Girl, You Know I Already Got It

girl, you know i already got it

Rumour Has It (2)

A/N: Here we go! The long awaited part two of Rumour Has It! Thank you so much for the support!

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Summary: You didn’t come to university to get picked up by some lacrosse jock but when Peter Kavinsky offers a chance to prove unflattering rumours wrong… well, you never were someone to back down from a challenge.

Characters: Peter Kavinsky

Wordcount: 2.6k

Rating: T (swearing, as always)

“Yo! Medusa!” As you slide your laptop into your bag, you raise your head to see none other than Peter Kavinsky with his friends. Sighing, you zip up your laptop and grab your notebooks to slide into the second zipper space. As usual, he’s wearing his trademark smirk paired with jeans and a jacket. If he wants your attention, he’s gonna have to come and get it because from where you are, you can hear his friends snickering and that isn’t shit you want to deal with. Ever.

“Do you need me to beat him up?” a girl asks from behind. You don’t know her name (it starts with a C, you think) but you know that she’s always reliable for any missed notes and assignments. Turning around, you shake your head with a smile. “Because I can. My sister is a personal trainer for like navy seals and quarterbacks and shit. I could get something together.” Her disgusted scowl directed at Peter Kavinsky makes you glad that someone’s on your side just in case.

“No, but thanks.” Sparing a glance at the jock, you see him getting tousled by his friends and let out a snort. “You know Peter Kavinsky?”

“Know? He’s basically shoved down our throats in the dorms. I swear, some girls have fucking posters of his face.” The girl lets out a whisper-scream at the thought, making a face.

“Admittedly disgusting,” you agree with a chuckle. Packing the last of your things, you take out your phone and check the time. 5:17.

“What’s he even doing calling out to you? He’s never bothered someone who sits in a front row before,” she continues and you shrug.

“I allowed him to call me Medusa,” you inform, defeated, and C (which is what you call her whenever you think about her) raises an eyebrow.

“You and Peter Kavinsky talked?”

“It’s shameful, I know,” you snort sarcastically and she cracks a smile.

“Medusa!”

“What, Peter Kavinsky?” you bark at last and he falters for a moment. His friends nudge him in farewell and leave as you sling your backpack on. C rolls her eyes and you send her a smile.

“I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Yeah, see you.” Heading over to the jock, you flick a hand. “Come along, Peter Kavinsky. We have to get going.” Heading out the lecture hall, you exit the building with him in tow as you walk the path back towards your dorm. His friends are nowhere in site. “How’d you get your lackeys to leave?”

“They’re my friends and they left because I asked them to.” His offended tone has no effect as you see your dorm building. “Why’re you so rude, anyways?”

“Why be nice to people who don’t deserve it?” you shoot back, swiping your card to get in. Opening the door, you’re surprised when Peter Kavinsky takes the weight and holds it open. Sending him a narrowed look, you enter and head for the elevator.

“Have my friends offended you in some way?” asks the jock and you let out a disbelieving scoff. “Did they bully you?” You don’t answer as you jab the 4 on the columns of buttons. He takes your silence as a yes. What are you gonna say? That one of his friends happens to be some stupid twat from high school who you used to date? “What for?”

“You realize that everyone has a reason to be bullied, right?” Yours used to be how gullible you were. God, you were part of the cheer squad. You were one of those girls who were deemed popular and were snotty about it.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he had said weeks after you two broken up. He had a new girlfriend then, the head of the cheer squad. What a dumbass. Clenching your jaw, you exit the elevator with Peter Kavinsky close on your tail.

“Yeah, but they’re my friends. I want us to get along.” Whipping around, you stop.

“Why? Because we’re friends?”

“Well, yeah.” A conflicted expression passes over his face and he frowns as you laugh. “We aren’t? Then, why am I here?”

“You invited yourself over. I’m not stopping you is all.” Grimly, you turn around and stop before your door. Unlocking it, you let him in first before closing the door and locking it. Unzipping your boots, you kick them off before walking in. Lucky for you, you have a single room to yourself but it’s still cramp as hell. Sitting down at your desk, you hear Peter mumble at what a mess it is.

