me? never.”
summary: flash forces peter to sneak into the girls sorority and steal a pair of panties as a dare. stumbling into the nearest room to save himself from being caught, he doesn’t expect you to be there, and to let him steal the panties you’re wearing.
request: yes!
words: 5.1k
warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [fingering, oral], praise kink, slight dacryphilia kink, dirty talk, and protected sex), language, alcohol, mentions of weed, and a bit of fluff.
note: frat!peter x sorority!reader / peter masterlist / PART 2
—
“are you serious right now, flash?” peter groans with a pinch to his nose. his eyes screw shut in annoyance at flash’s obnoxious behavior.
“of course i am, penis parker!” flash shouts, shoving peter towards the large, white sorority house. “you have to do the dare or else.”
peter groans again, hating himself for ever agreeing to do this stupid game with flash.
the night had started calm and for once, peter was grateful. friday nights were the craziest day at the frat house, but this week, everyone was a bit too busy with schoolwork. except flash apparently.
like all of his other roomies, peter loves a good party. he doesn’t mind thrashing his house every week if that means he can have fantastic parties at his place (okay, maybe he minds a little bit. it gets tedious cleaning up garbage after a while). he knows he won’t be young forever, so what the heck, right?
people never would have guessed that peter was the leader of the frat. shocking, right? everyone would assume it’s flash for his obnoxious and party boy persona or brad for his attractiveness and charm. but what do those qualities have to do with being a leader? everyone else (besides those two) agreed that peter should be the head of the house because he is responsible and smart, unlike those boneheads.
peter often asked himself if he was attractive and if he had charm.
he did, right?
brad was good with the ladies. one glance and a wink made the girls melt into puddles at his feet. every morning when peter woke up early to go to class, a different woman would waltz down the stairs with a glowing, uncontrollable smile in nothing but a t-shirt. peter knew without a doubt that every one-night stand that stumbled down was brad’s; it was rarely flash or the others and ned had a girlfriend who was in the sorority across from us.
peter hooked-up once in a while. he found it more difficult to be like brad when he had college to concentrate on and lives to save inbetween it all. being spider-man in high school was overwhelming at first because it was impossibly hard to hide it. but now, having more freedom in college made everything a bit simpler. just a bit.
flash being spider-man’s “#1 fan!” still made him chuckle every time it came up.
speaking of flash, when peter stumbled through the door in the evening expecting a chill friday night, flash just had to crank up the energy. as per usual.
“what is this?” multiple bottles of liquor were splurged across the dining table when peter walked into the kitchen. flash crossed his arms with a huge smirk plastered onto his face, while ned looked concerned and stressed.
“i tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me,” ned shook his head in disappointment before walking away to his room.
“we’re having a party. it’s friday, penis,” flash said with an obvious tone. peter could easily have him removed from the frat, being the leader and all. yet he still keeps him here. why must he do this to himself?
“flash, i said no parties today. everyone is tired and stressed, and has a lot of work to do—”
“stressed? i think that’s the best reason for a party. you need to get laid, my brotha,” brad interrupted with an arm around peter’s shoulders and a firm pat to his buff chest. brad is way taller than peter, which some might think intimidates him. but peter is mainly intimidated by intelligence, and brad had the iq of a stick.
peter rolled his eyes at the predictable statement. flash rambles on about how parties are a tradition on friday nights and peter sharply cuts him off with a strict tone.
“ugh, fine! no party, party-pooper parker. but we will be drinking tonight. or else i’m sending an invite to 50 people.”
—
peter had no choice but to comply. flash, ned, brad, himself, and the other boys are seated on the furniture with the drinks displaced in the center. flash gave peter an ultimatum; play truth or dare or he rings the entire sports program of a party. peter growled and folded.
soon later, there is a sharpie drawing on flash’s ass, a ruler that measured brad’s dick, a flushed ned from downing too many denied truth shots, and laughter bubbling throughout the whole room. peter is the only one who hasn’t gotten asked anything yet and he honestly feels a bit left out. but he also just wants to do his homework and then go to sleep.
“what’ll be, penis parker?” flash inquires with a mischievous look on his face. “truth or dare? or should i say drink or dare?”
peter, not caring at the time, chose dare. “dare.”
“oh, you’re so in for it.”
