#He's not talking and he's a little awkward but it's fine

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On ch2 (mostly)

ch1(ish) this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

This is most of Chapter 21, cutting out the smut. IT DOES SPICY🌶️⚠️: alludes to smut the night before and blatant talk leading into more.

Tim wasn’t in his own bed. He wasn’t in his Manner bed either. He was pretty sure it also wasn’t the spare bed at Jason’s or Kon’s bed. It wasn’t Stephanie’s or Bart’s or one of the Titan Tower beds. No, this was a stranger’s bed. That should worry him, Tim knew that, but the worry didn’t come.

Instead of worry, Tim felt calm, pleasantly satiated, and sore.

Tim knew why.

Caroline clung to him, like the heavy remnants of a dream. She was right there, pressing against the back of his mind and assuring him that this was all fine. More than fine even; she was quite pleased.

Grudgingly, Tim opened his eyes and blinked up at the nondescript ceiling. Trying to remember what had happened last night was like watching through low resolution clips of time. Things were rather clear at the start and became less clear as time went on. But he very much understood why he was sore and just how much Caroline had enjoyed himself.

Tim was sure he was blushing an embarrassing amount as he carefully sat and swung his legs over the edge of the side of the bed. Yep, sore. Right, well. Tim cleared his throat as if that would also clear up his embarrassment. How was he supposed to act after sleeping with a complete stranger?

“I thought I heard you awake, gorgeous,” the guy—Danny, his name was Danny—drawled from behind Tim. “I know it’s not the right sort of thing for you, but I put some lounge pants and a shirt in the bathroom for you if you want to shower. Pancakes will be up in about fifteen or so, but take your time.”

“Ah, thanks, that’s nice of you,” Tim said.

He waited until he heard Danny walk back off to wherever the kitchen was before he got up and slipped into the bathroom. All of Caroline’s clothing had been folded into a neat pile, other than the lacy underwear, which were washed and drying on the towel rack. Which was rather sweet.

Tim added the bra to the pile, stretching out the feeling of having worn that all night.

Figuring out how to get the shower turned on and hot was a puzzle, showers always were, but Tim managed it smoothly enough. Danny’s shower actually got decently hot too, and Tim took advantage of that to stand under the spray and just try to center himself.

Should he pretend to be Caroline?

Should he come clean?

He didn’t know what was best… or safest.

But Danny was safe. Tim hated that the certainty of that lingered in his mind, but it did. Caroline was convinced that Danny was safe, at least in these regards. He supposed she must have to lingered like this and still be at Danny’s place in the morning. Tim took a deep breath, breathing in the citrus scent of Danny’s shampoo he as using, and let it out slowly.

Okay, truth it was.

The shower had washed away the last of Caroline, which meant it was only Tim standing in the kitchen, trying not to fidget. He was better than fidgeting, he had been a Robin. But he really wanted to right then as he waited for Danny to turn from the stove.

Danny dished up some bacon onto a plate and turned the stove off before turning. “Turkey bacon,” Danny explained with a little raise of the plate before he set it on the little table which was rather full, “and we have scrambled eggs and, of course, pancakes. Take a seat and dig in.”

“That all sounds great.” Tim didn’t move.

Danny tilted his head with a little frown. “Is everything alright? If, ah, this is too much it’s okay if you just want to leave. I don’t usually… do one nightstands so if I’m breaking some sort of taboo with this I’m sorry.”

“No,” Tim said quickly, “it’s not you, it’s me. Wow, not like that. Sorry. I guess I’m just a little awkward about this. I don’t really do this either. Well, that’s not—I don’t do this. I’m sorry, I’m making an absolute mess of this. I guess, just, okay. I guess I should start by saying you should call me Lin. I’m not… exactly Caroline right now.”

He wasn’t ‘Lin’ either, but no matter what Caroline thought he wasn’t going to give Danny his real name. He was too recognizable for that.

Danny sat down slowly in the chair closest to him. “Are you… not Caroline right now because of how you’re dressed or because you’re not Caroline because you’re someone else now?”

“Oh,” Tim wiggled a handy. “Both but more of the second?”

“Okay,” Danny said, his tone careful in a way that made Tim tilt his head curiously. “Are you… freaked out by waking up somewhere different? Do we need to talk about… anything that happened last night?”

“Oh, oh no,” Tim replied quickly. “I’m mostly aware of what happens when I’m Caroline. Besides I was sort of… in between when I woke up this morning. We’re good.”

Danny shoulder’s slumped and he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “Okay, good. I really didn’t want—because everything last night was very, enthusiastically consensual and—”

“We’re good, really,” Tim reassured Danny. It was actually pretty sweet how worked up Danny was about this. “Caroline didn’t do anything—okay, well she does it more freely than me, but, ah, let’s just say we’re in agreement about you.”

Danny looked surprised before a frankly adorable smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, though maybe don’t get too smug about it,” Tim said with a little shrug and finally took a seat at the table. “I never said either of us had good taste.”

Danny’s surprised laughter was a nice sound. “Don’t worry, I know I’m not hot stuff. The attention is still flattering. I spent most of the night not sure how I ended up with Caroline in my bed.”

Tim rested his chin on his hand, watching Danny curiously. “Even though she’s not what she looks like?”

“Like I said last night, any combination of bits is a good combination.”

“That usually doesn’t mean… personalities,” Tim pointed out.

Danny just gave a little shrug. “Nope. But as long as I haven’t hurt her, or you, then I don’t mind this either. Is it different? Sure. And it has me curious about things, but I’m curious by nature.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Tim quipped.

“But boredom killed it quicker,” Danny replied, finishing the verse.

It was Tim’s turn to smile. “I can’t say I’ll want to or can answer everything, but you can feel free to ask a few questions.”

After a considering noise, Danny took a few bites of breakfast as he obviously thought about what to ask. “So since you know things that happened as Caroline, does that mean you have the same preferences about things?”

“Nope. Caroline’s go to drink is a martini. I like whiskey better,” Tim said, thinking to last night. “Or she likes eggs that are runny but I hate that.”

“Huh, okay. Does that keep going to more serious things too?”

Tim tilted his head and took a bite of the rolled up pancake he had just buttered. As far as morning after breakfasts went, this was pretty nice. “Serious like what?”

“Well, like, last night. Take… a blow job. How would Caroline like one?”

“She wouldn’t,” Tim said easily. “She might give one, but mostly to get someone worked up to fuck her.”

Danny chuckled, a low sound that made Tim want to lean in closer to where Danny lounged in the other chair. “Okay. So you know that pretty easily. But what about you? What about Lin?”

Tim tilted his head. “Lin, I mean I like blow jobs, yeah.”

At least he was pretty sure he did. He didn’t do this sort of thing much as him.

Danny smiled like he was amused. “Okay. And any preference? Leaning against a wall? Pressing me against a wall? In bed? Sitting on the couch. Right here in the kitchen with your legs thrown over my shoulders?”

Tim swallowed reflexively. If Tim was Alvin right then, he’d want Danny on his knees, back pressed against the wall while Alvin held his jaw open and fucked his face. But for Tim… “That last one, please.”

“Please as in now?” Danny asked.

“Yes, please,” Tim said, the words much more blatant begging than he had intended.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Danny drawled the pet name in a slow, easy way that reminded Tim of whipped honey. “But you gotta be good for me and let me hear you.”

-

[Smut goes here. Tim has a very good time.]

-

“No pressure, but here’s my number,” Danny said. He was holding out an actual slip of paper folded in half. He ducked his head a little. “You know, if you or Caroline or you and Caroline want to reach out.”

Tim took the slip of scrap paper, the back of some cut up sales sheet and tapped it against his fingers. “You’d want to hear from both of us?”

“Yes, of course! As long as that won’t cause any issues between you and Caroline. And, I mean, obviously I’d like a heads up who I was talking to,” he said with a shy, crooked smile.

It made Tim give a little laugh. “I bet, it would get real confusing otherwise. I can get another number for her and use it through an app. It keeps everything nice and separate for all of us.”

“Yeah? That sounds good,” Danny agreed. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to get you a cab or walk you to the station?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’ve been running around Gotham my whole life.” Or close enough, anyways. “Besides, one of Caroline’s bracelets is a low level tazer.”

“Really? But to fit all of that in—sorry, off topic,” Danny said sheepishly. He leaned in and kissed Tim lightly on the edge of his lips. “Thank you for staying, and telling me who you were.”

“Thanks for being so great about,” Tim said. He stole a quick kiss himself before he slipped out the door. He was too tired for things to descend into another round of sex, not matter the position.

Just before he got outside Danny’s apartment building, he took the time to put Danny’s number in his phone and sent of a quick ‘and thank you for the pancakes’.

[lizziesangel]

can you do another one shot of introverted reader and extroverted qb Rafe and he just follows her around and still crushes on her and then he like asks her out or something you can make this in your own way

finally part two!! ⟢ part one

as the self-defense unit wraps up, you and lana grab your things and head toward the locker rooms. the air between you is lighter now, the drills and awkward encounters behind you—for the moment, at least. lana nudges you with her shoulder, her mischievous grin already in place.

“did you see what happened to jason in the middle of class?” she asks, barely containing her laughter. “i mean, secondhand embarrassment doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

you stifle a laugh, glancing over at her. “what did he think was going to happen? asking mia out in the middle of the drills? who even does that?”

lana throws her hands up dramatically. “exactly! like, dude, we’re learning how to escape a chokehold, and he’s over here trying to escape the friend zone. bad timing, jason. bad. timing.”

you snort, unable to hold back your amusement. “and then mia’s face? she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.”

“she didn’t even say anything! she just shook her head and walked away!” lana cackles, practically doubling over as she recalls the moment. “poor guy stood there for a solid ten seconds, looking like he’d just been hit by a bus.”

“it was funny,” you admit, “but also kind of sad. like, imagine building up all that courage just to get publicly rejected.”

lana shakes her head, still giggling. “i mean, yeah, i felt bad for him. for, like, half a second. but you have to admit, it was iconic. mia didn’t even blink.”

you laugh, the image replaying in your mind, but then lana’s smirk takes on a different edge. she gives you a sly look, and you immediately know you’re in trouble.

“speaking of moments,” she begins, dragging out the words, “what’s going on with you and rafe cameron?”

your laughter dies in your throat, replaced by a groan. “oh my gosh, lana. nothing is going on.”

“nothing?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “girl, he was staring at you like you were the answer to all of life’s questions. and don’t even try to deny it—i saw it.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “he wasn’t staring. he was just… focused on the drill.”

“focused on you,” she corrects, wagging a finger at you. “i mean, i can’t blame him. you two looked like the cover of some YA romance novel over there, all wrist grabs and lingering eye contact.”

“lana, oh my gosh, stop.” you shove her lightly, your face burning. “it’s not like that.”

“oh, but you wish it was?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

“no!” you insist, laughing despite yourself. “you’re so annoying.”

lana grins triumphantly, but before she can press further, you narrow your eyes and shift the spotlight. “okay, let’s talk about you and topper, then.”

her smug expression falters. “what about me and topper?” she asks, feigning innocence.

you mimic her earlier teasing tone. “oh, nothing. just that you were blushing a lot while you two were partnered up. and don’t even try to deny it—i saw it.”

