#bro ive had it up to HERE with everything

[cheftsunoda]

i just wanna say that i love your writing sooo much!

would you be willing to write a SMAU where the reader is nolan siegels twin sister and is the social media admin for the mclaren indycar team? i’m thinking she’d be best friends with kimi and/or gabi (they met when they were little through karting) and through them she meets ollie and he’s the love interest?

thank you so much!!

chronically online — ob87

smau + blurbs

ollie bearman x !siegel twin reader

being nolan’s twin sister means you know indycar like the back of your hand. you grew up racing side by side with nolan and your childhood best friend kimi antonelli, carving up karting circuits and collecting trophies like candy. but while the boys chased pro racing dreams, you pivoted, trading a helmet for a camera—and now you run the social media for arrow mclaren with ruthless efficiency and even better meme timing. you’re loud, chaotic, and just professional enough to keep your job.

everything is going great—until kimi introduces you to ollie bearman. too pretty. too flustered around you. and suddenly, your perfectly controlled feed is being hijacked by a british boy with a crush and no idea what he’s in for. this wasn’t part of your content plan.

fc : darianka

(a/n) : WHDHSHSUJS this idea. I LOVE YOU. nolan is my little baby angel— ive met him and can confirm he is an angel irl. i had to jump on this right away. hope you love it!

also this inspired me to write more indycar so if you have any requestssss send my way pls. also the spacing is fucked up bc i couldn't shut up and stop writing so beware.

—

arrowmclaren

liked by nolansiegel, yn_siegel, patriciooward & 25,090 others.

arrowmclaren : here is a dump of my camera roll while i force the boys to make 97 more tik toks 🫶🏻🧡🏁

— admin💋

—

view 1705 other comments.

username000 : admin!! who is your fave?

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : pato

liked by patriciooward

↳ nolansiegel : yn we literally shared a womb

↳ arrowmclaren : yeah and you hogged all the room. plus pato brought me tamales last night

liked by patriciooward

↳ username01 : i can’t with them bro

username005 : i’m begging arrow mclaren to give her a raise and a reality show

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : y’all hear this??? pay my brother less and pay me MORE

↳ username007 : ynnnn💀

username11 : wait admin is nolans sister??

↳ username77 : twin sister yes

↳ arrowmclaren : im a lot cooler and im rather beautiful

liked by patriciooward

username115 : does anyone know why kimi is in the likes?

↳ username17 : kimi, yn and nolan all used to kart together growing up. they still hang out im pretty sure

patriciooward : she threatened me with a knife to get up and film a tik tok with her…she’s so scary but in a cute way 😇

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : i do what i need to do to get my job done 🙂‍↔️💘

nolansiegel : i was mid nap and she smacked me for content

↳ nolansiegel : pls someone save me

↳ arrowmclaren : you did not need to be sleeping on the job, nolan.

liked by patriciooward

lundgaardofficial : i just do what she tells me to do. makes life a lot easier

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : see i like this attitude.

username005 : yn i spent all my money on merch (my rent is due next week) are you proud of me?

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : very proud, in fact, im going to force the three of them to sign something and ill send it to you! 🧡

liked by username005 and patriciooward

—

yn_siegel

liked by patriciooward, nolansiegel, kimi.antonelli and 75,023 others.

yn_siegel : the little orange minions can’t even escape my feed on the main

tagged : nolansiegel and patriciooward

—

view 2035 other comments.

username00 : did nolan draw that??

↳ yn_siegel : i fear he is not that talented.

↳ yn_siegel : a little mini fan gave it to me and it is still in my phone case

liked by username00

patriciooward : my own personal photographer

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : my own personal…pato <3

liked by patriciooward

nolansiegel : never forget who grilled you that hot dog…this minion.

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : my own personal chef!!

liked by patriciooward

kimi.antonelli : miss you mia sorella🫶🏻

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : our big f1 star 🫶🏻 miss you more

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ username007 : this is so cute im gagged

username15 : yn do you need a sister in law?

↳ yn_siegel : preferably one that will go shopping with me and make fun of my brother as much as I do

elbaoward : the prettiest girl on the planet 💋

liked by yn_siegel

↳ elbaoward : my elbsss that’s all you 🤧💘

liked by patriciooward and elbaoward

—

You’re halfway through filming yet another TikTok for the Arrow McLaren account, balancing the camera on a water bottle, coaching Pato through the choreography for the fourth time. Christian’s already given up, off to the side eating chips like he’s just here for moral support, and Nolan’s doing the robot for absolutely no reason.

“Pato,” you say, trying not to laugh. “You have to hit the beat, not look like you’re having a seizure.”

“I am hitting it!” he insists, mid flail. “This is rhythm!”

“Okay, Bruno Mars,” Nolan deadpans, walking behind him with two thumbs up and his most sarcastic face. “Real smooth.”

You groan and press stop on the recording, checking the footage on your phone. “We have like fifteen drafts and not one usable take. I swear to God, you guys are the worst unpaid talent.”

Christian plucks a chip from his bag. “Yeah, but we’re pretty.”

You open your mouth to fire back when your phone buzzes. It's a FaceTime from Kimi.

You answer it immediately, turning the screen toward the guys so he can see them too. “Look who it is. The Italian menace himself.”

Kimi appears on-screen, face slightly sweaty and wild-haired, clearly between sessions. “Why are Nolan and Pato dancing like they’ve been electrocuted?”

“They’re filming for the socials,” you say, biting back a grin. “Badly.”

“Tell your minions to sit down,” Kimi says, rolling his eyes, “because I have important news.”

“I don’t like that phrasing,” Nolan mutters, even as he sits.

“What’s up?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

Kimi adjusts his headset, leans closer to the screen, and smiles—that mischievous smile he’s had since you were twelve and he dared you to eat track gravel for five bucks.

“Come to Miami,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he says. “You’ve been buried in TikToks and schedules and… whatever else you do all day.”

“Excuse me—” you start, but he keeps going.

“—and I miss you,” Kimi says, softer now. “It’s Miami GP weekend. The whole grid’s here. You need a break. And I need my best friend back. Even if it’s just for a few days.”

Your chest does a weird fluttery thing. It’s rare that Kimi asks for anything, especially like this. You haven’t seen him in months. You haven’t been to an F1 paddock since last summer. And the way he says I miss you like it physically hurts? Yeah, you’re already opening your calendar.

“Plus,” he adds quickly, “I may or may not have someone here who’s been asking to meet you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Kimi…”

He shrugs, far too innocent. “Tall. British. Drives fast. Gets all red in the face when I mention your name.”

“Oh my god,” Nolan groans from the side. “Please tell me he’s not trying to set you up with Ollie Bearman.”

“Hey!” Pato perks up. “I like that kid. He said I was the funniest person he’s ever met.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s because you taught him how to say ‘I have rizz’ in Spanish.”

Kimi looks too pleased with himself. “So? What do you say?”

You glance at your chaotic crew— Christian eating chips, Nolan face-down on the floor groaning in protest, and Pato spinning in a circle like he’s celebrating something even though you have no idea what.

And then you look back at your best friend, the boy who grew up racing you through go-kart corners and sending you dumb memes at 2 a.m. because “this reminded me of you.”

You smile.

“Get me a pass, Antonelli. I’ll be in Miami.”

—

You’ve barely had time to throw clothes into a suitcase before you’re being herded into Nolan’s car like a toddler on a field trip.

Pato’s in the front seat, singing along to some old reggaetón song at full volume, and Christian’s squeezed beside you in the back, holding your carry-on. Nolan’s driving like he’s being timed, eyes narrowed behind the wheel.

“You sure you don’t want us to come with you?” Nolan asks for the fifth time. “We could just—get coffee near the airport. Wait at the gate. Sit outside the terminal and stare menacingly at every British boy who walks past.”

You snort. “You guys are acting like I’m going to war. I’m going to Miami. To see Kimi. And maybe flirt with someone slightly out of my league.”

“Slightly?!” Pato turns around in his seat. “Girl, that boy is practically in love with you already. I give him one day before he crumbles.”

Christian leans into your shoulder, stage-whispers, “He’s gonna cry. I just know it.”

“Can we not talk about my love life like it’s a Netflix special?” you say, elbowing him.

Nolan glances at you in the rearview mirror. “Just remember, if he breaks your heart—”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

“I was gonna say ‘I’ll cry about it for a week and then make Pato fight him,’ but your version works too.”

—

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing at the drop off curb, suitcase in hand, sunglasses on, and the Arrow McLaren boys looking like they’re about to send you off to boarding school instead of a weekend in Miami.

“Text us when you land,” Christian says, pulling you into a hug.

“Text us when you see him,” Pato adds, “and if he does that awkward smile thing, record it.”

Nolan doesn’t hug you at first—just crosses his arms and looks at you for a second like he’s weighing how many decisions led to this moment.

“You know I trust you,” he says. “It’s him I don’t trust.”

You smile and wrap your arms around him anyway. “You’re such a good fake big brother.”

“I am older than you.”

“By like two minutes.”

He groans. “Godspeed, you little menace.”

As you wheel your suitcase toward the entrance, you glance back just once—just in time to see Pato blow you a kiss, Christian making a heart with his hands, and Nolan mouthing something very dramatic that’s probably either “Call me” or “Don’t die.”

And as the sliding doors close behind you, your phone buzzes with a text from Kimi.

gate c. ollie’s already asking what you’re wearing. i told him probably something that’ll kill him.

You grin. Miami, here you come.

—

You step off the plane with sunglasses on, AirPods in, and just enough confidence to fake like you aren’t internally freaking out. Your phone buzzes with a message from Kimi as you head toward baggage claim.

kimi: we’re here. british boy is already pacing. 10/10 entertainment.

You stifle a laugh, texting back as you walk.

pls film

kimi: he is not a performing monkey

kimi: *sent a video*

[attachment: ollie pacing with his hands in his pockets, kicking the floor like a schoolboy waiting to ask someone to prom]

You roll your eyes, heart racing in a way you’re not prepared to unpack right now. You’ve never actually met Ollie—just a few chaotic TikTok tags, some suspiciously flirty DMs, and a rather…interesting comment. So yeah, no pressure.

As you round the corner into the arrivals area, you spot him instantly.

He’s standing next to Kimi, hands still in his pockets, a bit too fidgety for someone as composed as he usually pretends to be. His hair’s a little messy, and he’s wearing a Haas shirt that looks slightly too big, which—rude—shouldn’t look that good.

When he spots you, it’s like the world glitches.

His mouth actually falls open for half a second before he snaps it shut again like he’s just remembered how to function. You fight a smile as you slow your pace, dragging your suitcase behind you like a runway model trying not to trip on anxiety.

Kimi smirks. “Told you she was real.”

Ollie blinks, then steps forward, visibly trying to pull himself together. “Hi. Um. Hi.”

“You already said that,” you tease, tilting your head.

“I—right. Sorry.” He gives a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—wow. You look… wow.”

“Is that your way of saying I look better in real life than on TikTok?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I mean, yes? But also no? You look great on TikTok. You just—this is worse. You’re worse.”

Kimi sighs. “We’re gonna workshop your flirting later.”

You reach out, gently tapping his arm. “It’s okay. I think it’s cute when boys forget how to speak around me.”

“I’m usually much cooler than this,” Ollie mumbles.

“No, he’s not,” Kimi says. “He once spilled a protein shake all over his passport because the flight attendant asked if he needed anything.”

You blink. “Wait, seriously?”

Ollie groans. “Kimi—”

“Ollie Bearman, soaking wet, holding a smoothie-covered document.”

You burst out laughing, warmth blooming in your chest. You forgot how easy it is to be around Kimi, how quickly you slide into this comfortable, chaotic rhythm—and Ollie fits into it like he’s always been part of it.

“Come on,” Kimi says, grabbing your suitcase before you can protest. “We’ve got a Miami GP to conquer and a British boy to emotionally wreck.”

“Mission already accomplished,” Ollie mutters as he falls into step beside you, cheeks still pink.

And maybe it’s the heat, or the exhaustion, or the adrenaline of it all—but as your shoulders brush on the way out of the terminal, his hand accidentally brushes yours. You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

—

yn_siegel

liked by olliebearman, nolansiegel, patriciooward and 125,007 others.

yn_siegel : lights out in the 305

tagged : olliebearman, georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and mercedesamgf1

—

view 35,007 other comments.

elbaoward : body ody ody 😻

liked by yn_siegel

↳ elbaoward : text me all the details rn

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : got you bb

kimi.antonelli : we were laughing at that video of ollie embarrassing himself in front of you

liked by yn_siegel, olliebearman and georgerussell63

↳ kimi.antonelli: also i helped him pick out those flowers

liked by yn_siegel

patriciooward : i demand a formal explanation. preferably in meme form.

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : do they have to be memes of you or just in general

liked by patriciooward

↳ patriciooward : i am not picky. im just nosey

liked by yn_siegel

lungaardofficial : admin on vacation arc unlocked

liked by yn_siegel

↳ patriciooward : and left us all by ourselves in illinois 🙄

liked by yn_siegel, nolansiegel and lungaardofficial

nolansiegel : mom said no boys until you’re 50

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : mom did not say that. you did

↳ nolansiegel : okay but im older so i make the rules

↳ yn_siegel : i will get you fired hush

↳ nolansiegel : 🤨

olliebearman : almost dropped to my knees and started barking on that beach

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : wore it specifically for you

liked by olliebearman

↳ nolansiegel : delete this. now.

↳ patriciooward : yn please put your little british man on a leash before nolan explodes

liked by yn_siegel

—

The Miami paddock is buzzing, hot, and loud—but Kimi Antonelli walks through it like he owns the place. You’re barely five minutes into his “VIP Mercedes Tour” and he’s already managed to get stopped twice—once by Toto for a quick word, and once by a teenage fan who nervously asked if you were his girlfriend.

Kimi nearly choked. “God, no.”

You patted the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re just siblings in chaos.”

Now you’re weaving between engineers and shimmering black carbon fiber, trying not to accidentally knock over something worth more than your college tuition. Kimi gestures broadly to the cars like a game show host.

“And here, my dear best friend, we have my pride and joy. Fast. Angry. Expensive. Like you when you haven’t had coffee.”

You snort. “She looks like she could run me over and I’d thank her.”

He nods solemnly. “She has.”

You follow him deeper into the garage, passing a few Mercedes mechanics who nod at you politely. 

“Do I get to meet George?” you ask.

Kimi smirks. “He said he’s emotionally preparing for that.”

You’re about to ask what that means when a familiar British voice cuts through the air behind you, breathless and just a little panicked. 

“Hi—uh, excuse me? Sorry— Kimi?”

You and Kimi both turn. And there he is. Ollie Bearman. Slightly sweaty, curls a little messy under the Florida sun, wearing a black Haas team polo and looking like he just ran here straight from a mental breakdown.

He glances at you, then back at Kimi. “Can I, uh… borrow her?”

Kimi raises a brow. “You mean—my guest?”

“Yes. Please. I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

You cross your arms, half amused. “What exactly are you planning, Bearman?”

He blushes. “A tour. Of the Haas garage. For science.”

Kimi rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if she comes back with heatstroke or love in her eyes, I’m telling Nolan.” 

You smile, bump Kimi with your hip, and follow Ollie out of the pristine silver garage and toward the more chaotic, scrappy energy of Haas.

The moment you step inside, Ollie starts nervously narrating everything like he’s reading off Wikipedia.

“So, um—this is our control wall. That’s where my engineer pretends to listen to me. And, uh, over here is where I usually sit and cry after quali.”

You laugh. “Wow. What a dream team.”

He glances at you, a shy grin tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d actually come this weekend.”

“Kimi basically dragged me. And then told me how nervous you were, so I had to come.”

Ollie turns bright red. “That was—I was joking! Mostly.”

You smirk. “Sure you were. For the record, it worked.”

He stops walking, heart clearly beating out of his chest, and rubs the back of his neck. “You look amazing today. I mean—you always do, but—today especially. It’s distracting.”

“Distracting?” you tease.

“Like, I almost missed my sim session thinking about this outfit.”

You try to keep it together, but your grin is too wide. “You’re lucky I find you adorable.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since you arrived. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A pause. Tension. Sunshine pouring in through the open garage. You’re standing way too close now.

“Come on,” he says, softly, taking your hand. “I haven’t even shown you where we keep the fireproof suits. It’s the most romantic part.”

You follow him willingly, completely smitten.

Back at Mercedes, Kimi checks his watch.

“Three minutes late returning her,” he mutters. “I will be charging interest.”

—

The paddock is quiet now. The chaos is gone—the engine roars replaced with soft wind and distant voices, the sun melting into the Miami skyline like gold poured over the edges of the grandstands.

You and Ollie are sitting side by side on the edge of the pit wall, legs swinging over the track, helmets and press obligations long forgotten. His fire suit is half unzipped, rolled down to his waist, and your legs are tucked beneath you in a way that makes you feel like you’re sixteen again, sneaking onto the track after dark.

You don’t say anything for a while. You just sit there, watching the streaks of orange and purple stretch across the asphalt, breathing in the warmth, the calm, the faint leftover smell of burnt rubber.

Ollie’s shoulder bumps yours gently. “You ever just… wish you could freeze a moment?”

You glance at him. “You want to freeze this?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I mean… it was a good race. I didn’t crash. You were there. The sun’s doing that thing where it makes everything look like a movie.”

You smile. “You are a movie boy, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying to have a romantic moment and you’re bullying me.”

You laugh, but it’s quiet. Warm. “I’m not bullying you. I think it’s cute. It’s just… you’re so serious all of a sudden.”

He shrugs, eyes still on the track. “I don’t know. It’s just… surreal, I guess. Like, I’ve watched you through a screen for so long. Seen your videos, your cursed memes, your beach dumps. And now you’re here. Sitting next to me. After my race. Like this.”

“Like this?”

He turns to look at you then, fully. “Like… I’m allowed to want more.”

Your breath catches a little. He’s always been sweet, charming, flirty in the way boys get when they don’t know what to do with their feelings. But this is different. This is real.

You reach over and gently lace your fingers through his. “You’re allowed.”

Ollie exhales slowly, like he’d been holding that in all weekend.

You both watch the sun dip lower, casting shadows across the pit lane. The floodlights haven’t turned on yet, and there’s a magic to the quiet—like the world forgot you were here, and you’re happy to be forgotten just a little longer.

After a minute, Ollie leans his head against your shoulder. “Don’t tell Nolan, but I think I’m kind of falling for you.”

You smile, your heart pulling in every soft direction. “Too late. I think Nolan already knows. He called you ‘the threat’ in our group chat.”

He groans. “Fantastic.”

“You’re handling it very well.”

“I’m trying to be brave,” he mutters, clearly not brave at all.

You kiss the top of his curls and feel him melt just a little. The moment sits, delicate and golden. Until—

“Am I interrupting your indie rom-com or can we go eat now?”

You both jump slightly and turn to see Kimi standing a few feet away, arms crossed, wearing sunglasses despite the sun literally setting.

Ollie sighs. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to feel lonely,” Kimi deadpans.

You roll your eyes. “We’ll be right there.”

Kimi throws up his hands. “I’m getting fries without you!”

And then he disappears down the paddock, muttering something in Italian that you’re 90% sure translates to “God, they’re unbearable.”

You look at Ollie again. He’s smiling.

“Still want to freeze this?” you ask.

He nods. “Even with the third-wheel feature.”

You squeeze his hand and lean your head on his shoulder. The sun finally sinks below the horizon. And yeah—you kind of wish it would stay like this forever.

