#obx jj maybank

infuriating or infatuated ? - pope heyward♡

pairing: pope heyward x reader

authors note: hello lovely friends! back from the dead with some actual writing this time. warning this hasn’t been proof read or anything fancy just my silly little thoughts <3

warnings:one small nightmare but no detail at all

“you are the most infuriating person i’ve ever interacted with” you whisper under your breath.

the low chuckle behind you made you want to stab someone’s eye balls out. his eyeballs out to be more specific.

“aw cmon you know i’m just playing around. i’m sure you’re fully capable of opening a door. but who knows, maybe you’re only book smart. not door smart”

that infuriating prick. you were going to whirl around and give that cheeky motherfucker a peice of your mind. wipe that silly beautiful smirk-

click!

the handle under your palm suddenly jerked downwards and the door of the hotel room flew open. you let out a small sigh of relief, hoping the pouge behind you would stop making his comments now.

unfortunately that wasn’t the case as he opened his mouth and said, “look at that. people can learn new tricks.”

you scowled to yourself, choosing to ignore his dig, and walked into the stingy hotel room. it smelled like all the other humid and frankly gross hotel rooms the school had bought for you in your years on the decathlon team. the smell was almost comforting, or at least familiar.

pope though, who’d only recently joined the decathlon team, scrunched his nose in disgust. “what in the world is that smell?” he asked.

you shrugged your shoulders and placed your suitcase on the twin bed you wanted to claim.

pope chuckled again, amused. “so what? now i’m getting the silent treatment?”

you simply ignored him and made a big show of unpacking your smaller bag. slowly, you pulled our your toriletry bag, phone charger, and the crazy amount of flash cards you’d spent hours making in the previous weeks. the one you knew pope wanted but was too proud to ask for.

“oh wow very mature of you. look i’m not all that thrilled to be sharing a room with you either but at least i’m not being a bitch about it” he scoffed and began to mimic your actions, pulling out his far more inferior flash cards.

you whirled at him, mouth downturned in anger. “i am not being a bitch,” you answered. “i’m simply trying to make sure you and i don’t kill each other before the weekend is over and keeping my distance. rooming with you wasn’t in my plan either, trust me. why would i want to room with my natural enemy.”

you turned away from him in your own dramatic fashion and made a point not to continue looking at him. as good as he looked in that burnt red shirt which hugged his arms in just the right way and - what?

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you kept unpacking. this was just nerves. you were frankly a little freaked about tomorrows competition. going up against some of the greatest schools in the state was no small thing. what if you weren’t good enough?

you didn’t notice the only other body in the room come up behind you. close. dangerously close.

“oh i’m you’re enemy now, am i? you do realize we’re on the same team right? so technically we are partners.” he paused and leaned in close to your ear, “equals.”

you straightened at the word, and at his proximity to your face. “we are most definitely not equals. i have way more extracurriculars than you”

he scoffed. “well i have more letter of recommendation than you. and i’m debate team captain .”

the proud tone in his voice almost made you smile before you squashed it back down. without even turning to look at him you answered, “well i have a much higher gpa than you.”

he hummed under his breath, like he was enjoying the banter between the two of you. “not after this semester you won’t. don’t think i don’t know about that c minus in biology. that’ll push me right back up to valedictorian.”

you stiffened. that silly c minus. stupid biology. stupid miss david who hasn’t rounded your grade and couldn’t teach for the life of her. pope was going to hold that stupid grade over your head the entire weekend. he’d win. you’d fail.

you couldn’t turn to face him. knowing you’d be met with that smug smirk of his. the one you sometimes, occasionally, pretty frequently, enjoyed seeing. enjoyed being the cause of.

so you simply let out a huff in response and shimmied to the bathroom before he could say anything else. in doing so, you slammed the door in his face.

god you were so not good with guys.

by the time you were done in the bathroom, you’d only let a couple of tears slip and pope was under the covers in his own twin bed.

when you emerged he looked at you with concern, but as quickly as it was there it disappeared and he said to you, “good glad you’re finally out of there. i was starting to think i might have to take your questions at the completion tomorrow. on second thought that wouldn’t be so bad, go back in there.”

you gave him the slightest most pathetic smile in the world, in no mood to join in the back and forth the two of you always had with each other. instead you silently got into bed and twisted so you weren’t facing him.

as you fell asleep you thought about the boy in the bed a couple feet away from you. the flash cards that had been on his night stand. the color of his eyes. the smirk he only ever sent your way during decathlon meetings. how every time you got nervous he seemed to start up some petty little fight which distracted you from your anxieties. in some ways, he was a lot better than you.

the thought sent you into restless sleep.

you woke up gasping. sweating and scared. you sat up, holding your chest. you were disoriented, not sure where you were. a moment ago you’d been on a stage in front of millions of people incapable of remembering the enzyme involved in digestion and now you were in a dim humid room.

before you could get your bearings a voice to your right asked “are you okay?”

you gasped again, turning towards the source of the question.

pope. beautiful pope who was still awake and had his flash cards on his lap, the lamp next to him still turned on. but at that moment, pope was looking at you. with a look so concerned he might jump over to your bed.

checking the clock on your nightstand and seeing it read three am, you turned back to the boy. “what the hell are you doing up? we have to be awake in five hours.”

at your snippy, and reflective, response pope’s shoulders loosened slightly. as if he was happy to have you participating with him. he motioned towards his flash cards.

“unlike your lazy ass, im getting some cramming studying done”

the way he said it almost felt like.. an invitation? and yet the words made it seem like a challenge all at the same time. maybe you’d accept both.

you pulled your covers off and sauntered over to his bed, dramatic as ever. he watched your every move. you decided right then and there that you loved having pope heyward’s eyes on you. to have him look at you in that way. more than anything. maybe even more than winning the decathlon.

before sitting down on the end of his bed you grabbed your own, again, superior, flash cards from your bag. surprise flashed through pope’s features. you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling and giving yourself away.

“what?” you asked, “did you think i would study with your shitty flash cards?” you scoffed, “i’m not stooping to that level.”

before you could hesitate too much, you passed them to him. “and since you’re technically on my team i guess you can use them as well.”

pope, unlike you, made no move to hide his blinding grin. and even though you were sitting down you thought you might fall over at the sight.

“i knew you’d finally realize i’m your equal” he said as he started flipping through your perfect cards.

you kept silent, not confirming nor denying what you both already knew to be true.

inching forward slightly, he looked up at you and said: “maybe we could start with biology? i’ve been struggling a little bit with the newest topic.”

you knew he was lying. his perfect and consistent scores were proof enough of that. and if it had been anyone else to mention that class, you would have slapped them silly.

but pope got it. he knew how much the c minus had killed you inside. he understood. probably more than anyone else ever had. you could see it in the way he was looking at you now. with love. concern. friendship.

so you answered, “well if you need the help i guess so. cant have you making us lose, can we heyward?”