PETER KAVINSKY one shots + imagines

Lacrosse

"What?" you asked, folding your arms across your chest. 

He glanced at the stands, and then at you. You noted he was probably taking in your school-spiritless outfit and lonesomeness. 

"Have you ever even been to a game before?" 

"Well... not exactly." You glanced out at the field, where the team was practicing drills before the start, which was in a few minutes. 

"What does that mean?"

"I've... read about the games in the newspaper," you said, turning back to him. (It was true, you had. It might have been a skim... but you had seen the headlines.) 

"In the newspaper?" Peter let out a small laugh. 

"Shouldn't you be out there?"  you pointed out. 

Peter looked out to the field, then his watch, and shrugged. "I got a few minutes." Then he looked up to the sky. "I just hope it doesn't rain." 

Rain? Oh, God. You hadn't even thought of that. It had been sunny when you left... but sure enough, there were clouds in the distance, coming in fast. 

Peter must had seen your expression, because he laughed again.

"You don't have an umbrella? Or a poncho?" 

You rolled your eyes. "A poncho? Do you even own a poncho?" 

He didn't answer. Instead, he was taking off his sweatshirt.

"What-" you started to ask, but then were distracted by the slight glimpse of bare skin that showed when his jersey underneath shifted. 

Was that... what abs looked like? 

If those weren't abs, then you didn't know what was. 

You turned red, realizing that he was already talking again. He held the sweatshirt out to you.

"-I don't need it, I have to go back out there soon. Just don't puke on it, 'k?" 

You rolled your eyes again, and took the sweatshirt.

"You don't have to-"

"You're gonna get soaked." Peter shook his head. "And anyways, it says my name on the back."

It did. Kavinsky, in bright yellow letters. But you looked up in confusion.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "...Really? You know, how with couples, the girl sometimes wears the guy's sweatshirt? With his name on it?" 

You shrugged. Why would that even be a thing? The sweatshirt was not going to fit. It was way too big... which you guessed might not be the worst thing. 

"...It's a thing," he assured you, before glancing at his watch again. "I gotta go." He looked up at the clouds. "... man, if there's lightning, they have to cancel the game." Then he turned back to you. "The sweatshirt." He said, as he turned away, "Wear it." 

He waved, and then ran out to the field. You took a seat on an open bench near the front, and after a moment of hesitation, slowly pulled the sweatshirt over your head. 

It was warm. And smelled good. 

You decided there was no downside to this situation. 

You smiled, and the game began. 

It was more exciting than you thought, and after the first quarter of the game, you were beginning to understand the rules. Peter was good, like even better than the papers had said, and every few minutes, he would turn away from the game and give you a little wave. 

You tried to ignore the sensation that started to make you smile every time he glanced your way. 

And they were winning. By a lot, actually. The other team could not seem to score any points.

But then it started to rain. At first it was a nice drizzle, and then it began to pour. 

A few people went to stand under the tiny pavilion where the concessions were, but most toughed it out on the bleachers. The field grew slippery and you could tell that everyone was disappointed by the storm. 

You shuddered, pulling the sweatshirt more tightly around you. The hood kept you from getting too wet. You kept watching the game. 

Peter was running down the field just as a huge boom of thunder made the metal stands shake, and lightning flashed over head. A few people shouted, and then began making their way towards the exits. A ref blew their whistle, and that was it. The game was ending. 

But they had won, and family and friends of team members were running onto the field to congratulate the players, even as it poured. It seemed that everyone was going in different directions. It was chaos. 

But you headed out onto the field. You were so happy that Peter had done so well, and you guessed you should congratulate him and give him his sweatshirt back before dashing to the car. 

Peter saw you coming, and put down his lacrosse stick to meet you in the middle of the field. The rain was coming down so hard that people were now evacuating as fast as they could.

"What did you think?" Peter smiled. He seemed to be in no hurry. In just his uniform, he was already soaked. 

"You did great." You smiled back. It hurt in a way. You were smiling so hard because you were so happy as rain poured down around you and this boy stood in front of you - but none of this could be real.

But you wanted it to be. You realized as the field flooded your thin shoes and cold water overtook you that you wanted this to be real. 

Peter was staring down at you, and he pulled you closer. 

You let yourself lean into him. 

"Thanks for the sweatshirt," was all you could think to say. 

Peter laughed, and as you looked up, the hood fell down. 

Lightning flashed over head, but neither of you moved. The rain on your face suddenly made you feel alive, electrified, and brave. Brave enough to do something perfectly stupid. 

And then your lips were on his, and his lips were warmer than the cold water that kissed both of your cheeks. It wasn't until another boom of thunder that you both pulled away. 

"... I think you should come to my games more often, Y/N."

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