“i was not blushing,” she huffs, but her face betrays her, turning pink at the accusation.

“you so were!” you shoot back, laughing. “and don’t think i didn’t notice how he kept leaning in to talk to you, all ‘are you okay? is my grip too tight?’”

“okay, first of all, he was just being polite,” lana retorts, crossing her arms. “second of all, you’re deflecting.”

“am i, though?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow. “because it sounds to me like someone has a little crush.”

lana groans, throwing her head back dramatically. “fine! whatever! he’s cute, okay? but he’s also topper thornton, which means he’s probably, like, ninety percent annoying and ten percent tolerable.”

you smirk. “sounds like someone’s trying to justify their feelings.”

“and it sounds like someone’s avoiding the fact that rafe cameron was basically undressing them with his eyes,” she fires back.

the two of you dissolve into laughter, your playful banter echoing down the hallway. for all the awkwardness of the class, you can’t help but feel grateful for moments like this—light, ridiculous, and completely you.

it’s been a week since the self-defense class, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about rafe cameron since then. not that you’d admit it to lana.

she’d never let you hear the end of it. right now, though, you’re trying to focus on your spanish class, scribbling notes as señor martinez drones on about verb conjugations. lana is sitting to your left, doodling absentmindedly in her notebook, while rafe is on your right, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression that says he’d rather be anywhere else.

you try not to notice how close he’s sitting. or how his cologne lingers faintly in the air. definitely not noticing.

“señor cameron,” señor martinez suddenly says, breaking through the hum of your thoughts. you glance up to see the older man staring pointedly at rafe, his thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “por favor, conteste esta pregunta. ¿cómo se dice, ‘i like to play football’ en español?”

rafe blinks, his posture straightening slightly. you can tell from the way his brow furrows that he has no idea what the answer is. he shifts in his seat, his gaze darting toward you briefly before landing back on the teacher.

“uh…” he starts, clearly stalling. “yo… gusta… uh…”

you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to laugh at his obvious struggle. he looks genuinely panicked now, scratching the back of his neck like it’ll somehow help him come up with the right words.

without thinking, you lean slightly toward him and scribble on the edge of your notebook: me gusta jugar al fútbol.

sliding the notebook closer to him with your left hand, you tap the words lightly with your pen before sitting back, acting like nothing happened. rafe’s eyes dart to the paper, and then to you. he catches on quickly, his lips twitching into a small, grateful smile.

“me gusta jugar al fútbol,” he repeats, his pronunciation a little off but passable. he looks up at señor martinez, who nods approvingly.

“muy bien, señor cameron,” the teacher says before moving on to the next victim in his line of questioning.

rafe exhales quietly, and you feel his shoulder brush yours as he leans closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear. “thanks. i owe you one.”

you shrug, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “you’ll survive.”

“yeah, because of you,” he says, his tone teasing but sincere. you can feel his gaze lingering on you, and your cheeks warm involuntarily.

lana, who has been unusually quiet, suddenly clears her throat dramatically. “i see you two are getting along nicely,” she whispers, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

you nudge her under the desk with your foot, shooting her a warning look. “focus, lana.”

“oh, i am,” she replies with a grin, glancing pointedly between you and rafe.

you and lana walk out of spanish class, your bags slung over your shoulders as you weave through the bustling hallway. the faint smell of old textbooks and cleaning supplies lingers in the air, blending with the hum of chatter from other students.

“so,” lana says, adjusting the strap of her bag and glancing at you, “are we pretending that señor martinez’s lecture didn’t put the entire class to sleep?”

you snort. “you mean only you? i saw you zoning out halfway through.”

“hey, i was conserving my energy,” she defends, holding up her hands. “that conjugation nonsense was not giving what it needed to give.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head as the two of you make your way toward your lockers. the conversation shifts to weekend plans, lana animatedly describing some pop-up event she wants to drag you to, when someone passes by on your right.

it’s him.

“hey,” he says, his voice breaking through your conversation like a gentle ripple. he’s walking just slow enough to catch your attention without completely stopping. “thanks for earlier. you saved me with that spanish sentence.”

he flashes you a smile—not the usual cocky smirk you’ve seen him give other people, but something softer, genuine. the kind that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.

“oh, uh, no problem,” you manage to say, your voice steady despite the warmth creeping up your neck.

he gives a small nod, the corners of his mouth tugging upward just a little more, and then continues walking past you, blending into the crowd.

lana waits until he’s out of earshot before turning to you, her eyebrows raised and her grin positively devious. “okay. what was that?”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “he was just saying thank you.”

“mmm, sure,” she says, drawing out the words. “because guys like rafe cameron totally go out of their way to say thank you for help in class.”

“it’s called being polite,” you counter, though your voice wavers slightly, betraying your attempt at indifference.

“polite?” lana mimics, her voice dripping with mockery. “girl, he smiled at you like you just solved all his problems. that was not polite; that was something else.”

you shake your head, biting back a smile. “you’re ridiculous.”

“am i?” she teases, bumping her shoulder into yours. “or am i just really good at spotting crush vibes when i see them?”

you groan, quickening your pace to escape her relentless teasing, but the fluttery feeling in your chest doesn’t go away.

a few days rolls by, and it’s time for PE again. the memory of last week’s self-defense unit still lingers in your mind, though you’ve done your best to push it aside. unfortunately, lana hasn’t let you live it down.

“back to the battlefield,” she says dramatically as you walk into the gym together, her water bottle swinging in her hand. “do you think coach davis will make us pair up the same way as last time?”

you glance at her, trying to gauge whether she’s genuinely curious or just looking for an opportunity to tease you again. “i don’t know,” you reply, keeping your tone casual. “probably. he seems like a ‘stick to the plan’ kind of guy.”

lana smirks, nudging you lightly. “good news for you, then.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, feigning innocence as you open your water bottle and take a sip.

“oh, nothing,” she replies with a sly grin. “just that a certain quarterback might be looking forward to this more than you think.”

“ooh, look,” lana adds in a whisper, nudging you with her elbow as you make your way toward your spot. “there’s your favorite partner.”

you glance over instinctively and spot rafe standing with the rest of the football team. he’s tossing a basketball between his hands, chatting with topper and a couple of others, looking relaxed and completely at ease.

you try not to linger too long, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. his lips curve into a small, knowing smile, and you quickly look away, your heart doing an unintentional somersault.

“stop it,” you mutter to lana, who’s practically vibrating with excitement at your reaction.

“i’m not even doing anything,” she says innocently, though the smug look on her face says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, coach davis claps his hands together, gathering the class’s attention.

“alright, folks!” he booms. “we’re picking up where we left off last week. same pairs, same drills, new moves.”

lana shoots you a triumphant look, barely able to contain her laugh. “told you.”

“shut up,” you mutter under your breath, your cheeks already warming as you glance toward the corner of the gym. sure enough, there’s rafe, standing with the other football players, tossing a basketball between his hands and looking entirely unbothered by the world around him.

when your name is called, followed by rafe’s, you take a deep breath and start walking toward him, feeling Lana’s smug gaze on your back the entire way.

“guess it’s us again,” he says, stopping in front of you. his tone is casual, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“lucky me,” you reply, trying to sound neutral as you set your water bottle on the floor, though your voice comes out a little more sarcastic than you intended.

he chuckles, his hands resting lightly on his hips. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“ready for round two?” he asks, his tone teasing but warm. there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe anticipation—but you don’t dwell on it for long.

“i’m ready if you are,” you reply, trying to match his confidence.

this week’s drills involve more complex moves—blocking, evading, and redirecting. rafe listens to coach davis’s explanation but keeps sneaking glances at you, like he’s more interested in your reaction than the actual instructions. you catch him once, and he quickly looks away, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

when it’s time to practice, rafe takes his position in front of you, his hands raised slightly. “alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

you narrow your eyes playfully. “don’t go easy on me.”

his grin widens. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

the first few attempts are clumsy, just like last week, but this time, there’s an unspoken ease between you. the tension feels lighter, replaced by a strange sort of rhythm. when you stumble on one of the blocks, rafe catches your arm instinctively, steadying you without a second thought.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

“yeah,” you reply quickly, brushing it off. “just lost my balance.”

“good thing i’m here, then,” he says, his grin returning. he’s teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his tone that makes your stomach flip.

as the drill continues, you notice how his confidence contrasts with the careful way he moves around you, never pushing too hard, always adjusting to your pace. it’s almost… considerate. by the end of the session, you’re both slightly out of breath, your cheeks flushed—not just from the exercise.

rafe is surprisingly focused, following coach’s instructions and helping you figure out the movements without making it awkward—well, mostly. he adjusts his stance a couple of times, his hands hovering near your arms to guide you, but he never oversteps, which you appreciate.

“alright, now try shifting your weight forward,” he says, watching as you attempt to push him off balance.

you give it your best shot, planting your feet and leaning into the motion, but he barely moves, his footing solid.

“okay, not bad,” he says, grinning. “but maybe try using a little more…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word.

“force?” you supply, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, that.” he nods, his grin widening. “don’t be afraid to go for it.”

you try again, this time putting more effort into the movement. to your surprise, he actually stumbles back a step, his expression shifting to mock surprise.

“whoa—okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “you’ve got some hidden strength there.”

you laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “yeah, sure. i’m terrifying.”

“hey, i’m just saying,” he replies, his tone teasing. “remind me not to mess with you.”

lana, paired with topper a few feet away, catches the exchange and immediately starts making faces at you behind rafe’s back. you shoot her a glare, mouthing stop while trying not to laugh.

“what’s so funny?” rafe asks, glancing between you and lana.

“nothing,” you say quickly, straightening up and avoiding his gaze.

laa smirks, her voice carrying just enough for you to hear. “oh, it’s definitely something.”

you groan inwardly, already dreading whatever teasing lana has planned for later. for now, though, you focus on the drill, pretending not to notice the way rafe’s smile lingers just a little

the end of class rolls around, and as everyone starts clearing up and heading toward the locker rooms, rafe lingers near you, casually adjusting the strap of his gym bag. lana notices, of course, and shoots you a knowing look before wandering off toward the door with topper trailing behind her.

you sling your water bottle over your shoulder, about to follow, when rafe steps a little closer. “hey,” he says, his tone casual but with just a hint of hesitation.

“hi,” you reply, glancing up at him curiously.

“so, uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. “are you going to the game tonight?”

you blink, caught a little off guard. “the football game?”

“yeah,” he gives a short laugh, as if there’s any other game he could be talking about. “i mean, it’s kind of a big one. with a rival school and all that.”

you chew on your lip, considering. “ah, i don’t know. i haven’t really thought about it.”

“oh, come on,” he says, a teasing edge creeping into his tone. “i’m playing tonight.”

“i know,” you say with a faint laugh. “you’re the captain.”

there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. “right. so… you’ll come?”

before you can answer, lana reappears, practically materializing out of thin air. “we’ll be there!” she announces brightly, cutting off whatever excuse you were about to come up with.

your head snaps toward her, eyes wide. “we will?”

