summary: drunk bestfriend!steve tells you how much he loves you, but how serious actually is he
cw: alcohol use, swearing, use of y/n, pet names
w/c: 1k
it was 10pm on a thursday and you were comfortable at your desk doing a bit of last minute studying for tomorrows science test
you were aware that your friend Steve was at a party as he did invite you, but you politely declined when you realised the type of crowd that would be there.
Steve was popular, probably a bit of a dick but you'd been friends since you were kids and even through high school you stayed close, but you weren't popular.
all his friends thought you were weird, just because you got good grades and didn't get wasted every night.
it's not even like you were a total frigid nerd or anything, but you were just quiet so they automatically saw you as this, and often teased Steve for staying close to you.
he never gave into them though, and that was the one thing amongst loads of others that made you fall in love with him.
not love love, but best friend love, well maybe love love.. a little bit.
it didn't help that naturally he was quite flirty with you, and you possibly have hooked up once or twice at a party, but you were friends.
sitting at your desk you could literally hear the party, you assumed it must have been close. the sound of drunk teenagers travelling down the street rung in your ears but what made you want to go and look was that it sounded like it was getting louder.
no it was getting louder.
when you got to your window you leant out and looked around the side towards the street.
a car was parked basically ON your driveway, playing the radio way too loud for a thursday night. one kid stood in-front of the filled car.
you became instantly interested in the commotion, seeing the person standing was clearly pissed off- flailing their arms about all over the place.
the next minute the car has sped off leaving the lone person standing in your front yard.
almost instinctively the body ran up the yard in the direction of your house, more specifically your window.
your heart drops, watching this unknown person bolt for your house.
when the person stops they begin to stretch slightly, as they do they look up and see you. their demeanour softens instantly and your fear vanishes.
it's Steve.
"[Y/N]!" his voice is loud- you can't tell if it's excited or angry, it's just loud
"shush..! oh my" you stretch your arms down out the window to aid Steve in climbing up.
you pull him in through the window and he lands loudly at your feet. you pull him up again off the floor this time, getting him to stand straight.
"baby girl you're too good to me" he slurred, obviously slightly drunk, reaching out to cup your cheek.
acting like this wasn't uncommon when he sober so you didn't read into his behaviour too much. you did like it though.
instead of leaning into his hand like you wanted to, you just pushed him to your bed and allowed him to collapse there.
"ugh you know you're so much better than my other friends I hate them"
"was that who was in the car?"
"mhm"
you sit Steve up slightly, letting him rest against the headboard and give him a bottle of water.
"you wanna crash here?"
"mhm" he mumbled as he chugged the water.
as you now had the responsibility of sobering up your friend, you called it a night with your studying and sat back at your desk to clean everything up.
"whatcha doinnnn"
"tidying, so I can go to bed"
"oh yeah! yeah come to bed babe come cuddle"
you turned around to face Steve, a helpless smile on your face, and found he had clearly made himself comfortable in your bed.
all his clothes were in a pile on the floor next to the bedside table as Steve slouched over the pillows in his boxers, still with the now empty bottle in his mouth.
"oh yeah just.. strip that's fine with me"
"you bet it's fine with you" He replied with a cheeky tone which made you roll your eyes.
you turn the desk light off and make your way over to your side of the bed- already in your pyjamas.
"clearly you're not that drunk if you could undress yourself"
"maybe, but that's probably more because I'm not like you"
you laughed to yourself at the memories of the numerous times that Steve has had to help you change after a party.
"yeah maybe..." you kick up the duvet and slide in, keeping a fair distance.
"what you doing over there, come here"
his hands reach out and find your waist, spinning you over and pulling you tight to his chest.
you can't help but melt into his hold. this happened often, mainly after a few drinks, but this time? you were fully sober and it felt different.
it felt more real.
he relaxed instantly, breathing calming into a rhythmic rise and fall, your head on his chest going along with it, listening to his faint heart beat.
his hands ran absentmindedly through your hair, lightly brushing your neck before travelling down your back and finding residence at your waist.
"I love you [Y/N]"
you smile into his chest as your chest tightened. you did love eachother as best friends and you wouldn't change that for the world. but part of you always wondered what it would be like if you took it one step further and blurred the lines between friends and more.
but like? look at you guys right now? your friendship was so close it could easily be mistaken for a relationship.
"I know, I love you too Steve"
"no you don't get it" he sighed, frustrated, flailing his arms up off your body.
"what?"
"I love you.. like actually, properly, more than-"
"really?"
you could tell that this wasn't just drunk blabbering, this was real
you look up slightly through your lashes and are met with his eyes looking down at you.
"always have"
he smiles at you softly, meaningfully and you know that in this moment, finally, your friendship has shifted.
› summary: after realizing that your hookup, intended as a rebound after your long term relationship, is actually your coworker, you deal with it the best way you know how: avoidance. that is, until you're forced to talk to ryland grace.
› tags/warnings: no use of y/n, TW: trivia night mention, explicit mentions of smut but no actual smut (yet), drinking, mentions of reader's past toxic relationship, strong language
› wc: 5.5k
› part one | direct address series masterlist
You remember, a few drinks later and several inches of space subtracted between you, his hand a steady, guiding pressure on the small of your back as he escorts you out of the club to the Uber he ordered. He opens the door for you and leans down, breath warm against the shell of your ear, murmuring something stupidly witty that you're not even sure he does on purpose, and you laugh, slipping inside.
ᯓ★
On Tuesday, you show up to the school earlier than everyone else, likely one of the only times you've been more than an hour early to anything in your life. The hall is still dim when you arrive, the custodians’ floor wax gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. You lock yourself in your classroom to decorate in peace.
You make a point of putting your earbuds in, tuning out the noise in the hallway as other staff begin to trickle in and stop by to chat to Grace. Everyone is charmed by him, this stupidly overqualified molecular biologist that somehow ended up teaching eighth grade science. But not you. No, not you. You know better.
You know a lot of things about Grace, like the low sound he made in the back of his throat when you tugged on his hair. The concentrated pinch between his brows when he was between your thighs, mouth latched onto your clit. The pleased little smile he got when he had you writhing and moaning underneath him, heaving from your second (and certainly not last) orgasm of the night.
It's fine. Really, it's fine. You're a professional. You can be professional.
Your phone buzzes in your back pocket. You take out your earbuds. Even without looking, you know that it's Hallie and Reagan. Ever since you told them about Grace last night they've been treating your life like a spectacularly interesting romcom.
Halls: And have you talked to your good karma yet?? ;)
You: Don't call him that! I don't need you manifesting shit for me
Halls: Ok sorry I'll rephrase
Halls: Have you talked to professor sexy yet?
Reg: That's objectively worse
Halls: It's objectively funnier but thanks
You: Omg stop it with the nicknames
You: It's Grace. Just Grace
You: And no I haven't talked to him
Reg: You probably should
Halls: I second this
You: You guys are the worst
A knock sounds at your classroom door. For one wild second, you think it's him. You curse and shove your phone back in your pocket in a panic. When you sneak a look at the door, relief washes over you so strongly that you feel a bit woozy. Marisol is peering into your room through the vision panel with an impatient expression. She spots you, decides you're not moving fast enough for her liking, and knocks again, harder this time.
You exhale and cross the room.
Marisol has been teaching sixth-grade English at Grover Cleveland for ten years. Eleven, maybe. You're never certain, because every time you ask, she says something unhelpful like longer than anyone should or wouldn't you like to know? The latter is especially frustrating because yes, you would like to know.
But she'd been there for you, when you were starting out. The kids, being able to smell fear, walked all over you that first semester. It was awful. You remember being thirteen, but you don't remember being so mean. Maybe it was a new generation kind of thing. Ugh, even thinking that makes you feel old.
Marisol had helped, giving you pointers and making you feel better about being more strict with your students. A lot of detentions were doled out after that, but the behavior in your classroom improved by miles.
When you open the door, you catch a glimpse of Grace across the hall, pinning some poster up to the wall behind his desk. He's dressed more casually today, a plain navy t-shirt stretching over the broad slope of his shoulders, short sleeves squeezing around his biceps as he reaches up to smooth tape against the wall.
Your brain unhelpfully supplies the image of those same arms braced on either side of your head, muscles flexing under his skin.
You're such an idiot. It's the same every time you see him—that awful feeling of your stomach swooping and body tensing. Humans have been evolving for hundreds of thousands of years and here you are, your survival instincts kicking in at the mere sight of Ryland fucking Grace.
"Are you going to let me in or are we just going to stand here?" Marisol snipes. She speaks loud enough to catch Grace's attention, and he glances over, his eyes landing on you, glinting behind his glasses. You flush, your whole body feeling as though you've been doused in molten lava. You pivot away and usher her in, closing the door behind you.
She gives you approximately five minutes of peace before questioning you.