“Have something to say?” you ask, turning on your swivel chair. He pauses mid step and smiles.

“Nope. It’s a perfect swamp.” Your arch an eyebrow at his reply. He collapses on the giant beanbag in the corner, grimacing when he reaches below his butt and pulls out a book. Setting it down by his feet, he glances up at you through his eyelashes and you shake your head when he catches you staring.

“I prefer lair.” Crossing one leg over the other, you tilt your head at him. Pressing your lips together, you survey what he’s doing. Currently surfing social media or something on his phone, he’s made himself perfectly at home. You had really expected him to leave already and have some alone time. “If you get hungry for dinner, you can leave.”

“Nah, don’t eat early.” Surprised, you turn to your notes and begin to pick up where you left off last night. Well, you suppose you don’t mind as long as he’s quiet.

“Me neither,” you say and you think you can feel his stare on your neck. Carefully, you turn your head to sneak a glance at him and you find your suspicions correct. When he’s caught, he simply smiles and resumes scrolling on his phone. Taking out your phone from your bag you had thrown onto your bed, you plug it into your charger. You take out your textbook as well and pull out your pencil case before beginning to scribble in notes.

“It was Pollock, wasn’t it?” asks Peter Kavinsky after a full hour of silence. You start. You’d forgotten he was here, so silent he was. “Jason Pollock?” Sucking in a breath, you debate on what to say.

“Who said it was?”

“I scrolled through your Instagram.” Raising your head slowly, you jerk your gaze towards him. He has one earbud in his ear, the other being rolled between his thumb and index finger. “I found a really old post, from like years back.”

“Oh, so you’re stalking me,” you snort sarcastically and he frowns deeply. You know you’re giving him more attitude than he deserves but you never wanted anyone to find that out about you. You’re better than that now.

“We follow each other. You - you followed me first,” he mumbles and you widen your eyes. Grabbing your phone, you whip out Instagram and click on your Following and search up his name.

ptkavinsky Peter Kavinsky

You really are following him. Clicking on his profile, you scroll through his pictures and realize you’ve even liked some of them as he continues to talk.

Peter Kavinsky UVC | #18 | Turned to stone 🗿

Your eyebrows knit together at his bio. You never noticed that before.

“Anyways, your first post…” He trails off and you turn around, leaning back into your chair. “In the comments. I didn’t mean to pry, I just wanted to know you better and I found it. I didn’t know you were a cheerleader.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t something I’m proud of,” you growl, twisting to slam your textbook shut and getting up. You shove your backpack off your bed and lie down, head resting on your interlaced fingers as he stares at you, waiting for you to explain. “I dated Jason Pollock, so what?” He gets up and sits on the chair at your desk so he’s closer. His second earbud has fallen out and he unplugs the jack, stuffing them in his jacket’s pockets. His knee keeps jiggling and you can see it out of your peripheral as you continue to stare up at your ceiling.

“So, you were one of those popular cheerleader chicks.” 

You know exactly what post he got that information from. It’s the squad photo and you have the caption blazing in your head because it was so chic at the time.

yourinstagramname: SQUAD goals. Here we come provincials!

Groaning, you pinch the bridge of your nose. So stupid.

“I was,” you confirm, turning your head to look at him, and he has a soft smile on his face. It kinda puts you off because all you’ve ever seen is a huge smile that digs into his cheeks, that classic smirk, and even that half-smile he sometimes sends to girls you’ve worked with before.

You never thought Peter Kavinsky could look so… tender. Your heart squeezes at this new side of him.

But eventually, that soft smile paired with those chocolate curls and molten brown eyes has you questioning both your ethics and why he’s staring at you. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just I can’t imagine you as a cheerleader.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises.”