“yeah,” lana says, completely unbothered by your subtle glare. “wouldn’t miss it.”

rafe’s grin widens, his gaze flickering between you and lana. “great. see you tonight, then.”

just as you’re about to protest—or at least question why lana is suddenly speaking for you—topper walks by, overhearing the last bit of the conversation. he stops, turning to lana with a raised eyebrow.

“you’re going to the game?” he asks, his tone curious but laced with something else, something like amusement.

lana tilts her head at him, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “why? you don’t want me there?”

topper stares at her for a second, then shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “no, i didn’t say that.”

“good,” lana replies breezily, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “because we’ll be there.”

topper blinks, momentarily at a loss for words, before recovering with a lopsided grin. “cool. yeah. that’s… cool.”

you glance between them, unsure whether to roll your eyes or laugh. meanwhile, rafe is still standing next to you, watching the whole exchange unfold with an amused look on his face.

“see you tonight,” rafe says again, this time directing it more toward you. his voice is quieter, as if it’s just for you, and there’s something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.

“yeah,” you manage, your voice a little softer than you intended. “see you.”

rafe’s grin widens, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest tighten. “great. see you then.”

as he walks away with topper, lana nudges you with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“you’re welcome,” she says, grinning.

“oh my gosh, did you see the way he was looking at you? you’re so going to that game.”

“lana,” you groan, but she’s already steering you toward the door, topper trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“oh, and topper?” lana calls over her shoulder. “you’d better actually play well tonight if i’m showing up.”

topper laughs, running a hand through his hair. “don’t worry, i’ll make it worth your while.”

“you’re welcome, by the way,” she says, grinning.

“for what?” you ask, even though you already know where this is going.

“getting us prime seats to watch your boy play tonight,” she teases.

you groan, shaking your head. “he’s not my—”

“oh, save it,” she interrupts, laughing. “i’m just saying, this is gonna be very entertaining.”

you shoot lana a look, but she just grins, completely unfazed. “you realize your boy is going to be there as well.”

“ahhh, this is going to be so much fun,” she says, and for some reason, you can’t help but smile too.

you and lana are in her room, sorting through her closet to find something suitable for the football game. clothes are strewn across her bed, some tossed on the floor, and lana is holding up a navy sweater against herself in the mirror.

“what about this? casual but cute, right?” she asks, turning to you.

“it’s cute,” you say, trying not to laugh at the chaos around you. “but are we really dressing up for a football game?”

lana shoots you a look. “first of all, yes. second of all, you need to look extra cute. for a special reason.”

lana holds up a cropped sweater, frowning. “do i go with this? or the green one with the little buttons?”

“the green one,” you say without hesitation. “it makes your eyes pop.”

she nods thoughtfully, tossing the sweater onto a growing pile of rejected options. “okay, green it is. what about you? you can’t just show up in your usual jeans and hoodie. this is a game. there’s a whole vibe.”

before you can respond, lana’s younger sister amalia bursts into the room, a bundle of energy as always. she’s clutching a bowl of popcorn, her hair in a loose braid. at fifteen, she has that untamed curiosity that makes her impossible to ignore.

“what’s going on in here?” amalia asks, plopping down on the floor and grabbing one of lana’s discarded sneakers.

“getting ready for the game,” lana says, tossing the sweater onto the bed and grabbing a scarf.

amalia plops onto the corner of the bed, narrowly avoiding a pile of jeans. “so, like… are you going because you actually care about football, like, someone specific?”

“amalia!” you gasp, laughing, while lana groans.

“obviously, we’re going for the game,” lana says, dragging out the last word like it’s painfully obvious.

“sure you are,” amalia says, smirking. she looks at you. “so, which is it? topper or rafe?”

both lana and you freeze mid-motion, slowly turning to look at her. “what?” you say in unison, your voices dripping with confusion and maybe a hint of panic.

“oh my god, it is true.” amalia’s eyes widen, her tone full of mock scandal. “i mean, i heard you talking on the phone,” she says nonchalantly, taking a bite of her granola bar.

lana’s face contorts into a mix of horror and disbelief. “you were eavesdropping?”

“no!” amalia says defensively, though her grin betrays her. “i just walked past your room, and i heard you say something about rafe. or was it topper? honestly, you were talking so fast, i couldn’t tell.”

“besides, we have thin walls. i can hear every conversation you have.”

you bury your face in your hands while lana groans loudly, tossing a sweatshirt at the younger sister. “you’re the absolute worst, you know that?”

she giggles, dodging the sweatshirt. “what? i’m just curious! so, which one is it? rafe or topper?”

“neither,” you say quickly, trying to sound as calm as possible. “we’re just going because… we have nothing better to do.”

amalia doesn’t look convinced, her eyes darting between the two of you like she’s trying to crack a code. “uh-huh. sure.”

you bury your face in your hands. “can we not do this right now?”

“oh, come on,” she says, grinning. “i have to live vicariously through you guys. my life is so boring.”

her older sister snickers. “you’re fifteen, amalia. you’re supposed to have a boring life.”

amalia rolls her eyes. “whatever. you’re lucky mom and dad aren’t here, or they’d totally make me go with you guys.”

lana points to the door, her tone firm. “okay, get out. now. before i tell mom you stole her granola bars again.”

amalia gasps dramatically, clutching the half-eaten bar to her chest. “you wouldn’t.”

with a huff, amalia stands and heads for the door, but not before throwing one last grin over her shoulder. “fine, but if you don’t tell me what happens tonight, i’m stealing your makeup.”

“go away, amalia!” lana yells, and the door slams shut behind her.

“you’re such a snitch,” could be heard from the other side of the door.

as the silence settles, you and lana exchange a look, and then burst into laughter.

“she’s impossible,” you say, shaking your head.

lana smirks, reaching for her eyeliner. “she’s also not wrong about you and rafe, though.”

you grab a pillow and throw it at her. “shut up!”

the stadium lights flood the field as you and lana make your way to the bleachers. the energy in the air is palpable, the crowd buzzing with excitement as the game is set to begin. the school colors are everywhere—navy and red banners, painted faces, and a sea of matching shirts.

lana’s decked out in navy, her outfit effortlessly stylish, while you’re in red, wearing your school hoodie with pride. she loops her arm through yours as you weave through the crowd.

“this is so chaotic,” lana says, laughing as you dodge a group of cheerleaders running toward the sidelines.

“you’re the one who wanted to come early,” you tease.

“early means we get good seats,” she replies, tugging you along.

as you near the edge of the bleachers, a familiar figure catches your eye. rafe is standing by the fence near the field, already in his uniform, looking every bit the golden boy quarterback he is. his helmet is tucked under one arm, and he’s talking to a teammate, but the moment he spots you, his face lights up.

he steps away, jogging over. “hey!”

“hi,” you reply, a little breathless from the crowd.

“i, uh, saved you and lana some seats,” he says, gesturing toward a spot near the middle of the bleachers, right in prime view of the field.

“oh, thanks!” you say, genuinely surprised and a little touched.

“of course,” he says casually, but there’s a flicker of something in his tone that makes your stomach flip.

meanwhile, lana has already found her focus—topper is lingering a few steps away, looking effortlessly cool in his jersey. she doesn’t waste any time sidling up to him, her voice light and playful as she says, “topper, is this your game face, or do you always look this serious?”

topper smirks, tilting his head at her. “you tell me. think it’s intimidating enough?”

“intimidating? not quite,” she teases, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

you glance at her, rolling your eyes slightly but smiling. she’s clearly in her element, and for a moment, you’re distracted by their banter.

“hey,” rafe says, drawing your attention back to him.

you look up at him, his expression softer now. “yeah?”

“so, i was thinking…” he starts, trailing off for just a second before giving you a teasing look.

you arch an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “really? you were thinking?”

his grin deepens, and he nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “yeah, shut up. i was thinking…” he pauses again, this time looking a little nervous, though he hides it well. “if i win this game tonight, would you… wanna go out with me?”

you blink, caught completely off guard. his words hang in the air for a moment, and you can’t help the way your lips curve into a smile.

“seriously?” you ask, your voice soft but full of amusement.

“dead serious,” he replies, his eyes locked on yours, a mix of confidence and vulnerability in his expression.

your smile widens, warmth blooming in your chest. “well… i guess i’ll have to cheer extra loud, then.”

his grin stretches across his face, brighter than you’ve ever seen it. “i’ll hold you to that.”

before you can say anything else, lana suddenly appears at your side, her cheeks slightly pink from talking to topper. “come on, we need to grab those seats before someone else does.”

rafe nods, stepping back but keeping his eyes on you. “i’ll see you after the game?”

you nod, your heart still racing. “good luck, captain.”

“thanks,” he says, his voice warm, before jogging back toward his team.

as you and lana make your way to the bleachers, she nudges you with her elbow, her grin mischievous. “sooo… what was that about?”

you shrug, trying to play it cool, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

“uh-huh,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “you’re so coming to every game from now on.”

you laugh, feeling a little giddy. maybe you just might.

the game has been intense, and the crowd is on edge. the scoreboard has been a back-and-forth battle, but now, as the clock winds down, rafe's team is trailing by just a few points. the stands are buzzing with nervous energy as the players huddle on the field.

you’re perched on the edge of your seat, your eyes glued to rafe, who is looking more focused than ever. he’s been carrying the weight of the game ever since their second best star player was taken out with an injury. it’s clear that he’s frustrated, his jaw clenched as he scans the field, but there’s something else in his eyes: determination.

topper stands beside him, clearly trying to keep up with the intensity, but it’s hard not to notice that rafe’s doing most of the work. he’s calling the plays, directing the team, and every move he makes looks calculated—almost like he’s pushing his limits, but you can see in the way he carries himself that he’s not going to give up.

the clock is ticking down, seconds slipping away like sand in an hourglass.

“come on, come on!” lana mutters beside you, her voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd. you glance at her, her eyes fixed on rafe and topper, and then at the field. the tension is so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.

rafe takes the ball, his eyes scanning for an opening. he’s got no choice now; it’s all on him. he fakes a pass to topper, sending the defenders rushing toward him, then in one swift motion, he dodges a tackle and charges down the field. the crowd rises to its feet, the energy growing with every step rafe takes.

you can’t help but hold your breath as you watch him break through the last line of defense, topper sprinting beside him, staying just close enough to act as backup. rafe’s legs move like they’re made of steel, his eyes locked on the end zone.

with seconds left on the clock, he passes the ball to topper, who’s just a few yards from the end zone. topper catches it and pivots, leaping into the air just as a defender tries to block him. time seems to slow as the ball arcs through the air and lands perfectly in topper’s hands. the crowd erupts as he crosses the goal line, securing the game-winning touchdown.

you can barely hear yourself think over the deafening roar of the crowd. you jump up with lana, both of you screaming and clapping in excitement. rafe’s face lights up as the team floods onto the field to congratulate topper, but he’s still scanning the crowd for someone.

you catch his eye, and for a split second, everything else fades away. his grin is wide, the exhaustion and tension melting off his face, replaced by sheer triumph.