—

You’re not sure how it happened exactly—one second you were scrolling through beach restaurants near the hotel, and the next, Ollie had already packed a cooler, “borrowed” a beach umbrella, and dragged you outside with sunscreen in one hand and your hand in the other.

“I’m English,” he says dramatically as you walk toward the sand, “so if I spontaneously combust from sun exposure, you’re legally required to carry me home.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d carry you,” you shoot back. “You’d melt into a puddle before I even got to the towel.”

He stops and turns to you with a mock-serious expression. “Then at least scatter my ashes somewhere pretty.”

You snort. “Done.”

It’s hot, humid, and perfect. The beach is scattered with locals and sunburnt tourists, but Ollie finds a quieter spot by the dunes and insists on setting everything up while you sit down and reapply your sunscreen. He’s a little clumsy unfolding the umbrella—there’s a brief moment where you think he’s going to launch it into orbit—but eventually he gets it up with a proud grin.

“I am officially the most competent British man you’ve ever had,” he declares.

“You’re also the only British man I’ve ever had,” you tease.

He grins. “So I’m in the lead. Excellent.”

You spend the next hour lounging, dipping your toes in the water, and watching Ollie try to build a sandcastle that keeps collapsing.

“It’s about the architecture,” he insists, as another tower crumbles.

“It’s about the moisture content,” you reply, grabbing a bottle of water and helping him out. “I was literally raised around engineers. You think I don’t know sand science?”

He raises a brow. “Okay, nerd.”

You splash him.

Ollie yelps and tackles you into the shallow surf with a laugh, both of you soaked in seconds. You scream and flail and accidentally knock his hat into the water, which he dives for with Olympic-level commitment.

By the time you’re back on the towel, laughing and breathless, the sun is already starting to dip lower in the sky, turning the water gold.

Ollie lies beside you, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting near yours—so close, it only takes the slightest movement to close the gap.

You don’t speak for a moment. You just listen to the waves, to the quiet, to the world softening around the edges.

Then Ollie speaks.

“I’ve never felt this normal,” he says quietly.

You glance over. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates. “Just… I’m always either being watched or judged or hyped up for something that hasn’t even happened yet. But this? You and me. Sand in my socks. Getting dunked in the ocean. No cameras. No pressure. It feels real.”

You swallow, feeling that fluttery warmth bloom in your chest again—the one that always shows up around him, steady and undeniable.

“I get it,” you say softly. “You make things feel real for me too.”

Ollie turns his head and meets your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And before either of you can overthink it, you lean in. It’s not dramatic. It’s not a movie moment. Just sun-warmed lips, sunscreen-scented cheeks, and his fingers brushing yours as he kisses you like he’s known your mouth forever.

When you pull back, he looks dazed in the cutest possible way.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he says.

You grin. “You’ve been in trouble.”

—

The trouble starts before you even make it into the store. Kimi’s already suspiciously eyeing a mannequin in the display window, and Ollie is two steps behind him, nervously mumbling something about how “the last time he touched a hat rack in Zara it collapsed.”

You sigh, grabbing each of them by the sleeve. “You two are the reason I have to mentally prepare before doing anything in public. Promise me you’ll be normal in here.”

Kimi raises a brow. “Define normal.”

“Don’t get us kicked out. Don’t break anything. Don’t steal anything.”

Ollie gasps, clutching his chest. “Are you accusing me of petty theft?”

“I know you,” you say flatly. “I know you both.”

“It was an accident!” Ollie cries.

“It was most definitely on purpose,” Kimi deadpans.

You grin. “So just—keep your hands to yourselves and let’s buy a new shirt for Kimi before he shows up to dinner tonight looking like a depressed librarian. Can we handle that Mr. and Mrs. Credit Card Fraud?”

Once inside, it’s chaos in its purest form.

Kimi grabs the first five button-downs he sees and disappears into a changing room without looking at the sizes. You and Ollie wander through racks, touching random fabrics and rating them on a scale from “could survive a paddock day” to “makes me look like I do crypto.”

“This one’s kind of cool,” Ollie says, holding up a striped shirt. “Do I look like someone who orders oat milk and listens to sad girl music?”

You tilt your head. “You are someone who listens to sad girl music.”

“That’s true,” he says, proudly.

A few minutes later, Kimi emerges from the fitting room in a pastel pink linen shirt that’s at least two sizes too small. You almost choke.

“Kimi,” you say, voice tight with laughter, “you look like a Love Island contestant who lost the villa vote.”

Ollie snorts so hard he has to turn away.

Kimi shrugs, deadpan. “I look amazing. This is fashion.”

“No,” you say. “This is embarrassing.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Ollie’s still dying in the background when a store employee walks by and gives you all a look. You offer an apologetic smile. Kimi immediately salutes her. Ollie panics and says “Sorry we’re European,” which somehow makes it worse.

“Okay,” you sigh. “We are on a timer now.”

Twenty minutes, two questionable sunglasses purchases, and one accidental detour into the women's section later, you're walking out of the store with Kimi in a new shirt (miraculously purchased, not stolen), Ollie in a hat he definitely didn't need, and your arms full of impulse buys.

“I think we handled that well,” Ollie says cheerfully.

“You tripped over a display table and knocked over three mannequins,” you reply.

“Only two!”

“And Kimi tried to flirt his way out of paying for socks.”

“She asked if I wanted the receipt,” Kimi says. “I thought it was a trick question.”

You laugh, stepping between them as you walk. Kimi throws an arm over your shoulder like he’s claimed you for the rest of the day, but Ollie bumps him aside to loop his pinky through yours.

“Mine,” he mutters, under his breath.

Kimi rolls his eyes. “You two are exhausting.”

You grin, leaning into both of them.

“Don’t worry,” you say. “You’re lucky I keep you around.”

—

Ollie’s hands have been gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual for the entire ride. You glance over at him as the airport sign comes into view—his curls are still a little messy from the early morning Miami humidity, his jaw clenched just barely, like he’s thinking too hard about something he doesn’t know how to say. You decide not to push. Yet. The car slows at the drop-off zone. He slides into park, eyes flicking to you, then back to the windshield.

“This is the part where you dramatically beg me not to leave and I pretend to hesitate but still get on the plane,” you tease, breaking the silence.

He laughs—soft, a little breathless. “I was gonna go with something a bit more subtle.”

You smile, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “We both know subtlety isn’t your strength.”

Before you can reach for the door handle, he stops you—fingers gently wrapping around your wrist. You pause, turning to look at him, and— Ollie’s looking at you like you hung the moon and then handed him the stars for fun.

“I, um…” He clears his throat, shifts in his seat like it’ll help him think. “This weekend was… kind of perfect.”

You tilt your head. “Even with Kimi yelling at you every five minutes?”

He grins. “Especially with Kimi yelling at me every five minutes.”

You wait, patient, heart already fluttering like it knows where this is going.

“I just…” He exhales, suddenly shy, and you realize—this boy, who throws a car around at 200 miles an hour, who barks in Instagram comments and flirts like it’s a second language—is scared. And somehow that makes it even sweeter.

“I really like you,” he says finally. “Not just in the ‘we had a fun weekend and you look insane in a sparkly outfit’ kind of way. Like… the ‘I wanna text you every morning’ kind of way. The ‘I want you in every paddock’ kind of way.”

Your heart squeezes. He’s looking down now, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve never… properly asked anyone before. I’m usually terrible at this. But—would you maybe want to be mine?”

You don’t answer right away. Not with words. Instead, you lean across the console, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him. It’s soft, slow, and full of every unspoken “yes” that’s been building since he first smiled at you across the paddock.

When you pull back, he’s pink-cheeked and breathless.

“So…” he whispers.

You grin. “Yes, Oliver. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

He visibly relaxes, grinning like a boy who just won the whole damn championship.

“Okay, cool,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “No pressure but I’ve been mentally rehearsing that since yesterday.”

You giggle, opening the car door.

“Now go win some races,” you tell him, stepping out.

“And text me when you land?” he calls after you.

“I’ll text you from the gate.”

You blow him a kiss through the window before heading inside, heart racing for all the right reasons. He waits until you’re out of view, then lets out a breath and bangs his head lightly against the steering wheel, grinning like an idiot. She said yes.

—

You spot him before he spots you. Pato’s leaning against a rental car in full sunglasses and baseball cap disguise, sipping a cold brew like he’s hiding from TMZ. You drag your suitcase toward him, rolling your eyes fondly.

“You look like a washed up boyband member trying not to get recognized at LAX,” you say.

He lifts his sunglasses with dramatic flair. “Excuse me, some of us are international superstars.”

You hug him anyway. He hugs you back, ruffling your hair and muttering “you smell like airport sadness.”

He throws your suitcase into the trunk like it weighs nothing and then immediately opens the passenger door for you with a little bow. “Come on, princesa. Tell me everything.”

You raise a brow. “About what?”

“You know what,” he grins as you get in. “Did he cry when you left? Did you cry when he left? Did he do the forehead kiss? The forehead kiss is the killer move.”

“I am not discussing forehead kisses with you,” you mutter, blushing instantly.

“Oh my God he did the forehead kiss.” He smacks the steering wheel. “You’re in deep.”

You sink into the seat. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me. Because I’m the cooler older brother. Not the scary one. The fun one. The one who lets you get away with crimes and bad decisions.”

You snort. “Which is why I’m not telling you everything.”

He gasps. “I drove thirty minutes in traffic to pick you up and you won’t even let me live through your love life???”

“You’ll survive,” you say sweetly, kicking your feet up on the dash.

Thirty minutes later, Pato pulls up at the team hotel in the next race city—sleek, bright, busy with media teams already swarming the lobby. He grabs your suitcase and gives you a final, overly dramatic spin-hug before you go.

“Tell lover boy to bring me flowers next time.”

“Tell Nolan to chill,” you mutter under your breath.

But when you swipe your keycard and open the door to your hotel room—he’s already there.

Nolan’s sitting on the arm of the couch, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like a concerned mom waiting for her daughter to sneak in after curfew.

“…Hi?”

“Where have you been?” he asks immediately, narrowing his eyes.

You drag your suitcase into the room and kick the door closed behind you. “Landing. Existing. Being cooler than you.”

“Liar,” he says casually, standing up and folding his arms. “You’re glowing. And your hair’s all perfect. And you’re humming. You never hum.”

“I always hum,” you argue, dropping onto the bed. “You just never notice because you’re always complaining about something.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

You grab a pillow and chuck it at him. “There is no subject.”

“There’s a vibe,” he says darkly. “A vibe I don’t like. You’ve being weird. So—what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you sing, flopping back onto the bed.

“Is it a guy?” Nolan asks, voice sharpening.

You blink up at the ceiling. “You’re very paranoid for someone who’s been eating plain chicken and rice for five days straight.”

“I knew it,” he mutters, pacing now. “It is a guy.”

You sit up, laughing. “Why are you acting like I’ve been radicalized?”

He points at you dramatically. “You’re not denying it.”

You raise your brows. “I’m also not confirming it.”

His jaw drops. “So you admit there’s someone.”

“I admit nothing,” you say sweetly. “Except that you’re insane.”

He grabs a throw pillow, holds it like a whiteboard, and starts fake-scribbling. “Okay, so timeline: Miami GP. Beach photos. One blurry bouquet photo. And now you’re all soft and glowy like you’ve been in love or kissed or something disgusting. I swear to God if it’s someone on the grid—”

“Are you done, Sherlock?” you cut in.

“Not even close,” he says, throwing himself onto the other bed dramatically. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And if any British boy tries to get cute with you, I will call someone and have him benched for emotional distress.”

You laugh so hard your stomach actually hurts.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m your twin,” he says proudly. “It’s in the contract.”

You flop back on the bed, still smiling. “Good luck finding proof.”

Nolan narrows his eyes. “Oh, I don’t need proof. I have instincts. And they’re buzzing.”

You close your eyes, already planning your next move. Let him be suspicious. You’ll confess when you’re ready. But for now? Ollie’s your soft secret—and Nolan’s wild theories are just background noise to the fluttering in your chest that hasn’t stopped since that last kiss.

—

arrowmclaren

liked by patriciooward, olliebearman, nolansiegel and 35,007 others.

arrowmclaren : admin is back!! everyone say YAYYYYYYYY

—

view 1853 other comments.

username00 : never leave us again or we riot

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : never again queen

username55 : YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY (we r only here for you)

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : my soul feels all warm and fuzzy

nolansiegel : yay. 🙄

↳ nolansiegel : admin is back and so r my trust issues

↳ arrowmclaren : take this negativity elsewhere before i bring up "team bonding exercises" to HR

liked by patriciooward

patriciooward : i missed you pls never leave again we’re stupid without you

liked by arrowmclaren

↳ arrowmclaren : you guys r stupid even when im here.. but i missed you dearly my patito

liked by patriciooward

—

a month later...

yn_siegel

liked by patriciooward, nolansiegel, kimi.antonelli and 155,090 others.

yn_siegel : lets play where is yn now...(ft pato and norbi my uber drivers who so graciously took me to the airport.)

—

view 10,009 other comments.

username00 : queen remember when you said you'd never leave us again

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : yes but technically i am still working!

↳ username00 : id leave for ollie too so i get it girl

liked by yn_siegel

patriciooward : we didn’t even get 5 stars on the ride. rude.

liked by yn_siegel

↳ yn_siegel : norbi got head kisses and you got all the tea so i call it even

liked by patriciooward

↳ patriciooward : fair fair

kimi.antonelli : i know exactly where you are, who you are with and i’m not telling the internet

liked by yn_siegel

↳ nolansiegel : PLEASE KIMI

↳ kimi.antonelli : suddenly i know nothing

liked by yn_siegel

nolansiegel : pato i am going to end you for enabling this

liked by yn_siegel and patriciooward

—

Ollie squeezes your hand for the tenth time as you pull into the drive.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, trying to hide his grin.

“I’m not shaking,” you lie, smoothing your hair with your free hand. “I’m vibrating with nerves. It’s different.”

He laughs, leaning across the car to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “They’re going to love you. I promise.”

“I’m literally the American social media girl from the IndyCar paddock,” you mutter. “This could go so badly.”

“You could show up in a McLaren shirt and they’d still love you,” he says. “Well—Mum might raise an eyebrow. But Thomas would immediately ask to take it off and burn it.”

That makes you laugh. He gets out and jogs around to your side of the car before you can even touch the door handle. Of course he opens it for you. Gentleman since day one. You step out, take one deep breath, and follow him to the front door of the Bearman house.

Before you can even knock, the front door swings open.

Thomas Bearman stands there in mismatched socks, Adidas slides, and a hoodie. He gives you a once-over like he’s scanning for threats. Then looks at Ollie.

“This her?”

Ollie sighs. “Yes, this is YN.”

Thomas crosses his arms. “She looks too normal. I thought you said she was, like, intense.”

“Wow,” you say flatly. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

His mouth twitches like he might smile. “Just checking your vibe. You pass.”

“Do I get a sticker?”

“No, but you’re allowed inside,” he deadpans, stepping back so you can enter.

“Charming,” you mutter.

Ollie whispers, “He likes you. That’s him being sweet.”

Inside, the house smells like lemon cake and roast potatoes. You barely have time to take it in before you hear a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my god, is this her?!”

Amalie bursts in from the hallway like she’s making her red carpet debut—small, opinionated, and already squinting at you like she’s solving a mystery.

“You’re prettier than Instagram made you look.”

“…Thank you?”

She spins on Ollie. “How did you pull her?”

“Okay,” Ollie groans, rubbing his eyes. “We’re not doing this.”

Amalie tugs on your sleeve and whispers, way too loudly, “Don’t tell him, but I always thought he’d end up alone with a racing sim and no friends.”

“I CAN HEAR YOU,” Ollie shouts from the kitchen.

You’re full-on giggling now. A soft voice interrupts from the hallway—“Everyone behave, please.”

His mum appears, warm smile and tired eyes, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“You must be YN. It’s so lovely to meet you, darling.”

She gives you a real hug. None of the awkward, too-polite handshake stuff.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she adds. “Ollie said you’re used to eating in hospitality tents and garages, so we’re giving you something real tonight.”

“I’m starving,” you admit.

His dad follows soon after—same smile as Ollie, but with more wrinkles and less sleep. He gives you a firm handshake and a wink. “Welcome to the madness.”

Dinner is loud and warm and weird in the best way. Amalie peppers you with questions like she’s interviewing you for a school project. Thomas mostly listens, but chimes in with dry commentary that reminds you of Nolan. His mum makes you promise to send her skincare recommendations. And Ollie looks at you like you’re already part of the family.

After dessert, Thomas finally speaks up with something resembling real emotion.

“You’re cool,” he says with a shrug. “Not cringe.”

“That’s the highest compliment he knows how to give,” Ollie whispers.

“Shut up,” Thomas mutters, but he’s smiling.

Later, after helping Amalie make hot chocolate and watching Thomas show you one of his karting videos, you and Ollie slip out into the garden, the sun starting to dip below the fence line.

You sit together on the patio, shoulder to shoulder, warm mugs in hand.

“You did it,” he says softly. “They love you.”

You glance over, heart full. “I kind of love them, too.”

He smiles, leans in, presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Stay a little longer?”

You lean your head on his shoulder and whisper, “Try and stop me.”

—

You’re lying in Ollie’s bed, his hoodie hanging off your shoulder and your legs tangled with his under the covers when your phone starts buzzing across the mattress.

the ugly twin wants to FaceTime...

You and Ollie both freeze.

“Oh no,” you whisper, scrambling upright. “Oh no no no—he saw the post.”

Ollie props himself up on one elbow, blinking innocently. “You mean the one where your legs are very clearly next to a boy’s?”

“I thought the mystery added flavor!”

Your phone keeps buzzing.

You inhale deeply, smooth your hair, and pick up—just as you see Pato's face pop into Nolan’s background, already losing it.

“YOOO she picked up!” Pato cackles. “She’s alive!”

“Nolan, hi,” you say as calmly as possible.

He is not calm.

“Where the hell are you?”

“I—”

“You were supposed to be at the track an hour ago! Media asked where you were! Your credentials are still in my backpack! You posted a photo dump like you’re backpacking Europe with a stranger and your phone is off! What is going on?!”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “Just… running late. And kind of… not in that country anymore.”

Pato absolutely loses it in the background. You hear him wheezing.

“WHAT?” Nolan explodes. “Where are you???”

“I took a few days off,” you say carefully. “Rest and recharge.”

“In a man’s hoodie?!” Nolan shrieks. “Don’t lie. I zoomed in. Those are boy thighs next to yours in that sneaker photo.”

“That’s a wild thing to say out loud.”

“WHOSE THIGHS?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“PATO KNOWS,” Nolan accuses, spinning the phone. “He’s laughing. Look at him. He’s laughing like a goblin.”

Pato waves sweetly from the background. “Hi! I’m staying out of it. Mostly. But she did meet his mum soooo—”

“HIS MUM?!”

You grab a pillow and yell into it.

Ollie is now on the other side of the bed absolutely howling, facedown in a blanket.

Nolan’s voice is going full twin meltdown mode now. “If you are with a driver and I find out through Instagram I’m going to—”

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. “I promise I’m safe. I promise I’m happy. I’ll be back before race day. Please don’t start a manhunt.”

He pauses.

“…Is it someone I know?” he asks suspiciously.

You blink. “I mean, define ‘know’.”

Pato snorts. “Oh he knows him. Biblically.”

You mouth I hate you to Pato.