This is generous by Marisol’s standards. Practically saintly. She busies herself unpacking a box of new copies of Lois Lowry's The Giver while you work on your bulletin board, smoothing a border of blue paper around the edges and trying not to listen for movement across the hall.
"What's the deal with you and Mr. Sunshine?" she says. You look behind you. Her back faces you as she sets books neatly in the cabinet at the back of the classroom.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb." She slides another stack of paperbacks into place. "You're not any good at it."
Your mouth clamps shut. You're not sure if you should be offended.
She continues before you can respond, "I've never seen you act the way you did yesterday morning. And then the second the meeting was over you ran away like a bat out of hell."
You look back to the bulletin board, stapling the blue construction paper border and wishing you could be anywhere else. "It's nothing."
"Mhm."
"Seriously."
She scoffs. "It didn't feel like nothing when you were trying to hide in my shirt. Did you date him?"
"No."
"Does Anthony know him?"
"No."
"Come on. You said you'd tell me later. Guess what? It's later."
Your shoulders droop. Your hands fall to your sides, giving up on the border for now. The construction paper peels, curling in on itself in a pitiful spiral that you can't help but relate to.
Marisol won't quit until you tell her what's going on. You may as well rip the band-aid off.
"We slept together," you mumble at your shoes. Jesus Christ. You don't think admitting that is going to get any easier.
Silence greets you on the other end of the room. You glance up to see Marisol has stopped stocking the books. She's gawking at you, openly, and you feel like a bug under a microscope, completely at the mercy of one very judgemental coworker.
"I'm sorry," she says, slowly as if she's still trying to process what you said. "When you say we…"
You close your eyes. "Grace and I."
"Ryland Grace."
"Yes."
"The new science teacher."
"Yes," you grit out, starting to get a bit irritated. How many times are you going to have to say it?
"Mr. Sunshine? Right across the hall?"
"Please stop saying Mr. Sunshine," you say. Your face is getting hot again now, palms clammy.
Marisol's expression is unreadable. To you, this is worse than laughter. Right now, you would even welcome laughter. At least then there'd be something concrete to be annoyed about. Instead you stare at each other, her eyes wide and disbelieving.
Finally, she seems to pull herself out of her state of shock. She nods once, then again.
"Tell me everything," she says, and so you do.
You perch on the edge of your desk and explain how Hallie and Reagan wanted to drag you out to a new club that just opened a few weeks ago. You tell her about making eyes at Grace from across the bar when he was talking to another girl, and before you know it you're rambling. It spills out of you with such force that you don't think you can stop if you tried.
ᯓ★
"I need another drink," Hallie grouses, waving the bartender over. Reagan had disappeared into the crowd, tugging along a man in his early-twenties wearing a confused and somewhat fearful expression, leaving the both of you behind.
You're decently buzzed, having already gone through two Long Islands and a shot of tequila. Hallie drinks like she's still in college, and you always find it hard to keep up, but you try.
You prefer wine nights, splurging on a nice charcuterie board and huddling together to watch shitty reality television, but you had been moping around the last few weeks and Hallie and Reagan insisted going out would make you feel better.
Mourning your relationship comes and goes in waves. Some days you wake up and thank any deity that might be listening that you're done. You're truly, finally done. No further contact, no pathetic texts begging to get back together, no actually getting back together.
Other mornings you find it hard to get out of bed, crushed by the fact that you're alone. It's not the end of the world. You know that. But sometimes it feels that way. You had plans with Anthony, you were talking about getting married, for fuck's sake, and now he's just… gone.
So you finally gave in, and now you find yourself surrounded by pulsing lights and sweaty bodies crushing together on the dance floor. This is a thing normal people do, isn't it? Who cares. If it will take your mind off of the breakup for at least a few hours, then you're willing to take your chances.
Hallie slides a glass towards you, something blue and fruity that tastes more like juice than alcohol. It's a dangerous gamble, drinking like this, but you find it hard to care. You're here, with your two closest friends, and you're not letting the night go to waste.
"Oh," Hallie murmurs, teasing her straw between her teeth. "Look at that guy, over there."
You follow her line of sight. There's a lot of people at the bar, a group of girls a little younger than you, a guy that definitely looks underage hassling the bartender, and a couple that's being far too touchy to be appropriate in a public space. At the very end, you see who she's talking about.
You've always had a thing for nerds. Well, you say thing, but really it's a weakness. And this dude fits your type to a T so much that it's almost painful. His glasses are teetering precariously on the edge of his nose. You're certain if he moves his head with too much force they'll slip right off. He's leaning against the edge of the bar, an amused smile on his face. You can only see his side profile, and… the woman in front of him.
He's taken. Of course he is, how could someone like that be single? What you don't understand is the flash of disappointment that zings through you. You don't even know the guy, why do you feel let down?
"I wonder if that's his girlfriend," you say, trying to come off as politely curious but ending up sounding more envious than anything.
Hallie makes a dismissive noise. "That is not his girlfriend."
"You don't know that." You turn away, taking a long swallow of whatever the hell Hallie had ordered for the both of you.
"I absolutely do know that," she says, indignant. She reaches forward, the tips of her fingers nudging at your jaw, forcing you to look back at the man. "See? That's not girlfriend body language."
"She's touching his arm."
"It's not a flirty touch. Just look. Please."
You sigh and devote a little more attention to the scene before you. The woman is saying something to him, her smile bright and wicked beneath the bar lights. He tips his head back slightly, laughing, one hand lifting as if in surrender. There's something wonderfully awkward about him, you think. Not clumsy, exactly. Just a little too sincere for the room. Like he wandered into the club by mistake and decided to be a good sport about it.
He ducks his head down in order to speak directly into her ear, and that should not be as attractive as it is, but what can you do about it? The heart wants what it wants. She laughs in response, and he rolls his eyes, but his half-cocked smile doesn't leave. Her mouth moves and you squint, trying but unable to read her lips. His expression shifts into theatrical offense, and she pats his arm once more before disappearing into the crowd. Gone, just like that.
Hallie jabs her elbow into your arm. "Well?"
"Well, what?" you ask. The man remains at the bar alone. His posture slumps, a little defeated, and he brings his beer up to his mouth, a large hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle.
"You know what. Go talk to him."
You whip your head towards her. "What? No!"
"Yes!" Hallie hisses. "Do it. You're hot, you'd have him wrapped around your finger before you even opened your mouth."
"You're just saying that," you say, shooting a glare at her.
She shakes her head, lips pressing into a thin line. "No, I'm not. I don't care. Either you go and talk to him or I'll buy him a drink and have the bartender say it's from you."
"Why do you hate me?"
"I don't and you know it. Quit being dramatic. Finish your drink and fucking go."
You stare at her.
Hallie stares back, unwavering.
You consider arguing. It would be nice, to dig your heels in and refuse to put yourself out there. That's what you would normally do. You've never seen the appeal of chatting people up at the club. You mostly go just to have a good time with your friends, to dance and drink and enjoy yourself.
But then… when was the last time you actually went out? Beyond trivia night with your coworkers and nights in with Hallie and Reagan or dates (however rare the occurrence) with Anthony. You can't remember.
You'd tried, a few times, but there'd always been Anthony, wheedling about how you should stay because he'd miss you and are you sure you should wear that out?
You inhale deeply, lifting your chin.
"Okay," you say, and you drain the last of your drink before you can lose your nerve.
Hallie's face lights up, victorious and encouraging all at once.
"Actually?" she chirps. At your unimpressed expression she manages to rein in some of her excitement. "Fuck, sorry. You got this. What's the worst that can happen? If he's a dick we'll just go dance and forget about it."
"Right." You nod to yourself, adjusting your halter top and thrusting a hand through your hair before sliding off of your stool. "Wish me luck."
"Luck!" Hallie calls after you as you start to walk away, reaching out to land a light slap to your ass. You flinch, barely biting down on a yelp, and glower at her over your shoulder. She grins, not looking apologetic in the slightest. You turn back around before she can make obscene hand gestures, aching to borrow some of the easy confidence her and Reagan always seem to possess.
Maybe you're in over your head.
No, not maybe. You're definitely in over your head.
The closer you get, the more handsome he becomes. At this point it's cruel, and you have no idea if you even know how to flirt anymore, that's how long it's been. What are you even meant to say? You come here often? Oh, barf.
But you're committed now. You'd look like an even bigger moron if you turned around mid-stride and retreated back to Hallie, who would never let you hear the end of it. She'd be bringing it up at your funeral.
The walk is agonizingly short. Before you know it you're sidling up to him. He doesn't notice you at first, but the brush of your arm against his has him blinking down at you in surprise. His pretty blue eyes widen behind his glasses, and for half a second he reminds you of a startled animal. Then his gaze moves over you before you can stop it.
He takes in your face first, then your hair, before dipping down to your neck, your top that complements your cleavage, and to your skirt that suddenly feels way too short. He seems to realize what he's doing and his eyes snap up to your face, the tips of his ears pinking.