—
so in all, peter was basically held against his own will to sneak into the girl’s sorority house. even though he denied the dare profusely and took three shots to make up for it, flash still dangled the party invites over his head like an iron weight waiting to drop.
peter snarled as flash nudged him again impatiently. he thought of an idea that might work. peter would have to do this dare, but would he have to do it alone?
“if you come with me, i’ll give you $50 bucks—” peter sells with raised eyebrows. he licks his lips as the cold breeze rustles the trees and sends slight shivers up his arms. the sky is pitch-black as the heavy clouds cover all the stars. peter felt a storm brewing and he really didn’t want to sneak into the sorority soaking wet.
“pfft, parker, please. i have enough money—”
“—in weed.” peter finishes, causing flash to halt his words. peter knows that flash can never find a good supply because he complains about it all the time. marijuana wasn’t legal on campus, let alone in the state. the trade had the cogs turning in flash’s head.
“alright, deal,” flash gives in and elbows peter as a form of agreement. then flash motivates brad and ned to join, heading straight for the zone as a group.
their goal was to grab a pair of underwear and leave without being caught. as spider-man, that should be easy, right?
—
for some odd reason, the back door was unlocked. you’d think girls would be more secure and observant than guys, but maybe they forgot. after hopping over the trimmed gardening hedges, the four boys crept through the door and into the kitchen.
unlike peter’s frat, the sorority girls had two big rules that they made known to everyone; no hook-ups allowed and no frat guys. ever. the girls didn’t throw parties like peter, they only went to them, so their place was like a holy sanctuary.
when the guys tiptoed into the kitchen, peter wasn’t surprised the place was damn-near spotless. most of the interior was pearly white; couches, love-seats, tables, counter, cabinets— it was like walking into an insane asylum with minor color accents.
it was at least midnight by now, so the girls had to be asleep. tiptoeing as silent as possible up the stairs, peter leads until they’re all standing in the middle of the large hallway with rapid, contained breaths. flash, being the scaredy-cat he is, follows last and nervously trips over the final step. he slips, tumbling down multiple levels with nosy thuds and bangs of his elbows and knees. all of the guys sprout wide eyes and strained, silent gestures to warn him to stop falling and making an absurd amount of noise.
peter gets goosebumps, hair rising on his skin as he gets a shiver down his spine. his hearing intensifies, picking up mumbled whispers and light footsteps with his spider sense. his eyes wander frantically as he scatters his brain for an idea. nothing comes to mind fast enough, as a door down the hall creaks open. brad and ned drag flash up the stairs, but freeze when they hear the door. out of instinct, peter sprints to the nearest door, slyly slipping inside. he closes the door gently, contradicting the pounding of his heart, without a noise being made. he releases a sigh as his forehead rests on the doorframe.
“what are you doing?” peter nearly shrieks when you casually question him. he stares at you, eyes impossibly wider than before. your arms are crossed as you sit on the side of your bed. peter swallows harshly, gazing at your appearance.
your legs look smooth and supple, and very much bare. he assumes you have underwear on under the t-shirt you’re sporting, and is proved correct when you shift to dangle your legs off the bed. his eyes are drawn to the small sight of your panties that tease underneath your shirt. you smirk, arms still crossed as you let him check you out.
“i-um-uh,” cheeks wildly red, he swallows and averts his eyes to the ground. how does he explain such a stupid thing without sounding like a jackass? i was dared to invade the sorority house. sorry. oh, also, can i have your panties? “it was a dare.”
“to sneak into my room?” your head tilts as you lift yourself off the bed and stalk towards him. peter’s cheeks grow redder while his heart pounds brutally in his chest.
besides the embarrassment flowing like blood through his veins, you were the simple kind of gorgeous that made his knees weak. the kind that is stunning in their own skin and that radiates beautiful energy like magical fairy dust. and peter nearly fainted when he saw your lack of clothes.
he’s seen you many times before; you share a class with him and came to some of his parties. he never talked to you in fear of rejection, but now he doesn’t really have a choice.
usually, he has more confidence with girls, but this is a very unfortunate situation where he lost every skill he’s ever known. even talking.
“no—” ear-piercing screams interrupt peter’s stuttering from the other side of the door. footsteps run all over the wooden floor as low profanities leave the guys’ mouths. “i think she found them.”
“you think?” you clip with raised eyebrows. peter inhales, losing some of his anxiousness at his thoughts of the boys being caught.
poor ned. betty’s going to kill him.
flash deserved it, though.
brad is probably getting one of their numbers.
peter shakes his head and sets his thoughts straight.