“I’m sending a list of suspects,” Nolan says, already opening Notes. “You’ll tell me hot or cold.”

You hang up. Immediately. And throw yourself onto Ollie’s chest with a groan.

“He’s going to go feral.”

Ollie kisses your temple. “Want me to send him flowers?”

You sit up. “Absolutely not. That would confirm everything.”

Your phone buzzes again.

the ugly twin hot or cold... bear-esque british boy.

You throw it across the bed.

—

You’re halfway through the paddock when Ollie tugs on your sleeve.

“Okay,” he whispers, “walk me through this again.”

You stop, tug him behind a hospitality truck like you're planning a secret heist.

“Step one. Do not panic.”

“Already failing.”

“Step two. Be charming and slightly pathetic. Nolan likes rescuing puppies.”

“I’m not a puppy.”

“You have floppy hair. It’s close enough.”

Ollie narrows his eyes. “This is starting to feel like a setup.”

“It is a setup,” Pato says from behind you.

You both jump. He’s grinning, leaning casually against the trailer, sipping something orange.

“You’re early,” you mutter.

“I wanted a front row seat,” Pato beams. “Nolan has NO idea he’s here, right?”

You shake your head. “None. I told him I was bringing a guest from the UK and he assumed it was a special guest or someone from comms.”

“I am a special guest,” Ollie mumbles.

“You’re a special guest with a death wish,” Pato says brightly. “He’s been spiraling for weeks.”

You glance at Ollie.

“Ready?”

“No.”

You kiss his cheek. “Too bad.”

—

You drag him through the motorhome doors just as Nolan’s zipping up his suit and grabbing his water bottle.

“Hey!” you call.

He turns. “Took you long enough. Did your mysterious plus one get lost in security?”

“Not quite,” you say, stepping aside. “Nolan, this is—”

Ollie holds out a hand. “Hi. Ollie.”

There’s a long pause. Nolan blinks.

Then stares at you. Then at Ollie. Then back at you. Pato chokes on his drink in the corner.

“You brought him?!”

“Surprise?” you try.

Ollie’s hand is still out. Nolan does not shake it.

“I knew it. I knew it. I saw the leg in the background of that beach photo! You said it was Kimi’s!”

“He was there!” you protest. “Just not in that moment!”

Pato is wheezing so hard now he’s had to sit down.

“I KNEW it,” Nolan mutters. “I knew it was him. He’s been in the comments like a lovesick teenager!”

Ollie clears his throat. “I’m…really happy to meet you. Officially.”

“Don’t try to be British and polite now,” Nolan says. “You’re dating my twin.”

Ollie freezes. Nolan turns to you.

“He is dating you, right?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “He is.”

For a second, no one breathes. Then Nolan sighs deeply, grabs a granola bar from the counter, and says, “Fine. But if he crashes your heart like he crashes that hundred million dollar car, I’m flying to the UK and keying his car.”

“Nolan!”

“I’m joking,” he says. “Mostly. Welcome to IndyCar, Bearman.”

Ollie exhales in visible relief.

“Thank you.”

Nolan turns and walks out of the room—then sticks his head back in.

“And if you hurt her, I’ll send Pato after you. He might be short but he is mighty.”

Ollie groans. Pato claps his hands together. “That went GREAT. Can we all hug now or…?”

—

olliebearman

liked by kimi.antonelli, yn_siegel, patriciooward and 1,100,008 others.

olliebearman : the prettiest girl in the world is mine (i also have her twin brother threatening me and breathing my neck) but she is worth it:)

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[neelrahh]

its been years since ive posted any original thought of mine on tumblr but here goes, i'm not intimately involved with the deltarune fandom in any way so this is the easiest way to get my perspective any attention

i know that the main appeal for krusie - and also the main repellant FROM shipping krusie - has been that kris and susie act like total "bros". that they give completely "locked-in besties who have the perfect comedic timing" energy

so i'm not denying that aspect of their friendship - they both definitely match each others' vibes in an almost scarily platonic-soulmatey way. it's great it's warm it's comforting

but i argue that there's an (deep & strong) underlying tone of quiet intimacy and tenderness in krusie's relationship. i don't see this part of them get much acknowledgment from the fandom - but that's what draws me to them to the most.

1 . kris being able to quietly pray with susie's candle in their hands - and from the description you can infer that choosing Susie provides the most sincere reaction from kris

2. susie's fixation on kris' piano skills and her desire to watch them in church every week, and learn and play alongside them. her confessing this and immediately feeling all weird about it because it was just that vulnerable of an admission

3. kris crawling, in the dark, to save susie from the other-world Gerson WITHOUT THEIR SOUL! i cannot even imagine how difficult that was. we know they have a difficult time even resisting our control when the soul IS in their body, and we see kris protect/act affectionate with susie by resisting us quite a lot, too

4. "susie's smile, which seemed to defeat everything... it was as if all the darkness had been blown away" good lord jesus has toby ever written one of his characters to think of another in such a manner before?

5. and last but definitely not least, kris staring at susie without our input when they are sitting by the lake - and them resisting us yet again by not clearly verbalizing what they were thinking in that moment (if we try to make them do that).

i'm not arguing that any of these moments are inherently romantic - but i think that regardless of how you take it (i see it as a crush), kris has a painfully wistful energy for susie. i see it as a mix of multiple factors that are thematically significant: because she is emblematic of self-agency to them; because she is their object of affection; because they are unable to truly reach their heart out to her outside of small moments of resistance; and this is pure speculation but they definitely are in on some part of a bigger scheme conducted by the Roaring Knight/other entities and whatever this is Seems to involve Susie in unfortunate ways.

kris is hiding so much from susie and yet it seems there is no one else they would want to open up to/get closer with than her. and they literally can't.

that level of heart-ache makes me invested in a romantic interpretation of Krusie more than anything else. and even if kris' feelings aren't romantic - they are more significant in my eyes than anything we have seen between two characters across deltarune yet.

[ribbedpleasure]

im about to go absolutely bananabonkers. I’m currently hiding in my bfs bathroom (and have been for the past 2 hours - it is 8am) so I can openly weep from the severity of this chronic pain flare, anyone who I can converse with in this time of need is asleep, and my bfs parents are being SO LOUD around their unusually creaky house so I keep getting FNAF jumpscared by what replicates a beam in the ceiling fucking snapping. I am so hungry but I can’t move to go get food. out of stress, i lacerated my arm trichotillomania-style and it also really fucking hurts. I have a blocked nose and a slightly sore throat from this horrible unrelated cold. my body is on fire and I want to go to bed. i have slept 2 hours. my phone is also dead and I’m typing this on my ipad like a 7 year old. said ipad is on 9%. frankly, can death be scarier than the life I lead rn?

[om340700]

ha ha ha ha ha ha I need them to add hairstyles in the new game NYOW!!! (please) i cant take this anymore!!1!1!1! (thank you)

[todayisafridaynight]

laugh with me while i make my own posts real

tha fuckin outfits under the cut

[dead-thorin]

Recent gaming opinions:

Blasphemous good

Hollow knight can eat me

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

wow i hate living with my family as an adult

yknow every damn weekend morning i feel Guilty for walking around in my room because the floor squeaks and it wakes up my brother, but EVERY DAMN NIGHT he hollers at video games, sometimes until TWO OR THREE IN THE MORNING, and i have to go to fucking work about it so. he can just deal with it, i've decided.

[arolesbianism]

Did all the upper layer core suppressions in my second playthrough today 👍 I still stand by that Netzach's healing bursts are maybe a bit too generous, but it did also happen to be the only one I didn't first try so who am I to talk ig 😔

[tgcg]

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

[disastertwins9000]

more of the ditf au from this post

this is the better art i had and i was waiting to post it

so like i said in the last post jason finds out tim’s not rly looked after (probably not canon but ive decided he isn’t AND they legally get to keep tim idk don’t ask me) so now like either dick or alfred foster tim (bc jason’s still sixteen) and tim moves into the manor and becomes Batkid.

Jason has been struggling with Bruce’s death and so taking care of Tim has become something he can focus on, and obviously Dick and Alfred are worried bc Jason was totally killing people just a second ago but i think they’d ask him to go to therapy and he’d actually go because he wants to be the best he can mentally to help raise Tim.

Tim is their (currently) foster brother but Jason is basically everything Tim never had in a parent. Dick sees how seriously Jason takes all this but knows that Jason is still a kid and makes sure he gets a break often enough to not worry about taking care of someone else. then when Damian shows up Dick is out in space, and so now Jason is a single mom with two kids and is praying Dick will hurry his ass up and come home (obviously alfred is a huge help he just wants his older brother home)

when dick gets back he’s like “bro i left you for how long and you got another whole ass kid” and then he totally sees how Damian looks like his dead adoptive dad and then goes mama mode on that little bean and adopts him while he’s at it

when Jay is old enough Tim asks Jason to adopt him and bro totally cries his eyes out. Tim has been waiting for Jason to be old enough to be adopted into the family, not that he doesn’t like Dick, quite the opposite he loves his biggest brother, but jay and tim saved each other and the feels are hard to explain but yeah he wants jay to adopt him. Dick adopted Damian right away but when Jason is old enough Damian asked for them to have split custody of him, because he’s always had both his big brothers to look after him and he wouldn’t have it any other way

Tim becomes the Batkid Dick is still Nightwing and Jason is Red Robin up until Damian is old enough to become Robin, then i think Tim would be old enough to become Batman and Jason would become Red Hood (i’m actually still debating if he would be red hood or smth else but i’m sticking with red hood for now) i also gave him a more Arkham Night lookin outfit bc he’s got the cute ears that might remind him of his dad

there’s probably some other stuff i wanted to say but missed but oh well, thanks to @foerchen for letting me rant and also helping me decide on things here and there, ily <33

[rosierin]

not so easy | atsumu miya

synopsis; atsumu didn’t mean to spiral. but jealousy hits different when the girl you’re kinda-maybe-sorta in love with starts laughing at someone else’s jokes. now the apartment’s tense, the silence is loud, and his pride is doing everything it can to keep him from saying what he actually means.

(aka: i miss you. i’m sorry. i don’t know how to do this—but I want to.)

disclaimer; this fic will bounce between atsumu and (y/n)'s pov!

a/n; dont worry this aint super angsty, just a bit more introspective than what i usually write. ive weaved in a soft suna moment and some light-hearted bro talk :p

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

Atsumu Miya rarely got jealous.

He never really had a reason to be.

He had the looks. The charm. The talent. A fast mouth to back it all up and the skill to make sure it never sounded hollow. He knew what he brought to the table, and he brought it loudly. With flair. With confidence. With certainty.

Even when it came to Osamu—his twin, his mirror, the one everyone always loved in a quieter, steadier way—it had never been envy. No, with Osamu, it was rivalry. Pure and simple. The kind that lit a fire under his skin and pushed him forward. Faster, stronger, better. It made him hungry, sure—but not bitter. Never bitter.

That wasn’t jealousy. That was drive.

But (y/n)?

(Y/n) was different.

The only person who’d ever made something ugly twist in his chest and settle there like it belonged.

And it wasn’t even that she did anything, that was the kicker. She just was.

Sweet smiles, soft hands, warm eyes. Always so patient with him, even when he didn’t deserve it. Always seeing through the noise, the flash, the jokes—cutting clean through to the part of him he didn’t know how to talk about. And for someone like Atsumu, who’d always been so loud about who he was… it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying to be understood so quietly.

She got under his skin without trying. Without even knowing. And maybe that was why the first time he’d ever truly felt jealous, it had come out of nowhere. Like a sucker punch. Just a quiet ache and the unmistakable sense that something was his, and someone else was about to take it.

He remembered the moment vividly. It was stupid, honestly. They were just picking her up from class.

The three of them had done it a dozen times—Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna strolling across campus like they owned it, waiting outside the writing building for her to appear like clockwork.

It should’ve felt normal. Like a routine. Only that day was different. The simple reason being? She wasn’t alone when she walked out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Atsumu noticed before anyone else, mid-conversation with Suna about something irrelevant. His voice trailed off when his eyes locked on her. She was standing next to a guy. Tall. Kinda clean-cut in a “tries but not too hard” sort of way. He had rings on his fingers, a journal tucked into one arm, and the relaxed confidence that instantaneously rubbed Atsumu the wrong way.

They were talking. Close. Closer than necessary.

His smile was easy, clearly practiced. And worse—(y/n) was smiling back, her laughter ringing through the campus.

It wasn't just a polite chuckle, either. Not just a soft smile. She was laughing. Head tilted back, eyes crinkled, the way she only did when something genuinely caught her off guard.

Atsumu’s steps faltered.

Suna gave him a sidewards glance. “You good?”

“Huh?” Atsumu blinked, covering it up with a grin. “Yeah. Peachy.”

But he wasn’t. Not when he could already hear it coming—like a freight train on a collision course with his mood.

“Don’t forget to send me those notes, sweetheart.”

Atsumu stopped dead.

His breath hitched.

Did he…?

Osamu made a noise. Suna raised a brow. Nobody said it, but they all felt the shift in the air.

“Did I hear that right?” Atsumu started, his voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and irritation.

“Uh-huh,” Suna said flatly.

“Who does he think he is?” Atsumu muttered, voice dropping into something lower. More personal.

Osamu and Suna exchanged a look. Osamu was the one to diffuse the tension, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Ain’t that yer line?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu replied—too firm. Too quick. Too obvious.

“Didn’t realize you trademarked it,” Suna added, dry as always.

(Y/n) spotted them and waved, her smile lighting up like always—blissfully unaware that a war had just begun inside Atsumu’s chest. She jogged over, cheeks flushed, still catching her breath.

“Hey! Sorry, we ran a little late. That’s Tetsu—he’s in my poetry elective.”

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

It echoed like a drumbeat in Atsumu’s skull.

He forced a grin. “Sweetheart, huh?”

(Y/n) blinked. “Oh—yeah, he just… says stuff like that—kinda like you do. It’s not a big deal.”

No big deal.

Right.

Totally.

Atsumu stared at her, pulse tapping loud behind his ears. “‘Kinda like me,’ huh?”

He'd almost hissed.

She blinked again, her smile faltering just enough to make something in his chest twist. Her brows pinched, just slightly, like she was trying to figure out what she’d said wrong.

“S’wrong with you?” she asked lightly, eyes flicking between him and Osamu like the latter might have answers.. “You’re acting a bit weird."

“Nothin's wrong,” he shot back—too fast. Way too fast. “Just didn’t know we were handin’ out pet names now, s’all.”

Osamu gave him a warning look. The kind that meant, pull it together.

But Atsumu was already halfway gone. His fists were already clenched in his hoodie pocket, and the words were already bubbling up.

It was the first time he’d ever hated someone for being nice—for being funny.

For making her laugh.

He didn’t say a word the rest of the walk.

He kept his eyes fixed ahead. Not because there was anything worth looking at—he just needed something to anchor him. His stare went vacant, unfocused, like his brain had gone somewhere else entirely. The path in front of him blurred at the edges. Everything around him—the footsteps, the breeze, the faint hum of traffic—faded into background noise.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Osamu making light conversation with (y/n), mulling over dinner ideas like nothing was wrong. Her voice chimed in now and then, soft and bright, completely at ease. Suna lagged behind, phone in hand, probably on Reddit.

But Atsumu barely registered any of it.

His brain was too loud. Too hot. Churning, hissing, burning.

He felt like a kettle left on the stove—lid rattling, steam building, seconds from boiling over.

He was stuck on that one stupid word. That name. That guy.

Tetsu.

He’d said it so casually. Sweetheart. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like he hadn’t just kicked over a landmine.

Atsumu bit the inside of his cheek.

It wasn’t even the word, not really. It was the ease of it. The way (y/n) had smiled when Tetsu said it. The comfort. The familiarity. Like it was something she expected from him. Like she liked it.

Atsumu didn’t know when she’d gotten close to this guy. Didn’t know he was part of her writing class. Didn’t know they walked together after class. Exchanging smiles. Laughing at his jokes.

All things she used to do with him.

The thought settled in his gut like a stone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Later that night, back at the apartment, (y/n) padded into the kitchen in search of tea—only to pause when she saw him. Atsumu stood in front of the fridge, bathed in dim light, staring blankly inside like he’d forgotten why he opened it.

He didn’t reach for anything right away. Just stood there a moment longer, eyes flicking lazily over the shelves like nothing in there was quite worth the effort.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

“Hey,” she said softly.

His head jerked slightly at the sound of her voice, like he’d been pulled from far away. “Oh. Hey.”

He offered her a glance—brief—before turning back around. No smile. No warmth.

(Y/n) watched his back as he grabbed a carton of milk, lifting an arm to take a long swig.

She raised an eyebrow. She didn't approach him right away. Just stood at a reasonable distance, observing. Assessing, rather.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, voice dripping with fake charm.

She gave him a slow blink. There it is.

It wasn’t the first time he’d deflected, but this time it landed harder than usual. She wasn’t oblivious. She had a very solid idea what was bothering him—and she wasn’t about to spell it out for him. Not yet. Not when she was giving him the chance to say it himself.

Part of her wanted to scoff at her own restraint. Fat chance.

“You were kinda quiet earlier,” she probed, still gentle, still coaxing.

“Just tired."

A lie. So obvious it was almost insulting. His voice didn’t have that worn-out drag she recognized after long practices or late nights. This wasn’t fatigue. This was avoidance, plain and simple.

Why couldn’t he just admit it?

Her jaw ticked once. That was the worst part—he didn’t even try to sell it. Like he was hoping she’d let it slide.

But she didn’t.

Not tonight.

“Right. Just tired.”

A pause stretched between them, taut and humming.

“I talked to Tetsu,” she added casually, watching him from the corner of her eye. “He texted me after we left. Said you seemed… intense.”

That got his attention. She didn’t miss the slight twitch of his brow.

“Oh, did he?” His voice had gone flat. “Glad I made an impression.”

(Y/n) hummed. “You did. He asked if you hated him or if you were just having a bad day.”

“Sure he did.”

(Y/n) folded her arms, watching as he tinkered aimlessly around the kitchen. Looking for a distraction. Back turned, facing her like a stone wall.

“He’s actually really nice, you know.”

She could've sworn she heard a scoff. “I’m sure he is."

There it was again. That clipped tone. The snide edge.

“Funny. You made more of an effort hiding your frustration earlier when I was laughing at his jokes.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You know, if you’ve got something to say, you could just say it. Instead of sulking and being passive-aggressive about a guy who—surprise—was literally just talking to me.”

“I’m not sulkin'.”

She scoffed. “You’re definitely sulking. You’ve been avoiding me since the second I walked out of class.”

Atsumu’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue—but then he just sighed and ran a brisk hand through his hair.

“Listen, ’m not in the mood.” He finally turned to her, giving a look that landed somewhere between warning and weariness. “I’m gonna head up. Long day.”

“Nope,” she said, stepping aside to block his path, her expression sharp. “You don’t get to pull the moody card and ghost the conversation.”

Atsumu’s brow twitched. “What conversation?”

(Y/n)’s gaze didn’t waver. “The one where you admit you were jealous and being kind of an ass about it.”

His jaw ticked.

And for a second, neither of them moved.

The air thickened.

His voice dropped into a velvet-coated jab. “Cocky little thing.”

Before she could retort, he leaned in. Just enough to make it infuriating. His breath brushed her skin. His eyes darkened.

“If it’s eatin’ at ya so much,” he murmured, voice curling into a sneer, “why don’tcha vent to Tetsu about it?”

