and the way my nose goes crooked

alluroa  asked:

is it bad im not over ur FANTASTIC jily genderswap n im hopin this doesnt come off as rude but i'd kill for some more !!

“I’m going to piss in your coffee. You hear me? If you don’t hurry up I will literally piss in your literal coffee. Actual urine, Evans.”

Liam doesn’t look up from tying his shoelaces. “At least wait ‘till we’re out of the street.”

“I’ll piss wherever I want, thanks.” Jane says, as Liam straightens and she hands him his piss-free drink. “Now we’re going to be late.”

Liam can’t believe her. “The only reason you’re even out of bed right now is because I said I’d pay for coffees, and you’ve repaid me by swearing the whole way here and threatening to piss in the beverages I paid for.”

Jane smirks, all teeth. “’Beverages’” she does air-quotes around the word, spinning so she’s walking backwards facing him. “We get it Evans, you read.”

“You’ve won this English prize three years in a row. You read too.” She is not watching where she is going and is absolutely going to hit something, most likely a person.

“Yeah, but when I read it’s cool. When you do it’s sad.”

“Your favourite book is Love in a Cold Climate. By what stretch of the imagination are you cool.”

“I refuse to have the Love in a Cold Climate argument again because you haven’t even rea-“ her heel hits a fire hydrant they’d both missed, and he sees her go backwards like it’s in a film or something. He reaches out like a shot, grabs her arm, pulls her forward to his chest. She grabs his shirt, almost popping a button, and the whole thing lasts about three seconds but feels vastly longer.

His heard is thudding, and with her fingers a fist in the middle of his chest, he becomes inexplicably aware that she might feel it. She breathes out, hard, and he hears her swallow. “Clumsy.” He mutters, one hand still on her arm and the other on her back, fingers spread over her spine.

She looks up at him, mouth parted slightly, glasses still broken from Black’s house party last weekend. “I play soccer.” She says thickly, looking from his eyes to lips and back again. “I- I am most absolutely not- clumsy…“

She keeps mumbling, and he leans closer, their faces almost touching. She trails off, eyes darting all over him, and how odd it is- still, that he can make her nervous. He flexes his fingers on her spine, and her breath hitches.

“We’re going to be late.” He says, his mouth practically touching hers, “and your ties twisted.”

She blinks, lightly shoving him backwards. “Leave my tie alone or I’ll piss in your beverage.”

“Save the jacket” Sarah coughs, vomiting again. Jane rolls her eyes.

“It’s leather. It’ll wipe off.” But Jane takes it off her anyway, letting go of her hair to peel back each of the arms. Liam, sitting with his legs spread out over the grass, puts up a hand, and she throws the jacket to him.

“Black, don’t take this the wrong way,” Liam says, looking up at the moon, “but I don’t think you can do five shots in ten minutes and feel nothing.”

“Get fucked.” Sarah chokes, gagging again. Jane grins.

“You fac- face is crooked. Wonky nose.” Jane slurs, grabbing at his face again.

“Cheers, Potter.” He goes sideways through the door and untangles her legs from around his waist, laying her on the bed. “Let go of my neck.” He commands.

“The- you whole ro-oom is crooked,” she’s gone crossed-eyed, drunkenly pleased.  “Crooked room, crooked boy.”

“Clever girl.” He says, softly. She unwinds one arm from around his neck and presses a palm against his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips. He says nothing, rooted to her. Her hand drops, eyelids drooping.

“Stay.” She mumbles.

“This is my room.” He says. When he looks down, she is holding is hand.

“If you were there it would have been different.” Liam accuses, opening his fridge.

“Why?” she’s sitting on the bench, kicking her legs at him, “Because I’m the only one who finds you funny?”

“Precisely.” He throws an apple to her. She catches it. “Now Parsons’ just thinks I’m a twat who seriously thinks coal is the energy of the future.”

She grins, taking a bite of the apple and watching him cut a slab of butter from the block. “Please don’t.” She says, knowing that he will, and he spins to face her, shoving the entire stick into his mouth. “I’m never going to kiss you again.” She lies.

“No worries. I have other options.”

Jane, through a mouthful of apple, laughs. “Like who?”

“A cardboard cut-out of you?” He tries.

“Please. My cut-out has standards.” He takes a step towards her, laughing, not even bothering to shut the fridge. “You haven’t shut the fridge.” She points out, and he puts his hands on her knees, leaning forward. She can see every single freckle on his nose. “I am not going to kiss you.” She says, firm. He continues to lean forward. “Evans, I-“

He smacks a kiss against her cheek, letting go of her knees to swing around and shut the fridge door. “Now you have butter cheek.” He says. Grinning, she gives him the finger.

“Is it necessary to slide in the mud every time you score a goal?” Liam asks, sitting on a bench in the abandoned boy’s locker room with his ankles crossed together.

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Jane answers, walking to him.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” Liam says.

“This is a women’s soccer match. No one’s supposed to be here.”

“I meant in the boy’s locker room.”

“You know the girl’s showers are full.”

Liam tilts his head. “Well actually I don’t, because I don’t make a habit of wandering into changing rooms that aren’t mine.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me” Jane says, and Liam abruptly sticks out his tongue and pulls his legs up so his feet are flat on the ground. “What are you doing?” She asks, confused.

“Acting like I wasn’t waiting for you.” He says. She grins.

“’That what that looks like, is it?” She’s standing over him now, his head tilted up to see her face.

“Clearly.” He answers. She can feel a bruise ripening on her knee, swelling purple already. He says nothing for a minute, just looking up at her, and then reaches out to trace nonsense shapes on the side of her thigh. Her heart, still thudding from the match, slows.   

She brings up a hand to touch his neck, thumb running along the underside of his jaw, and he shudders right there in the boy’s locker room. She swings a leg up over his knees, straddling his lap and getting dried mud on his legs.

Looking him full in the face, she can see the remnants of supporter’s paint under his eyes that had been rubbed away by the rain. He comes to all her games, wears her old team jerseys as a joke and cheers louder than anyone when she gets a goal or Sarah fouls someone. She brings up her other hand to brush hair off his face, and he keeps looking at her.

She leans forward, because they just won, and he belongs to her, and she is so unbelievably grateful for it. “I love you, stupid boy.’ she breathes into his ear, and she can see his goose bumps.