“okay, look. flash dared me to do this… stupid thing and i convinced them all to do it with me. i wanted to do nothing but relax tonight,” peter admits with a stressed exhale. you glare at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what has him so worked up. it’s not like he got screamed at and kicked out like the other guys. knowing some of your roomies, they might be a lot worse than just kicking them out. you get closer to him and ponder what he said.
“what was the dare, parker?” you shoot a harsh glare at him, daggers that force him to answer. your head tilts with curiosity as your heartbeats sporadically. you’ve never had a guy in your room before, and for that first guy to be peter parker has your heart bouncing around your chest like a boomerang. you’ve had your eye on peter for a few months now; not crazy obsessive, but you won’t deny the blood-rushing crush you’ve grown for the frat boy.
how did you stumble that low? a frat boy? jeez.
peter can’t be too shocked that you know his name, let alone his last name, but you saying it still causes him to forget some of the words on his tongue. many shouts are heard from outside the door, but your chests are nearly touching as you gaze up at him and then the outside world is practically silenced.
“i had to steal some… panties,” he mumbles, voice low and quiet. why does it sound so dirty?
“panties?” you repeat in a hushed voice as your surprised eyes blink a few times. you swallow, clit beginning to throb at the word out of his mouth.
“yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “do you have any that i can…borrow?”
your mind hazes at his question. you tried to remember where your underwear was and if it was clean. but as a clear opportunity lies in front of you, you decide to run with it. you look down with a racing heart, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt.
“i…i have these ones,” you lightly ball up your t-shirt, revealing your laced panties to peter. he quietly coughs, cock starting to harden behind the zipper of his jeans. you glance up at his reddening expression through your eyelashes, devilish eyes hiding behind an innocent facade. confidence and lust ease your anxiety. “will these work?”
“um, yeah,” peter coughs again as rosy embarrassment crawls up his neck and blood rushes to his cock. you strut over to the mattress, rocking your hips teasingly, and peter instinctively follows with his heart in his throat. you lie on your back and spread your legs, arousal dripping from you at every movement. peter watches from a side angle, holding his breath as the tension rises.
“well, you’re not much of a panty-stealer if i just give them to you. come and steal them, parker,” you say with as much confidence as you could muster up. your heart was so loud in your ears you almost couldn’t hear yourself. speechless, peter walks to the front of the bed and kneels down, eye-level with your pussy.
he crumples the shirt over your hips, your legs automatically spreading wider. his senses heighten and pick up on the scent of your arousal. a small patch of it can be seen in the middle of your underwear, sending painful pulses down to his forever hardening cock. his thumbs dance around the laced hem, teasing you to see how much he can go.
he would say some of his confidence is back now.
he hooks his fingers under the band, sliding the flimsy fabric down while sticky arousal slings to you. he stuffs the damp material in his back pocket. both of your hearts rack and hands tremble at the extreme intensity, waiting for someone to do something. anything.
peter decides to be that person and resumes his fingers to your hips where the hem used to be. your folds glisten with pent-up arousal, just begging for him to touch you. your puffy clit throbs, neglected, and your thighs subtly spasm trying to remain open. peter grinds on his molars, nearly moaning at the glorious sight. his rough pads trace your smooth skin as he drags lower, dangerously close to where you’re yearning for him.
“peter,” you whisper, holding your breath, so you don’t move a muscle, even though they’re involuntarily shaking with need. he hums, the dirtiest thoughts flowing through his mind. “d-don’t you have to go? what if you get caught?”
“i can spare a few minutes…” his gaze is hazy and distracted, voice gravelly with lust. you clench desperately around nothing as you quietly plead for him to do something. his thumb tests the waters and finally begins circling on your clit, sending electricity up your body. you yelp at the sudden pressure, naturally grinding your hips for more friction. “hmm? don’t you want me to spend a few minutes with you?
his words are taunting and condescending, making your mind go blurry while the words disintegrate from your tongue. the rough pad of his thumb rubs faster while you clench around nothing again, chest heaving.
“i want more than a few minutes,” you moan as his middle finger pets along your soaking slit, teasing you painfully until your eyes roll back. you can sense the smirk growing on his face based on the satisfied hum he responds with.
“more? greedy girl,” peter slides his middle finger into you without warning causing you to release a long string of moans. “shh, you don’t want them to hear you, do you? then we’ll both get caught.”
you shake your head.