He didn’t bother hiding the distaste. The name rolled off his tongue like a slur.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to argue—but he was already brushing past her, his shoulder bumping hers with just enough force to make it feel deliberate.

Prick.

“See ya tomorrow,” he muttered.

And just like that, he was gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Morning sunlight filtered through the slats of the kitchen blinds, catching dust in its beams and painting the floor in pale, hazy stripes. The house was unusually quiet for this hour. No footsteps. No clatter of cutlery. No muffled Osamu humming through breakfast prep. Just the low, humming quiet of a place still steeped in sleep—or maybe something heavier.

(Y/n) stepped into the kitchen barefoot, hair tied back messily, a faded hoodie swallowing her frame. Her footsteps were soft against the tile, the kind that came from habit, not caution. But even still, she paused at the threshold.

He was already there.

Atsumu stood by the counter, hunched slightly, shirt wrinkled, cradling a mug in both hands. He wasn’t doing anything—just staring into the steam, eyes distant, jaw slack. Whatever expression had hardened on his face overnight hadn’t softened with sleep.

She lingered by the doorway a beat too long.

He didn’t look up.

(Y/n)’s chest pulled tight, something quiet but sharp blooming in the space between her ribs. This wasn’t new—Atsumu avoiding eye contact when he was pissed. What was new was the ache behind it. The fact that she’d stopped knowing what version of him she was going to get.

Still, she moved toward the kettle, reaching over to grab a mug. Her arm brushed his.

He stepped away like he hadn’t noticed her at all.

Right.

Of course.

She inhaled slowly through her nose, counting the seconds it took for the kettle to boil, willing herself to stay grounded. Calm. Collected. Not bothered.

But the silence scraped at her like sandpaper.

"So we're doing this, then?" she asked quietly. No heat. No sharpness. Just a weary tilt of her voice.

Atsumu didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

She turned slightly, just enough to see the angle of his profile. His eyes were downcast. Still wrapped in thought, or maybe just pretending to be.

“I said one thing. One,” she murmured. “And you made it a whole thing.”

That got him. She saw the twitch in his jaw.

But again—no answer.

Her hand tightened around her mug. She could feel the ache of it now. Not just his silence—but the effort it took to pretend she didn’t care. To match his pettiness stride for stride.

“Tetsu texted me again last night,” she added, deliberately casual.

Nothing.

She let that hang between them. Like bait. Like a challenge.

He sipped his coffee. Still didn’t meet her eyes.

Coward.

Her voice was quieter this time. Flat. “You didn’t say goodnight.”

He set the mug down a little too hard, the ceramic clink echoing through the quiet kitchen.

And then, like a final blow, he turned and left.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t glance back. Just walked out, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, footsteps heavy and retreating.

She stood there, heart stinging, tea forgotten.

Some fights had shouting. Some had tears.

This one had silence.

And silence, she was starting to realize, hurt a whole lot more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Movie night wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The living room was warm, lights low, a blanket tossed over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle pushed to one corner of the coffee table. Everything looked normal—comfortable, even. But (y/n) could feel the tension in the room like static. It clung to the air, heavy and unspoken.

She sat curled into the armrest, legs tucked beneath her, a cushion hugged to her chest. Across from her, Atsumu slouched in his usual spot—hood pulled up, expression neutral, thumbs idly tapping the rim of a water bottle like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to drink it or launch it across the room.

Osamu handed her the popcorn with a soft, “Here,” like he was passing a truce flag.

“Thanks,” she murmured, barely glancing at him.

The movie played on, some half-hearted action film Suna had picked. It barely held anyone’s attention. He was slumped low in his armchair, feet on the ottoman, phone balanced on his thigh, thumb flicking lazily through some feed even as the screen ahead flashed and boomed.

Halfway through a loud car chase scene, her phone buzzed quietly in her lap.

Rin: y’all break up or sth?

(Y/n) stared at the message for a second, then glanced at him. He didn’t look up. Didn’t even blink. Just kept scrolling.

She rolled her eyes and typed back.

You: we’d have to be dating for that.

A second passed.

Rin: mhm coulda fooled me

She let her phone drop to the couch cushion beside her, face down.

Still, Atsumu hadn’t said a word.

Not to her. Not since last night.

Every word was filtered through Osamu or aimed at Suna. She could’ve been a coat rack for all he acknowledged her presence. Like she’d been demoted to background noise.

The thing that grated wasn’t the distance—it was the performance. The calculated effort to pretend everything was fine, that they were fine. Like he hadn’t iced her out in the kitchen the evening he picked her up from Uni. Like he hadn’t dropped that little dagger of a line and walked away without looking back.

She glanced at him.

He was still staring straight ahead. Jaw tight. Fingers twitching.

“Had coffee with Tetsu today,” she said suddenly, voice light.

The silence that followed was immediate. Dense.

Suna’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Osamu shifted in his seat.

Still, Atsumu said nothing.

Not even a glance.

Look at me.

“He read me one of his new pieces,” she continued, picking a kernel of popcorn, twirling it between her fingers. “He’s been working on this stream-of-consciousness thing. It's nice. Really vulnerable.”

Osamu cleared his throat. “Huh. Sounds... poetic.”

“Mhm.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I told him it reminded me of Atsumu, actually.”

A breath hitched across the room. Quiet, but she caught it.

Still, he didn’t bite.

Instead, he stood. Abruptly. Walked to the kitchen under the guise of grabbing a drink. A drawer opened. Closed. Too loud. A bottle cap clinked against the counter.

(Y/n) let out a soft breath and sagged slightly into the couch.

Suna didn’t look up. “You’re really gonna keep poking him like that?”

“I’m not poking,” she replied. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

She turned her gaze to the glowing TV screen, unreadable. “For him to grow up.”

The words left her mouth cooler than she meant them to. She hadn’t planned to say them. Hadn’t even realized she felt them until they were out in the air between them, heavy and uninvited.

Suna didn’t reply right away. Just glanced sideways, his expression unreadable in the TV’s flickering light. Then, without a word, he leaned forward, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and sat back like he hadn’t just witnessed a relationship quietly unraveling beside him.

(Y/n) pulled the blanket a little tighter around her legs. Onscreen, someone was shouting. Something exploded. The room stayed quiet.

Atsumu never came back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Atsumu hadn’t planned on going to the library.

He hated the place. Too quiet. Too cold. Too many rules and not enough snacks. If hell had a waiting room, he was convinced it looked like this—rows of dusty books, stiff-backed chairs, and the constant, smug silence of people who actually enjoyed being there.

But his apartment was too loud, the team lounge was full of idiots, and his brain wouldn’t shut up long enough to let him nap. So here he was. At rock bottom. In the library. With a textbook under one arm and a pen he already wanted to snap in half.

It was fine. He’d find a table. He’d get his notes done. He’d move on.

Until the universe—as always—decided to make a complete joke out of him.

Of course the library was packed. Midterms or whatever. Every table was full. Every chair taken. Except—

His stomach sank the moment he saw her.

(Y/n). Back turned, head tilted just enough to catch the soft edge of her profile. Sitting across from none other than Tetsu Fucking Poetry Boy.

Atsumu stopped walking. Just for a second. Just long enough to internally scream.

And then, like fate had a sick sense of humor, he spotted the only available seat in the entire damn room—tucked in the far corner, across from a broken heater, a table that was just far enough to be forgotten but just close enough to give him a perfect, unobstructed view of her and her stupid, flowery friend.

Fantastic.

Absolutely fantastic.

He dropped his stuff on the table with more force than necessary and sat down with a grunt that earned him a glare from the girl at the next table. Whatever. He didn’t care. He opened his book, flipped to a random page, and tried to focus.

He really did.

But the thing about libraries? Quiet meant every little sound stood out.

Every scrape of a chair. Every soft murmur. Every laugh.

Especially her laugh.

That gentle little breath of sound—the one she tried to hold back when she found something really funny. Like now. Apparently Tetsu had cracked some hilarious observation about metaphors or whatever the hell he wrote about.

Atsumu’s jaw clenched. His pen hovered uselessly over his notebook. He hadn’t written a single word. He could feel his pulse in his temple.

Another laugh.

A quiet, almost bashful, “You’re so dumb,” from (y/n), and then a hushed giggle that sliced right through him.

His grip tightened around his pen. He didn’t even realize how hard until his knuckles ached.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Of all the places, of all the tables, of all the goddamn days—

A shadow passed over his table. Then another.

“Ya look like yer about to shit yerself,” Osamu said, rounding the table.

Suna followed, dropping his bag with a dramatic sigh. “Aw, did we miss the meltdown?”

Their arrival was both a curse and a lifeline.

Atsumu didn’t answer right away. He just shoved his notebook away with a quiet swoosh and dropped his pen like a man resigned.

“Didn’t realize this was a group project,” he muttered.

Osamu and Suna dragged their chairs in unison, the legs scraping against the floor loud enough to draw a look from a girl at the next table.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Atsumu asked, narrowing his eyes at Osamu. “You bored or somethin'?”

“Speak for yourself,” Suna added. “You haven’t voluntarily stepped foot in a library since high school.”

“What can I say?” Osamu shrugged and pulled a battered notebook from his bag, slapping it onto the table. Loose pages fluttered out across the wood like confetti. “Finals got me in a chokehold.”

The paper rustling stirred the girl next to them again—her eyes already narrowed over the rim of her glasses like she’d been waiting for an excuse to hate them.

Suna turned in his chair, met her gaze dead-on, and jerked his chin like he was silently asking, something wrong?

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Just rolled her eyes, gathered her books, and stormed off with the fury of someone who’d only gotten four hours of sleep and took that very personally.

“Charmin’ girl,” Osamu muttered, flipping a page.

Atsumu sniggered and stretched, arms overhead as his joints cracked audibly—like he’d been buried in his notes for hours when in reality... He glanced down at the desk. His notebook lay open in front of him, still blank. A glaring reminder of his unproductivity.

“What about you?” Osamu asked, already digging out a sandwich from his bag like this was a picnic. “You studyin’ or tryna chat-up some cute bookworm?”

Suna reached for the half-empty pack of jelly sticks peeking out of Osamu’s bag, his movements obnoxiously smooth. “Aw, 'Samu, you shouldn’t have.”

Osamu shot him a withering glare.

Atsumu huffed a dry laugh, arms folded on the table as he angled his head downward. “I wish.”

He flicked lazily through his notes, nose wrinkling like the very act disgusted him. “‘M here for the same reason you are.”

Then, under his breath—eyes drifting toward that one table in the distance—

“’Least that was the plan.”

Neither of them missed the shift in his tone.

They didn’t say anything at first. Just exchanged a quiet look as they started unpacking their own notes.

Then, like clockwork, Suna leaned to the side, following Atsumu's line of sight. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh,” he said. Just that. One syllable, dragged through understanding.

Osamu followed his gaze. “Seriously?”

Atsumu didn’t answer.

“Yer pathetic,” Osamu said flatly, peeling the crust off his sandwich before plopping it into his mouth.

Atsumu gave him a glare that could’ve soured milk.

“Were ya spyin’ on her?” He asked between mouthfuls.

“Fuck no,” he hissed. Neither seemed convinced. “I ain't lyin’! You think I’d willingly set foot into this dweeb cesspool just to spy on ‘er?”

The duo exchanged a long, knowing look.

Atsumu clicked his tongue, agitated. “I ain't,” he repeated, more defensive. “They just happened to be here. I walked in and bam—there they were. Right in my face.”

“You could’ve walked out,” Suna offered, shrugging as he bit into a jelly stick.

Atsumu scoffed, mildly offended. “Yeah, right—and what would that make me?”

“A whiny little bitch."

Atsumu lunged for him on instinct, arm swiping across the table. Suna jerked back, grinning around the purple jelly stick.

"Leave 'em be," Osamu said coolly, reading over his notes. He didn’t even glance toward them—clearly didn’t see the appeal, unlike the other two. "They're only talkin'."

“She’s gigglin',” Atsumu hissed, barely above a whisper. “Ya don’t giggle at someone unless they’re funny. Or cute. Or both.”

“God forbid someone be funny," Suna drawled, rocking lazily on the back two legs of his chair, still sucking on that goddamn jelly stick. Atsumu resisted the urge to rip it out of his mouth.

“His jokes suck.”

“How would you know? You been on a date with Tetsu as well?"

Atsumu sneered at the word.

Date. Yeah, right. Who takes someone to the library for a first date?

But what if it wasn’t the first?

What if there had already been others?

How many others?

Atsumu swallowed hard and shoved the thought deep into the back of his skull. Clicked his tongue again.

“I don’t need to. Just look at him. He's a poetry major. I can smell his bottom shelf vanilla body spray from here.”

Suna snorted despite himself.

Osamu pressed a knuckle to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

Atsumu slumped further into his chair, eyes on his shut notebook, expression tight.

Then Osamu’s voice broke the moment. Low. Blunt. But not unkind, a rare flicker of seriousness settling between his words.

“You do realize this is yer fault, right?”

Atsumu didn’t reply, nor did he look up.

He knew.

God, he knew.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

A beat passed. Long enough for it to feel like a decision.

Then Suna leaned forward, propping his chin on his palm. “Y'know, there’s this thing you can do when you like someone…”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes. “What.”

“It’s wild,” Suna said, deadpan. “Really cutting-edge.”

Osamu glanced up from his notes, barely containing his grin.

“You just… tell them,” Suna finished.

Atsumu scoffed. “Yeah? And say what, exactly?”

“Dunno.” Suna slurped the last of his jelly stick. “That's something for the both of you to figure out."

Osamu hummed, nodding with what one might consider mild interest. “Ya wouldn’t be in this mess if ya just talked to 'er."

“I do talk to 'er.”

“Right,” Osamu drawled. “I mean properly. None of yer passive-aggressive bullshit.”

Atsumu let out a sharp breath through his nose. “She’s the one who’s all over that fuckin’ guy.”

“So what if she laughs at a few of his jokes?” Suna replied. “You sound like a 14-year-old.”

Atsumu scowled, shoulders squaring as he leaned back in his chair. “Ya don’t get it. I’ve never seen her giggle like that before. Not even with me or—” he gestured toward Suna, a flicker of emotion sneaking in. “Even him. Her childhood bestie or whatever.”

Suna’s brows lifted—not quite a challenge, but close.

Or maybe that was just how Atsumu chose to take it.

“She does,” Suna said evenly. “You’ve just never been around to hear it. (Y/n)’s a pretty giggly person by nature.”

Atsumu tried not to let his irritation show.

Tetsu was the problem right now. Tetsu.

Osamu leaned forward to grab a highlighter, casually creating a barrier between the two. “Y’know, if yer this insufferable when yer not datin' her, I’m terrified to see what happens when ya are.”

“Shut up, 'Samu. No one asked."

"I'm serious. Yer lack of communication is astoundin'."

“Plus she doesn’t owe you anything,” Suna added, smooth as ever.

Atsumu’s jaw tightened.

Right. Because they weren’t dating.

Just like Osamu had conveniently pointed out.

He already saw where this was going, and he hated it.

If they were about to lecture him on feelings and intentions and his goddamn love life, he was out.

It was none of their business. Whatever he felt for (y/n)—vague as it was, loud as it got—it didn’t concern them.

Feelings were messy. Conversations were messier.

And if there was one thing Atsumu had learned about liking someone, it was this:

You either commit, or you run.

And he’d never been good at choosing.

Not when it came to this.

Love.

"Relax." Osamu's voice sliced through Atsumu's thoughts like a knife through hot butter. “We’re not here to lecture ya. All we’re sayin’ is—talkin’s an option. You know (y/n). She’ll listen. In fact 'm sure she'd be more than happy to discuss with ya."

"She's always been the more vocal type," Suna added, shrugging calmly.

“Yer clearly bothered by the idea of them datin',” Osamu said. “So ask 'er about it.”

“'M not bothered.”

Osamu and Suna gave him the exact same look. Flat. Devoid of humour.

Atsumu cringed.

Okay. Whatever. Point taken.

So maybe he was a little peeved.

How could he not be?

The guy wore v-necks and chinos—chinos! (Y/n) could do better. She should do better.

Atsumu slumped lower into his seat.

Then, quieter. More careful:

“...I just hate how easy it looks.”

Osamu looked up. Suna’s chair landed back on all four feet.

“With him,” Atsumu added, not quite meeting their eyes. “Like... he don’t gotta try.”

That sobered them just a little.

But only a little.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Osamu said.

Atsumu looked up, brows furrowing—almost like that stung more than he expected. Like he was trying to figure out if Osamu meant it as an insult.

“But you do,” Osamu added, voice steady. Clarifying. Grounding.

Suna nodded. “And that’s not a bad thing.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything. Just glanced across the library again—at (y/n) and Tetsu, still talking, still laughing like no one was watching.

Then she looked up.

Caught his stare.

Even from this far, he could’ve sworn her eyes widened—surprise, confusion, maybe even guilt. He didn’t know.

Didn’t want to.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, heart jumping in a way he blamed on being startled.

He hadn’t meant to get her attention.

Still, as he toyed with his pen between his fingers, his friends’ words lingered.

Talking to (y/n)...

God.

Where would he even start?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

(Y/n) hadn’t even looked up when the door to the library opened. She didn’t need to—her back was already straightening at the sound of three sets of footsteps, too loud, too confident, and far too familiar.

She glanced up. And there they were.

Atsumu. Osamu. Suna.

She blinked, stunned for half a second—not at the sight of them, but at the sheer audacity.

What the hell were they doing here?

No, seriously—what were they doing here?

The library, with its creaky chairs and strict “no snacking” policy, was sacred. Quiet. Orderly. Full of mild-mannered English majors and caffeine-fuelled med students. Not... jocks. Not six-footers in hoodies and joggers who made every chair they touched squeak like a scream.

She stared for a moment longer. They looked so out of place it almost made her laugh. But the amusement quickly gave way to something tighter. Something warmer.

Annoyance.

Surely—surely—this wasn’t on purpose. Atsumu couldn’t have known she was here. There was no way he’d actually come all the way to the library just to eavesdrop.

Osamu wouldn’t let him do that. Suna definitely wouldn’t.

…Right?

She must’ve looked as annoyed as she felt because Tetsu lightly tapped her arm, pulling her attention back.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

She blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out.”

Tetsu smiled politely, but his gaze flicked to where she’d been staring. His expression didn’t change, but something in it cooled.

(Y/n) tried to focus again, nodding along as Tetsu talked through the reading. She picked at the cuff of her hoodie absently, resisting the urge to glance over.

She managed to concentrate for a few minutes.

...Until a soft thunk drew her attention again.

She looked.

Atsumu had tossed a pencil at Osamu. Osamu had dodged. And the girl behind them—bless her—had taken it square to the forehead.

The sharp What the hell?! that followed echoed through the library.

(Y/n) slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh.

The poor girl stood, flushed and furious. A heated whisper-argument broke out, heads turned, and thirty seconds later, the librarian was shooing the trio toward the exit.

She caught Atsumu’s eye right before he disappeared behind the shelves. His expression unreadable. She didn’t bother trying.

Tetsu turned back to her, one brow raised. “They're your friends, right?” A pause. Then he sucked in a breath—almost like a wince.

(Y/n) caught it. Just a flicker.

But she blinked it away. Maybe she was reading too much into it.

“They sure are lively,” he added, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She exhaled through her nose—half sigh, half laugh. “That’s one way to describe them.”

Tetsu nodded slowly, like he was trying to piece something together. “The blonde one… Asumo, right?”

Her jaw tensed.