Well. That certainly makes things easier.
"Tough crowd?" you ask, and have to make a physical effort not to wince. Sometimes you wish it was socially appropriate to punch yourself in the face. Only in times of great need, of course; you think this is one such situation.
"What?" he says. Your heart is beating so fast you think it might burst out of your chest and flop on the floor.
Fuck it, you think.
You let out a small huff of amusement and nod toward the direction the brunette had disappeared to. "That girl you were talking to. She your girlfriend?"
"Marissa? Oh, uh… no." He laughs, sounding a bit nervous. His free hand lifts to rub the back of his neck. "She's a friend."
You arch a disbelieving brow, and he smiles as if he knows what you're thinking.
"Really," he assures you. "She's very much not my girlfriend. Not that there's anything wrong with her. She's great."
"But?" you press.
"I'm here with her and her girlfriend," he says. His grin widens as your mouth forms a small 'o' of understanding, his cheeks dimpling.
"Third wheeling, huh?"
"Exactly. I've gotten pretty good at it."
"Can't say I relate." Hallie and Reagan are chronically single beyond the occasional fling.
"Are you here with someone, then?" He makes a sweeping motion with the hand holding his beer, gesturing to the swell of the crowd.
"Just some friends."
"Did they abandon you, too?"
You smile. "Yeah. One of them's already vanished with a guy who looked like he was about to cry."
"Good for him," he says. Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "Or sorry."
"We'll know by morning."
He laughs, his head tilting back a bit, and a warm feeling seeps into your chest, so strong it steals your breath. This back-and-forth, this banter, comes so easy to you now that the ice is broken that it's almost natural. You think you could do it forever.
"Should I be worried?" he asks, taking a sip of his beer.
"About her? Probably." You look out over the dance floor, wondering if you could catch a glimpse of Reagan somewhere in the crowd, but you don't.
"And you?"
The question is playful, but there's something beneath it, a flicker of interest that makes the space between you feel suffocatingly close and vast all at once.
"Me?" you say. Your face is starting to hurt from all the smiling you're doing. "I'm harmless."
He watches you for a beat too long. "I doubt that."
Your stomach dips. It's ridiculous, how much one sentence can do, and heat spreads over your face. You know what's happening, or at least, you think you do, and the realization sends a reckless thrill through you.
He seems to notice it, too, because his eyes drop to your mouth, and he licks his lips subconsciously. "Can I buy you a drink?"
You have no other answer to give him besides yes.
Later you remember, a few drinks later and several inches of space subtracted between you, his hand a steady, guiding pressure on the small of your back as he escorts you out of the club to the Uber he ordered. He opens the door for you and leans down, breath warm against the shell of your ear, murmuring something stupidly witty that you're not even sure he does on purpose, and you laugh, slipping inside.
He pauses before closing the door, taking a moment to watch you. His glasses had started slipping down his nose again. There's a pleased look in his eyes as he looks at you over the rim, as if he knows you're going to be trouble, and you look back at him, drunk enough to want to prove him right.
ᯓ★
You become a master at evasive maneuvers.
It shouldn't be this easy to avoid Ryland Grace like he's the plague, but it is.
The week after you explain what happened with him to Marisol finds you busy enough that you end up relaxing into the routine. By the time school starts, Grace is going through the humiliation ritual that is teaching middle schoolers for the first time, so you hardly see him beyond glimpses into his classroom and catching each other on the way to the teacher's lounge. You made the mistake of going at your usual time on the first day, only to find him already there, laughing with Doug (6th grade history) over his lunch, so now you go at the very last minute.
By the time you're nearing the end of September, you think you can finally put the whole thing behind you.
The only interactions you've had with Grace are stiff and awkward, far from how you spoke at the club. A quick introduction, a little small talk about the morning weather one morning when you were running late and couldn't time your arrival in order to dodge him. He stopped by your room, once to ask if you could point him in the direction of the nurse's office, and again a few days later to borrow a stapler.
Every single time, he looked as if he wanted to say more, and eventually decided not to. It doesn't help that you were usually interrupted by a coworker or a student, but to you it was always a much appreciated respite.
The latest was about two weeks ago, when he found you at the printer in the library just after lunch.
Hey.
Hey— oh. Uhm, hi.
Are you… He motioned toward the machine. His lanyard reflected the fluorescent ceiling lights, glaring up at you harshly.
Sorry? You tittered nervously.
I was just wondering when you'd be done.
Oh! You glanced back at the printer, where copies of your Getting to Know You! assignment were lying, forgotten. I'm done now, sorry.
You scooped up your papers, clutching them to your chest and shuffling away to allow him to access whatever he needed. He stepped forward, close enough for you to catch the scent of coffee, deodorant, and the darker, more insistent smell of his cologne. Your stomach clenched involuntarily, and you took a step back.
He glanced up at the motion, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Actually, I've been meaning to talk to—
I have to get back, you blurted suddenly, before offering a fake, apologetic smile. Can't leave them unsupervised for too long, you know?
He had opened his mouth to respond, but you were already rushing away.
Arguably not your best moment.
After that day, though, he had gotten the message.
Grace stopped trying to catch you in the hallway. He stopped lingering by his doorway when the final bell rang. He stopped looking as though he might say your name every time you passed room 214 with your arms full and your eyes fixed firmly on anything that was not him.
Now, when your paths cross during passing period, he nods, professional and restrained, before turning back to whatever student has his attention. When you both reach the staff lounge at the same time, he steps aside to let you pass, offering a quiet greeting that gives you absolutely nothing to work with. No bitterness. No accusation. No smirk. No wounded male pride for you to despise.
It's… whatever. More than you could have hoped for. But if you're honest, you feel a bit left out. Everyone appears to have fallen in love with him. Janitors, secretaries, paras, your fellow teachers. It's annoying, but you wish you could see what all the fuss is about without being a total creep. Even Marisol is besotted, singing his praises to you when you're both alone in your classroom, insisting that you should give him a chance.
"I think you'd really like him," she says without preamble, setting a stack of papers down on your desk. No hi, hello, how are you? At this point, you don't expect much else from her.
"Everyone keeps telling me that," you grumble, before glancing up. "Shut the door, please."
She sighs but does as you ask. You rotate the papers to face you, reading the permission slips for October's Outdoor Education excursion. It's a three day camping trip for the eighth graders, one that you always dread chaperoning.
"Well, maybe everyone is right." Marisol grabs a chair from a student's desk and pulls it up to sit across from you, pulling out her phone. "It doesn't matter, anyway."
You hum, stowing the papers away in your desk drawer, and return your attention back to your laptop where you've been putting in grades for the latest quiz. "Really? Why's that?"
She puffs up her chest, smug. "Lee and I decided to invite him to trivia tomorrow."
"What?"
"Don't give me that look, you're not the supreme leader of trivia night. We can invite who we want."
"I never said you couldn't."
She waves her hand vaguely. "It's all over your face right now. Whatever. The way that I see it, you have three choices."
You scrub a hand over your face and turn your computer off. You're never going to get any grading done like this. "Okay."
"You can talk to him, figure your shit out, and have a nice night with us at the bar." She holds out three fingers, ticking them off as she speaks. "Or you can not talk to him, don't figure your shit out, and make it awkward for everyone."
"And my last choice?"
"You can just not come." She crosses her arms. "Make up some bullshit excuse and skip out."
You glance away with a semblance of shame. That was exactly what your knee-jerk reaction was, to cancel and say you weren't feeling well or that you already had plans.
"See?" She points at you. "Do I know you or do I know you?"
"This isn't fair," you whine.
"Shit's tough. Ryland is coming, and you're coming, too."
You can't help a small smile at her determination. Trivia is a sacred ritual, attended by yours and Marisol's group of work friends. It had been going on for a while before you joined, and held strong through the last few years. Grace being invited is a pretty big deal. At least, it is to Marisol, who has always been very passionate about the whole affair.
"Okay, okay," you acquiesce. "I'll go."
She stands, triumphant. "Perfect. I'll let Lee know."
"If it goes bad, then we're friends off," you call after her as she starts to leave.
"Oh, please. Who else would bring you your stupid permission slips from the office?" she says without turning back to look at you.
Marisol leaves your classroom door open. Of course she does.
Once she's gone, you try to resume grading. You catch yourself putting in the wrong scores for the wrong students, their names all jumbling up together on your screen. You lean back in your chair, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.
You can't stop thinking of Grace.
Ryland Grace is coming to the bar with you, Marisol, and four of your other closest work friends. And it's going to be great. You're going to be completely normal about it. Because you're a grown woman and you can handle it.
But you know there will be no grading today, nor any guise of productivity. There's no guide for navigating such a weird situation. There's only room 214 across the hall, trivia on Friday, and the sinking realization that Marisol is right.
You have to talk to him.