“then be a good girl and be quiet for me,” peter demands softly. you nod shakily, as another finger pumps into you rapidly. he thrusts brutally into you, fingertips brushing over your g-spot. you melt as bliss laces throughout your body.
“it’s always the quiet ones who are the loudest,” a devilish and dirty smirk dances on his lips while your teeth sink painfully into your bottom lip. you slap your palm over your mouth to remain quiet as thrilled moans threaten to pour out of you. your revolving hips are halted by his strong forearm, allowing him to curl his digits deliciously into you. you mewl with screwed eyes, back arching at the immense pleasure.
“i’m so close, peter,” you whisper, scared that if you speak any louder your moans will betray you and alert the whole neighborhood. peter subtly grinds his hips into the front of the mattress, cock dangerously hard from your whimpering and whining.
“can i taste you? been dying to since you opened your legs for me,” peter asks while your thighs tremble and your pussy contracts tightly around his digits. you mumble out a shuddery please before his mouth is devouring you.
he never removes his fingers, pumping ruthlessly while his mouth explores your slippery folds. he sucks harshly on your throbbing clit, a muffled wail escaping through your hand. warm and soothing, his tongue glides curiously and sneaks into your undeniably soft cunt. the moan you release is unholy and way too loud. at least right now.
peter wants nothing more than to hear your sweet, sweet moans crying his name while he makes you come in several different ways. but tonight was not the night. he wasn’t trying to get reported and have intruder as a new notch on his belt.
he had a good feeling you wouldn’t run off and report him though.
the idea of it all got him off much more than he would have ever thought. and looking at you, he could say that same.
his mouth plops off of you, lips swollen and puffy from sucking.
“come all over my tongue. let me taste you, sweet girl,” his tone is euphonious and seductive, yet demanding. his fingers savagely thrust into your seeping hole that clenches tightly around him. your back arches off the mattress as your thighs shake from the upcoming euphoria.
peter’s words send your body into overdrive. your muscles contract and your stomach tightens as your orgasm ripples through your body like a heavenly wave. cum oozes out of you and onto his tongue, slurping up every ounce of your juices until there is nothing left.
“such a good girl,” peter praises while he licks away your arousal from his rosy lips. heat crawls up your neck at your sudden vulnerability. you attempt to close your legs to hide, but he keeps them spread with his rough hands. “you’re going to hide yourself after i just ate you out? we’re just getting started, baby.”
peter pulls his shirt off deliberately, showcasing his bulky abs and muscles that made your clit pulse with desire again. he looks like he was man-made, a real-life sculpture with chiseled muscles and perfectly ridged abs. you were insatiable to this man, who snuck into your room to steal something— you should be mad at him. furious. but when his boxers fall down his legs, only dirty and needy emotions and thoughts are left.
your eyes widen at his impressive length; you’ve only been with a few guys in the past, but none of them were this big. you were scared, yet excited to feel his cock stretch you out sinfully. you imagined how long you would feel him inside of you afterwards, soreness like a good workout at the gym.
“you’re so big,” you mumble, not hiding the fact that you were blatantly eyeing his raging cock with hunger, fear, and lust.
“it’ll fit. don’t worry, doll,” he hovers over you, smoothing your hair away from your worried eyes. “do you have a condom?”
you stretch out your arm into your night stand, blindly grabbing a tin-foiled package. you seductively rip it with your teeth, causing peter to groan in impatience. he snatches it away from you and swiftly slides it onto his sturdy cock.
“such a fucking tease,” he hisses, running the tip of his cock along your folds, which were already soaked in arousal again. “are you ready?”
you nod your head surely, more than ready for him to fill you up.
“you’re one to talk,” you sass, rolling your eyes, which were no longer as worried, but full of needy anticipation. he huffs out a single chuckle, eyes strained on his dick rubbing around your wetness tediously.
“speaking of talking, don’t,” peter thrusts into you savagely, making you gasp and shriek. your hand immediately goes to his shoulder for leverage, nails digging desperately into the meat of his skin. the other tightens securely onto your mouth to keep quiet, even though it’s probably useless now.
hoarse profanities fall from his lips as he shifts around your snug hole. your velvety walls choke his cock so fucking good, he doesn’t think he’ll last any longer. and then you clench even tighter around him, sending peter’s eyes rolling back into brain.