“Atsumu,” she corrected, almost automatically. For some reason, the mispronunciation irked her more than it should’ve.

“Right,” Tetsu said, still smiling. “He your boyfriend?”

She spluttered. “What—no.” A scoff, her hand waving the idea away like smoke. “God, no.”

Then, after a beat—because she was curious. Because she couldn’t help herself—

“What makes you think that?”

Tetsu gave a small shrug. "He seemed... irritated the other day. I figured it was about the nickname.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think he was mad because that’s what he usually calls me.”

Tetsu arched a perfectly groomed brow, his tone dipping into something almost… accusing. “He calls you sweetheart?”

(Y/n) blinked once. “Yeah— all the time. But it's not romantic."

She said it like it was obvious. Like it meant nothing.

Because, in Atsumu’s world, it didn’t.

In fact, he called her plenty of nicknames, each one as flowery as the next. That’s just who he was: a flirt. Loud, casual, effortless, charming. He’d say it to anyone. Probably had.

She just happened to be around the most.

She lived with him, after all. So yeah—perfectly normal. Completely harmless.

Still, Tetsu didn’t look convinced. His jaw had tightened slightly, mouth flattening into something too neutral.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you say, (y/n).”

The use of her name—so pointed, so deliberate—made something in her clench. She didn’t like the tone. Didn’t like the implication. Didn’t like having to read between the lines again.

She was tired of that. Tired of guessing how someone felt. Tired of almosts and maybes and weird, strained silences.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like reading poetry anymore.

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over one shoulder as she stood. “I think I’m gonna head home,” she said, forcing a smile. “Not sure I can take another stanza about tragic lovers and unspoken longing.”

Tetsu blinked, glancing up at her. “Oh. You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ve hit my limit for symbolism today.”

He nodded, but his eyes followed her a little too long as she turned to leave.

And as she walked toward the exit, her phone buzzed.

She swiped it open.

Rin: did you see us get kicked out the library lol

(Y/n) huffed a laugh, thumbs already moving.

You: unfortunately yes 🙄 what the hell were you all doing there anyway??

The response came fast. Typical.

Rin: studying. obviously. ‘samu brought snacks. got us kicked out.

You: sure. snacks. i’m sure that’s all it was. pretty sure i saw a pencil fly across the room

Rin: lol that was atsumu but the snacks played a part the librarian confiscated them can you believe that

You: the audacity

Rin: ikr

She smiled a little. Just a flicker. But it faded as quickly as it came.

A beat passed before the next message popped up.

Rin: you alright?

She stared at the screen for a second. Then typed, slowly.

You: not really.

Another pause. Then:

Rin: wanna talk about it?

You: yeah. if that’s okay.

Rin: where are you?

You: heading home. passing near the park.

Rin: omw

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The park hadn’t changed much.

Same creaky swings. Same chipped blue paint. Same patch of wildflowers that looked like they’d been planted by accident. The sandbox was mostly abandoned, save for a single forgotten shovel sticking out like a gravestone. A breeze swept through the trees, rustling the leaves like a lazy hush.

It was quieter now—most of the kids had gone home, and the sun had dipped low enough to cast everything in a soft, hazy gold. The kind of light that made you want to stay still a little longer. The kind that made memories feel like they could sneak up on you.

(Y/n) curled her fingers around the cool metal chains of the swing, trainers skimming slow figure-eights in the dust.

Across from her, Suna was perched on the monkey bars like he had been since they were kids—legs slung over one bar, back leaning against another, phone held lazily in one hand. The golden light filtered through the trees, catching in his lashes, painting half his face in sun and shadow.

“Trying to get a good shot?” she asked, voice light.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Sun’s cooperating for once.”

She watched him adjust the brightness, zoom in, tilt slightly left. His thumb hovered over the screen longer than necessary—like he was waiting for the exact second everything clicked into place.

Then, quietly—“Did Atsumu say anything?”

He didn’t look up. Just tapped the screen one more time. “About you?”

She scuffed her shoe in the dirt. “Uh-huh.”

Once satisfied with the photo, Suna hopped down in that unbothered, fluid way of his and wandered over. The swing beside hers groaned as he dropped into it, long legs stretching out, tucking his phone into his hoodie pocket.

“Yeah. We spoke briefly. But before you ask, I’m not telling you what he said.”

She turned toward him, brows furrowed. “Why not?”

He shrugged, watching the wind tangle a leaf mid-air. “S’not my place.”

“But I tried talking to him,” she muttered, frustrated. “He just brushed me off. Couldn't get a word out of him. It's annoying. I know he's jealous—he doesn’t exactly try to hide it. But then he ignores me. Or shuts me out. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

Suna didn’t answer right away. Just sat quietly, rocking a little, watching a squirrel skitter across the gravel.

It was always like this with him. He never rushed to respond. Letting her words hang in the air like low-hanging fog. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it never was with Suna. Just thoughtful. He let moments breathe. Let the thoughts come in their own time.

She heard the gentle jingle of his chains as he shifted. Then came his voice, soft and even.

“Just give him time. Like I said, we talked. It wasn’t much, but… he came forward in the end. I think he’s thinking about it just as much as you are.”

She didn’t respond right away. Her gaze followed the light bleeding through the treetops, catching flecks of dust in the air like glitter.

“Really?” she asked eventually, more hopeful. “You actually think so?”

Suna nodded slowly. “Mhm. Just be patient with him. You know what he’s like—he hasn’t got it all figured out yet.”

(Y/n) let out a dry laugh. “That sure is a nice way of phrasing it.”

He huffed, something that could’ve been a laugh of his own. Then, for the first time, he turned to look at her. His smirk was soft. Teasing. Familiar.

“What are you two like, eh?”

She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave her a flat look. Raised a brow. Said nothing.

When she didn’t drop it, he finally leaned back against the swing, arms resting on the chains, eyes skyward.

“You and Atsumu. Always dancing around each other. When are you gonna fess up?”

“There’s nothing to fess up,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice went quiet. “I don’t know.”

Suna didn’t press. He just… stayed. Listened.

And so, she kept talking.

“It’s hard to tell with Atsumu. Some days it’s like he’s pulling me in, and other days it’s like I don’t exist. I try not to let it get to me, but... it does. It makes me feel stupid. Like I’m chasing something that’s only real in my head.”

The words fell out easier than she’d expected. She didn’t usually say things like that. Not even to herself.

Suna was quiet for a while. He didn’t look at her. Just let the chains creak beneath him as he rocked gently back and forth.

Then—just once—he glanced her way.

Something flickered in his eyes. The kind of look you only catch if you’re really paying attention. And she was. But it was gone just as quickly.

He leaned back again, legs stretching farther. “You’re not stupid.”

She breathed out slowly. “Thanks.”

Another silence passed, this one lighter.

“I’ll wait,” she said after a while. “Like you said. I’ll be patient. I just…” she shifted her grip on the chains, “I hope he doesn’t take too long. The house feels weird lately.”

Suna nodded once. “He’ll come around.”

“You sure?”

“No,” he said, smirking slightly. “But it sounds better than ‘maybe.’”

She laughed. That soft, airy kind—the kind you don’t even realize you’ve been holding in.

The sun dropped lower, casting the swings in long shadows. The wind stirred the trees. In the distance, a dog barked. Somewhere nearby, wind chimes tinkled lazily.

They didn’t talk much after that—just sat there, rocking slowly, watching the sky turn honey and then violet.

No drama. No tension. Just quiet company.

And for a while, that was enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which was stupid, really—because most days he’d kill for some peace. But now, with the sun low and bleeding orange through the living room blinds, all that quiet did was piss him off.

He paced.

Not on purpose. Not even consciously. Just… back and forth, socked feet dragging along the scuffed wooden floor. One hand tugged at the collar of his t-shirt, the other stuffed deep into his pocket, pulling the fabric down like it might ground him.

Where the hell were they?

He didn’t need to ask. He knew.

(Y/n) and Suna were out. Probably talking. Probably somewhere breezy and warm and not here, while Atsumu stewed in a thick, molasses-flavoured mix of annoyance, regret, and something else he refused to name.

He paused by the window. Squinted.

Still no sign of them.

“Quit pacin'. Yer gonna wear a hole in the floor,” Osamu said from the couch, voice lazy. Barely looked up from his phone.

“‘M not pacin',” Atsumu snapped.

“You are.”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be if someone—” he cut himself off, jaw tight.

Osamu just looked at him. That stony expression that always made Atsumu feel like a ten-year-old throwing a tantrum. He turned away before his brother could say something actually annoying.

He hated this. The waiting. The guessing. The not knowing where she was or what she was thinking. Who she was laughing with. What she was saying.

He’d seen the text on Suna's phone. Hadn’t read it—just saw the preview flash up on the lock screen. A little part of him itched to unlock it. To see if maybe they had said something about him.

It didn’t.

And even if it did, what then?

Was he gonna scroll through their conversation like some jealous ex-boyfriend?

He wasn’t even her boyfriend.

God.

Atsumu scrubbed a hand over his face and slumped onto the edge of the couch, elbows to knees, head in his hands. The silence buzzed louder now, filling all the cracks in the room that she usually softened.

He missed her voice. Her laugh. The way she always had a mug in her hand, never drank from it, just carried it around like a comfort object. He missed her random shower thoughts. The way she kicked her feet sometimes when she was on her phone, unabashed when an edit of her favourite character came up on her 'for you' page. The sound of her bedroom door creaking.

He missed her.

And it was ridiculous. Because she wasn’t gone. She was just… elsewhere. With Suna.

And Suna got her. Always had.

That part didn’t usually bother Atsumu—except now it did.

Now, it bothered the hell out of him.

She’d gone to him, hadn’t she? When everything got awkward. When Atsumu had snapped at her in the kitchen. She’d walked away, and she’d gone straight to someone else. Which, fine. That was fair. That was her right.

But it still stung.

Atsumu sank into the couch, tilted his head back and let out a slow exhale, like maybe if he breathed deep enough he could push the weight off his chest.

“She’s not mad at ya,” Osamu said, out of nowhere.

Atsumu blinked. “Did I ask?”

“No,” Osamu replied, cool as anything. “But yer face is loud.”

Atsumu muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothin'.”

They sat in the golden hush of almost-evening. The kitchen clock ticked in the distance, the kind of mundane background noise that felt cruelly loud when you were going insane inside your own head.

“I don’t get it,” Atsumu muttered, half to himself. “She knows ’m jealous. So why won’t she just… say somethin'?”

He hated saying it. Jealous. But Osamu knew better than anyone, was privy to all the ugly feelings that stirred inside his brother's heart. He'd perhaps be the only person Atsumu would ever admit them to.

Osamu didn’t look up from his phone. Just hummed low in his throat and replied, “Say what?”

Atsumu opened his mouth.

Closed it.

What did he want her to say?

That she noticed? That she cared? That she liked him back?

His mouth twisted. “I dunno,” he said lamely. “Somethin’. Anythin’.”

Osamu finally set his phone down, the click of it hitting the table louder than necessary.

“Were ya expectin’ her to apologise?”

Atsumu bristled. “No. I—no.”

“What, then?”

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because the truth was—yeah. Kinda.

Not an apology, exactly. But some kind of… recognition. Like maybe she’d look at him and say I see you. I get it. I feel it too.

And maybe that made him a jerk.

But still.

Still.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu said again, voice sharp now. Frustration gnawing at him like a bloodhound. “I don’t know, okay? I just—"

He cursed under his breath. Pushed his back off the couch again. His head dropped low.

Osamu watched him quietly for a moment before sighing. “Maybe she’s tired of bein’ the only one who says stuff.”

Atsumu didn't raise his head, just glanced at his twin. “Huh?”

“She always meets you halfway,” Osamu said. “Always puts in the effort. Maybe she’s waitin’ to see if you’ll do the same.”

Atsumu went quiet.

Because deep down, he knew Osamu was right.

He never said it first. Not when it mattered. Always wrapped it up in jokes, or flirty one-liners, or fake indifference. Anything but real words. Anything but actual feelings.

Because actual feelings?

Those meant vulnerability.

Those meant risk.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

...Was he?

His eyes drifted to the front door again. Wondering if she’d walk through it. Wondering if she’d look at him. Wondering if he’d know what to say when she did.

He didn’t.

But maybe… maybe he wanted to try.

He ran a hand through his hair, mumbled into the room, “Think I messed up.”

Osamu didn’t gloat. Didn’t tease. Just leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

“Then fix it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The front door creaked open with a push of her palm, the familiar groan of the hinges dragging out into the quiet apartment.

She stepped inside, soft-footed, like her presence might echo.

Suna followed behind, wordless as always, slipping his shoes off with that same lazy, practiced ease. For a second, they just stood there in the entryway, the stillness stretching around them like plastic wrap—tight, uncomfortable.

The hallway smelled like soy sauce and garlic. Osamu was cooking.

(Y/n) didn’t hear music though, which was strange. The kitchen was never silent when he cooked. No playlist humming through a speaker. No news show playing in the background. Just the hiss of something on the stovetop, the low clatter of utensils. And—

A sound.

The couch creaked.

She didn’t look.

She knew.

Instead, she toed off her shoes and offered a quiet “thanks” to Suna, who gave a non-committal nod and wandered off in the direction of his room, phone already out. Her own fingers curled slightly at her sides. Her palms felt hot. She wasn’t sure why.

Or—no. That was a lie.

She knew exactly why.

He was here.

And she could feel it.

Feel him.

Even without looking, she knew he was sprawled across the couch like always. She could practically hear the way he was pretending not to notice her. The quiet shuffle. The strained stillness.

God.

Why did it feel so different?

Why did the air feel so heavy?

(Y/n) cleared her throat and headed for the kitchen, willing her steps to stay even.

Osamu stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan. His eyes flicked toward her, brief but not unkind.

“You eat yet?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Wasn’t hungry earlier.”

He nodded once, like he understood. “It’ll be ready in ten.”

“Thanks.”

The silence was less awkward here, but still not comfortable. Not really. Osamu, ever the unbothered one, didn’t push. Just continued cooking with the same practiced calm he always carried.

(Y/n) lingered near the fridge, fingers tapping idly against the handle. She wasn’t thirsty. She just needed something to do.

“So,” Osamu said after a pause, “how'd the date go?”

She turned sharply, blinking. Oddly enough, she couldn't tell who he was referring to. Her study session with Tetsu, or her impromptu outing with Suna.

Not that it mattered. She knew what he was trying to do.

His face was neutral—but his eyes were teasing. And that said enough.

She clicked her tongue, but it was anything but hostile, if not a bit thankful. “Zip it, you."

A soft chuckle. “Just tryna ease the tension."

She huffed, but it soothed something in her chest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the faintest movement—just a shift of a leg over the side of the couch, the tiniest rustle of fabric. Her throat tightened.

Still, she didn’t look at him.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

Didn’t trust herself to, anyway.

Osamu slid the pan off the burner and lowered the heat. “He was a pain while you were gone.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

They both knew who he meant.

She glanced toward the stairs. Her room upstairs. Her retreat. Her escape.

“Alright,” she murmured. “I think I’m gonna go—”

“Wait,” came a voice behind her.

Not loud.

Not urgent.

Just there.

Like it had been waiting.

(Y/n) froze. Turned her head slightly. Atsumu stood halfway off the couch, one hand gripping the back of it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the room.

His eyes met hers—and dropped just as fast.

The silence that followed was jagged.

“Are you—” he started. Then stopped. His mouth opened again, but no sound came out. His shoulders sagged the tiniest bit, like whatever fight he’d worked up had drained out of him the second he saw her.

She tilted her head.

Waited.

But he said nothing.

Just sank back onto the couch with a muttered, “Never mind.”

Osamu didn’t hide the sigh that escaped his chest.

Suna, reappearing at the hallway edge with a protein bar half-unwrapped, squinted at them all like he'd walked in on an unfinished scene.

Nobody said a word, letting the awkwardness hang in the air.

Osamu was the first to break it.

He scratched the back of his head. “Honestly.”

(Y/n) didn’t look back to the couch.

Didn’t stay, either.

She turned and climbed the stairs.

Every step heavier than the last.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He didn’t move at first.

Not when she turned.

Not when she climbed the stairs.

Not even when her door clicked softly shut—quiet, polite, final.

He just sat there.

Still.

Sprawled across the couch like dead weight, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the last sliver of sunlight bled out through the windows.

For a second, he thought he might actually fall asleep.

But that would’ve required peace. And tonight, peace was in short supply.

He groaned—loud, frustrated, full-bodied—and dragged both hands down his face until his cheeks burned.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, to no one in particular.

Then he pushed himself up, stomped toward the stairs loud enough to draw attention, and slammed his bedroom door a little too hard.

The room was dim. Warm gold edged the corners of his blinds, spilling faint strips of light across his desk. It painted soft shadows on the wall—shapes that didn’t matter. Nothing in here really mattered. It all felt too small. Too hot. Like he couldn’t stretch out without touching something that reminded him of her.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

Stared at the floor.

And then, slowly, like it might explode if he moved too fast, he reached for his phone.

The screen lit up with a dozen stupid notifications. Group chats. A calendar reminder for weights tomorrow. Osamu sending him a TikTok with a caption that just read: you. He ignored all of it.

Opened her name.

And stared.

Just stared.

The chat window was blank.

He hadn’t messaged her all day. Or the day before. Not since—

He swallowed. Didn’t finish the thought. He'd never gone this long without texting her.

He started typing.

hey.

Then:

sorry i’ve been weird.

Then:

i know ive been an ass lately. i didnt mean it. okay, maybe i did. but its not because of you. not really. i just

He stopped.

Read it back.

Scowled.

Deleted all of it with one angry thumb.

Started over.

you and tetsu a thing?

Deleted that too.

do you wanna talk?

Backspaced it, letter by letter, like each key was pressing into his brain.

He tossed the phone onto his comforter and flopped backwards onto his bed, arms flung wide like he might summon answers from the ceiling.

What the fuck was he supposed to say?

Sorry I got jealous because another guy called you sweetheart?

Sorry I don’t know how to be normal when it comes to you?

Sorry I think I like you but I don’t know how to say that without making it weird and fucking everything up?

He groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face.

He hated this. He hated feelings. Hated how they sat on his chest like bricks, heavy and unrelenting. Hated how they didn’t go away just because he ignored them.

And God, he’d tried to ignore them.

He really, really had.

He thought maybe if he flirted like usual, if he brushed it off with jokes, if he let it simmer beneath the surface without naming it—maybe it’d go away. Maybe it’d stay casual.

But it didn’t feel casual anymore.

Not when her smile was the first thing he looked for in a room.

Not when silence from her felt like punishment.

Not when the idea of her with someone else made his skin crawl.

He sat up again, dragging a hand through his hair.

This was ridiculous.

He was ridiculous.

He looked at the door. Then back at his phone. Then back at the door.

Then stood.

Walked to it.

Paused.

Stared at the handle like it was a detonator.

If he knocked, there was no going back. No pretending nothing was wrong. No more brushing it off. He’d have to face it. Face her. And maybe that scared him more than anything.

He sighed.

Then—

The door across the hall cracked open.

Light spilled into the hallway.

And there she was.

They both froze.

Two doors, two hearts pounding, one painfully timed coincidence.

Like idiots in a teen drama. Like deer caught in headlights. Like everything was about to change and neither of them knew what to do about it.

He hadn’t meant to see her.

She hadn’t meant to see him.

Yet here they were.