You do an odd jerking motion, as though your body tried to get out of your chair before your mind had caught up and put a quick stop to the idea. You sit back for a second and squeeze your eyes shut. You feel a lot like you did right before you approached Grace that night—jittery and mortified and… sort of excited all at once.
Alright, bitch, you imagine Hallie's voice in your head and give your thigh a harsh pinch in an effort to ground yourself. Now or never.
The hallway is quiet when you step out. Most of the building has emptied now that it's nearing five in the afternoon. When you peak inside room 214, you find Grace hunched over some papers, a red pen in hand. His hair is that sort of tousled-messy that, in any other circumstance on any other guy, you admire. His brow furrows, mouthing the words he's reading on what you assume is a student's assignment, seemingly bewildered by what he finds.
You knock lightly on the doorframe. He glances up instantly, swiveling his chair to better face you.
"Hi," you say.
"Hey," he says in return.
You shuffle your feet, hovering in the doorway as though there's some invisible barrier between the two of you. "You got a minute?"
"Yeah." Grace straightens up as though he's bracing for impact, a slight grimace breaking through the neutral, friendly expression he wears. "Of course."
He's nervous, you realize. His fingers tap against his thigh and he pushes his glasses up farther up the bridge of his nose. They slip down again almost immediately. He needs to get them sized and fitted, you think, before you realize you're staring. You look away quickly, examining his classroom.
He's got the makings of a model solar system pinned to the ceiling, but he's still missing Uranus and Neptune. Cute, dorky science posters like Don't trust an atom, they make up everything and Think like a proton and stay positive! are plastered on the walls. It's exactly as lively as you'd imagined. From what little snippets you'd heard from your students, Grace was shaping up to be the cool new teacher, well-liked by the kids. Because of course he is.
What an asshole.
"It looks good," you comment.
"Thanks," he says, glancing around as if to view his own room from your perspective. "Still needs some work, but I'm getting there. They really don't give you a lot of time to set up, do they?"
You smile, tension seeping from your shoulders at his casual tone. "No, they don't. It's easier when you've been here for longer. You get away with leaving more and more stuff in your room during break every year."
"Yeah, that… that makes sense." Grace runs a hand through his hair.
You pause, unsure of what to say. It's a painful silence, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind in order to fill it.
"I'm sorry," you say. "I just wanted to…"
You lose the end of your sentence as he meets your gaze. He waits for you to finish, and you swallow harshly.
"Marisol told me you're coming to trivia."
"Oh. Yeah, Lee mentioned it."
"This Friday."
"I remember."
"Right." You nod a few too many times, grasping for the right words. "Good."
Grace shifts his weight, the tapping against his thigh intensifying. "I didn't say yes."
You blink. "What?"
"I haven't said yes, yet," he amends. "I, well… I wanted to talk to you first."
"Why?" you ask, but you think you know, and you're so touched it's actually a little sickening.
"I don't want to intrude," he says. "It's your group of friends. Your monthly thing. I don't want to be there if it makes you uncomfortable."
"You don't have to do that." Guilt leaves a sour taste in the back of your mouth. You'd never wanted Grace to feel unwelcome, you'd just… wanted to be left alone. You can't imagine how you would've ended up if Marisol hadn't taken pity on you and swooped in to practically adopt you, and you certainly can't imagine putting Grace in a position where he couldn't have that same opportunity to connect.
He ducks his head, avoiding your gaze. "It's the right thing to do."
"No, I mean… you should come. It's fun. Marisol takes it way too seriously and Lee pretends he doesn't care but he does, and Abby always gets super drunk. Joe has tried to bribe our rival team a couple times. The drinks are good. Can't say the same for the food, though, so—" you cut yourself short. You're rambling. And his face is doing something unreadable and you're so certain you've made a mess out of the whole thing that you do a double-take when he responds.
"That does sound fun."
"It is," you insist. You're aware it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself rather than Grace, but the words are already out of your mouth and who even cares, at this point? How much more of a fool can you make of yourself? Might as well own it.
He studies you. "You're sure?"
No, you think. You make me nervous and a whole night at the bar with you is going to drive me insane but Marisol will kill me if I don't go.
"I'm sure."
"Okay." He clears his throat, smiles, and you're certain you're getting yourself into something you'll for a second time. "Okay, then I'll be there."
ᯓ★
› A/N: hiii this took way longer than i expected haha writing is hard :( big big thanks to vi (@pixiebuggz) for being my beta reader and helping brainstorm the ending so i could finally get this out! next part is finally some smut and talking things out. if you want to be added to the series taglist just comment! (and also please yell at me if i forgot to add you!!!) i'm debating on making just like a general writing taglist for when i post for other rygos characters is that something y'all would be interested in? idk lmk. i'm pretty sure no one noticed but i changed the title of part two like three or four times i'm so indecisive when it comes to titles LOL. as always if i missed anything in the tags/warnings lmk
Warnings: flirting, Brett is harassing reader persistent and if anyone did this in real life you should call the authorities, tension
Banners by: @cafekitsune & @uzmacchiato
You swear the second you turned 30, your tolerance to alcohol went out the window. It’s been 2 days since your night out with your girlfriends and you still felt slightly hungover. Your headache was only just subsiding despite living on a diet of Gatorade and ibuprofen since Sunday morning.
Your hair was pulled back into a messy bun and your glasses sat high on your nose as you went over your lesson plans.
“You expect to nab a firefighter looking like that?” Your friend Maria teased from the doorway, clearly the hangover didn’t hit her as hard.
It was Fire Prevention week at Fernwood Elementary and all the teachers were walking with an extra pep in their step. Wearing their “Sunday Best”, and most likely their best bras.
“I’m not trying to nab anyone.” You rolled your eyes, slipping on an oversized flannel as you caught a chill before shutting your classroom windows. “Plus— I learned my lesson before, no way in hell am I dating another man in uniform anyway.”
Maria should have known better than anyone. It was her house you fled to when things got bad between you and your ex. A cop in San Francisco and a Grade A douc—
“Knock knock!” Your friend Lauren called from the doorway, walking with extra pep on her step “it’s the best day of the year ladies! Ugh those men in their uniforms. Telling the kids how to stop, drop, and roll. Yes daddy, talk dirty to me.”
“Lauren, you’re married with 4 kids.” You chuckled.
“And I can admire from afar.” She rolled her eyes.
“Do you think your firefighter boyfriend is gonna come today?” Maria asked, causing Lauren to lean in.
“Ooo what firefighter boyfriend? Spill!”
“There is no firefighter boyfriend.” You didn’t tell them about little present Brett left for you in your pocket. Mainly because you didn’t feel like hearing from your circus of friends, but you had no intention of pursuing him.
It didn’t stop Maria from spilling all the details to Lauren who was practically drooling over the story. Poor girl clearly couldn’t get out much since popping out her litter of kids.
Soon the pitter patter of feet outside your classroom meant the long day was about to begin. You greeted your pre school class who seemed to have more energy than usual. Somewhat reminiscent of squirrels on adderall. It was going to be a long day. Not enough Excedrine was going to get you through this. You were never drinking again.
It was while breaking up your 9th cat fight of the morning that Lauren poked her head in.
“They’re coming!” She was giddy as ever. God someone give that poor woman a date night and a massage. For someone with that many kids, you’ve never seen a woman so sexually repressed.
“Okay friends! We have some special guests visiting us today, so let’s all find a spot on the carpet!”
If only it were that simple.
“Jayden— Jayden I said the carpet.”
“Mackenzie, please keep your hands to yourself.”
“Jayden you still aren’t on the carpet, my dear”
“Michael why are we screaming? Ok— okay Brooks, we don’t hit our friends that’s not a green choice.”
“Lucy, it’s not time for recess yet, put your jacket back in your cubby. Lucy I know you want to go outside honey so do I— why are yo— Lucy honey, you don’t have to cry.”
“Jayden I’m not going to ask you again to sit on the carpet.”
Then you heard it, the sound of heavy boots and the jingling of their gear just outside your door. There were 3 knocks before the doorknob turned and the door opened with a creak. Two men filed in and you greeted each with a warm smile, but your face fell when you heard that familiar voice, and saw that familiar face.
“Well,” he said under his breath, “if it isn’t the midnight menace.” His mouth curved in recognition.
Brett. Fucking. Richards.
Clean uniform. Hair tamed. Sharp. Awake.
“Hi.” You squeaked.
“This is Captain Jake Crawford, and Firefighter Manny Perez” Brett introduced the other two uniformed men. You greeted them kindly, extending your hand to offer a handshake and your name.
The giggles and chatter of your students snapped you back to reality. You turned to face the class but still felt Brett’s eyes burning into your skin from behind. The way his eyes raked up and down your body, admiring your physique, the floral dress that fell just below your knees and the cardigan that tightly hugged your frame.
You caught a chill and wrapped the sweater around your midsection before turning back to the men behind you and introducing them to the eager preschoolers on the rug.