“And you’re not the face I imagined when Jason told me the reason why he doesn’t date anymore.” Shock freezes your blood and you have your jaw hanging off your face, mouth unable to work. Trying to form words, you fail spectacularly. He chuckles. “He’s - he mentioned this girl he used to date in high school. He said she’s the reason why he doesn’t have a girlfriend anymore, and I thought that girl must’ve been a bitch to break his heart so badly.”

Jason Douchebag Pollock had no right to tell lies like that.

“Oh, I broke his heart,” you drawl sarcastically, sitting up and glaring at Peter Kavinsky. “Right, you tell him that his poor little broken heart–” You pretend to pout– “that he got what he fucking deserved.” Trying to keep your voice level, you flop back down and find the anger you had stuffed so far down from years ago to resurface like a magnificent, snarling beast.

“You know what?” he starts, causing you to look at him again. He has an easy smile as he sits down beside you. Scooting over reluctantly, you push yourself up by your hands and lean back onto them as he shows you his screen.

He’s on the Following page of his own Insta profile and you furrow your brow when you see his thumb hovering over the Following button next to one name.

jzpol J A S O N P O L L O C K

“He’s cancelled.” With two taps, one to request, and one to confirm, Peter Kavinsky no longer follows Jason Pollock. Surprised, your mouth drops open as his eyes crinkle. He’s smiling that smile again and it unnerves you so much you look away.

“Why’d you do that?” you mutter, scooting forward and getting off the bed. He stares after you, absolutely bewildered. Instead of touched, you look vaguely offended. In reality, you don’t understand what you’re feeling. You hate the thought that he really did something so passive aggressive. By midnight, you’re sure you’ll hear gossip about some fight between Kavinsky and Pollock. Why else would Peter Kavinsky unfollow Jason Pollock?

“What do you mean? You don’t like him, so I unfollowed him.”

“He’s your friend.”

“He was an ass to you,” exclaims Peter. You open your small closet and grab the first jacket you see, the camo that’s too big for you, and shrug it on. Rolling up the sleeves, you search for your combat boots. “He’s always been an ass and I shoulda stopped him when he started calling you Medusa but I didn’t because I didn’t know you. But I knew him and I trusted his judgement. I didn’t know you guys were a thing.” Turning around, you frown at his words. “Now that I know you better, I feel like I have formed my own opinion–” You let out a sharp ‘hah’ at his choice of words. How funny of him to use your own words– “and have therefore acted on it.”

Still, one piece of info burns and melts the ice in your veins. “He started the Medusa thing?” Disbelief clear on your face, you grab your boots and collapse on the beanbag, pulling the left one on. Like Pollock had any reason to make your life even worse. God, so you have him to thank for making you known on campus. Great. “You know name-calling isn’t exactly a good thing no matter the circumstances.”

“He was my first friend here,” he says. “Not that it excuses anything. I just thought it wasn’t my place.”

“It’s always your place to call out someone’s bullshit,” you comment bitterly, tying your boot tightly. Sitting up, you pin him down with a stone-inducing glare. “You know what? Why do you believe me, anyways? How do you know I’m not just making it up that Pollock screwed me over?”

“Because you’re honest.” Tossing him an unimpressed look, you allow him to continue. He seems to have the sense to realize you don’t want to talk about Pollock anymore and diverts the flow of conversation to the very reason why he’s even here. “You were right. We aren’t friends - we’re just two people who agreed to a challenge. So I get to be honest with you, and you get to be honest with me. Deal?”

“Deal.” Like you aren’t already honest with everyone you’ve ever met. You shove your foot into your right boot before starting to lace it up.

“To complete this challenge, I think we have to know what rumours we have to prove wrong. So, what are the rumours about me?”

“What, are we playing Truth?” you ask sardonically, finishing up your last boot and standing up. He gets up and shoves his feet into his sneakers before grabbing his bag.

“Yep. We each get a turn,” he says as you grab your keys and your card to get into the dorm building. Grabbing a small leather backpack, you stuff your wallet and a portable battery inside and sling it on while your other hand pockets your phone. He doesn’t even ask where you’re going and you don’t question why he follows as you two exit your room. “After I go, you go.”