Atsumu’s hand was still on the doorknob. Her hand was still curled around the railing. The soft lighting from her room spilled out into the hall, warm and golden, catching the strands of her hair and painting her in a glow that made his breath stick in his throat.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. Not in shock. Not quite. More like… hesitation. Surprise layered with something he couldn’t name.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft.

“Hey,” he echoed, quiet. Tight.

His fingers slipped off the doorknob.

She stood straighter, but didn’t move. Didn’t leave. The silence between them clung like fog—thick, hesitant.

He looked tired.

She saw it in the slope of his shoulders, the set of his mouth, the pinch between his brows.

He looked at her like she might vanish.

She looked at him like she was bracing for impact.

“I was just…” he gestured vaguely toward the stairs, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Dunno. Nothin’. Forget it.”

She didn’t.

“Were you coming to talk to me?”

He hesitated.

Then—too slow to pass as casual—he nodded once.

“Oh.”

Her fingers tightened on the railing. He noticed.

There was that twitch in his jaw again. The same one from the other day. She could see him wrestling with himself.

“Can we…” he gestured toward her room. Then flinched. “I mean—only if yer okay with it.”

She nodded, wordless.

He followed her inside.

Her room smelled like her. Like strawberries and peony and something warm underneath—comforting, familiar, terrifying. He didn’t sit until she did. When she dropped onto the edge of her bed, he took the desk chair across from her, backwards, arms resting on the top like a makeshift shield.

They didn’t speak.

For a second, they just sat there.

Her eyes flitted to his face. She could tell he was thinking. Could feel the war in his head.

Say it, she wanted to tell him. Say what you came here to say.

He cleared his throat.

“I’ve been…”

He trailed off. Then tried again.

“I’ve been actin' like a dick.”

She blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly—“Yeah. Kinda.”

He huffed something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so self-deprecating.

“I didn’t mean to take it out on ya,” he said. “I just…” His hand opened, then closed. “I dunno. I get… weird. When I don’t know how to say shit.”

“Uh-huh. 'Weird' isn't exactly the word I'd choose."

He glanced up—saw the faint smile tugging at her mouth, despite everything. It made something loosen in his chest.

“It ain't about him,” Atsumu said quickly. “Well—okay. It is. But not like that. I'm not mad ‘cause ya talked to 'im. I'm mad because—fuck, this sounds so stupid.”

“Go on?"

He stared at the floor.

Then: “I didn’t like how easy it looked.”

She frowned. “What did?”

“You. With him. Laughin'. Like it wasn’t hard. Like it didn’t take effort.”

(Y/n) stayed quiet, watching, waiting...

He met her eyes again. “I don’t know how to be easy with you.”

The words landed.

Heavy. Honest.

Something in her throat tightened.

She needed to make sure...

She shifted slightly. Her legs crossed at the ankle. Her fingers knotted in her hoodie sleeve. “When you say ‘easy’, you’re not just talking about making me laugh… are you?”

Atsumu's gaze drifted to the floor again.

God, he hated this.

Hated the tightness in his chest. The erratic pulse hammering in his throat. The heat coiling beneath his skin like it was trying to crawl out through his pores.

He made her laugh all the time. That wasn’t the problem. He could make her wheeze, snort, cry real tears from laughter—he knew that. He relied on that.

But that wasn’t what he meant.

Not really.

Easy meant... simple. Uncomplicated. Clean.

Tetsu didn’t hesitate around her. He didn’t second guess every word, didn’t overanalyse every glance, didn’t wrestle with the sick twist in his gut when she smiled and it wasn’t at him.

Easy meant: no stakes.

No fear of ruining everything.

No trembling line between friendship and something else.

Whatever this was with (y/n), it wasn’t easy.

He was too aware of her. Of her presence. Of the way his heart did stupid shit when she touched his shoulder or said his name just a little too softly.

Feelings like this weren’t easy.

They were messy.

And loud.

And goddamn terrifying.

Saying that out loud took more nerve than he had in him tonight.

His eyes flicked up once, lingered on her for a second too long, then dropped again.

“No.”

More silence.

She could feel her pulse in her throat now. Her hands had gone cold.

He hadn’t said it—not outright—but she knew.

She always knew with him.

His silence said more than any overconfident one-liner ever could.

She breathed in through her nose, slow and measured. “You’re not supposed to try so hard,” she said at last. “If something bothers you, you just have to... talk to me. Like this. Like right now.”

“I didn’t know if I could.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed. “Because…”

Because I think I like you.

He couldn’t say it.

Not now.

Maybe in another universe. One where he didn’t fumble every good thing that landed in his lap. One where he didn’t ruin things before they ever had the chance to bloom.

Maybe then.

But not here. Not now.

Fear. Doubt. Pride.

They wrapped around his heart like a vice.

Whatever expression he was wearing must’ve given it away, because she tilted her head just slightly, and her voice came gentler.

“If now’s not the right time, then… don’t. I’d rather you didn’t say anything if that's the case. Just… don’t hide behind attitude. Don’t shut me out.”

And that—god—that did him in.

Because she was too kind.

Too patient.

Too good.

He didn’t deserve that softness. Not after everything. Not after the way he’d acted. Not just about Tetsu—about everything. Every time he made her doubt, every time he backed away. Every time he was too much of a coward to commit to anything more than... this.

She should be mad at him. She should be cutting him down with a few choice words and turning her back on him for good. She should be—

But she wasn’t.

She was still here.

Still looking at him like he was worth understanding.

Still giving him the grace to figure it out.

It made him feel worse.

But it also made him want to be better.

For her.

“I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away,” he said, quieter now.

She smiled—sad, knowing.

Something twisted in his gut. “It never does.”

He looked at her again.

Really looked.

And she let him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. Voice small. Stripped.

A beat passed. Maybe two.

Her face didn’t change. But her body relaxed a fraction.

She nodded once. “It’s alright. We’re alright.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled then—soft and honest.

His heart pulled taut in his chest, stretched so tight it nearly gave out. But he smiled back anyway.

It was lopsided. A little wobbly.

A little too hopeful.

The silence between them softened, turned companionable—like a blanket pulled just barely up to the chin. Safe, but not quite warm.

She moved first, rising from the edge of the bed with a sigh, brushing non-existent lint off her sleeves.

“I’m heading down,” she said lightly. “Osamu’ll start mourning that stew if no one eats it.”

Atsumu stood, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. ‘Samu gets all dramatic when he’s ignored.”

(Y/n) gave a soft laugh, passing him on her way to the door.

Just before she left the room, she paused. Turned her head.

“I’m glad we talked.”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Then, because it felt like the only thing he could do—he reached out.

Just a little.

Just enough to catch her pinky in his for a second as she passed.

She glanced down at their intertwined fingers.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t linger, either.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And Atsumu was left standing there.

Hand still curled like it remembered.

Chest too full.

Room too quiet.

And somehow, still not ready to follow.

[jburrgf]

Friends; The Love Trope Series

You Belong With Me, Part. 1

◦pairing: ¡bestfriend! joe burrow x ¡bestfriend! reader

◦summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship. slow burn, soulmates.

◦description: you and joe are best friends since day one. both of you are on yours last year of high school. being part of the graduation committee means a lot to you, and you are all 100% with prom preparations. on the other side, joe is there, helping you like always. but now, things hit different when you realize he’s not just a high school sweetheart: joe burrow is the love of your whole life.

° playlist: Friends, Ed Sheeran From Eden, Hoozier 21, Gracie Abramns You Belong With Me, Taylor Swift I Couldn’t Be More In Love, The 1975

◦From the Love Trope Series. Part II / Part III / Part IV

THE PLAINS, OHIO — SPRING 2015

JOE BURROW.

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual hum of overlapping conversations, laughter, and the occasional clatter of a dropped tray. I leaned back in my chair, balancing it precariously on two legs as I half-listened to my teammates debating the best dunk from last night's school game. 

My attention, though, was elsewhere. It always was these days.

“Bro, you’re staring again.”

I turned, scowling at Sam, one of my teammates. He was grinning like he’d just caught me red-handed, which, to be fair, he had.

“I’m not staring,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Sure you’re not,” Sam said, dragging out the words. “Just like you weren’t staring yesterday when she was hanging up those prom posters.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush him off, but the heat creeping up my neck gave me away. He wasn’t wrong. I had been staring.

It wasn’t like I could help it. Y/N had been my best friend since we were five years old, but somewhere along the line, things changed. It was subtle at first—a skipped heartbeat here, a lingering glance there. By sophomore year, I’d gone from thinking she was cute in that “best friend” way to realizing I was completely, hopelessly in love with her.

And now? Now I was just the idiot who couldn’t tell her.

Y/N was sitting at the table near the windows, her head bent over a clipboard, her pen scribbling furiously. Her lips moved as she mouthed whatever notes she was jotting down, and her brows furrowed in that way they always did when she was focused. It was one of those little things about her that I couldn’t help but find endearing—like the way she’d unconsciously tap her pen against her cheek when she was thinking or how her voice would rise just a bit when she got excited about something. Watching her now, so completely absorbed, I couldn’t help but smile to myself, even if the ache in my chest reminded me why I kept these thoughts to myself. She had been like this for weeks—wrapped up in her role on the prom committee. She’d tell me about it every chance she got, her voice lighting up as she described color schemes, playlists, and centerpieces. It was cute, really, how excited she was.

But then there was him.

Brian Harris, the shooting guard from our basketball team, sauntered over to Y/N’s table. He was the type who thrived on attention, always quick with a joke or a flashy move to keep the spotlight on him. Brian and I didn’t exactly get along—Brian’s cocky demeanor had rubbed me the wrong way since freshman year, and our clashes during practice, when I used to play basketball, were almost legendary. I stiffened. He leaned on the edge of her table, his stupid, cocky grin plastered across his face as he said something that made her laugh. My stomach twisted at the sound.

He always wanted everything that I had, My talent, my position, my girl. And after I left basketball for good and he became captain, he’s on the run of the other things that he misses.

“Dude, you’re gonna snap that chair if you keep leaning back like that,” Josh, one of my friends, said, smirking.

“Shut up,” I muttered, letting the chair drop back onto all four legs with a thud.

“Oh, someone’s grumpy,” Sam teased, following my gaze. “Ah, I see. Miller’s making a move on Y/N, huh?”

“He’s not making a move,” I snapped, even though the words felt hollow. Of course he was making a move. The guy was a known flirt, and Y/N was...well, Y/N. Beautiful, smart, funny. She had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered, and apparently, Brian Harris wasn’t immune to her charm.

“Relax, man. She’s your best friend. It’s not like she’d go for him,” Josh said, but there was a knowing glint in his eye. “Unless...”

“Unless what?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Unless you’re finally ready to admit you’re into her,” Sam said, grinning from a distance.

“I’m not—” I started, but the words died in my throat. What was the point? Josh wasn’t going to believe me, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I believed myself anymore.

Y/N 

Prom committee meetings were the highlight of my week lately. Sure, they were hectic, and half the time I felt like I was herding cats trying to get everyone to agree on something, but it was worth it. This was *our* prom, and I wanted it to be perfect.

Today, I was finalizing the seating chart when Brian Harris’s shadow fell over my table. I looked up, surprised to see him smiling down at me.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth. “You’re working hard over here. Need a break?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Not really. There’s too much to do.”

“Come on,” he said, leaning closer. “Even superheroes need a break.”

I laughed, though it felt more polite than genuine. The truth was, Brian’s attention did nothing on me. Sure, it was nice to be noticed, but his charm felt too practiced, too rehearsed. Deep down, I knew the only person whose approval I wanted was Joe’s. Brian was nice and all, but he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy I’d go out of my way to talk to. Still, it was flattering that he was paying attention to me. It wasn’t like I had guys lining up to flirt with me.

“Maybe later,” I said, hoping he’d take the hint.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joe watching us from across the cafeteria. His jaw was clenched, and he was gripping his water bottle so tightly I thought it might burst. I fought the urge to smile. Joe could be so obvious sometimes.

“Alright, but don’t work too hard,” Brian said, winking as he walked away.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Joe appeared at my side, dropping into the seat across from me.

“What did Harris want?” he asked, his tone sharper than usual.

“Nothing,” I said, shrugging. “He was just being nice.”

“Nice? That guy doesn’t do nice, Y/N. He was hitting on you.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice low. “He’s into you.”

I stared at him, trying to process his words. Was he… jealous?

“And what if he is?” I asked, testing the waters.

Joe’s expression darkened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can do better than him,” he muttered, his fingers drumming against the table as his gaze shifted away, like he couldn’t bear to watch me react.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught in my throat. How could I tell him the truth? That I didn’t care about Brian or any other guy because the only one I wanted was standing right in front of me?

Instead, I shrugged. “He’s nice.”

Joe’s expression darkened, and he took a step back. “Right. Well, I’ve got practice. See you later.”

My heart skipped a beat. Was it just my imagination, or did he sound...jealous? I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. I’d been in love with Joe for as long as I could remember, but he’d never given me any reason to think he felt the same way. Still, moments like this made me wonder.

JOE BURROW.

I couldn’t focus during practice that afternoon. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Brian Harris leaning over Y/N’s table, making her laugh. It shouldn’t have bothered me so much. She was her own person, and she could talk to whoever she wanted. But the thought of her with someone else — especially someone like Miller — made my blood boil.

“Earth to Joe,” Coach called, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Are you planning on joining us today, or are you just here for the view?”

“Sorry, Coach,” I mumbled, jogging back to my spot on the field.

After practice, I found myself walking toward Y/N’s locker without even thinking about it. She was standing there, talking to Tracy, one of her friends from the prom committee. When she saw me, her face lit up, and for a moment, the tightness in my chest eased.

“Hey,” I said, my voice soft but warm. “Long day?”

“Exhausting,” Y/n replied with a laugh. “But worth it. The decorations are coming together, thanks to you.”

 “Just doing my part. Are you sure you don’t need a ride home? My truck’s right outside.” As the words left my mouth, I couldn’t help but hope she’d say yes, imagining the quiet moments we could share on the drive back. My mind flickered to the idea of her sitting beside me, her laughter filling the cab, but I pushed the thought aside, afraid of reading too much into the moment.

Y/n hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment. “Actually, I’ve got a ride with a friend. We’re going to the party store, me and Tracy.”

“Right. Prom,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

“You’re still going, right?” she asked, her tone almost...hopeful.

Of course.

With you, I thought.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I said, forcing a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Before the moment could grow awkward, Y/n stepped closer and leaned up to press a quick kiss to my cheek. I froze, the warmth of her lips lingering on my skin like a brand. My heart thundered in my chest, my mind scrambling to process what had just happened. I raised a hand instinctively to touch the spot, a faint blush creeping up my neck as I tried to fight back a grin. It was such a simple gesture, yet it sent a surge of hope through I that he couldn’t ignore. “Thanks for always looking out for me, Joe.”

I froze again, my heart pounding as her words echoed in my mind. But when I tried to talk again, she was already gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the hallway with my heart in my hands.

Y/N

As Tracy and I drove to the party supply store, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Joe’s face when I told him I didn’t need a ride. He’d seemed...off. Almost sad. Or maybe I was just imagining things.

“So,” Tracy said, breaking the silence. “When are you finally going to tell Joe how you feel?”

I nearly choked on my soda. “What? I don’t—”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows you’re into him. Well, everyone except Joe, apparently.”

I sighed, sinking lower in my seat. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her tone teasing yet firm, as if daring me to challenge her judgment. My heart stuttered at her certainty, and for a moment, I wondered if Tracy knew something I didn’t. Was I missing signs? Or was I just too afraid to believe she might be right? The idea was both exhilarating and terrifying, a dangerous hope I wasn’t ready to fully embrace. “Because from where I’m standing, he’s just as into you as you are into him.”

Could she be right? The thought sent a flicker of hope through me, but I quickly pushed it down. Joe and I were best friends, and I couldn’t risk losing that. Even if it meant keeping my feelings to myself.

For now.

JOE BURROW

I watched her walk to her car, her hair catching the golden light of the setting sun, and I wanted to scream.

Why couldn’t I just say it? Why couldn’t I tell her that seeing Brian flirt with her had made me feel like I was losing my mind? That the thought of anyone else being close to her made my chest ache?

Because you’re a coward, Burrow.

I climbed into my truck and gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. Sam’s voice echoed in my head: You should just ask her to prom.

Easier said than done.

I’d known Y/N my whole life. She was my best friend, my partner in crime, the person who knew me better than anyone. But she was also the girl I was in love with, and the thought of risking everything—our friendship, the way she looked at me, the way she laughed at my stupid jokes—was enough to keep my mouth shut.

Still, as I drove home, I couldn’t shake the image of her and Brian at the booth. Her smile, her laugh—it should’ve been me making her laugh like that.

It should’ve been me.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I’d made up my mind.

I was going to ask her to prom.

Y/N’s POV

I got home super tired from the afternoon that I had with Tracy. After the store supplies, we went to grab some food on our way home. Now, I was sitting at my desk, trying—and failing—to focus on my calculus homework. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the screen, my heart skipping a beat when I saw Joe’s name.

Joey: Can I come over?

I stared at the message for a moment, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. We texted all the time, but something about this felt… different.

Me: Yeah, sure.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on my window.

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at my lips as I got up to let him in. Joe had been climbing through my window since we were kids, and even though he was way too big for it now, he still insisted on doing it.

“You know,” I said as he swung his legs over the sill, “we have a perfectly good front door.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said, flashing me a grin.

But the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, and I felt a pang of concern.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting back on my bed.

He hesitated, standing awkwardly in the middle of my room. “I, uh… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…”

He took a deep breath, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Do you have a date for prom?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “No. Why?”

His cheeks turned pink, and he looked down at the floor. “I was wondering if you’d want to go with me. You know, as friends.”

My heart sank at the word friends, but I forced a smile.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’d love to.”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe? Or was it disappointment? I couldn’t tell. 

“Cool,” he said, his voice softer now. “Thanks.”

He stayed for a while after that, talking about everything and nothing, just like we always did. But when he left, climbing back out the window with a quiet “Goodnight,”  I knew something was different, I could feel in the air. But I couldn't tell what.

The next morning, I walked into school with a strange mix of excitement and nerves buzzing in my chest. I was going to prom with Joe. My best friend. The guy I’d been hopelessly in love with for years.  

Sure, he’d asked me “as friends,” but that didn’t stop the part of me that clung to the idea that maybe—just maybe—prom night would change things.  

I was lost in thought as I made my way to the gym, where the prom committee was meeting to finalize decorations. I’d barely set my bag down at the table when a familiar voice interrupted me.  

“Morning, Y/N.”  

I looked up to see Brian Harris standing there, his easy smile firmly in place.  

“Oh, hey, Brian,” I said, offering him a polite smile.  

“Got a minute?” he asked, leaning casually against the table.  

“Uh, sure,” I said, setting down my clipboard.  

Brian glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening, then turned back to me. “So, I was thinking… you’ve been working really hard on all this prom stuff, and you deserve to have a great night. How about going with me?”  

The question caught me completely off guard. I blinked, my brain scrambling to catch up. “You… want to take me to prom?”  

“Yeah,” he said, his grin widening. “I mean, who wouldn’t? You’re smart, funny, hot… the whole package.”  

Heat rushed to my face, but not in the way it did when Joe said something sweet. This was different—flattering, sure, but not the kind of butterflies that made your stomach flip.  

“Brian, that’s really nice of you, but…” I hesitated, searching for the right words.  

“Let me guess,” he said, cutting me off. “You already have a date?”  