You stood off to the side, watching Brett kneel and show the kids his helmet, his jacket, his respirator mask. They were mesmerized.
He gave his safety presentation while you popped another ibuprofen. He let the kids try on helmets four sizes too big, lead them outside and helped them climb into the engine. The whole time, he kept finding you with his eyes—little glances, little smirks, and little moments that made your breath shake.
You watched him. Watched your kids. Watched him with your kids. Then you jumped. Something snapping you out of your daze.
“How about it?” He asked.
“How about what?” You answered, slightly embarrassed.
“The hose, let’s give it a go.”
“Oh— oh no I don’t want to get wet.”
“Oh come on, you can wear my turn out coat. I gotcha, remember?” Your heart fluttered against your chest. As you took a step towards him, your class erupted in laughter and cheers. Brett helped you into his coat.
“This thing is heavy.” You adjusted your shoulders at the weight of the Kevlar. The jacket smelled of smoke, burnt rubber, and sweat, but all Brett could smell was the vanilla in your shampoo and the jasmine in your perfume.
“Looks good on you.” Brett winked placing the hose in your hands. “There’s a lot of force behind it, but I’ll go easy on you, okay?”
He knelt behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and looping his hands around yours. He helped you adjust the hose before giving a signal to Crawford to turn on the hose. The force of the water forced you backwards, pressing you firmly into his chest.
You giggled as the water sprayed from the hose, droplets of water painting your cheeks and fogging up your glasses. He gave your hips a quick squeeze, checking in to see if you were okay. When your eyes met, your smile slowly faded as his eyes began flitting to and from your lips. The redness crept up your cheeks, your breath quickening. It wasn’t before long that the hose began to slip from your grasp. You shrieked, anticipating the hose going rogue and showering you and your students in buckets of water. But without hesitation Brett tightened his grip around you, grabbed the hose and smiled.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered as the water was turned off, cheeks flushed from the cold mist and the closeness of him.
“Don’t apologize,” Brett shook his head, still holding the hose with one hand and your waist with the other. “You did good.”
Behind you, the kids erupted into chaotic applause, completely oblivious to the fact that you were currently having a small cardiac event.
“You got a wild streak, Midnight,” he murmured, leaning in a bit too close.
You tried not to look at his mouth. You failed. Your cheeks somehow turning a darker shade of crimson. Oh, you absolutely hated the way your body reacted to him—like you were still sixteen and not a grown woman who lectured about using “gentle hands.”
“I do not.”
“You showed up at my station at two in the morning begging to—.”
“I do not beg.” you repeated under your breath, mostly to convince yourself. “I was drunk.” You whispered around the little ears.
“Doesn’t explain you ignoring my number, though.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
He smirked. “That’s what I thought.”
Before you could respond, Crawford's voice boomed behind you.
“Hey Romeo! You gonna keep flirting or help with this smoke demo?”
He lifted one hand in Crawford’s direction without taking his eyes off you.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.”
But he didn’t move.
Not right away.
Instead he stepped closer, close enough that you no longer had to shield your eyes from the sun that illuminated from behind him. Close enough that you could see the faint sunburn on his nose. Close enough to see the flecks of green in his irises, and that the eyes you thought were brown were actually hazel.
“You still have it?” he murmured.
You blinked. “Have what?”
“My number.”
Your breath hitched. “Brett—”
“C’mon,” he murmured, “it’s a yes-or-no question.”
God, of course he caught you like this—fogged glasses, hair a mess, still somehow hungover, wearing his coat like a child playing dress-up.
“I don’t date firefighters.” You said bluntly. Brett slowly slid the turnout coat off your shoulders, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that felt far too intentional. You hoped— no— prayed that the goosebumps went unnoticed.
“Midnight, you showed up at my station at 2AM in a dress the size of a dishtowel, asked to slide down my pole—”
“Lower your voice!”
“Chief!” Crawford snapped, exasperated. “We have fifteen more classrooms today!”
He walked to the front of the class to continue the demo, conducting his own makeshift fire drill, teaching the kids how to stop, drop, and roll, and showing them how a fire extinguisher worked.
Every now and then he checked if you were looking.
And you always were.
But he didn’t make it easy.
Every time he bent to their level and looked up with that stupidly warm, stupidly attractive, stupidly smug expression— your stomach flipped like it was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil.
Eventually, the demo wrapped up. Tiny hands clapped. Someone sneezed directly onto your shoe. Brooks tried to lick the firetruck. It was the usual circus, and the exact reason you got sick eight times a year.
“Mind if we get some photos for the newspaper?” Perez asked, pulling out his phone.
“People still read the newspaper?”
“Chief does, every morning.” Crawford gave Brett a clap on the back.
“Of course he does.” You teased. Your class swarmed him instantly, clinging to his legs, climbing onto Manny, trying to steal Crawford’s hat. It was chaos, but adorable chaos, the kind you’d gotten used to.
As he posed for pictures—one kid in his arms, two hanging onto his boots—he kept glancing your way. Little looks. Little smirks. His free arm made its way around your waist, pulling you close to him. You cleared your throat and stood up straight as Perez snapped the photo. You went to pull away from Brett’s grip but he didn’t let go, didn’t relent. He wasn’t done with you yet.
“So, come up with a valid excuse yet?”
“I said I don’t date firefighters. Or any man in uniform for that matter.” You whispered as little feet stomped around the classroom. “Although I may make an exception for postal workers. I’ve always found them particularly charming.”
“You, you’re something else.” Brett cocked his jaw.
“And you’re pretty persistent.” You finally pulled away, almost forgetting you were still in his grasp.
“Only when I’m right.” He smirked. Then—without warning—he reached for your hand. Not grabbing it. Not pulling. Just folding two fingers around your wrist, guiding it to the pocket of your cardigan.
“Go on,” he said quietly. “Check.”
Your heart stilled.
You slipped your hand inside the pocket and—
A folded slip of paper.
Your stomach dropped. “Brett.”
“I figured,” he murmured, “that you’d need a second copy.”
“But when did you—How did—I didn’t feel a thing?!”
“Dinner.” He whispered, “just dinner.”
“Brooks peed on the floor!” Michael screamed. You shut your eyes, and took a deep breath.
“I have to get back to work.” You turned and started leading Brooks towards the bathroom. Not before rummaging in your desk drawer for your phone.
Brett was making his way through your classroom door when his pocketed buzzed. He dug into his coat and pulled out his phone.
“What time should I be ready?”
Brett turned with a jerk to find you staring at him with a change of pants in one hand, and paper towels in the other.
“7, Friday?” He called back, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.
You nodded once, and Brett disappeared into the hallway.
If someone asked him why, he’d say it felt like the whole world became a little lonelier. That answer was only half true. There was another reason.
One that only he and her knew.
Late Summer, 2013.
It had been a normal school day, nothing out of the ordinary.
[Name] and Sae had known each other since the second grade. She had been born in Sendai but moved to Kamakura because of her father’s new job.
Back then, she was just a shy seven year old. On her first day of school she had been seated next to Sae.
Ironically, the reason they became friends had nothing to do with either of them.
It was [Name]’s older half brother.
Ego Jinpachi.
The two shared the same mother, a narcissistic woman who had cheated on Jinpachi’s father, gotten pregnant with [Name] and married her new husband shortly afterward.
[Name] adored her older brother. She talked about him constantly, always finding a way to work him into every conversation.
When Sae found out who her brother was, it didn’t take long for his football obsessed self to start hanging around her.
And somehow, over the years, the two became inseparable.
The bell above the convenience store door chimed as they walked inside. They each bought one of those popsicles with Winner or Loser printed on the stick before making their way down to the shore.
The late summer breeze carried a strange sense of melancholy across the beach. The sun had already begun to set, painting the sky a warm shade of orange.
“Ugh, my feet hurt. I hate P.E. class so much,” [Name] complained.
“Exercise is important, [Name],” Sae replied.
“Yeah, I know… but still,” she trailed off.
Normally, hanging out with Sae was easy. It had always been easy. But ever since puberty had hit them, things had become… weird.
She couldn’t quite identify what she was feeling. After all, she was only thirteen and had absolutely no experience with things like this. The same probably went for him.
Lately, though, being around him made her heart beat a little faster. It gave her this strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly she was overthinking everything she did around him.
What if he thought she was weird?
What if she embarrassed herself?
What if he didn’t want to hang out with her anymore?
She was good at hiding how nervous she felt, but Sae had noticed that something had changed.
Sometimes, completely unlike himself, he caught himself wanting to impress her. He wanted her to think he was cool. Every now and then he’d find himself staring at her a little longer than he meant to, quietly admiring her before forcing himself to look away.
Puberty was a weird thing.
“Oh, look!” she suddenly called out.
She pointed toward a large rock near the shore. It wasn’t particularly high, but it wasn’t low either. During the summer, teenagers often climbed up there before jumping into the ocean.