“looks like you’ll be getting that date after all,” lana says, her voice full of teasing as she nudges you, but you barely hear her. all you can focus on is rafe’s smile, the way he’s looking at you from across the field.

you can feel your heart skip a beat as the final whistle blows. the game is over, and against all odds, rafe’s team pulled through.

lana cheers next to you, but you’re still staring at rafe, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. he winks at you, the energy of the win still buzzing in his movements.

it’s official: rafe cameron just won the game—and, if you’re being honest, you think he just might’ve won a little bit of your heart too, especially when he was looking right at you after winning the game.

MASTERLIST

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @maybanksgirl69 ⟢ @hstbsl06 ⟢ @percysley

[whereubeenloca]

Leftovers

Part 4 of the Neighbor! Reader series! Table of contents

Summary: Carmy brings you leftover menu items as a thank you.

Tags: VERY slow burn, Awkward flirting

Word Count: 1069

a/n- thank you all for the support! I'm happy yall are digging my silly little stories :)

You realize you don’t know a lot about your upstairs neighbor. 

Well, you know his name - Carmen, but it’s not like you talk. You know he works late and wakes up early, you know he smokes based on the collection of cigarette butts that suddenly appeared on your shared stoop after he moved in. Other than that? Nothing, nada, zilch. 

This is to say, you were incredibly surprised when you saw his name pop up on your phone. 

“You around?”

Yeah, you had his number, but save for the initial “hi” text the thread had remained silent. It’s almost embarrassing how quick you are to type back. 

“Yeah, why?” 

He doesn’t respond but you hear him moving around upstairs. Heavy footsteps move from one corner of the ceiling to the other, followed by the slam of a door. Before you know it, he’s knocking at your door. You’re quick to open it, shooting him a confused look. He stares back, arms full of small deli containers.

“Hi.” He says curtly, shifting the containers in his arms. “You uh- eat meat?”

You must have made some kind of face at him, because he looks down at the containers and back to you. 

“So, no…?” He asks tentatively, you finally snap out of it. 

Your face flushes hot with embarrassment, “No- well- yes. I eat meat.” You say simply, looking him over again. “But… what?” You ask, gesturing to the containers vaguely. 

Suddenly he’s aware of how odd this looks. His cheeks go red as he clears his throat. 

“I own a restaurant.” He says a little too fast, as if his statement explains anything. 

You must still look confused because he tries again. 

“Was trying out some new stuff for the menu. Uh… lots of leftovers.” He clears his throat as he shifts his weight. “As a thank you for the door thing.” He explains. 

You nod at that, he blinks back. 

“So… can I…?” He asks, readjusting the containers in his arms. 

“Oh- yeah of course. Please.” You stutter, scrambling to the side to let him in. 

“Sorry, it’s a mess.” You huff, picking up things as you move through your living area. “Kitchen’s over there.” You say, pointing to your left. 

“Cleaner than mine.” He responds, eyes scanning your apartment before he turns into your kitchen. 

Kitchen was a strong word for it. Along the far wall sits a row of sad looking cabinets, a fridge and a stove. Carmy’s shoes squeak against the poorly installed linoleum floors as he gently dumps his containers onto the small table in the center of the room. You watch as he fusses over them, arranging them into a line. 

“What kind of restaurant do you have?” You ask, looking at the containers. You can’t really tell what any of this stuff actually is. Each container is adorned with its own set of green labels, one with a date the other with its name. 

“It's a fine-dining, chaos menu, full service experience.” He rattles off before meeting your confused gaze. 

He clears his throat “Uh… a little bit of everything.” He corrects. 

You lean your palms into the table to inspect the food further. You gesture to the array of tupperware between the two of you, circling your palm around the three deli containers. “What’d you bring?” 

He points to the smallest container. “Mango chutney, pureed.” He says as he picks up another container and places it on top, tapping his finger on the lid. “Goes with the cod. And uh…bucatini in a bolognese sauce. There’s pork and cherry in it. Still working on that one.” He explains, poking the lid at the end of his sentence. 

“Sounds really good actually.” You hum in response, shifting your weight with a smile. “You didn’t have to do all this though, Carmen.”

“Carmy.” He quickly corrects. 

You furrow your brows. “You said your name was Carmen.” You say, confused. “Right? Have I been calling you the wrong name this whole time?” 

“No- no.” He interjects. “I just prefer Carmy. My uh. My friends call me that.” He clears his throat, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. Carmy’s cheeks go pink as he quickly busies himself with a scratch on the surface, dragging the nail of his thumb into it over and over.

You feel your cheeks flush a bit at the word friend. When did that happen? “Well. Thanks, Carmy.” You say softly, testing the nickname. 

His eyes flick to yours again, a boyish smile on his face. “Yeah, f’course. I mean, if anything you’re doing me a favor.” 

“Yeah?” You laugh in response. 

“Oh yeah.” Carmy laughs back, straightening out his shoulders. “I’ve got all kinds of stuff up there, there’s no way I can go through it all.” 

“Well I’m glad I could help.” You smile back.”I’m excited to try it later.” 

He hums softly as the conversation peters out. The two of you stand there for a second, side by side soaking in one another. You can feel him standing next to you and suddenly you become more aware of your own body. Do you always stand like this? Are you slouching right now? Was he standing this close the whole time? Your mind buzzes with self-awareness you haven’t felt since middle school. You don’t really want him to leave but you can’t think of anything else to say. Before you can do anything, he drums his palms against the edge of the table before pushing off of it. 

“I should get going.” He says softly. 

“Oh- yeah of course.” You nod in response, “Thanks again for the food.” You smile as you walk him to the door. 

“Let me know what you think, yeah? Don’t hold back.” He says as he crosses the threshold into the hallway, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he faces you. 

“I’ll be thorough.” You joke. He laughs and you bite back a grin. 

Again you swear he’s lingering. He shifts his weight back onto his heels as his eyes stay on you. 

“See you around?” You ask, an attempt at a goodbye. 

“Yeah.” He looks at his shoes before taking a full step back. “See you.” Carmy raises his hand to you before disappearing up the stairs towards his apartment. 

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you shut the door.

[rekino2114]

Okay, so after the wonderful Fami introducing her boyfriend to Yoru request I got to thinking. How about a sequel where after Asa and Yoru get a boyfriend, she decides to introduce her boyfriend to Fami and her boyfriend. I'd also like Fami to talk with Yoru, asking her if she gets what she was saying before about loving her own boyfriend more than anything in the world.

Yoru introducing fami to her boyfriend

This is a part 2 to this post

A/n:since there are two y/ns here, I will write (f)y/n whenever they're talking about fami's boyfriend and I will color their dialog differently, here's every dialog color to make it less confusing

Yoru=red

Asa=blue

Fami=white and pink

Y/n (asa and yoru's boyfriend)=white

(F)y/n (fami's boyfriend)=pink and white

Yoru didn't actually want to introduce you to fami that much at first. It's not that she didn't like her. They were sisters after all. it's more like she thought she was kinda weird, and with her threatening to kill her one of the last times they met, they didn't talk that much.

However, it seemed that you and fami's boyfriend were friends and you told him that yoru was your girlfriend and he told fami, which in turn made her tell yoru that she wanted to meet you. She reluctantly agreed, and that led to the 4 of you (5 if you count asa) walking in a restaurant to get to know each other

"It's nice to meet you, I'm famine but you can call me fami"

"Oh nice to meet you too"

You and the pink haired girl shook hands as she went back to eating her burger. When she finished her first bite, she looked at you again and started talking

"How did you and war met?"

"Oh well, she....appeared when me and asa were kissing and-"

"So you're dating asa too?"

"Yeah, is that a problem"

"No, not at all, I suppose it would be awkward otherwise, I was just curious about how my little sister managed to get a boyfriend"

Yoru scowled and looked at her sister who had resumed eating in the meantime

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your......situation makes it hard to talk to humans, and I didn't think you were the type to fall in love"

"W-what do you mean?"

"You want to kill every person you meet"

"You can't argue with her on that one"

"You're still here?"

"I just wanna make sure y/n isn't uncomfortable"

"No, I mean, why are you here? You have nothing to do with this conversation"

"Y/n is my boyfriend too"

"And I'm making him meet MY sister, you have no family for that anyway"

".........."

Your girlfriends mental conversation was interrupted by you elbowing yoru causing her to look at you angrily

"That was a low blow yoru"

"....what? it's the truth"

"You're not getting any kisses tonight"

"Wha- hey, no fair"

"Then don't be mean to asa"

"Tch, fine then, sorry asa"

"....i-it's fine"

Fami finished eating and continued staring at you. Her cold gaze was slightly unnerving, but her words reassured you

"......You're good for her"

"Eh?"

"War isn't always willing to apologize like that, I'm glad you're there for her"

"Oh thanks"

"You make it sound like I have no manners"

".....last week you turned the barista in a sword because she spelled my name wrong"

"That bitch deserved it, she even refused to apologize"

While you sighed, the famine devil continued to look at you and her sister, even if it was impossible to tell with her emotionless face. She was happy, happy that yoru finally found love with someone

"You have my blessing y/n"

"Eh?"

"What are you saying? You're not my mom"

"Yes, but as the older sister, I have to play that role. Y/n, you are allowed to marry war, and invite me and (f)y/n too, just make sure there's a lot of food"

Hearing this, both you and yoru blushed heavily with your girlfriend immediately starting to yell at her sister

"W-what the hell are you saying fami? We're not getting married!"

"Oh that's a shame, I was looking forward to it"

Yoru's blush grew even more as her voice lowered

"I-i mean not right now, maybe later- ughh what am I even saying, look we just didn't talk about it!"

"OK, keep me updated, me and (f)y/n are thinking about it too"

"......w-we are?......not that I mind"

You all finished your meals and walked outside. You and fami's boyfriend decided to have a talk while the horsemen spoke to each other

".....do you get it now?"

"What?"

"What I said before about loving my boyfriend more than anything, do you get it now?"

"I guess"

"You love y/n right?"

"Yeah"

"......would you kill someone for him?"

"Yeah, in a heartbeat, I already did actually"

"Then you understand what love feels like, isn't it wonderful?"

".......yeah, it's like what I feel watching humans slaughter each other but times 100"

"It's the same for me and food......I'm glad someone was there to make me feel that"

"......me too"

Fami and yoru both looked towards their boyfriends with a look of pure love on their faces, even if they were some of the most feared and powerful devils in existence, they could still feel love all because of them, and they were so happy about it

[hoiststowline]

Hello! Saw that your requests are open, love your writing!! Would you consider writing for Skyfire? I'd love to cuddle him and wish there was more x reader content for him. Either IDW or G1 up to you, and feel free to ignore if you'd rather not to!

skyfire/jetfire x reader

[a/n: hi!! omg, yes!! also, im sorry chat all I can write is hurt/comfort atm. many apologies.]