I nodded, feeling a little guilty for turning him down. “Yeah, I do.”  

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky guy?”  

“Joe,” I said simply, and for a split second, I thought I saw something flicker in his expression—surprise, maybe? Or disbelief?  

“Joe Burrow?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.  

“Yes, Joe Burrow,” I said, crossing my arms defensively.  

Brian chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.  

“Nothing,” he said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just… didn’t peg him as the prom type. But hey, good for him. And for you.”  

“He's my best friend. Thanks.” I said, though his words left a sour taste in my mouth.  

As he walked away, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance. Why did everyone act like Joe and I couldn’t be more than friends?  

JOE BURROW

I was halfway through practice when I got the text from Sam.  

Sam: Dude, Brian just tried to ask Y/N to prom.  

My grip tightened on the football, my jaw clenching so hard it hurt. I couldn't believe it. I kinda figured it out he was about to do something like that, he spent too much time quiet with me, it was weird. And now, he found a way.

“Burrow! Pay attention!” Coach barked.  

I nodded, forcing myself to focus on the play, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.  

Brian Harris. I should’ve known he wouldn’t give up that easily.  

By the time practice ended, I was practically sprinting to the parking lot. I spotted Y/N by her car, her head bent over her phone, and I spent the whole time hoping it wasn’t Brian.

“Y/N!” I called, jogging over.  

She looked up, her face lighting up in a way that made my heart skip a beat. “Hey, Joe. What’s up?”  

“I heard about Brian,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. The truth was, I wasn’t casual at all.

Her smile faded slightly. “Who told you?”  

“Sam,” I admitted, leaning against her car.  

She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, he asked me this morning.”  

“And what did you say?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.  

She gave me a look. “I told him I already had a date. You.”  

The tight knot in my chest loosened a fraction. “Good.”  

“Good?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.  

“Yeah,” I said, trying to play it cool. “I mean, we already have plans, right?”  

“Right,” she said, her expression softening.  

For a moment, we just stood there, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow over everything.  

“So,” I said, breaking the silence, “do you need help with any of the prom stuff? Decorations or whatever?” 

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You’re offering to help?”  

“Why not?” I said, shrugging. “I could use the extra credit.”  

She laughed, and the sound was like music to my ears. “Alright, Burrow. Let’s see if you can survive an afternoon with the prom committee.”  

Y/N

I didn’t know what had gotten into Joe, but I wasn’t about to question it. If he wanted to spend more time with me—even if it was just to help with prom decorations—I wasn’t going to say no. We spent the next few hours in the gym, stringing up fairy lights and setting up tables. Joe grumbled about the glitter (“It’s going to be stuck to me for weeks”), but he didn’t complain when I handed him another box of decorations.  

At one point, I climbed a ladder to hang a banner, and when I wobbled slightly, Joe was there in an instant, his hands steadying the ladder.  

“Careful,” he said, his voice low.  

I glanced down at him, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the height. “Thanks.”  

He held my gaze for a moment, his hands still gripping the ladder, and I felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us.  

“Anytime,” he said softly.  

By the time we finished, the gym was starting to look like the prom of my dreams. 

The next day, the buzz about prom was everywhere. People were swapping dress ideas, talking about their dates, and sharing excitement about the night that was quickly approaching.  

By lunchtime, I was sitting at our usual table in the cafeteria, flipping through a prom checklist on my phone. Joe was sitting across from me, picking at his fries, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.  

“Are you seriously still doing prom stuff?” Tracy, my best friend, asked as she slid into the seat next to me.  

“Somebody has to,” I said, not looking up.  

“Somebody who isn’t you,” she shot back. “You’re already doing, like, ten other things. Delegation, Y/N. Learn it.”  

“She’s too much of a control freak,” Joe chimed in, smirking at me.  

I narrowed my eyes on him. “I’m organized, not a control freak.”  

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he said, popping a fry into his mouth.  

“Speaking of prom,” Tracy said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “have you told Joe what color your dress is yet? Or are you going to make him show up looking like a colorblind disaster?”  

I froze, suddenly aware of Joe’s eyes on me. “I—uh—I hadn’t thought about it.”  

“Seriously?” Tracy said, looking between us. “You two are going together, and you haven’t talked about coordinating?”  

“We’re going as friends,” I said quickly, feeling my cheeks heat up.  

Tracy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Friends.”  

Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or embarrassed. Maybe both.  

“Anyway,” I said, trying to change the subject, “what about you? Who are you going with?”  

Tracy grinned. “Brian Harris asked me this morning.”  

My stomach dropped. “He did?”  

“Yep,” she said, clearly oblivious to the way my hands tightened around my phone. “Apparently, you turned him down, so he went with his second choice. And that’s exactly why I don't go out too much, I Said no, I’m going with Sam.”  

“Second choice?” I repeated, the words stinging more than they should have.  

“Oh, don’t get all weird about it,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re going with Joe, so who cares what Brian does?”  

She had a point. I was going with Joe. But why did it feel like I was still losing somehow?  I wasn't surprised about what happened. Couldn't get me, it’s not going to get my best friend either.

JOE BURROW

Sam and Josh , my two closest friends from the football team, were waiting for me by the vending machines after lunch. 

“So,” Sam said as soon as I walked up, following me into the hallway “you’re really going to prom with Y/N, huh?”  

I rolled my eyes, shoving a dollar into the machine. “Yeah. Why?”  

“Because it’s about damn time,” Josh said, leaning against the wall.  

I turned to glare at him, while I took my Kit-kat from the machine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  

Sam snorted. “Come on, Burrow. Everyone knows you’re crazy about her. You’ve been in love with her since, like, the fifth grade.”  

“That’s not true,” I said automatically, but even I could hear how unconvincing I sounded.  

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then why did you almost rip Brian Harris’s head off at practice yesterday when Sam told you he asked her to prom?”  

“That’s different,” I muttered, punching the button for a soda.  

“Sure it is,” Sam said, smirking. “You’re totally not jealous or anything.”  

“I’m not,” I insisted, but the words felt hollow.  

The truth was, I had been jealous. Seeing Brian talk to her, flirt with her, try to take her to prom—it had made me feel like I was seconds away from losing something I hadn’t even realized I was holding onto.  

And that scared the hell out of me.  

“She’s my best friend,” I said finally, throwing the paper on the trash. “Exactly,” Carter said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Which is why you need to stop screwing around and tell her how you feel.”  

I didn’t respond, because what was the point? Even if I did tell her how I felt, there was no guarantee she’d feel the same way.  

And if she didn’t?  

I couldn’t risk losing her.  

Y/N

By the time the final bell rang, I was ready to go home and collapse. But as I was walking to the parking lot, Tracy caught up with me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I know she was planing something I could feel in tHE air.

“Guess what,” she said, falling into step beside me.  

“What?” I asked, too tired to play along.  

“There’s a group going to that new dress shop downtown tomorrow, and you’re coming with me.”  

I groaned. “Tracy, I already have a dress.”  

“Yeah, but I don’t,” she said, grinning. “And I need moral support. Plus, we need to make sure your dress doesn’t clash with Joe’s suit.”  

I rolled my eyes. “Joe doesn’t care about that stuff.” And It was true. It didn’t matter if I was going with a red dress or blue.

“Maybe not,” she said, “but you do.”  

I hated that she was right.  

“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll go.” 

The next afternoon, Tracy picked me up for the trip to the new dress shop downtown. The store was buzzing with excited chatter, racks of shimmering gowns lining the walls, and mirrors reflecting endless possibilities.  

Tracy dragged me to the section with bright, glittery dresses that screamed “look at me.” I could tell she was in her element, flipping through racks like a woman on a mission.  

“What about this one?” she asked, holding up a strapless red gown with a thigh-high slit.  

“For you or for me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. It was too much.

“For you,” she said with a grin. “You’d kill in this.”  

I shook my head. “It’s too much.”  

“Y/N, you’re going to prom with Joe Burrow. You have to make an impression.”  

“I’m already going with him,” I said. “Why do I need to impress him?”  

Tracy shot me a look. “You’re kidding, right? You’re hopelessly in love with the guy, and you don’t think this is your chance to finally make him see it?”  

My heart skipped a beat, and I froze mid-reach for a more modest gown. I didn’t even know what to say. “I—what? I’m not—”  

“Save it,” she said, cutting me off. “You might be able to fool everyone else, but not me. So pick something that’ll make his jaw drop.”  

I sighed, knowing there was no point arguing. Tracy wasn’t going to let this go.  

After what felt like hours of trying on dresses, I finally stepped out of the dressing room in a floor-length navy gown with a sweetheart neckline and delicate lace detailing.  

Tracy’s jaw dropped. “That’s the one.”  

I turned to look at myself in the mirror, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. The dress hugged my figure in all the right places, and the navy color made my skin glow. It was that one, I know that.

“Wow,” I whispered.  

“Joe’s going to lose his mind,” Tracy said with a satisfied grin.  

I didn’t know about that, but for the first time, I felt like I might actually look like someone worth noticing.  

JOE BURROW.

Later that evening, I was sitting in my room, staring at my phone. Sam and Josh's words from earlier in the week were still playing in my head.  

“Tell her how you feel.”  

I sighed, tossing my phone onto the bed. It wasn’t that simple.  

Or maybe it was, and I was just a coward.  

My phone buzzed, and I picked it up to see a text from Y/N.  

Y/N:Just finished dress shopping with Tracy. I think I found the one.  

Me: Cool. Send me a pic.  

There was a long pause before she responded.  

Y/N: Nope. You’ll have to wait until prom.  

I frowned at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.  

Me: Not even a sneak peek?  

Y/N: Nope.  

I sighed, but a small smile tugged at my lips. She always knew how to keep me on my toes.  

The next morning, Sam and Josh cornered me in the locker room after practice.  

“You figure out your prom look yet?” Josh asked, tossing a towel onto the bench.  

“I’m wearing a suit,” I said flatly.  

Sam snorted. “Wow, groundbreaking.”  

“Do you even know what color she’s wearing?” Josh asked, raising an eyebrow.  

“Yeah,” I lied.  

“Bullshit,” Sam said. “You didn’t even ask her, did you?”  

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “No, but I’m sure whatever I pick will be fine.”  

Carter shook his head. “You’re hopeless, man.”  

I’m in Love. It 's different.

Y/N

The week of prom flew by in a whirlwind of final preparations. The committee was meeting every day after school, and by Friday afternoon, the gym was completely transformed.  

I stood in the middle of the room, surveying the decorations with a mix of pride and exhaustion. The fairy lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow over the tables, and the dance floor was ready to go.  

“It looks amazing,” Joe said, walking up behind me.  

“Yeah,” I said, smiling up at him. “I think we pulled it off.”  

“You think?” he teased. “You’ve been running this show since day one.”  

I rolled my eyes. “It wasn’t just me.”  

“Sure,” he said, smirking.  

For a moment, we just stood there, the hum of the committee members packing up around us fading into the background.  

“You’re going to look great tomorrow,” Joe said suddenly, his voice soft.  

I looked up at him, my heart skipping a beat. “You think so?”  

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I know so.”  

I gave him a smile, and he opened his arms, asking for a hug. I got on my tiptoes, hugging Joe tight while his arms went around my waist.

[...]

The air was electric that morning. The last day of high school had arrived, and it felt like every hallway, every classroom, every moment was buzzing with a mix of nostalgia and excitement. People were signing yearbooks, taking pictures, and talking about their plans for the summer and beyond.  

Even I couldn’t help but smile as I walked to my locker. It was bittersweet, knowing this chapter of our lives was coming to an end.  

“Y/N!” Tracy called out, jogging to catch up with me. She had her camera slung around her neck, determined to document every second of the day.  

“Ready for the waterworks?” I teased.  

“Please, you’re the emotional one,” she shot back, grinning. “Anyway, don’t forget we’re doing a group photo at lunch. You and Joe better be there.”  

“Of course,” I said. “Speaking of Joe, have you seen him?”  

“Probably at his locker, brooding like usual,” Tracy said with a laugh. “Anyway, any big plans for tonight?” she asked, nudging me playfully.

“Just the prom committee meeting,” I said with a laugh. “And then maybe collapsing from exhaustion.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need to have more fun, Y/N. Let loose. Do something crazy for once.”

I shook my head. “I’ll catch up with you later.”  

And I heard a voice.

“Y/N!” Joe was striding toward me, his long legs making quick work of the crowded hallway.

“Your shadow approaches,” Tracy whispered with a smirk before disappearing into the crowd.

“Hey,” I said as he reached me.

“Are you ready for the pep rally?” he asked, leaning casually against the lockers.

“Always,” I said, trying not to smile too hard at the way his hair was slightly tousled from football practice. “Are you ready for this?” I asked, gesturing around us.  

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said with a shrug.  

“You don’t sound excited.”  

“It’s just a day,” he said, closing his locker.  

I rolled my eyes. “It’s the day, Joe. Our last day of high school. Try to act like it’s a big deal.”  

We walked to the gym together, the noise and chaos of the hallways swirling around us. Everything felt heightened—like we were living in slow motion, with every moment stretched out and glowing.

JOE BURROW.

The pep rally was loud, chaotic, and exactly what it needed to be. Seniors were on fire, shouting chants and tossing confetti in the air like it was the Super Bowl.  

I couldn’t stop glancing at Y/N, though. She was sitting with Tracy and a few other committee members, laughing as they worked on last-minute plans for tomorrow’s prom.  

She looked happy—really happy—and it hit me like a punch to the gut.  

I wasn’t the only one who noticed her, either.  

Brian Harris, the basketball player who’d been hovering around her all week, kept glancing in her direction.  

“Man, you have to do something.” Sam said to me, loud enough for me to hear him on top of the school band chant’s. I looked over at him, still seeing Brian smiling to Y/N, and I don’t know, I’m almost sure that she’s not comfortable.

JOE: you good?

I said in my message. Saw her opening her phone, but she didn’t text me back.

“He invited her that day, as soon as you steped back to class.” Josh said as well, looking at Brian ans Y/N.

“She is independent, can be with anyone she wants.”

“And you want that, Burrow?”

Sam asked me, and before I could respond to him, he was running back to our friends. By the time the rally ended, my mood had gone from celebratory to sour.  

By the time lunch rolled around, my patience was wearing thin. The day was supposed to be perfect—our last day as seniors, with Y/N by my side—but Brian Harris was determined to ruin it.  

I saw him hanging around her at the pep rally, throwing those cocky smiles her way like he thought she’d actually fall for it.  

And the worst part? She’d smiled back.  

It wasn’t the same smile she gave me, though. Hers was polite, almost distracted, but it still made my chest tighten.  

I knew Brian wasn’t going to back off, and the thought of him getting even one step closer to her made my blood boil.  

Y/N

Y/N

The last day of high school felt magical in a way that I couldn’t quite put into words. The hallways were alive with laughter, and the air was thick with excitement and nostalgia. Everything about the day seemed to shimmer—the sunlight streaming through the windows, the fresh breeze that wafted through open doors, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floors.  

It was hard to believe this chapter of our lives was ending. Every smile, every hug, every glance at the crowded hallways felt like a snapshot I wanted to hold onto forever.  

But beneath the sparkle of it all, I couldn’t shake the tension I’d felt since the pep rally. Joe had been quieter than usual. He was there, walking me to class and teasing me like always, but something was… off.

“See you at lunch?” I asked.  

“Yeah,” he said, his voice softer now.  

But there was something in his eyes that made me pause.  

“Joe—”  

“Go,” he said, forcing a small smile. “You’ll be late.”  

I didn’t push him, though. Joe wasn’t the kind of person you were forced to talk to. He’d tell me what was on his mind when he was ready.  

Or so I thought.

I was walking with Tracy to the cafeteria when I heard someone call my name.  

“Y/N!”  

I turned to see Brian Harris jogging toward me, that signature smug grin plastered across his face.  

“Hey,” he said, stopping a little too close.  

“Uh, hey,” I replied, glancing at Tracy, who raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.  

“I was wondering if you’d thought about the prom thing.” he said, leaning against the lockers like he owned the place.  

I blinked. “Oh, um… I’m going with Joe. I told you that already.”  

Brian’s grin faltered for a second before he recovered. “Right, the football star. But, you know, if you want a real man to take you, I’m available. Joe’s it’s just a football player like every single other one, He’s going to fuck you and forget your name right after.”  

I froze, my stomach twisting in discomfort. “Excuse me?”  

“You’re too pretty to waste your time on a guy like that,” Brian said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I’d show you a better time, Y/N. You deserve someone who can actually keep up with you, ‘ya know? Not that bullshit.”  

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a familiar voice cut through the tension like a blade.  

“What the hell did you just say?”  

JOE BURROW.  

The second I saw Brian cornering her, my body moved before I even realized what I was doing.  

I knew that look on his face. It was the same one he used to intimidate guys on the court, and it made my blood run hot.  When I heard what he’d said to her—when I saw the way her face twisted in discomfort—I saw red.  

“You got something to say about me, Harris?” I said, stepping between him and Y/N.  

Brian smirked, crossing his arms. “Relax, Burrow. I’m just saying the truth. She deserves better than some meathead quarterback.”  

“Back off,” I said, my voice low and dangerous.  

“Or what?” Brian challenged, his grin widening.

I glanced at Y/N out of the corner of my eye. She looked uncomfortable, like she wanted to disappear.  

“You’re pathetic,” I snapped at Brian. “You don’t even know her.”  

“And you do?” he shot back, laughing. “What are you, her guard dog? Or just her backup plan when no one else asks her out?  You afraid cause I can fuck her better dan you do?”

That was it.  

Before I even thought about it, my fist collided with his jaw.  

I barely felt Brian’s punch. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins, and all I could think about was wiping that smug grin off his face.  

The hallway erupted into chaos as people gathered around, shouting and gasping.  

Y/N 

“Joe!” I shouted, shoving my way through the crowd.  

Brian staggered back, clutching his face, and then lunged at Joe.  

Teachers swarmed the hallway, pulling them apart before Brian could land a punch.  

“You’re insane!” Brian yelled, glaring at Joe as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.  

“Better insane than a creep,” Joe shot back, his chest heaving.  

The teachers dragged them off in opposite directions, and I stood frozen, my heart racing as I tried to process what had just happened.  

I burst into the principal’s office, my heart racing.  

When I pushed open the door to the office, Joe was sitting in one of the chairs, a bag of frozen peas pressed to his eye. He looked up when I walked in, his expression a mix of embarrassment and defiance. His lip was cut, and his knuckles were red, but he didn’t look the least bit sorry.  

“What were you thinking?” I demanded, walking over to him.  

He shrugged. “Brian deserved it.”  

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “You know you’re going to have a black eye at prom, right?”  

He smirked, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a way that made my heart stutter. “You think it’ll match my suit?”  

I rolled my eyes, but my expression softened as I crouched beside him.  

“Let me see,” I said, gently pulling the bag of peas away.  

His eye was already starting to swell, the skin around it an angry shade of red.  

I reached out, gently brushing my fingers against his cheek. “You didn’t have to do that, Joe.”  

“Yes, I did,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine.  

For a moment, we just sat there, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, impulsively, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the uninjured part of his cheek.  

“For good luck,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.  

Joe froze, his gaze locked on mine. My heart raced like a roller coaster.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, but his tone was soft, almost affectionate.  

“You’re an idiot,” I shot back, standing up.  

He grabbed my wrist before I could step away, his fingers warm against my skin.  

“Thanks,” he said, his voice low.  

“For what?”  

“For being you,” he said simply.  

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.  