[Name] climbed up onto the rock and Sae followed behind her.
She dropped her school bag onto the ground before walking to the edge, absentmindedly eating her popsicle while looking out at the sea.
“You know, if I don’t get Winner this time, I’m suing the popsicle company. I’ve gotten Loser the last eight times, so statistically speaking it’s impossible for me to lose again.”
A quiet chuckle escaped Sae.
“Whatever you say.”
A comfortable silence settled over them. They were standing a little too close, their shoulders brushing every now and then, yet neither of them moved away.
It really did feel like the world became a little lonelier during late summer.
[Name] finished her popsicle while Sae continued staring out at the ocean. Looking down at the wooden stick in her hand, her eyes widened in disbelief.
WINNER.
She didn’t know what it was, but somehow it felt like a sign. From God, the universe or whatever was out there. Suddenly her heart started pounding. Suddenly she became painfully aware of everything around her. The sound of the waves, the breeze brushing against her skin, the warmth of the setting sun. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her body.
Sae had just opened his mouth to speak.
“Hey, did you fin…”
“Sae, I think I like you.”
The words came out so quickly they almost blended together.
Almost immediately the adrenaline disappeared, leaving nothing but pure embarrassment.
Oh my god.
What had she just done?
Sae stood there with his mouth still slightly open, staring at her with wide eyes. The longer he stayed silent, the worse she felt.
Six years of friendship.
Down the drain.
Before he could even begin to process what she’d said, [Name] turned around and bolted.
Well… not exactly.
She jumped straight off the rock into the water below.
She regretted it the second she hit the surface.
The water was freezing.
She stayed underwater for a few moments, refusing to come back up. Maybe if she stayed down here long enough, she’d never have to hear his answer.
God.
Could she just drown already?
Just as she was about to swim back up for air, another body hit the water.
Oh my god.
It’s Sae.
She surfaced as quickly as she could and immediately started swimming away, not caring where. She barely made it a few meters before a hand wrapped around her wrist. Startled, she accidentally swallowed a mouthful of seawater and started coughing.
Could this get any more embarrassing?
“Hey, hey, wait, [Name].”
“Go away. Forget I said anything. I’m just gonna drown now, okay? I can’t handle the embarrassment.”
“You didn’t even let me respond.”
“Because I don’t want you to.”
Sae let out a quiet sigh at her stubbornness until she finally turned around to face him.
There he was, completely drenched, dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Somehow he still looked as handsome as ever.
Then she noticed it.
A faint blush spread across his cheeks.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “You’re going to catch a cold.”
She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t find the energy to. Instead she let him drag her back to shore. She started shivering even more once they climbed out of the water, hugging herself while Sae climbed back onto the rock to grab their bags.
Luckily, he’d taken off his uniform jacket before jumping in after her.
When he climbed back down, he held it out to her.
“Here.”
“You’re freezing too.”
“You get sick easily.”
She sighed.
“…Thanks.”
She slipped on the jacket, the sleeves hanging well past her hands.
The walk back was uncomfortable.
Very uncomfortable.
They were soaked from head to toe, their shoes squelching with every step they took. Neither of them spoke, and [Name] still had absolutely no idea whether she’d just been rejected or not.
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that Sae’s voice startled her.
“[Name].”
She reluctantly turned to face him.
“Hm?”
“A few weeks ago I got a call.”
She frowned.
“Real Madrid wants me on their youth team.”
Her eyes widened.
“Huh?”
“I’ll be playing in Spain.”
She blinked.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a huge opportunity for me.”
Silence settled between them again.
“So?”
“So… I may be leaving soon.”
Her heart sank.
Was he trying to tell her that her confession didn’t matter because he was leaving anyway?
Sae looked down at the pavement for a moment before speaking again.
“This is hard for me, but… since I don’t know when I’m leaving, I want to spend as much time with you as possible.”
He hesitated, almost like he wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words.
“I’m not really…”
He stopped himself before taking a quiet breath.
“I think I like you too, [Name].”
She stared at him, unable to say anything.
“Sae…”
A smile slowly spread across her face.
It was a smile he would remember even years later.
It had been five years since that afternoon.
He was on his way back to Japan to renew his passport. He hadn’t spoken to [Name] in almost three years. Somewhere along the way, the distance between Spain and Japan had quietly become the distance between them.
hot butch! sevika x nerdy (it's implied but not heavy on appearance) masc! reader
synopsis: she'd never like you, you know that.
Or, well, you assumed that..
warnings: fluff, high school au, modern au
word count: 0.7k
a/n: ugh my fav trope, I need a hot service butch to my nerdy clingy femme. Also this is so bad im so embarrassed to post this I cannot
Also I used valorant terms (thanks to my guy bsf for teaching me)
bottom frag: worst ranked player after the match
buy: certain amount of time where players can buy stuff before a match
comms: communication/using your mic
and I took Sevika's username from my wife @freakyjorker
You weren’t exactly popular — unless you counted being top of the leaderboard in every online match of Valorant. Which, to you, absolutely counted.
High school was background noise majority of the time for you; homework, skipping gym class, and sneaking in games during lunch under the table with your Nintendo Switch. You had your hoodie, your old headset, and your online friends; going out to parties never felt nearly as exciting as grinding ranked or unlocking limited skins.
Well, you've never been to one, but you assume so.
That was until Sevika started showing up.
Towering.
Smirking.
She was in your AP chemistry and your English class, but you had never seen her during the first two weeks of school. You'd hear your teachers call her name, only for nobody to respond.
It wasn't until the third week that you saw her sitting at the back of your AP chemistry lab room. Her phone in her hand as she mindlessly scrolled through her social media feed.
Ever since then you've seen her consistently.
Always with a half-shredded notebook in her hand and that damn smirk on her face like she walked out of a biker bar instead of AP Chem.
She was a known hazard to say the least; didn’t really listen to anybody, talked back to teachers, and still somehow scraped by on grades like she could be smart, but didn’t care enough to prove it. While she wasn't exactly popular herself, she was at least known by majority of the school — unlike you.
Because of that, you figured your paths would never cross.
Until you decided to take a study break and play a round or two of Valorant. You had been playing since middle school at this point, and it's grown to be your chosen comfort game — despite the horrid things that are said during comms. It was during that night that she dropped into your Valorant match one night.
And eliminated your entire team.
With your main.
It felt particularly humiliating for you, considering the fact that you were one of the higher ranked players. She typed in the post-game chat, "nice aim.”
You stared at the screen.
BangBangSev. That icon. That familiar smug tone.
It was her.
You blink at your computer screen, staring at the taunting red text reminding you of your loss, before shutting off your monitor.
The next day, you felt exhausted. You ended up staying awake later than you'd do typically to study for your AP chemistry test — which you're sure you failed by the way. She passed your locker, shot you a knowing smirk, and just left. Disappearing through the hallways.
You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until she was gone.
Your first instinct? Denial. BangBangSev couldn't actually her. It had to be a coincidence. Same name, sure. Same vibe? Debatable. But her playing your main, landing those headshots, and then talking similarly to Sevika?
Okay.
Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.
Maybe it was her.
You slam your locker shut harsher than you originally intended to, drawing a few curious glances from passing students. You yank your hoodie up, earbuds in, but you choose not to play any music from your phone.
Your mind’s still stuck on that match, that loss, and the way she’d typed 'nice aim' like it was some kind of inside joke you hadn’t been let in on.
Except now you kinda were.
Later that night, your party’s in the lobby, waiting on the last teammate to be randomized. You’re half-ready to queue without them when the fifth slot fills.
BangBangSev.
No mic.
Just a silent hover over your main again.
"can u not steal my main again??" You type, rolling your eyes in annoyance.
No reply.
The match loads.
You spawn in.
And her voice cuts through your headset — low, confident, way too amused, "thought you'd want to see how she's actually meant to be played."
Your heart jumps, and you nearly miss your buy.
She’s in comms.
Sevika is on your comms.
In your team.
In your lobby.
In your life, apparently, now.
You glance at your mic.
Hover a finger over the key. Then pull it back.
She laughs.
"Relax. I don’t bite, " Sevika says, before pausing. "Unless you bottom frag again. Then maybe."
You’re not sure if that was a threat, or a really confusing form of flirting. You sure it wasn't the latter.
Either way, you're not about to let her carry.
You're going to win. Even if you guys are on the same team, you're going to win nonetheless. You're going to show her how good you are at Valorant compared to her.
it's safe to say you've full settled in at karasuno high school. made friends with your classmates, kii with the volleyballers sometimes and chat with yachi in the library during lunch. you're surprised that you're received with such welcoming arms at the school.
all but one.
tsukishima kei.
oh, let's not think about him.
you might explode in the middle of the convenience store.
school's over for the week, which meant that you could finally rest your big brain for a bit. and you take weekly trips to the convenience store on fridays to buy something for yourself as a reward for finishing the school week. this marks your fourth week at karasuno.
as you walk towards the check out, you bump into someone's shoulder.