The effort scrounged was almost admirable, given the amount it took to stifle it, swallowing that sadness that had crept up the back of your throat. Though heavy evidence sufficed that you tried, yet it all was in vain as it was evident something was amiss, a fact that he would never ignore.

He’s categorically certain that warble in your words he’s never heard in past conversations. It fills his chassis with an overwhelming sense of apprehension and restlessness, presenting him immediately with a problem he does not know, but wishes to solve in a trice.

If Jetfire finds any words in your language to describe the tremble in your tone, they do not come to him easily. He’s instantly distressed, a slew of sentences rushing and fighting to escape first, but no combinations make any sense to say. This strikes him oddly, as usually there is never any ceasefire amongst conversation with you, always able to keep it from dropping off into a state of silence.

“Maybe tomorrow, okay?” You push forward, the slight quiver now nearly obsolete. “I’m not good company.”

But you’re always good company. It lingers longer than he’d like to admit, wanting to disagree with your argument wholeheartedly. It tips on the edge of his glossa, ready to be argued, but he’s spent too much time trying to pick apart the underlying message within your proposal.

“Jay?” You whisper when a moment too long passes, wondering if the call had dropped, as it has many times previously. “Are you still there?”

“Hm?” He muses, still unsure of how to proceed. “Apologies. Yes, I’m still here,”

“Oh.” It’s awkward, and that’s something you hate that arises even if it’s warranted. You’ve upset him, this is obvious, though it’s the last thing you wanted of the entire encounter. “Is…that okay?”

Would it be too forward to say that it’s not alright? In any other instance your cancellation would surely unsettle him, but he would not argue. You’re upset. You’re feeling an emotion that yanks on the chains of his own processor, wanting to be the protector, but also the consoler.

“Of course.” He settles on, opting to circle around this carefully, as to not push you further away. “May I ask you something? Before you go?”

In turn you pause, and Jetfire swears he can hear the gears turning in your head until you ultimately reply.

“Sure.” You sniff, trying to pass it off as normal, but it only slowly spikes his budding concern even more. “I can do that.”

“Whatever is the matter?” There’s a very muffled jolt at his inquiry, as if you were about to fall out of your chair. Without much hesitation, he continues, hopeful not to loose his insistence. “I can tell something isn’t right. But if you’re going to lie, please, at least humor me.”

An expected sigh, then you clear your throat twice before presenting a reply. “I should have known better to try and hide anything from you.” There’s a bout of static, as if you were moving around to another location to finish your sentence. “I’m fine.”

That did little to ease his worry, though he opted to let you go for now and try and reach you later on. “Alright.” He says, but doesn’t mean it. “Talk later then?”

“Yes.” You exhale, as if holding in an unforeseen breath. “I’ll talk to you later,”

Goodbyes are exchanged before the line clicks dead, leaving two parties isolated and unable to process their immediate problems. Jetfire cannot solve your unknowns in a timely manner, he doesn’t even know what he can do to help you, but the irresolution doesn’t last very long.

Within five minutes or so, he’s already too far gone into a haphazardly tossed together plan, redialing once more. He’s found himself uncharacteristically impatient, the line hardly clicks alive before he jumps straight out and says it, worry very present and then some.

Somehow, you conceded. Though not proud, his options were limited and the threat of sending Red Alert to your house was enough to make your situation a little more clear.

It tips on the edge of your tongue, eyelids heavy as your held securely against the side of his face. Jetfire mumbles, lips moving against the cotton of your jacket, thumb brushing against your leg in short motions. He’d wrangled you to the Ark without much effort, but partially, you knew you wanted his company. But didn’t want to be bad company, so instead absolved yourself from the comfort that was most desperately needed.

He doesn’t want you to fall asleep, wishes you would shed some of your burdens onto his shoulders. Jetfire would do it in an instant, but in this very moment, you wanted something else. And with how simple of a thing it was, he was in no position to deny such a request.

“Don’t,” He says, impossibly treading closer. “Don’t say it. Just…sleep.”

You swallow the resounding ‘I’m fine’ back, instead offering words you truly meant. “Thank you,”

Jetfire doesn’t reply, but it’s only because he catches your eyes finally closing, sensing it’s been a bit since you’d had a proper nights rest.

[literali1110]

Rachel & Chenford

I don't mind Rachel, I think it's nice Lucy has a friend to talk to. The conversation in the sneak peek looked a little awkward but on the show it was better, it made it seem like Rachel and Lucy had been in touch off screen this whole time (minus 6 months). And I liked that she was on Lucy's side, telling her to screw Tim.

What I don't understand is, why she had to apologize to Tim and say she hoped they could all be friends. If she's really on Lucy's side, they shouldn't all go back to being friends.

But ok, fine, if she's going to apologize for a years old break up that Tim was really not that torn up about, why can't we have TIM apologizing to LUCY? At the very least this conversation should have lead to him realizing that he still owes her the conversation she asked for.

Instead of using Rachel to rile up the Chenford fans about a possible Tim and Rachel reconciliation (although I really don't think they're going to go there), why not use her to help Tim and Lucy do some self-reflection/healing?

[arivsxq]

Meddle about chapter 3

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Theme: strangers to lovers, angsty shit

Warnings: smut, hookup, fwb, mdni, maybe slow updates

Word count: 4,6k+

Songs: Meddle about-Chase Atlantic

Heartbeat-Childish Gambino

A/N: Wrote a longer chapter this time as a little apology for the few people who waited so long. Sorry again but I try to upload more regularly this year:)

The next morning, I was running late. Again. I'd hit snooze one too many times, and now I was shoving books into my bag with a granola bar hanging from my mouth, cursing my existence. I barely had time to throw on a hoodie and sneakers before rushing out the door. It was the second day in a row where I looked like a homeless person. If my parents saw me like this they would definitely scream their guts out.

By the time I got to campus, I was already exhausted. The philosophy lecture hall was halfway across campus, and I knew if I stopped for coffee, I'd be even later. So, against my better judgment, I powered through, speed-walking like my life depended on it.

And that's when it happened.

One second, I was focused on not tripping over my own feet. The next, I slammed right into someone, sending both of us stumbling back.

"Oh, shit—"

I barely had time to process before strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me before I could fall flat on my ass.

And of course. Of course.

It was Jungkook.

Because why wouldn't it be?

He looked down at me, eyebrows raised in amusement. "You good?"

I blinked up at him, momentarily thrown off by how close we were. His hoodie was slightly oversized, sleeves covering part of his hands, and his dark hair was tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed. The morning light caught on the two piercings on the corner of his lips, and—

Nope. Absolutely not.

I stepped back quickly, clearing my throat. "Yeah. Fine. Totally great."

He gave me a look, like he didn't quite believe me, but he didn't push it. Instead, he smirked. "Running late?"

I huffed, adjusting my bag. "What gave it away?"

"The fact that you almost knocked me and yourself unconscious."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. You barely moved."

"Strong reflexes." He grinned. "Perks of being me."

I hated that I almost laughed.

Instead, I shook my head, moving past him. "I gotta go."

"Wait."

I paused, reluctantly turning back. "What?"

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning my face like he was debating something. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday," he said finally.

I blinked, caught off guard. "What?" I said again.

"The coffee thing." He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't trying to push anything. Just... wanted to talk."

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I let out a slow breath, suddenly feeling very aware of how awkward I'd made everything.

"I know," I admitted. "I just had..." I hesitated. "two cups of coffee"

Jungkook studied me for a second before nodding. "Okay."

That was it. Just okay. No guilt-tripping, no passive-aggressive remarks. Just acceptance. It threw me off more than anything else. Before I could say something else—what, I didn't even know—Jungkook took a step back. "I'll see you in class," he said, and then he walked away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

"wait-"

He turns around with a questioning look on his face.

"What about later? I-I mean... after the lectures. Only if you have time, we don't need to-"

"yeah, sure" he smiles and disappears after.

Did I just stutter???

***

By the time I slipped into my seat next to Carla, the professor had already started scribbling something on the board. I tried to act casual like I hadn't just made an absolute fool of myself five minutes ago, but Carla's sharp gaze immediately landed on me.

"You're late," she whispered, leaning in.

"Tell me something I don't know," I muttered, pulling out my iPad.

Carla ignored my bad mood, her eyes narrowing. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

I hesitated for half a second too long, and that was all she needed.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her voice a little too loud. "Is this about Jungkook?"

My entire body stiffened. "No," I lied instantly.

Carla's smirk grew. "So if I turn around right now, he's not gonna be looking at you?"

I refused to take the bait. "I don't care what he's doing."

Carla, being the absolute menace she was, twisted in her seat anyway. I heard her inhale sharply. "Oh. My. God."

I sighed. "Carla—"

"He's staring at you."

I groaned, dropping my forehead onto the desk. "I hate you."

Carla giggled. "Oh, babe, you love me."

I peeked up at her, only to find her grinning like she'd just won the lottery. I knew that look. It meant trouble.

"What did you do?" I whispered harshly.

"Nothing," she said, way too innocently. "I just think it's interesting that you rejected coffee yesterday but suddenly have plans after class today."

I glared at her. "How do you even know that?"

Carla rolled her eyes. "Please. I saw your face when you walked in. You look like someone who just did something completely out of character."

She wasn't wrong.

"Annnnddd I overheard Jungkook telling Namjoon"

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that Carla would never let this go. "Fine. I might have... invited him to hang out."

Carla's jaw dropped. "You invited him? As in, willingly?"

"Would you keep your voice down?" I hissed, glancing around.

Carla's expression turned gleeful. "This is huge."

"It's really not."

"It is." She paused, then gasped. "Oh my god, do you like him?"

I choked. "Absolutely not."

Carla narrowed her eyes. "Liar."

"I literally just met him."

Carla smirked. "And yet, here we are."

I wanted to argue, but the professor shot us a pointed look, forcing Carla to finally shut up. I exhaled in relief and focused on the lecture, but my brain refused to cooperate. I was too aware of the fact that Jungkook was sitting just a few rows away.

And worse? I could feel him looking at me.

***

After class, I practically sprinted out of the lecture hall before Carla could interrogate me further. I had a break before my next class, and Jungkook was nowhere in sight. Maybe he'd forgotten about my invitation. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe—

"Hey."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning around, I found Jungkook standing there, looking amused.

"Jesus," I muttered, clutching my chest. "You need to stop sneaking up on me."

He raised an eyebrow. "I literally just walked up."

I huffed. "Whatever."

Jungkook chuckled, then nodded toward the campus café. "Still down?"

I hesitated. "For what?"

His lips twitched. "To hang out? You did invite me, remember?"

I internally cringed. "Right. Yeah. Sure."

Jungkook gave me an amused glance but didn't push it. We made our way to the café in comfortable silence, and I tried not to overthink the fact that I was willingly spending time with him.

Inside, we grabbed drinks, him, an iced Americano; me, a caramel latte, and found a spot near the window. I wrapped my hands around my cup, suddenly unsure what to say.

Jungkook beat me to it. "So, what's your deal?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He smirked. "You seem... hard to read."

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "You act like you don't care, but I don't think that's true."

I stared at him. "That's a bold assumption."