“you’re so fucking tight,” peter groans in your ear, flicking his hips upwards into you. your body trembles in overwhelming pleasure, muffled whines begging to be released.
slapping skin and hushed moans fill the air. peter fits a hand between the two of you and rubs your throbbing clit perfectly. his lips travel down from your ear to your neck, kissing along your skin. his tongue discovers your soft spot, sucking harshly until you’re clutching onto him for dear life.
“you’re so good, peter. so deep, too, oh god,” you can’t help the lusty wail that tumbles from your raspy throat when he rapidly rolls his hips, repeatedly touching your sensitive g-spot. he growls at the praise, every action being intensified by the comment. you notice this and smile with a hint of devilishness behind it.
“you may be smiling now,” peter pants, muscles popping and flexing from the position. “but you’ll be crying soon.”
if possible, his thrusts got harder. and deeper. and faster. he was pounding into your cunt like there was no tomorrow, buckets of arousal leaking from you and all around him. peter would pull his cock fully out just to slam it back in, and it made you wither away into another dimension. his balls beat against you harshly with every brisk thrust of his body. his skilled thumb pets your clit, electrifying all your nerves into blissful flames.
there was so much to feel; the biting of his kisses on your neck, the rough texture of his thumb pad on your clit, the long, thick length plunging barbarically into you, and the heaviness of his weight above you. you were so overwhelmed by the pleasure, water brimmed at your tear ducts. soon, full-blown tears are streaming down your face from the euphoria running through your veins.
that familiar wicked smile curls on peter’s face with your appearance; wild hair, tear-stained cheeks, and swollen lips. he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful in front of him.
his cock twitches when you whimper loudly underneath the palm of your hand, begging to let you come. contracting on his shaft, your nails stab his shoulder blade until crescent moon marks appear. a strangled moan leaves him when your body rolls up towards him, back arching harshly.
“need to come. so bad, peter,” you whine. his name from your lips drives him mental.
“fuck, y/n,” he sighs heavily. “come around my cock like the good girl you are.”
with those words, your second orgasm tumbles through your body like a thunderstorm. peter slams his lips against yours to keep you quiet, all your pent-up moans turning into needy hums in your throat. stars spot in your vision and you thought you might pass out from being fucked into oblivion. you wouldn’t even be mad— it was worth it.
summoning all your energy, your muscles tense as the liquid floods out of you. your back arches, making your bare breasts push up against peter’s chest. at the same time, peter comes with a string of curse words against your plush lips. he shoots his load into the condom, balls tightening while his eyes screw shut. he steadies his pumps and slowly pulls out of you, never wanting to leave.
you whimper at the emptiness, already missing his cock. he ties the knot and tosses it into the garbage under your desk. peter slips into his boxers and immediately finds the small box of tissues on your night stand. grabbing a few, he cleans you delicately like an antique doll as if he didn’t just ravish your body and soul.
you were beyond dumbstruck as he wiped you up. the few people you have been with never stayed long enough for aftercare, and even though it should be a necessity, the action still made your heart lurch for peter. speaking of your heart, it was beating a mile a minute. sex was a physical activity, yet having a huge crush on someone felt a lot more physically demanding. but you really liked the feeling.
a million thoughts brisked through your head; how does he feel? does he feel the same? did he hate it? did he love it? you shake your head. if you didn’t stop yourself, you would ruin any chance you might have by overthinking too much.
when you refocus your eyes to the moment, peter has his jeans fully on and his shirt in his hand. he slides it on and then looks at you worryingly, seeming as though you’re still naked and haven’t moved.
“are you okay? did i go too hard? fuck—”
“yes—i mean no! shit,” you stutter after interrupting him and close your eyes in embarrassment. “yes, i’m fine. i’m more than fine. that was… really good, peter. like really good.”
peter’s tensed shoulders relax as his face melts from a concerned expression to a soft one. you slip your large t-shirt on and stand up from your bed. your legs are a bit unbalanced and wobbly, and peter can’t help but chuckle as he holds you steady by your hips.
“stop laughing! you did this!” you whisper-yell with a faked angry face.
“oh, i know. next time, i’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk, let alone stand,” he winks with an arrogant smile cascading his lips. familiar heat creeps up your neck and ears, making you all tingly inside at the idea of a next time with peter.
“next time?” large rings of hope surround your irises as you stare into peter’s. his arrogance slightly fades as he itches with nervousness.