"sor—oh, it's you," you say, peering at tsukishima with a look that borders disgust.
you can't blatantly be disgusted unfortunately. you made an agreement and you plan to stick to it.
unlike some people...
"you sound disappointed to see me," he answers. "can't say any different."
"oh, stop."
"civil," he notes.
you roll your eyes and head towards the check out. tsukishima grabs a chocolate milk from the freezer and stands behind you in line. you don't take notice of him, praying for the line to shorten quicker, so you can get out quicker.
that's when he extends his hand past your shoulder, holding out the drink.
for a second, a millisecond, you think he's giving it to you. like a truce to end whatever this is.
then, he opens his mouth, "you owe me."
"what?" you blurt, peeking over your shoulder.
his face is unreadable, devoid of any sort of emotion. you don't think he feels those anyways.
"you should buy something for me since you used my name for clout," he explains simply.
"clout?!" you snap.
"you got everyone together to talk about me," he says. "you said you made money out of it, didn't you? so, you owe me. defamation penalty."
you think about how long it'd take for you to reach up to his gangly neck and strangle him.
"it's my idea, my money."
"you've cost me my reputation," he argues nonchalantly.
you can tell it's not bothering him. he's just doing it to annoy you, see how long it'll take for you to snap out of the agreement of civility. pushing your buttons, manipulating you.
fine.
you'll play along.
he can't break you.
"poor you," you coo mockingly. "can't handle a little slander. must've really affected you, huh? i'll buy you your little chocolate milk to help you out."
you take the chocolate milk.
"it's not—"
by some divine timing, the cashier calls for you, interrupting whatever tsukishima was going retort with. you pay for the drink, hand it to him and walk off.
that's when you notice a long shadow painted on the sidewalk. you turn to confirm. he's walking right behind you, head down on his phone.
"stop following me, creep," you call out to him.
tsukishima puts his headphones on, looking right ahead instead of at you, "i walk this way."
ugh. you can't stand him.
by the time you reach your house, tsukishima is still following you. you momentarily pause at the gate, then, turn around, "don't think about stalking me."
tsukishima almost doesn't say anything.
until he stops right in front of you.
he smirks.
it's probably the closest thing you've seen to a real smile.
"save for those fantasies for after you graduate," he replies. "...if you can."
and he walks off.
leaving you standing, contemplating revenge ideas.
what a prick.
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SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
ok so boom third time requesting can you tell you’re one of my fav writers
I wanted to request an angsty Bosco x fem!reader fic where she’s a very stressed out person (because I’m stressing over school ugh kms) and she starts pulling away emotionally and kind of distancing herself from the horsemen and theyre busy with shows so bosco doesn’t notice it until she’s a shadow of the person that she used to be which worries him
Feel free to take this wherever you want 🙏🙏
𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴 🐞
𝗕𝗼𝘀𝗰𝗼 𝗟𝗲𝗿𝗼𝘆 𝘅 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
warnings: angst. suggestiveness. swearing. stress related to school.
a/n: heyyy I'm so glad you like my fics!! hope you love this one too! thank you for this request, i totally get the whole school stress thing so i hope this will comfort you a little. i love how this turned out.
Exam season sucked. You knew that, Bosco knew that, everybody knew that. But he hadn't expected it to take such a toll on you and your usual happy go lucky attitude.
While you were a very talented magician and had joined the Horsemen, your parents had urged you to pursue your degree and finish it, before you could officially become a full-time horseman. Luckily, they had nevertheless agreed on letting you live in their shared flat, so long as your grades were good enough.
You dreamed of the day you would put your pen down for the last time and break free once and for all from the shackles of exams. You were tired. Stressed. Done.
But the exams weren't done with you. Not yet.
You sat idly at your desk, your mind wandering to the last break you took from studying, which was now… 2 hours ago.
Only?
You sighed in desperation.
By the fifth time you re-read the same paragraph on your textbook, your mind not making sense of the words at all, you decided to stop and give yourself a break.
You opened the door of your room to take a peek at the empty living room but you could hear a familiar sound coming from the kitchen on the corner, out of your eyesight. Cards shuffling.
You expected to be met with Daniel but it was Bosco who sat near the kitchen isle, absentmindedly shuffling his cards. A small smile tugged at your lips at the sight, the anxious knot in your belly loosening a little. Enough to make you feel alive again, even for a brief second.
Bosco kinda had that effect on you, not that you would ever admit it out loud.
When he finally noticed you approaching the kitchen, his shoulders squared a little. Not to intimidate, to boast. A small grin tugged at his lips as the gears in his mind quipped him with some jokes. But when he saw your tired look, shoulders down, back hunching a little, his expression turned into a worried frown.
“What’s up, ladybug?”
Your smile eased at the familiar pet name. He had taken a liking to calling you that ever since a ladybug had landed on your hair once. When you had set it on your palm, it had left the smallest suspicious yellow stain on it, most likely pee. Ever since then, he called you ladybug.
“What’s bugging you?” he added before he grimaced at the lameness of his own joke.
You pointedly glared at him for a second before you sat next to him, picking the cards from his hands. Your mind was too tired to register the way your fingers brushed his, but Bosco’s mouth suddenly went dry at the contact.
You played with the cards, eyes far away.
“I’m so fucking tired of studying” you sighed.
Bosco turned on his chair to face you.
“Then stop” he shrugged.
A bitter chuckle escaped your lips. Bosco still stared at you. Your frown deepened and an uneasiness settled in his stomach.
“I can’t. These exams are really gonna kick my ass if I don’t study well enough”
“Hey, I get it. But you can’t let it overwhelm you either. How are you supposed to learn anything if you’re overworking your brain?”
You thought about his words. He wasn’t wrong. But you were just so stressed…
You sighed again. Bosco searched for your eyes and when they wouldn’t look away from the cards in your hands, he grabbed the cards back.
Your head snapped in his direction.
“Come on, let me entertain you" he offered as he swiftly shuffled the cards again.
The definition of effortlessly cool, you envied as you allowed yourself to indulge in his proximity. His beautiful hair, his tall, lean body. The way his hands clasped the entirety of the card pack like they were miniatures. You found yourself feeling grateful for the black t-shirt he wore which exposed his long neck-
Ok, wow, you were definitely tired. Otherwise you would never let your mind wander this far.
He performed his trick like a parent trying to soothe a crying child but your mind kept plaguing you with guilt. You should be studying right now. Not playing tricks with your crush friend.
He managed to make you think of something else than your exams for the duration of the trick but once he was done and once the kitchen quietened from the sound of your laughs, the stress came back as strong as it was, if not stronger.
His heart skipped a beat and his smile disappeared as soon as he watched you slip from your chair next to him to go back to your room, quietly wishing him good night and a good show with the other Horsemen tonight.
They came back around 1am. The minute Bosco stepped inside the apartment, his eyes were pinned to the door of your bedroom and when he saw the sliver of light pooling out from underneath, he wondered out loud:
“Is she still studying?” the disbelief in his voice troubled the other Horsemen who followed his gaze.
“Probably” figured Henley, a tinge of worry heard in her tired voice.
Bosco’s feet moved of their own and his knuckles rapidly rasped on your door. When you heard the knock, you immediately turned the light off and pretended to be asleep. You hadn’t heard them come back, caught as you were in your revisions and the last thing you needed right now was a lesson on how you shouldn’t stay up too late studying. You were grateful for Bosco’s attention but you couldn’t deal with him, or any of them, right now.
Bosco saw the light turn off and his shoulders fell in disappointment.
The next morning, you woke up feeling groggy and stressed. You had yet another full day of studying ahead and no amount of caffeine could make up for it. Bosco and the others were probably still asleep from coming back late yesterday night, so you hoped you wouldn’t cross paths with any of them.
You walked to the kitchen and started making breakfast as well as your first coffee of the day.
“Well hello to you too”.
You sighed. Even without looking at him, you could tell he had a shit-eating grin on his face and you could hear the snicker in his voice. You could draw that smile and those twinkling eyes from memory. Yet even frustrated as you were, a surge of fondness soared through you as your lips tugged into a smile of their own accord.
“Quit the sarcasm, Bosco. Smugness doesn’t besuit you” you turned to face him.
He was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling on his phone on god knows what app, looking at you through the curls that almost fell over his eyes. He wore a loose white t-shirt and blue pyjama pants and still managed to look cool. How unfair was that?
His eyes flickered over your entire face and body at a quick pace, careful and analytical.
“How are you? You look tired”.
And of course he had to say something as plain as that to break whatever spell had befallen the two of you.
“Wow, thanks!” you flung your arms in the air, taking the fake bullet he shot straight at your ego.
“No, come on” he sighed and sat upright on the sofa, “I didn’t mean it like that! You look actually tired. Like you might need an emergency intervention if you study one more day”.