Jungkook sipped his coffee, unfazed. "Am I wrong?"

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Annoyingly, he wasn't. I did care. I just hated admitting it.

Instead, I deflected. "And what about you? What's your deal?"

Jungkook tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

I gestured vaguely. "You just randomly show up at my friends' dinner, stare at me in class, and now you're analyzing my personality like it's a project."

He smirked. "So you did notice me staring."

I groaned "I walked into that one."

Jungkook laughed, a soft, genuine sound that caught me off guard. When I looked up, he was watching me, his expression more serious than before.

"For real, though," he said, voice quieter. "I think you're interesting."

I swallowed. "You don't even know me."

"Not yet," he said simply.

I didn't have a response to that.

Jungkook didn't press me for one. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee like he had all the time in the world. I stared out the window, watching students hurry past, my thoughts a tangled mess.

"I think we would make great friends" he interrupts the silence.

I blinked at him, unsure if I had misheard. "Friends?"

Jungkook nodded, completely unfazed. "Yeah. You know, the normal kind. People who hang out, talk, maybe send each other stupid memes at 2 AM. Friends."

I squinted at him. "Do you usually pursue friendships with people who actively avoid you?"

He chuckled. "You haven't exactly been avoiding me."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he had a point. I could have ignored him and shut down every attempt he made to talk to me, but instead, here I was, sitting across from him, sharing coffee.

I sighed, stirring my drink absentmindedly. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"I prefer determined," he said, smirking.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Fine. Friends."

Jungkook raised his cup like he was toasting. "Friends."

We fell into an easy conversation after that. Turns out, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. He told me about his photography projects, his love for late-night drives, and his weirdly specific obsession with collecting vintage film cameras. In return, I told him about my art major, my stress over exams, and my terrible habit of procrastinating until the last possible second.

"So basically," Jungkook said, resting his chin on his palm, "we're both disasters in different ways."

I snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

The time passed quicker than I expected. Before I knew it, my break was almost over, and I had to get to my next class. I glanced at the time and groaned. "I gotta go."

Jungkook stretched, standing up. "I'll walk with you."

I hesitated for a second but didn't protest. We stepped out of the café, the campus buzzing with students rushing to their next classes. The air was crisp, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement.

As we walked, Jungkook glanced at me. "So, do I get a contact name in your phone now? Or am I still 'Unknown Number'?"

I huffed a laugh, pulling out my phone. "Fine. But if you send me dumb memes at 2 AM, I'm blocking you."

Jungkook grinned, typing his number into my phone. "Noted."

I saved his contact, glancing at him. "Happy now?"

He grinned wider. "Very."

As we reached the building where my class was, I turned to him. "Guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah," he said, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. "Later."

I walked into the lecture hall, feeling oddly lighter than I had in days. Maybe having Jungkook around wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

***

Who would've thought that four months later, Jungkook would be one of my closest friends? But here we were, sitting in his living room. My legs were stretched out over his, tangled in the most casual way, like we'd been doing this forever. His feet rested on the other end of the L-shaped couch, his laptop perched on his thighs as he absentmindedly scrolled through something.

The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the TV, playing some random movie neither of us were paying attention to. A forgotten bag of chips sat between us, and my half-empty iced coffee was precariously balanced on the armrest.

Jungkook suddenly let out a dramatic sigh, closing his laptop with a soft thud. "I'm so over this assignment."

Not even looking up from my phone I respond "You say that about every assignment."

"Because they all suck," he shot back, tossing his laptop onto the floor beside him. "Seriously, who thought writing an essay about 'the emotional depth of visual storytelling' was a good idea?"

"Uh, your professor?"

He gave me a flat look. "I refuse to acknowledge that man's existence."

I laughed, nudging his leg with my foot. "You just need a break. Wanna order food?"

Jungkook perked up instantly. "Now you're speaking my language."

"Pizza?"

"Obviously."

I reached for my phone to make a call but then I see a message from my father.

Father:"Were invited to dinner by the Kim's."

I roll my eyes. My thoughts get interrupted by Jungkook's voice calling me.

"What's with the eye-role?" he tries to tease.

"Just my father. We're invited for dinner by the Kim's" if my annoyed face doesn't tell what I think about the plans my voice definitely does.

"Which Kim's exactly?" Jungkook hesitates.

"Your smart ass friend Namjoon?"

"Oh these Kim's"

Jungkook smirked, leaning back into the couch. "So, what's the problem? Namjoon's cool."

I groaned, throwing my phone onto the coffee table. "Yeah, but his parents are the problem. And also mine but that's not the point. They're like... I don't know, fancy? Pretentious? The kind of people who judge you based on how well you hold a wine glass."

Jungkook chuckled. "So like your family"

"True but shut up"

He shrugged. "I mean, I could come as your emotional support."

I snorted. "Oh, sure. I'd love to see my father's face when I show up with you. That'd go over well."

"Hey, I can be classy." He sat up straighter, clearing his throat before saying in an exaggerated deep voice, "Good evening, Mr. Kim. A pleasure to see you again. The duck confit is simply exquisite."

I burst out laughing. "Oh my God, stop."

Jungkook grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "I'd fit right in."

"Yeah, until you start talking about video games or making fun of Namjoon's philosophy books."

"Fine, fine. But really, is it that bad?"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It's just... my dad has this weird thing about the Kim's. Mr. Kim and dad have a long history of business dealings and stuff. Like, they're this perfect family in his eyes, and I always feel like I have to act a certain way around them. You know, be 'proper' and 'respectable' or whatever. It's exhausting."

Jungkook nodded, his playful expression softening a little. "I get that. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, Namjoon's probably suffering through it too."

"He is" I sighed. "I know him since I was 6. This guy doesn't have a great poker face"

"You got this," Jungkook said, bumping his knee against mine. "And if it gets unbearable, just imagine them all in clown wigs. Helps me get through awkward situations."

"That explains a lot"

"Hey"

The rest of the evening passed in comfortable laziness. We ordered pizza, half-watched a movie, and talked about everything and nothing until it was late and I had to drag myself off the couch.

***

The moment I stepped into my walk-in closet at my parent's house, I knew I couldn't just throw on any outfit. My parents took these dinners seriously, and showing up in anything less than polished perfection was practically a crime in their eyes. So, instead of my usual laid-back style, I went for a sleek black dress, nothing too extravagant, but just enough to say, yes, I belong in this ridiculous world of power plays and social niceties. A pair of delicate diamond earrings and designer heels completed the look.

By the time I made it downstairs, my mother gave me an approving glance, my father barely looked up from his watch, and we were ushered into the car.

When we arrived at the Kim estate, a sprawling mansion that made even our home seem modest, I sighed inwardly. The moment we stepped through the grand entrance, Namjoon and his parents greeted us with the usual warmth laced with underlying expectations. My mother was already deep in conversation with Mrs. Kim about some charity gala, while my father and Mr. Kim exchanged firm handshakes and business talk.

And then, just as I was about to zone out, my phone buzzed in my clutch.

Jungkook: "How's the royal banquet?"

I bit back a smile and texted back.

Me: "Currently contemplating my existence between a five-course meal and a conversation about hedge funds."

Jungkook: "Sounds thrilling. You need a rescue?"

Me: "Always"

Jungkook: "I'll send a helicopter"

I rolled my eyes but felt strangely lighter. If nothing else, at least I had Jungkook's sarcasm to get me through the night. The dining room was an opulent display of wealth, all crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed dinnerware, and a floral centerpiece so large it practically needed its own zip code. I took my designated seat between my mother and Namjoon, the latter offering a polite smile as I settled in. Across from me, his younger sister, Jihye, was already scrolling through her phone beneath the table, clearly just as thrilled to be here as I was.

"So," Mr. Kim started, his deep voice carrying over the soft clinking of silverware, "I hear the expansion in Singapore is progressing well."

My father nodded, always the composed businessman. "Yes, though we had to make some last-minute adjustments to accommodate new regulations. Nothing we can't handle."

I tuned out almost instantly. Business talk at these dinners was as predictable as the perfectly plated gourmet meals in front of us. The first course, a delicate amuse-bouche that looked more like art than food, was placed before me, and I forced myself to take a bite, despite my complete lack of appetite.

I stole a glance at Namjoon, who seemed equally unenthusiastic. Despite his reputation for being a genius, he was, at the core, still just a guy who had been shoved into this world whether he liked it or not.

"How's university treating you?" he asked, voice low enough that it didn't interrupt the ongoing corporate negotiations happening to our left.

"Oh, you know," I sighed, "thriving under capitalism, questioning my existence, the usual."

Namjoon chuckled. "Sounds about right. Jungkook keeping you entertained?"

I nearly choked on my water. I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. "Why would you assume that?"

Namjoon arched a knowing brow. "Because he's Jungkook. And you're... you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Care to elaborate?"

Before he could, Mrs. Kim turned her attention toward me, her carefully poised smile in place. "Darling, your mother was telling me about your latest art project. How wonderful that you still find time for such creative pursuits."

My lips twitched. "Yes, still clinging to the last remnants of my soul."

My mother shot me a warning look, but Mrs. Kim merely laughed, as if I had said something utterly charming rather than laced with sarcasm.

"Well, creativity is important," she said smoothly, sipping her wine. "Though, of course, I'm sure you're also considering more... practical applications for the future."

There it was. The inevitable nudge toward "real-world" aspirations, the ones that involved boardrooms, mergers, and an existence carefully molded into the expectations of high society.

I didn't get the chance to respond before my phone buzzed in my lap again.

"Uh yeah but I actually want to presume art"

My mother lets out a fake laugh and says "Young people and their imagination. Of course, she has other plans for the future. After all, she is the heir of a million dollar company"

Bitch.

She shoots me one last look before I look at my phone.

Jungkook: "Tell me you've at least been served something edible."

Me: "If by edible, you mean a piece of asparagus decorated like a museum exhibit, then yes."

Jungkook: "Tragic. Need me to smuggle in a burger?"

Me: "Tempting. You'd get past security?"

Jungkook: "For you? I'd find a way."

A warmth spread through my chest, but before I could type a response, my mother's voice cut through my thoughts. "Darling, put your phone away. It's rude during dinner."

I bit back a sigh, slipping my phone back into my clutch and returning to my untouched plate. Across from me, Jihye smirked knowingly, clearly having caught on.

The second course arrived,some kind of seafood dish with a name too long to remember, and the conversation steered toward future prospects. Mr. Kim, ever the strategist, turned to Namjoon with a measured look.

"Have you given more thought to your role in the company after graduation?"

Namjoon's smile was tight. "Of course. Still weighing my options."

"Options?" Mr. Kim repeated, clearly unimpressed. "Your path has always been clear."

I didn't miss the way Namjoon's grip tightened around his fork. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of sympathy. The weight of expectation in a family like this wasn't just heavy, it was suffocating.

"I think Namjoon should have the space to explore his interests," I interjected, drawing attention back to me. "After all, wouldn't you rather have a CEO who actually enjoys his work?"