“Okay, fine.” Searching your mind, you pull the threads of gossip you heard in passing and try to summarize it in a brief sentence. “They say you’re a tease, a flirt, that you can’t hold down a serious relationship with a woman for whatever reason and still for some inconceivable reason, girls still fling themselves at you.” He juts out his bottom lip, mulling your words over before nodding.

“Fair. Those are the rumours that we have to break, then,” he says with a glance at you. Your answer is a nod and a one-shouldered shrug.  Then, an idea pops in your head.

“If I asked if you wanted to eat dinner with me, would you? You know, if girls heard you ate a platonic dinner with a girl and that you have friends of the female gender, then maybe they’ll realize that you, A, don’t have commitment issues, and B, are an actual human being behind all that flirting and shit,” you explain slowly, trying not to get his hopes up that this is a date. It is not. So you clarify this to him. “This is not a date. I am putting boundaries down. I have drawn them with a extra-thick Sharpie, in bold black, between us and if you cross that boundary, I will immediately block you from my life.” He blinks and then that stupid soft smile appears again.

“Girl, you had me at ‘eat dinner with me’ and ‘platonic dinner’.” Rolling your eyes, you press the elevator button. “You basically said we were friends,” he added triumphantly. Again, you over-exaggeratedly roll your eyes. “I can drive us. Where’re we going?”

“Does Chipotle sound good to you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

TAGS: @teawithbucky @shadowsndaisies @jcc04220 @uhltrons @goldenariana @http-natiii @yourwonderbelle @poseidons-lil-bitch @beyond-the-ashes @fallen-imagine-angel @dontstopxx @always-fletcher

@whistlingwillows yup

fic i wrote in an hour without proof-reading bc i was bored and had zero fucks to give: 1,000 notes

fic i carefully and seriously wrote, taking my time and proof-reading it constantly, my most self-admired work: 10 notes

mood

How I see myself after posting a chapter

Here’s a video of Noah Centineo looking cuddly telling a puppy she has bde.

i’m so fucking soft ugh

home

summary: finding an apartment w bucky i guess

word count: 900 something

warning(s): none

a/n: is been a long time blease b nice , also i pu t keep reading on this im sorry if it doesnt work on mobile. also unedited. also im on pain meds. jusyt if u ever read it n think the fuckis she saying yeah me too

———

He felt it as soon as he stepped inside the space — home.

The realtor’s voice fades in the background as he takes it all in—warm, cream walls, brown hardwood floors that match the baseboards, not small enough that it’s suffocating, not too big that it feels empty.

And then he sees you.

He watches as you nod along to what the realtor was saying, letting your eyes roam around as well. And he hopes you could see it too, because he already does.

Keep reading

power couple

Social Justice

Request: could you do a peter kavinsky x reader imagine where everyone in the school knows your Peter’s, so they don’t even dare try hitting on you, except this one guy does it so often that Peter just gets so angry. But instead of yelling at him in a angry manner, Peter confronts him with such sarcasm and calmness that it ends up scaring the guy away? yeah idk? something like that i guess…

A/N: Hope I do you justice, anon!

As always, thank you @teawithbucky​ for giving this a read over before I let you all read it.

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Summary: When a new student threatens the power couple of high school, you and Peter Kavinsky firmly put him back in his place with a proper verbal smack down.

Characters: Peter Kavinsky

Wordcount: 1.7k

Rating: T (swearing, one slap, strong feminist views because I can’t help myself and I love writing a strong Reader)

You grab your what-was-once-hot coffee and sigh, raking your gaze over the stack of textbooks in your locker. It’s lunch (finally) and you’re exhausted.

“Hey, babe,” Peter greets, sneaking up behind you with his hands on your hips. Not paying him any mind, you cast a doubtful look at the chemistry textbook, wondering if you should study during lunch.