You turned back to your breakfast, the stress painfully coursing through you, envisioning the amount of textbooks and papers you still had to read.
“Hey, come on…” he got up from the sofa and began walking but stopped midway between the living room and the kitchen, like he worried he’d step an imaginary line if he got closer.
The distance felt both reassuring and frustrating, as you struggled to pinpoint the origin of your newfound anxiety. Was it the thought of having to study more or was it the walls you put up to stop him from getting closer, both physically and mentally?
His expression hardened. He had hoped you would step forward, or invite him to talk to you. But you just grabbed your food and went back to your room after sending him a small apologetic look.
You left him standing there, chest heaving and heavy with the unsaid words he wished you’d let him tell you. This wasn’t like you. This wasn’t you.
He didn’t see you again before nighttime. He had knocked on your door once to call you for lunch but you hadn’t answered, prompting his heart to squeeze in a dull ache he wasn’t familiar with. It was now dinnertime and when you didn’t come out at the sound of the plates and glasses being set, he decided he was done.
He was done pretending this was normal, done pretending he didn’t care about you, done pretending you weren’t the shadow of who you used to be.
He knocked on your door.
You didn’t answer.
“I swear to God if you don’t open this door-“
His voice fell silent when you opened.
Your eyes were red, filled with tears that threatened to fall any second now. His frown disappeared, his mouth went dry and his arms moved of their own when they reached for you.
He held you in a tight hug, squeezing your entire upper body with intent, his head resting atop of yours. You breathed a little easier in his arms and let the tears run down your cheeks, dampening his t-shirt.
He only let go from one arm to close the door to your room, before going back to holding you firmly, his hand motioning smoothing circles on your back. It was a little gesture that went a long way, the warmth radiating off of him filling you with a newfound calmness.
Your cries died off as quickly as they erupted, his effect on you definitive, efficient.
“I know you wanna say ‘I told you so’” you mumbled, joking to deflect the heavy moment.
You looked up at him. His eyes were soft, trailing all over your face. He hated seeing it tear-stained. His hands rested on your shoulders as he observed you before his low voice came out in a raspy whisper:
“I didn’t want to be right, ladybug”
You shrugged.
“It’s fine. I’ll be better tomorrow” you reasoned.
“If you think I’m letting you overwork yourself one more second…” he breathed in controlled anger.
He wasn’t mad at you. He was angry at those exams, and mostly at himself for letting you overdo it.
“I’ll help you study, okay? I’ll ask you questions, we’ll turn those sessions into quizzes and games but you are not spending a second longer alone in this room”.
You wanted to argue but the resolution in his eyes and voice stopped you in your tracks. You peered into his hazel eyes, admiring the familiar fire in them.
“Ok”, you nodded.
His shoulders dropped, releasing any tension, giving up on any argument he’d been ready to have with you over this.
The next few days until your exams, Bosco was here to help. Every single day, he quizzed you, helped you any way he could and forced you to take many breaks during which he always managed to distract you from your work.
By the time exam season was over, you had gotten a lot closer, and a part of him (and you) was grateful you got the chance to spend more time together.
Song - I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend by Hot Freaks ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ
AU - Childhood friends, one-sided love
𐙚˙✧˖°🍮 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚
+ 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗗
in which Go Hyun-Tak’s been in love with her since age seven, but all she does is steal his hoodies and call him "bro."
+ 𝗚𝗢 𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗡-𝗧𝗔𝗞 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥
fluff
Go Hyun-Tak had been in love with her since the third grade.
Not that she noticed.
Not when she made him pinky-promise to be her best friend forever after he shared his juice box. Not when she’d nap on his shoulder during field trips. Not when she still—still—stole his hoodie in high school and never gave it back.
Now she was seventeen, sprawled beside him on a patchy hill in the local park, legs tucked beneath her, sipping bubble tea while humming off-key to the playlist they made together. She was scrolling her phone like nothing mattered, occasionally shoving the straw toward him for a sip—like it was the most normal thing in the world to share drinks and air and heartbeats.
And Hyun-Tak let her.
Because he was weak.
Because she called him “Takie” in that lazy, syrupy way that made his brain short-circuit.
Because when she turned to him with those wide, guileless eyes and said, “I think I might like someone,” it felt like someone had hit pause on the whole damn universe.
He blinked. “Oh?”
She didn’t look up from her phone, just shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she hadn’t just turned his world sideways with one sentence. “Yeah. It’s stupid.”
Hyun-Tak swallowed, throat dry. “It’s not stupid.”
“You don’t even know who it is.”
No, he thought bitterly, but I know who it’s not.
She adjusted her weight, curling slightly on her side, propping her head up with one arm. A blade of grass stuck in her hair. The oversized sleeves of his hoodie fell past her knuckles. Her eyes flicked to his—half-lidded, lazy, familiar—and she gave him that soft, conspiratorial smile. The kind that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.
“You wanna know?”
He hesitated.
Everything in him screamed no.
But he nodded anyway. “Sure.”
She grinned, bashful in a way she almost never was. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“I mean it.”
“Promise.”
A beat passed. Two.
She buried her face in her sleeve for a second, groaning. “Ugh, now I feel dumb.”
“Hey.” His voice gentled without thinking. “It’s me. You never have to feel dumb with me.”
She peeked up at him again, and this time something in her expression shifted—just the tiniest bit. Something quieter. Something more unsure.
And then, just as she opened her mouth—
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen, thumb hovering.
“Hold on—it's him,” she said, without thinking. And just like that, the moment passed.
Hyun-Tak froze. Watched her face light up like a goddamn fireworks display.
And it gutted him.
He tried to look somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He ended up staring at the hem of his hoodie hanging off her wrist. It looked better on her than it ever did on him.
“You okay?” she asked after a moment, eyes still on the screen, smile tugging at her lips.
“Yeah,” he said softly, leaning back into the grass, eyes skyward. “I’m always okay.”
And he was.
That was the problem.
He was always okay. Always there. Always Takie—her safe place, her stand-in boyfriend for practice dances, her emergency contact, her ride home when it rained.
Everything but the one thing he wanted to be.
✮⋆˙
It was three days later when she brought it up again.
Same hill. Same park. A little windier this time, with leaves rustling in dry circles around their shoes. The sky was overcast, the kind of cloudy that made everything feel muted and slow—except for her, apparently, because she was pacing in front of the bench while Hyun-Tak sat, watching her unravel in real time.
“I swear to god, if he says one more thing about how I’m not like other girls, I’m gonna throw my phone into the lake.”
Hyun-Tak blinked up at her. “You don’t even like lakes.”
“That’s not the point, Takie,” she huffed, running both hands through her hair, tugging at the strands. “The point is he’s so—ugh—he’s so confusing! One minute he’s texting me like he’s interested, and the next he leaves me on read for an entire day. And when I ask what’s wrong, he just says ‘lol nothing.’ LOL NOTHING?! Who does that?”
Hyun-Tak bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a smile. Barely.
She spun on him. “Why are you smiling?”
“I’m not,” he said, all innocence, but his lips were clearly betraying him.
She pointed at him with a glare. “You totally are! I am losing my mind, and you're just sitting there with your little smug face like this is a rom-com and you're the side character getting popcorn.”
He held up both hands. “I swear I’m not enjoying this.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, ducking as she flung a crumpled straw wrapper at him. It missed by a mile.
She flopped onto the bench beside him with a groan, letting her head fall dramatically onto his shoulder. “He’s such a jerk, Takie. Like—a real jerk. Not even in a hot way. Just a mildly emotionally unavailable but still somehow pretty way. Which is worse.”
He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting her vent, letting her rest her head against him like she always did when the world got too loud.
Then, quietly: “So… you’re done with him?”
She sighed into his hoodie. “I should be. But I’m not. I don’t know. It’s like—ugh—I think I just liked the idea of it, you know? Of someone liking me. Wanting me. Even if it’s… not real.”
His chest ached at that.
She didn’t see herself clearly. Never had.
Didn’t realize that everyone wanted her. That she was the kind of person who made playlists with her friends and remembered their birthdays and gave away her heart like she was born with too much of it.
“You are wanted,” he said quietly.
She pulled back a little, brows furrowing. “What?”
“You said you wanted someone to want you,” he repeated, more careful now. “But… you already are.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “By who?”
Hyun-Tak opened his mouth—then closed it.
Laughed under his breath.
“Just… in general,” he said instead. “You’re easy to want.”
A pause.
Then she slumped forward again, exhaling into his shoulder. “You always say the right thing. You suck.”
He smiled down at the top of her head.
If only you knew, he thought. If only you looked at me the way I look at you.
But instead, he just said, “Want me to go beat him up?”
She snorted. “You and what army?”
“Just me. I’m terrifying.”
She laughed for real this time. Loud, open-mouthed, free. Her nose scrunched in that way that made his stomach hurt.
And he swore—
For just a second, she looked at him a little too long.