There was a beat of silence before Mrs. Kim gave a tight-lipped smile. "Of course, dear. But responsibility is a privilege, not a choice."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Right. How could I forget?"

"Y/N!" My father warns me but I could care less.

As the courses continued, so did the thinly veiled expectations, the strategic questions, the careful way my mother kept nudging me to say the right things, to act the part.

By the time dessert arrived, I was more than ready to escape.

Another buzz.

Jungkook: "Still alive?"

Me: "Barely. Might fake an emergency. Thoughts?"

Jungkook: "Dramatic fainting. Classic. I'll give you a 9/10 if you commit to it."

I stifled a laugh, but Namjoon caught it, shaking his head in amusement. "Tell Jungkook he's a bad influence."

"Oh, he already knows."

As coffee was served, my mother turned to me with a pointed look. "We'll be attending the charity gala next weekend. You'll be expected to join...and your manners too."

I sighed internally but nodded. "Of course. Wouldn't miss it."

She smiled, satisfied, and returned to her conversation.

Jungkook: "What are your plans for next weekend?"

Me: "Apparently, I'm being paraded at a gala."

Jungkook: "Sounds fancy."

Me: "Sounds exhausting."

Jungkook: "I could always crash it."

I hesitated for a split second.

Me: "You wouldn't."

Jungkook: "Oh, baby. Don't challenge me."

I stared at the message, something dangerously close to excitement bubbling under my ribs.

Jungkook at a high-society gala? Now that would be a sight to see. As the evening dragged on, my patience wore thin. Just as I thought I might actually lose my mind listening to another story about market trends, Mr. Kim turned to me.

"Have you given any thought to internships? I know your father has some excellent connections. It would be a wonderful opportunity."

I hesitated. "I have some ideas, but nothing concrete yet."

My father, who had been mostly silent on my personal matters, decided now was the time to weigh in. "She needs to start focusing on more stable prospects. The art thing is fine as a hobby, but—"

There it was. The inevitable dismissal of my interests, as if they were just a passing phase. I clenched my jaw, forcing a polite nod instead of the biting retort I wanted to unleash.

Before I could say anything, Namjoon smoothly interjected, "Actually, Jungkook was telling me about an artist he's been following lately. Some really impressive work."

I shot him a look of gratitude. Namjoon, ever the diplomat, had just steered the conversation away from my impending existential crisis.

Mr. Kim hummed in approval. "Ah, Jungkook. Always an interesting one."

My mother's lips pursed ever so slightly. She wasn't the biggest fan of Jungkook, something about him being too carefree, too unpredictable. The irony, considering how much they admired Namjoon, who happened to be one of Jungkook's closest friends.

As the night wore on, I found myself feeling less suffocated, despite the setting. Maybe it was Namjoon's subtle interventions, or maybe it was knowing that, on the other side of my phone screen, Jungkook was keeping me grounded in my own way.

By the time we finally left the Kim estate, I let out a breath of relief. The car ride home was silent, my parents satisfied with another successful evening of networking but also angry at my behavior.

As soon as I was back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed and checked my phone again.

Jungkook: "You made it out?"

Me: "Against all odds."

Jungkook: "Proud of you. Wanna celebrate your survival with a coffe at my place"

I hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

Me: "Fine. But only if you make breakfast too"

Jungkook: "Why? We can buy something on the campus"

Me:"okay see you in class"

Jungkook:"Ugh fine, I'll make breakfast. Anything for the Chanel princess"

I set my phone down, feeling a little lighter. Maybe these dinners would never be easy, but at least I had people who made them bearable.

***

The next morning, I woke up to the soft ping of my phone, signaling a message from Jungkook.

Jungkook: "I'm up. Suffering. Hope you're happy."

I grinned, stretching lazily before replying.

Me: "Very. Now get to work, chef."

Jungkook: "Bossy. I like it."

Shaking my head, I rolled out of bed and grabbed a change of clothes before heading to his apartment. I had barely knocked when the door swung open, revealing Jungkook in an oversized hoodie, his hair still messily tousled from sleep.

"Morning, Chanel Princess," he greeted, stepping aside to let me in.

"Morning, Michelin-star chef," I smirked, peering over his shoulder. "Where's my gourmet breakfast?"

Jungkook scoffed, leading me into the kitchen where a pan of slightly burnt pancakes sat on the stove. "Listen, I never promised quality."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I'm too hungry to care."

As I grabbed a plate, he leaned against the counter, watching me with an easy smile. "So, how bad was the aftermath?"

I sighed, stabbing at my pancake. "Silent treatment from my parents. My mother is convinced I'll grow out of my 'art phase' and my dad thinks I need a reality check."

Jungkook frowned. "And by reality check, they mean...?"

"Corporate servitude." I rolled my eyes. "Yay, nepotism."

He snorted. "Yeah, you don't really scream 'corporate drone' to me."

I pointed my fork at him. "Exactly! But try telling them that."

There was a beat of silence before Jungkook said, "You know, you don't actually have to do what they want."

I looked up, meeting his gaze. It was such a simple statement, yet it held so much weight.

"Yeah, well, try convincing them of that."

Jungkook shook his head. "No, I mean it. You're the one who has to live with your choices. Not them."

I swallowed, unsure how to respond. Because as much as I wanted to believe that, the pressure was real. The expectations, the responsibilities, the constant reminder that I had a role to play in this carefully curated world my parents had built.

Jungkook must've sensed my hesitation because he reached across the counter, lightly tapping my wrist. "Hey. You have options. You just have to be brave enough to take them."

I stared at him, something warm blooming in my chest. He always made things sound so simple, so possible.

Before I could overthink it, I sighed dramatically. "It's not that easy."

Jungkook grinned. "Oh come on. If your parents disown you, you can sleep on my couch"

I scoffed. "I think I've suffered enough for your amusement."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, you keep things interesting."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips. For now, the weight of last night felt a little lighter, and the future was a little less suffocating. At least I had people like Jungkook in my corner.

[dominiquelucalover]

"Touching" blurbs, can I ask for number 47 with Street.

Recharge | Jim Street x GN!Reader

Prompt: touching their elbow to get their attention

CW: reader has some social anxiety in this one.

It was a S.W.A.T. fundraiser at HQ, the department rallying together to raise money for the children's hospital by hosting guests in the parking lot, bringing the community together with games, prizes, and a tour of some of S.W.A.T.'s finest, including Black Betty. There were people all over the place, parents with kids, couples who ranked high in society, teens just looking for something to do that day. The event was open to everyone, including the press and anyone who just wanted to drop by.

You were among those there to help with the event. The partner of Jim Street, you were invited because S.W.A.T. was a family. Even if you couldn't financially contribute, you were assured that there were plenty of ways for you to chip in. You were paired up with Deacon's wife Annie to run the snack stand, giving people cupcakes and cookies she'd made at home while her kids ran around and had fun with the other children who'd shown up. It was nice, but you were felt a little awkward and out of place. But what were you going to say? No to helping the fundraiser? As if.

You'd only been dating Street for a few months and had only recently met his team. Today was the first day you met Annie, and though she was really nice, you found it hard to stay on one topic with her. You were in totally different stages of your lives, so it made sense, but you wished you could just talk to her like a normal person. Hell, you wished you could talk to anyone normally.

You were brought out of your thoughts by a teen asking you a question. "Do you work here?"

You blinked and shook your head, smiling. "No, my boyfriend does. Why do ask?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I've never seen a lady S.W.A.T. person before."

You gave her a cupcake on a plate and smiled. "There are totally badass ladies in S.W.A.T.," you told her and pointed across the parking lot Chris. "That woman over there, she's on the best squad in the city."

"Really?" the teen asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Really," she said and watched the teen quickly thank you to hurry over to Chris.

You sighed heavily once she was gone though, feeling drained. You looked around the place, feeling a little nervous. It wasn't that you didn't like being there to help, but you wished you didn't have to talk to so many people. Kids and teens were fine, you'd never not talk to them, but it was getting harder to want to stand there and smile at everyone when all you wanted to do was hide.

"Do you need a break?" Annie asked, making you turn to look at her.

You bit you lip and nodded. "If that's okay."

"That's perfectly fine," she assured you with a smile, that motherly look about her.

"Thanks. I won't take long, I promise," you said softly and slipped away.

It didn't take long for you to find your boyfriend, who always knew how to make you feel better in these types of situation. He recharged your social battery just by letting you be and at that moment, you needed that.

He was talking to Hondo and Luca about something you couldn't bring yourself to care about at that moment. All you cared about was getting to him. So, you approached from behind and waited patiently for him to finish, but when it went on for longer than you could wait, you reached out and gently touched his elbow.

He looked at you, still talking and opened his arm to you, immediately noticing your closed off body language and bland expression. You went straight into his side and hid your face in his shirt, and he kept going like it was normal. He didn't make a big deal out of it and carried on business as usual. He held you close and securely, letting you breath in the smell of his freshly washed shirt and his body spray, listening to his voice as you took all the time you needed. That's what he was there for, after all, and he was more than happy to be there for you.

[lgvalenzuela]

And here's the first part of a companion fic I made for this great piece of writing

He woke up in the most familiar of unifamiliar places. He had seen it many times at this point, but never quite grasped the severity of the situation until he was surrounded by those hues of grey. Voices whispering in his mind, familiar voices. The voice of his father, long passed, long forgotten to time as he could only place the face of the man who raised him. The voice of a woman who gave him a chance when he never could do the same for her. The voices of the people in Dock Town, and the Grey Wardens he wasn't able to save…

The voice of Bellara…

The voice of Lace…

Lucanis…

LUCANIS.

He remembered now, the body of his love laying on the floor. He couldn't reach him and now. But he wouldn't…he couldn't…

He quickly stood up as a pang of pain from his abdomen to his head. He fell as quickly as he rose, he couldn't even scream he was in such agony. He tried to breathe as he reached his side, he wasn't bleeding anymore but he could still feel every ounce of pain, he could recall the feeling of Ghilan'nain’s stab perfectly. And yet there he was, alive, while Lace…

He grunted, as he tried clawing his way forward. He had to do something, anything. He needed to know if everyone got out of Tearstone Island. But he wasn't going anywhere while staggering through the floor like a worm.

He cried out a silent scream as he regained his composure as best he could, slowly getting up and limping his way forward. If wherever he was going was forward to begin with:

“This is something I've always admired about you, kid. You don't know when to quit”

“Varric?”

But Varric couldn't… he couldn't be there.

Then why was he speaking to him?

“I told you the enchantments were dangerous! And you chose me anyway! You picked me to die!”

The voice of Bellara blew a hole through his heart. Like an arrow… like Lace…

“I died because you chose me. You want see the rest? Like you don't know how Taash is going to look at you…”

“Lace… Bellara… I-I didn't mean to-”

But it didn't matter what he meant to do. Because he chose anyway. And at every turn.

It was the wrong choice.

Neve got a scar within minutes of meeting him.

He chose to help Treviso for selfish reasons while he left Dock Town to its own devices.

He couldn't help at Weisshaupt.

He couldn't help Ferelden.