“How was the chem test?” you ask and he plucks the takeaway coffee cup from your hand. He quickly presses a kiss to your neck before taking a sip of your coffee. Making a face, he swallows painfully and you try to stifle a smile.

“It was pretty easy. You should be good to go for tomorrow.” He heads down the hall to throw away the cup as you nod to yourself. That means less work for you. Closing your locker, you smile at your boyfriend. He always has a habit of making you smile even when all you want to do is frown so much that the lines become permanently engraved on your face. Adjusting your backpack, you sneak an arm around his waist as he tosses one around your shoulders, bringing you close.

“Wanna get some subs?” Shrugging, you push open the school doors just as someone calls your name.

“(Y/N)! Hey!” Turning around, you feel Peter’s arm fall away as you spot Thomas Callaway who’d been assigned as your chem partner since the new seating arrangement had taken place. Also a new student, you’d been assigned as his tour guide for his first month. “Hey.”  

“Thomas, hey.” Smiling, you brush a piece of hair behind your ear as Peter grabs your free hand, kissing your temple. “Do you need something?”

“Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the movies? See the new Shades of Grey movie?” He has a smirk on his face but you, knowing that every Thursday means a chill night with Peter, shake your head.

“Sorry, I have plans.” With one last (not so) apologetic look, you and your boyfriend turn around and he reaches for the door when Thomas calls out again.

“How about lunch? We can ditch the afternoon.”

“I’m gonna get subs with Peter,” you say and Thomas’ eyes go to the taller Peter Kavinsky who has an indifferent expression directed down at him.

“Right. Is that even allowed?”

“As long as you don’t tell,” you say flatly. “Can you find your way to the cafeteria?”

He stutters for a moment, at a loss for words before uttering, “Yeah. Uh, maybe next time?” You shrug and then the two of you turn. Tossing a glance over your shoulder, you offer a forced smile.

“Yeah, next time.”

As the two of you leave the high school, Peter lets go of your hand and resumes the arm around your shoulder.

“Who was that?” he asks, acting disinterested. Knowing he’s only trying to act aloof, you nudge him in the ribs.

“My new chem partner. Play nice for now.”

“If he doesn’t stop flirting with you, I might have to mark my territory,” he mumbles with a hot glare and you laugh, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I don’t like him either.” He tilts your chin up, pressing a full kiss against your mouth. Pushing back, you wrinkle your nose when he pulls away first. “Come on. We needa get back in time.” Tugging your hand, the two of you start in a run towards the Subway down the block.

.

As the month goes on, you find yourself more short-tempered and annoyed than a usual first month back. Normally September’s weather makes you all calm and happy, but with Thomas Callaway as your parasite, you find yourself being unable to be anything but.

It started out fine. Little proposals to hang out, to study, and then it became outrageous.

“Hey, good lookin’.”

“If your name came up in ‘Smash or Pass’, I’d full on smash.”

“Your ass in jeans shouldn’t be legal.”

Let’s just say Peter’s temper matched yours whenever the two of you saw him. To say the most popular couple in school is on a warpath is an understatement. Although the both of you are well respected in your own right, everyone knows to stay the fuck away from either of you. Every girl and guy has made a solidarity pact and everyone likes (or respects or fears) both you and Peter too much to so much as glance in the direction of your boobs and his dick.

Callaway just didn’t get the damn fucking memo.

As the date of homecoming approaches, you know that Peter will plan something elaborate to ask you out. Every year you feel the urge to tell him it doesn’t matter. He could ask you while you were in the middle of the exam and you’d still say yes. Not enthusiastically, but you would say yes. Unfortunately for you, that means that Thomas Callaway’s ‘suave’ flirtations doubled in amount.

As you stand at your locker during break, stuffing your notebook into your locker, you feel another presence hover over you.

“Hey, (Y/N).” Mentally preparing yourself, you pay Callaway no mind even when his breath puffs over your ear. “You got a date to homecoming? Because if you don’t…” He clicks his tongue and jabs a thumb towards himself. Rolling your eyes, you pause to calm yourself down before beginning to jam your textbook into your locker a lot harder than God intended.