“yeah, if that’s what you want, of course,” why is he holding his breath? why is his heart beating so unhealthy fast?
“if i say yes, does that mean you’re going to try to steal my panties again?” you try to hold back your grin as you joke, peering up at him with squinted eyes.
“are you going to let me steal your panties again?” he clicks his tongue with his all too familiar smirk. he loves your playful demeanor and your attempts to withhold a smile.
you pretend to think, really debating. peter can’t help but stare at you in awe. you were beautiful, and he regrets not approaching you earlier because you were… well, he didn’t really know you yet, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better. even if you told him to fuck off and never to see him again, he knew that he would never forget you or this night.
you push yourself closer to peter, chest to chest. you can both feel the rapid beating of your hearts through your shirts. however, you stand, gazing confidently at peter. he watches you as you lean right in like you were going to kiss him.
“mm maybe. you might just have to find out yourself,” your breathy words linger on his lips as you back away and casually get into the bed. you unfold the comforter and tuck yourself in, like you didn’t just give peter a semi-hard on in his pants.
suddenly a loud crash is heard from outside, alerting both of your heads to peer out through the window.
“my car!” flash cries so high-pitched and whiny, he probably woke up the entire neighborhood. peter isn’t surprised that one of the sorority girls destroyed his car because he deserved it. someone needed to humble him anyway. you both laugh behind the palm of your hands at flash’s girly scream.
with that, peter realizes that he has to go and that he no longer has any minutes to spare. flash, brad, and ned probably weren’t worried about peter while they were out-running the girls. but now that the girls had done the damage, the boys would soon realize peter’s absence.
“better hide your panties. this isn’t over,” peter walks over to the side of your bed and kisses your forehead delicately. he cracks open the window, turning to you with half his body out. with a wink from him and a gasp from you, he jumps down the two-story window without hesitation. your heart flutters at his gentle kiss that lingers on your skin, fingers pressed against the spot his lips last touched.
rain begins to splash on the glass as sprinkles of water drip into your room through the open window. you purposefully don’t close it, even when you know the carpet will get soaked throughout the night. you welcomed the idea that if peter wanted to come back, he could, simply by sneaking through the window the same way he left.
so many other thoughts cloud your mind, making you lie wide awake. you wondered if his heart was still thumping hastily like the rain pattering on your window and onto your floor. you wondered what he looked like when he was drenched in natural rain water. probably breathtakingly beautiful; soaking wet hair and a childish smile adorning his rosy face while he laughs wholeheartedly.
as you roll over to turn off your lamp with a wistful sigh, you remember that you never even got his number. while trying to guess which set of numbers fit peter parker the best, you fall asleep with a yearning heart, flapping its wings adoringly in your chest.
oh, god, you were down. and it was bad.
what you didn’t know was that peter was down too, but even worse than you.
guys no i've been living in denial these past few months abt glenns death but it just kinda set in how horrific it was and hes acc dead not just missing oops.
guys i had a stranger things pov acc last year i forgot abt, i dont see myself making more since im not into that anymore so do I just leave it or change it into a personal acc? It has almost 3k followers and 100k likes total so idk
Perv!Daryl Dixon who definitely has pollards in a draw of you cooking in the kitchen, cleaning up the children or even just sitting down while he works on his bike
Perv!Daryl Dixon who waits for you to be asleep before he jerks himself off onto you while you lightly moan and whimper when he accidentally rubs you
Perv!Daryl Dixon who loves have you cook for him until he mornings with you (his) shirt that is down to your mid thighs and a pair of underwear on while talking to the sleepy man
Perv!Daryl Dixon who makes you test drive his bike while he sits behind her cashing him to feel every movement she makes as the bike revs under her while he has a small smirk on his face at her every reaction.
Perv!Daryl Dixon who has never felt more comfort then when you sit on his lap and fixes his hair causing him to lightly grow at the sight of her boobs and how he gets even more hard when she adjusts her hips to get comfortable on his lap
Perv!Daryl Dixon who totally hasn’t fucked you in your sleep while groaning in you ear how much of a good girl you are knowing you can’t hear anything as you moan and whine thinking it’s a dream
Perv!Daryl Dixon the moment you kissed him he was instantly hard and jerked off in your bathroom while you walked dog around Alexandria
Do you really like thick girls? Or are you just talking about big boobs and ass. Cause if you’re not expecting thick girls to have tummies and big arms, I think you got the game fucked up.