He didn't save the only chance of his family’s legacy to survive.

He forgot his father’s face.

And he couldn't even get to see if his friends were okay.

He fell to his knees, grabbing the sides of his torso in torment.

He felt himself being swallowed, the hands of the ghosts he had gained along the way dragging him to the ground as if it were the water destined to drown him…forever…

“Finn…”

He couldn't look up, he couldn't face him. What if he… what if he got him killed too?

Lucanis placed a hand on his face, softly, tenderly:

“Don't go where I can't follow”

“Lucanis I-”

“No, don't say it. You have to tell me in person…”

He finally looked into his eyes, he smiled so delicately. Caressing his cheek. This wasn't his Lucanis, he was… an idea, a little regret. He leaned into the touch just as he disappeared:

“I have to tell you in person…”

But for that he had to get out of there.

Varric extended his hand, with a sympathetic smile. A melancholic gaze:

“Come on kid”

He held his friend’s hand, as Varric helped him gain any sort of composure while he could feel his body giving up on him:

“Varric…since when…?”

“I think you know…”

He cried out on his friend's shoulder, maybe he always knew.

But even this Varric was too awkward to just hug him, he patted him on the back:

“Come on Rook, it's fine. It's fine…” Varric choked a little “I had a good life…”

“I should've- I could've-”

“Don’t carry my mistakes Rook, I chose to talk to Solas. It was my decision and you don't get to make it about yourself”

“I-”

“Neve chose to go with you that day, and she knew the risk”

“But I-”

“Look at me, kid” he grabbed his shoulders, looking into his eyes deeply “Every decision we make has consequences… sometimes they're small, sometimes… they're not…

And I've been around enough to know when someone choses, trying their best…

When you went to Treviso, didn't you send the rest of your team to help in Minrathous? When you went to Weisshaupt, did you know Ghilan'nain and her Archdemon were going to be there?”

Finn stood there in silence.

“When you told Violet to leave, didn't you think there was going to be someone there who would love her? And don't you think of your father, even if you can't remember him?

What do you think the Hero of Ferelden thought when there were only two Wardens left to defeat the Blight? What do you think Hawke did when they were left alone in a city that hated them? What about the Inquisitor when he had to fight for an organization that cursed him, when he only wanted to help having the mark on his hand?

You know these people… and you know they tried their best… just like you…

Just like your team…”

“But Solas… what if he tried his best as well?”

“Maybe he did, maybe he thinks he did. But he did choose to sacrifice other people at every turn” Varric put a hand on his chest, where Solas plunged the dagger “Did you? Can you really say you sacrificed anyone willingly?”

Finn thought about it for a second, but Varric didn't let him dwell on his regret for too long. He signaled with his head.

Finn looked up, an eluvian.

He tried to reach it, until the pain shot threw his body like lightning again.

Varric put Finn's arm around his shoulders, carefully wrapping his arm around his back and together they climbed through the steps to the eluvian. One by one:

“This is the last thing I'm ever going to be able to do for you…”

“Varric… Thank you for everything… you were a good friend…”

He didn't know if this was another figment of his imagination but it felt real… real enough to say goodbye.

Finn could feel his vision getting blurry as he got nearer the eluvian. But if he could just… see them one last time… that was enough…

Just enough…

—------------------------------------------------------

They could've felt their heart skip a beat when they saw that handprint on the eluvian. They jumped out of their seats, to pull him towards them.

Finn fell into Lucanis' arms, and smiled slightly. Lucanis cup his face on his hands, getting his hair out of his face. Spite pulled out his wings embracing their Rook.

He was back. They got him back.

And then Finn's wound started bleeding again, it had been so long they had forgotten the state Rook was dragged to the Fade in. He gave his friends a teary smile, as he buried his face on Lucanis' chest and his body went limp:

“No! No no no no” Lucanis grabbed his lover before he fell to the ground “Please! Please no!”

Neve and Emmrich rushed to their side, Taash gave Lucanis the first piece of cloth they found so they could stop Finn's hemorrhage long enough for the mages to remember any healing spell that might work.

Healing wasn't Neve or Emmrich’s speciality but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Finn wasn't breathing, at all.

His own words hit him like a boulder.

All I know is death.

All he knew was death.

He didn't know how to help. He couldn't save him.

He got him back just for a second.

Just for a goodbye.

All I know is death.

And yet, as if guided, he ripped Finn's chestplate and started pushing on his chest. He didn't know where he learnt this, and there wasn't time to think about it now. The memories were foggy, of family long gone.

He opened Finn's mouth and breathed life into his lungs. He would lie down on his own if that's what it took for Rook to return again.

He placed his ear on his chest. Nothing.

Next thing he knew Davrin was next to him, he pushed on his friend's chest waiting for Lucanis to continue breathing. As the mages closed the wound on his torso.

He breathed. A quiet gasp.

Lucanis placed his ear on Finn's chest again, hearing his heartbeat might have been the most relieved he'd ever felt.

He was still unconscious and heavily mangled, but he was alive. And he could get through this:

“We need to find an actual healer” said Neve, whipping some sweat of her forehead

“We must take haste, our dear friend is stable but…” added Emmrich

“There were some people stuck on the Crossroads. I'm- I'm sure we can find someone quickly” said Davrin, he was breathing heavily like he had just remembered he could “Neve, Emmrich, you should stay near Rook. Taash, I need you to search with me”

Taash picked up Finn as if he weighed nothing:

“Come on, I'll take him to my room first, I have the closest bed”

Lucanis followed closely.

—------------------------------------------------------

He couldn't even believe it when he woke up. The fact that he was opening his eyes at all, alive and breathing. He instinctively drew his hand to the side of his torso, a certain level of pain was still there but at least the wound was closed. He could feel his body covered in bandages, somebody had done a thorough job of taking care of his aching body, probably Emmrich.

He took note of his surroundings, Taash' room. They must have taken him to their bed to rest. A good bed was more comfortable than the infirmary, he had to give them that. How was he supposed to face them?

As his eyes accustomed to light he sighed. It was gone now, the vision from his left eye, from the scar he got at Weisshaupt. Gone, after all that time.

It was okay, they knew it would happen… and he had a master assassin at his side… always on his left side…

He searched carefully through the bed, he couldn't see him, or barely move to face him. But he knew he would find him if he searched.

His hand reached him crouching down at the side of the bed, resting until his lover woke up. Lucanis flinched at the touch, and incorporated himself so Finn would be able to see him:

“Finn!”

“Lucanis”

Tears swelled as he opened his arms, Lucanis wrapped him in a tight embrace. Soft enough as not to hurt him, close enough as to never lose him again. He buried his face on Rook's neck, caressing his hair tenderly. Finn could feel his tears dripping down his shoulder:

“ROOK.IS.HERE”

Finn chuckled:

“Hello Spite…”

Spite’s wings wrapped around them, protectively, warmly. Who might have said that he'd be loved by a demon:

“Lucanis… I know you don't want to hear it but…”

“No… Finn… I-”

He looked at him with those big, sad eyes. He never thought someone would ever look at him with so much love:

“Say it… say it as many times as you need…”

Finn choked a sob, and Lucanis placed kisses on his face:

“I love you… I love you…”

In the Absence of Everything

I'm very happy to share my first gift fic for my graphics challenge! Thank you @lgvalenzuela (whose commissions are open) for the beautiful art you did for the contest! Here is your angst Post-Tearstone fallout where Davrin and Lucanis try to pick up the pieces. Click here to see it on AO3 Preview under the cut:

Davrin had carved Lace, taking the time to capture the embroidery on her armor best he could. Debated giving it to Taash but hung onto it in his uncertainty. Bellara had been next, and Davrin would kill Elgar’nan for that, personally. Rook, he did again, capturing him in his Warden armor, placing it next to the others.

Lyra’s was the hardest. Every time he started, he couldn’t get it quite right. It had turned into an obsession when he wasn’t around the others. This time, he got almost to the end, eyes burning as he got to her face. His hand cut too deep and he growled, throwing the carving into the fire and going to bed. Assan chirped and climbed onto his chest, weighing him down, trying to urge him to sleep. Davrin smiled and stroked a finger down his beak, humming to calm him.

Something about it worked, and the griffon closed his eyes. Davrin followed him soon after, if only for a little while. 

[jonathanbyersphd]

The Montaulk Project AU Moodboard:

November 6th 1978:  Jonathan Byers is skateboarding home from the best day ever at his best friend’s house when he sees something. The next morning when his mom and step-dad realize he never made it home, they frantically search all over town for him. But the only things they find are his board and his broken camera.  November 6th 1983:  Nancy Wheeler couldn't care less if the whole town thinks she's a bitch. But she'll be damned if she lets anyone call her a coward after everything she's been through. So she foolishly accepts the challenge to explore the town’s abandoned military base alone. Little does she know that what she's about to find is going to change her life forever.

For @jancyweeks Day 7:  classic tropes OR alternate universe

[plusultraetc]

426

guys don’t worry dabi will be fine when shigaraki returns somehow with both aspects of overhaul instead of just decay he can use it to heal him and spinner and toga and be the league’s hero also kurogiri is fine

[catcatb0y]

Every time Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel has a glimpse of genuinely GOOD WRITING, I go insane. Both of these shows feel like edging to me, like they will tease me with these bangers and then leave me to dry EVERY DAMN TIME.

[starpros-sunshine]

I think the reason I'm so uncomfortable in conversation with cis men is because in my life the image I've grown up with is that from the American movies and while there's so much to be said about how women in those are basically objects or exclusively love interests or just Really Really forgettable I feel like there's also something to be mentioned about how most of these men are all the same pseudo-tough-guy character that's cool and suave and sexy and the only emotion he's capable of is nonchalant banter (it feels worth mentioning that the American movies I'm referring to are all from the last century I have no idea if that's changed in these last years but a gut feeling tells me no) and I also barely talk to the guys from my grade so the result of kind of growing up with that is that I just genuinely can not imagine real cis men with a complex inner emotional landscape. Maybe this is also an empathy thing but I genuinely can not imagine most cishet guys doing normal people things in their free time that aren't gaming or going to the gym or...idk. making music too I suppose. It's quite comical really but I just can not imagine cishet men with interests or doing stuff like having crushes and it's so strange because I know for a fact I am generally speaking not a sexist person but this little tidbit of apparently just not being able to view cishet men as normal people? Can't get that to go away even if I logically know it's silly. There's a point in this post about how toxic masculinity is a huge issue and affects even those not affected by it and runs really really deep or whatever but I'm too tired to coherently put it together. On the positive side now I get really happy when I see men online talk about how much they love their wives and all that because it's like "wow! Crazy you really are just a normal dude and not some James Bond knock-off like I thought every cishet man was supposed to be! Thank god!"

[nomaishuttle]

ooo im all wobbly now. good thing i am out of beer Lest the evil demon who livedin my head

[gemharvest]

Two daysssss until I can try and get old art of mine off the old desktop hard drive dude I am so fucking excited.

[floralovebot]

i am once again thinking about the missed opportunities of a garth and jackson mentor/mentee brother in arms relationship