“As I’ve told you a thousand times, I am going with Peter. I have been dating him since I have met you; that is not going to change, and I don’t want to go with anyone else.”

“Aw, come on. What does he have that I don’t?” Callaway asks, coming closer until his lips brush against your ear. Closing your eyes, you give him a count to three. You know people are staring and whispering, probably at how stupid this new guy is and when you give him two extra seconds and count to five, you’re wondering why you’re so merciful today. “Come on, baby, why don’t you bend over-”

“Woah!” Whirling around, you slap him hard across the face. He stumbles back as you storm up to him, digging a finger hard into his chest. “No. You don’t get to say that. You do not get to come to my locker, into my personal space, and insinuate things I don’t like, even after weeks of me saying no. You may have been able to push around other girls, make them feel uncomfortable, but let me tell you,” you chuckle, “you chose the wrong girl. I am not afraid to stand up to you. I am not afraid to make a scene. You have been sexually harassing me, even when I have calmly, firmly told you no. I have been forced to work with you because the school has told me to do so. You seem to mistake it for interest. I assure you. It is not. I loathe you. I despise you. And don’t think I won’t report you to the goddamn principal. You’re nasty.”

“You wonder what Peter Kavinsky has over you? A sense of what consent is near the top of the list,” you snap. “Leave me alone, Callaway.”

“Bitch,” he spits and you laugh facetiously. So he’s one of those people. “You’re probably one of those sluts who has him wrapped around your finger while you go off blowing all his friends.”

“Oh, don’t be one of those sad, sad guys. Calling me names because I hurt your little fragile ego? Slut-shaming? Really? I hope you grow up before you even think about asking another woman out again.” Slamming your locker closed, you turn to walk away when you see your boyfriend standing there with a slight smile on his face. A crowd has half-formed, students littering the halls in a semi-circle around you but you don’t care.

“You know, that wasn’t smart of you to piss her off like that,” Peter starts dangerously, walking forward and placing himself between you and Callaway. “Mostly because one, she can fucking kick your ass and two, she has a boyfriend who can probably bench press you right now if he wanted to.” Peeking around Peter, you see Callaway stare at you. “You know what else was a genius move of yours? Hitting on a girl who has a boyfriend.” Peter smiles blandly at the shorter guy as he takes a few paces up to him. “I’ve let it go, seeing as how you’re the new guy, but let me make one thing very, very clear. You come near her again outside the classroom again, and I don’t think you’ll like what happens to you, Thomas. You are not worth her time with how you act and what you say. Grow up, dude, seriously.”

Peter genuinely sounds disgusted and disappointed; so deeply so that it makes you chuckle and he glances back at you. He winks and you smirk as he turns back to Callaway.

“Go, man. Why are you still here? You’re just embarrassing yourself.” There’s a long moment where Callaway stares at you then drags his gaze back to Peter.

“Whatever. You’re not worth my time anyways. Skank.” You roll your eyes. What a classic tactic to bid for the last word. Name-calling. Cute.

“Uhm, bitch, you’re walking a fine line.” Peter crosses his arms over his chest and for a moment, there’s a long stare-off. “You’re dismissed, Callaway.” Another tense silence, then Callaway turns pushes through the crowd. “Let him through.”

“Alright guys, showdown is over. Let’s just get back to class,” you announce as Peter finally turns around with that wide smile you know is for you.

“I am so blessed that you’re my girl,” he whispers and you laugh as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. “Honestly, I only wanted to step in for my two-cents but watching you verbally kick his ass was pretty great.”

“Well, now you’re making me blush,” you faux-swoon and he laughs, twirling you around. “Come on. Let’s get to class.” Pulling away, you extend your hand towards him and he takes it, swinging your arms as you walk to history.

“I love you.” Beaming from ear to ear, you feel your neck warm up as you stare at the tiles beneath your shoes.

“I love you, too.”

TAGS: @teawithbucky @shadowsndaisies @meemeehoelland