“Come here,” he said, pulling me into a hug.  

I hesitated for a moment before wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He buried his face against my side, his grip firm but not overwhelming.  I felt my skiing getting hotter and hotter, and I just could smile. My hands went to his hair, my fingers went through his dirty blonde hair. We stayed like that until the principal walked in, but by then, I wasn’t sure I cared about anything else. 

It was just me and him against the world, and nothing else.

[...]

And that was it, it was prom night.

The house smelled like hairspray and perfume, and my room was a disaster zone. Dresses were scattered across the bed, shoes piled in a corner, and makeup brushes lay abandoned on the vanity. Tracy, as usual, was in full control, directing the chaos like she was the queen of prom night.  

“Hold still, Y/N!” she barked, holding up a curling iron dangerously close to my face.  

“I am holding still!” I protested, wincing as she tugged on another section of my hair.  

Tracy sighed dramatically, stepping back to examine her work. “Okay, that’s better. You’re going to look so good tonight. Joe’s going to lose his mind.”  

I rolled my eyes, pretending the mention of his name didn’t send my stomach into a flutter. “It’s just prom, Tracy. Not a wedding.”  

She smirked. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. One day you’re going to marry him.”  

Those words echoed in my mind, like a prophecy. Marriage, Joe, his last name. I felt like a little girl dreaming big.

Deep down, I knew she was half right. Prom wasn’t just another night. It was the last big event of high school, the last chance for everything unsaid to finally come to the surface. And with Joe… there was a lot to say.  

JOE BURROW.  

I couldn’t stop pacing.  

The suit felt too stiff, the tie too tight, and my reflection in the mirror wasn’t doing much to calm my nerves. The bruise under my eye had turned a deep shade of purple overnight, standing out against my pale skin like a neon sign.  

“You look ridiculous,” Sam said, lounging on my bed with his arms behind his head. “Like someone punched you in the face or something.”  

I glared at him. “Shut up.”  

“Relax, man,” he said, grinning. “Y/N doesn’t care what you look like. She’s already obsessed with you.”  

“Y/N’s not obsessed with me,” I muttered, adjusting my tie for the tenth time.  

“Right,” Sam said, dragging out the word. “And you’re not obsessed with her either.”  

“I’m not.”  

“Then why’d you deck Brian Harris yesterday?”  

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t answer.  

“That’s what I thought,” Sam said, sitting up. “Look, just tell her how you feel tonight. It’s prom. You’re supposed to be a little dramatic.”  

I groaned, rubbing the back of my neck. “You make it sound so easy.”  

My mom’s voice got into my ears, from downstairs, screaming at us saying that Josh got there with his mom’s eight places SUV.

“Because it is,” Sam said, standing up and clapping me on the shoulder. “Now come on. Let’s go pick her up.”  

Y/N

The knock on the door sent a ripple of nerves through me.  

“Y/N, they’re here!” my mom called from downstairs.  

Tracy gave me a final once-over, her eyes narrowing in approval. “You look perfect. Now go knock him dead.”  

I smoothed down the front of my dress, took a deep breath, and made my way downstairs.  

When I saw Joe standing in the entryway, my breath caught. He looked… incredible. The black suit fit him perfectly, and even with the bruise under his eye, he somehow managed to look like he’d stepped out of a movie.  

He looked up as I descended the stairs, his mouth parting slightly as his eyes locked on me.  

“Wow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  

I blushed, smiling nervously. “Hi.”  

“You look…” He shook his head, searching for the right words. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”  

“Thanks,” I said softly, my heart pounding. “You look pretty good yourself.”  

He grinned, and for a moment, everything else faded away. My heart was beating so fast… It was crazy.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked, holding out his arm.  

“Yeah,” I said, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Let’s do this.”  

JOE BURROW.  

The ride to prom was a blur of nerves and stolen glances. Y/N was sitting beside me, her dress shimmering under the streetlights, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to tell her the truth.  

That I’d been in love with her for as long as I could remember.  

That seeing her with anyone else felt like a punch to the gut.  

That she was the only reason high school had meant anything to me at all.  

But every time I opened my mouth, the words got stuck in my throat.  

When we arrived at the venue, the place was already packed. Lights twinkle from every corner of the ballroom, and music echoed through the open doors.  

“Come on,” Y/N said, tugging on my arm. “Let’s go find Tracy before she starts texting me a thousand times.”  

I followed her inside, my chest tightening as I watched her weave through the crowd with that familiar confidence. She belonged here, in the center of it all, surrounded by laughter and light. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was just lucky to be standing next to her.  

We walked through a crowd of teenagers, everyone stopping Y/N to say that the place was awesome. I was holding her hand, walking behind her and letting her set the pace.

“I’m not finding Brian.” She said, the happiness palpable in her voice.

I gave her a smile. “Cause tonight is your night.”

Y/N  

Prom was everything I’d hoped it would be. The decorations, the music, the energy—it all felt like a dream, but even as I danced with my friends and laughed at Tracy’s terrible attempts at doing the cha-cha slide, my attention kept drifting back to Joe.  

He was standing by the punch table, talking to Sam and a couple of his football buddies, but every so often, his eyes would find mine across the room.  

And every time they did, my heart skipped a beat.  

“You should just go for it,” Tracy said, nudging me.  

“What are you talking about?” I asked, pretending not to know exactly what she meant.  

“Joe,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re practically glowing every time you look at him.”  

I glanced at him again, my stomach doing flips.  

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” I asked quietly.  

Tracy gave me a knowing smile. “Trust me, Y/N. He does.”  

“How–”

“Babe, he walks you to your car everyday, even when he has practice. He’s your pair in chemistry cause he found out you're not that good. He just use his cologne cause you like it. That guy has been in love with you for ages. Go.

But as I walked to meet me, he came down my direction.

JOE BURROW.

By the time the slow songs started playing, I couldn’t take it anymore.  

“Do you want to dance?” I asked, walking up to her before I could lose my nerve.  

She looked up at me, surprised, and then nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”  

I led her to the dance floor, my heart pounding as I rested my hands on her waist. She placed hers on my shoulders, and for a moment, we just stood there, swaying to the music.  

“You having fun?” I asked, my voice quiet.  

She nodded, smiling up at me. “Yeah. Are you?”  

I hesitated, my eyes searching hers. “I think this might be the best night of my life.”  

Her smile faltered slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion.  

“Y/N,” I said, my voice shaky. “There’s something I need to tell you.”  

Her grip on my shoulders tightened, and I could see the fear and hope mingling in her eyes.  

“What is it?” she asked softly, looking over my eyes, and my mouth. I almost fainted.

I took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage I had.  

“I—”  

The words sat heavy on my tongue, burning to be said, but no matter how much I wanted to just tell her, my chest felt too tight.  Y/N looked at me expectantly, her hands light on my shoulders as we swayed to the music. Her eyes searched mine, and I could feel the weight of her gaze, like she was daring me to break the silence between us.  

But I didn’t.  

“Never mind,” I said, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing.”  

Her expression faltered for a split second, a flicker of disappointment flashing across her face before she recovered. She gave me a soft smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.  

“You’re acting weird tonight,” she said, her voice teasing but gentle.  

“I’m fine,” I lied.  

She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me, but she let it go. “Okay. If you say so.”  

The song ended, and the crowd around us erupted into cheers and applause. Y/N stepped back, her hands falling from my shoulders, and I immediately missed the warmth of her touch.  

“Let’s get some punch,” she said, her tone light as if she hadn’t noticed the tension that had been building between us all night.  

I nodded, following her off the dance floor, kicking myself for chickening out again.  

Y/N

Joe was acting so strange, and I couldn’t figure out why. He was quieter than usual, and there was something in the way he looked at me that made my stomach twist in knots.  

For a moment on the dance floor, I thought he was going to say something—something important. But then he didn’t, and the moment passed, leaving me feeling more confused than ever.  

I tried to shake it off as we made our way to the refreshment table, but it was hard to ignore the nagging feeling in my chest.  

Before I could dwell on it too much, the DJ’s voice boomed over the speakers, announcing that it was time to crown the prom king and queen.  

“Oh my god, here we go!” Tracy squealed, bouncing on her heels next to me. “This is my favorite part!”  

The crowd gathered around the stage as the principal took the microphone, holding two glittering crowns in his hands.  

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for—the announcement of your prom king and queen!”  

The room buzzed with excitement, and I couldn’t help but smile at the energy in the air.  

The principal unfolded a piece of paper and cleared his throat dramatically. “Your 2015 prom king is…” He paused for effect, dragging out the suspense.  

“Joe Burrow!”  

My heart stopped.  

The room erupted into cheers and applause as Joe’s friends pushed him toward the stage. He looked completely shocked, his face turning red as he stumbled forward.  

“Go, Joe!” Sam yelled, clapping him on the back.  

Joe climbed onto the stage, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as the principal placed the crown on his head. He looked out at the crowd, his eyes wide and uncertain, and when his gaze landed on me, I couldn’t help but laugh.  

He looked like he wanted to bolt.  

“And now,” the principal continued, holding up the second crown, “your 2015 prom queen is…”  

I barely had time to register the words before they hit me.  

“Y/N Y/L/N!”  

My jaw dropped.  

Tracy shrieked, grabbing my arm and shaking me. “Oh my god, Y/N! You won!”  

The crowd cheered again, and I felt my cheeks flush as everyone turned to look at me.  

“Go,” Tracy urged, pushing me toward the stage. “Go get your crown!”  

I stumbled forward, my heart racing as I climbed onto the stage. Joe was standing there, still looking like he couldn’t believe what was happening, and when I reached him, he gave me a lopsided smile.  

“Guess it’s our night,” he said softly.  

I laughed nervously, and before I could respond, the principal placed the crown on my head. The crowd roared, and for a moment, I couldn’t think about anything except how surreal this all felt.  

“I voted for you, actually.” He said to me. “Everyone else felt wrong.”

“And now, for the king and queen’s first dance!” the DJ announced, cueing up a slow song.  

My stomach flipped.  

Joe held out his hand, his eyes meeting mine. “Shall we?”  

I hesitated for half a second before taking his hand. “Let’s do it.”  

JOE BURROW.

I couldn’t believe it.  

Of all the people to win prom king and queen, it had to be us.  

The crowd parted as we stepped onto the dance floor, the music soft and slow. I held her close, my hands resting on her waist, and for the first time all night, everything else faded away.  

She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “This is… unexpected,” she said, her voice light and teasing.  

I chuckled, feeling a little more at ease. “Yeah. I guess it is.”  

We swayed to the music, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room.  

“You’re a good dancer,” she said, surprising me.  

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I replied, grinning. “My mom uses me as a pair for her dance classes every wednesday.”

She laughed, and the sound sent a warm rush through me.  

I wanted to say something—anything—that would let her know how I felt. But every time I opened my mouth, the words got stuck. So instead, I just held her a little closer, hoping she could feel everything I couldn’t say.  

Y/N

Dancing with Joe felt like a dream.  

The music, the lights, the way his hands fit so perfectly on my waist—it was all too perfect, too much.  

And yet, it wasn’t enough.  

I wanted to say something to him, to break the tension that had been building between us all night. But I didn’t know how to start, or what to say.  

So I just smiled, letting myself get lost in the moment.  

As the song came to an end, the crowd erupted into applause, and Joe stepped back, his hands lingering on my waist for just a second longer than necessary.  

“You’re amazing, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely audible over the noise.  

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Tracy grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the chaos of the crowd.  

I glanced back at Joe, my heart aching with everything I didn’t say.  

But the night wasn’t over yet. 

It was hard to believe that prom had ended. We had just been crowned king and queen, dancing beneath the dim lights, and now here I was, stumbling out of the ballroom with Joe, our friends trailing behind us like a pack of wild animals, laughing and shouting.

“I can’t believe you’re the prom queen,” Tracy yelled, her voice echoing in the parking lot. “You deserve it, though. No one shines like you.”

I laughed, the night air cool on my flushed cheeks. “I don’t know about that,” I said, glancing over at Joe who was walking beside me, his hand brushing against mine. My stomach fluttered at the contact, but I didn’t say anything.

The parking lot was chaotic as everyone piled into cars. Tracy, Sam, and the others crammed into one, while Joe and I ended up in another with a few other friends, laughing and joking like it was just another night. But it didn’t feel like just another night. This felt different. This felt like the last time we’d all be together in this way.

“You guys are gonna miss each other so much,” Tracy said, her words a bit slurred. “This is the last time we’re all gonna be together.”

I looked around at everyone—Sam and his crew, Tracy with her beaming smile, and Joe, sitting across from me, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. I didn’t want this night to end. It felt like the end of something—something big. 

JOE BURROW.

The night ended up going by in a blur. The prom was exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined. My crown, which had been placed atop my head in a daze, felt heavier with every passing second. But as I glanced over at Y/N, standing beside me, I realized that tonight wasn't about the crown or the glittering dance floor—it was about the fact that we had both made it here together. 

As soon as the prom ended, everyone piled into cars, the laughter and chaos of the night spilling out into the streets. Tracy and Sam were in the front seats, and the rest of us packed into two cars heading for our usual spot: the 24/7 fast food joint down the street. 

“Best night ever!” Tracy yelled from the front seat, her voice full of excitement and maybe a little too much sugar.

Y/N, sitting next to me, leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. “Honestly, this is the only place I wanted to end up tonight.” 

I glanced at her, a grin tugging at my lips. “It’s perfect, huh?” 

The group of us shuffled into the fast food place, everyone high on adrenaline, and suddenly, the night felt endless. I grabbed a large soda and some fries, and we all sat around, teasing each other, making fun of the awkward moments at prom. It didn’t take long before someone—probably Sam—suggested spiking the punch. 

Y/N was sipping her soda innocently, but I could tell the punch had begun to work its magic. Her eyes were a little glassy, and her giggles were more frequent than usual. I could feel it too. The alcohol had taken over, making everything feel lighter, blurrier. 

After a few more rounds of punch and laughing over ridiculous prom photos, our group decided to walk. No one really wanted the night to end just yet. Y/N and I stumbled a bit, weaving through the streets as we made our way toward my house. It was a warm night, and we walked slowly, the stars twinkling above us, as if everything in the universe had aligned for this very moment.

By the time we made it to the end of the place, I was barely able to keep my eyes open. But I didn’t want to go home yet. Not like this.

“Joe, we’re walking,” Sam said, slurring his words as he jumped out of the car and started heading toward the neighborhood. “Come on! We’re taking the long way back!”

I looked at Y/N, and she just shrugged, smiling. “I’m in,” she said, laughing.

And just like that, we all piled out of the cars and started walking through the dark streets, the cool night air refreshing against our skin as we stumbled down familiar roads.

We walked past houses, the sidewalks empty, the only sounds coming from our group and the occasional rustling of trees. We didn’t have any particular destination in mind. We just walked and talked, our laughter echoing through the empty streets. It was so easy, so natural, like we had all the time in the world.

At some point, we ended up on my street. My house loomed ahead, warm lights spilling out from the windows. We’d spent so many nights here before, just talking and watching the stars, and tonight felt like no different.

I led Y/N to my backyard, where a small patch of grass sat beneath a canopy of trees, almost tripping on our feet. The stars were clear in the sky, shining brighter than I had ever seen them before. It was like everything was glowing, alive, and the world was just right.

We laid down on the grass, our arms touching, but not quite close enough for me to feel her warmth completely. The alcohol from the punch made everything fuzzy, the stars spinning above us. My thoughts were scattered, my words slow, but somehow it all felt peaceful.

She was lying beside me, her hand resting on her stomach, her eyes on the sky. I could feel her breath in the air, feel her presence beside me. And in that moment, I realized how much I didn’t want this night to end.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quiet as I stared at the stars.  

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice a little deeper than usual, probably from the alcohol. “It’s crazy how small we are, you know? It’s like everything else fades away.”

My body felt heavy with the weight of everything I had left unsaid. The way I felt about her. The way she made me feel every time she was near.

“I’m glad you’re here with me tonight, Joe,” She whispered.

“I’m glad you’re here too, Y/N.” There was a slight hesitation in my voice. A flicker of something I couldn’t place.

The alcohol had taken over, and everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. The way her voice sounded, the way the world felt too big and too small at the same time—it was all a blur, but one thing was crystal clear: I didn’t want this night to end. I didn’t want her to leave.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of her face in the dim light of the stars. She looked like she was deep in thought, her lips slightly parted. There was something about the way she looked at me, something that made my heart race and my stomach twist.

I didn’t think. I didn’t even hesitate. I just leaned toward her, closing the distance between us. The moment our lips met, everything else melted away. The world stopped spinning, and all that mattered was her. Her taste, the way her lips felt against mine, the way she kissed me back as if she’d been waiting for this moment too.

It was like time didn’t exist. Like it was just the two of us, under the stars, finally doing what we had both wanted to do for so long.

When we pulled away, breathless and dizzy from the kiss, neither of us said anything. We just laid there, looking up at the sky, the stars blurring into streaks of light as our minds swirled.

The night ended with a haze, the kiss lingering in my mind but slowly fading as the alcohol wore off. The stars were still shining, but everything felt a little more distant now.

I couldn’t remember exactly how we got back to the house, how we ended up on my couch, or how we fell asleep, side by side. But when I woke up the next morning, my mind was foggy, my lips still tingling, and the memory of the stars felt far away.

I could remember nothing about last night.

[mymoshangthoughts]

okay, okay, okay, bear with me

mobei jun already knows about shang qinghua as airplane

oki ive decided to take advantage of the fact that WE NEVER GET A MOBEI JUN POV AND I'LL BE FORVER SALTY ABOUT THAT SHIT

but like, shen yuan figured airplane out REAL fast, right? they barely spent time together before the immortal alliance and then it takes one surprise before airplane is saying stupid shit, right?

and i cant help but think, mobei jun aint dumb and he's been spending How Many Years crashing at shang qinghua's leisure house whenever the fuck he feels like it?

he also finds shang qinghua to be Hella Sus because come on, ofc he does. a human just declares their undying loyalty to you after one fucking meeting??? even if he believes shang qinghua is being sincere in the moment, the fact that he was so quick to betray his sect doesnt speak of a loyal servant

so why wouldnt he snoop? why wouldnt he pay extra close attention when shang qinghua says shit that doesnt make sense? why wouldnt he notice when shang qinghua speaks or writes in a language that he doesnt recognize? airplane canonically isnt fluent in english so if he used a bit of it, especially chinglish, wouldnt mobei jun be able to learn some of the meanings of the words just by context clues? especially when he has YEARS to decode it? like if airplane was fluent, maybe he could hide the meaning, but a limited vocabulary adapted to another language isnt actually super hard to decode. it's the same reason that you can generally understand what slang means before you look up the definition. you might not know what 'rizz' means, but you can pick up the meaning from context clues.

anyway im over explaining the linguistic aspects ALL IM SAYING IS what if airplane kinda depends heavily on chinglish to be his Secret Language that Theres No Way That Anyone Here Can Get. and sure, for most people, it does seem like gibberish. but again, mobei jun has YEARS at his side and reasons to nitpick at it and decode it.

like what if airplane had a habit of writing out pidw plot points in chinglish bc look he is Going to forget shit no matter what, he wrote that novel a lifetime ago, but theres some info thats pretty important for him to Not Forget. so mobei jun is just left with a huge stash of Impossible Information that shang qinghua writes about

everything ranging from future events to obscure demon world facts that theres just no justifiable reason for shang qinghua to know about and just everything in between.

but also what if shang qinghua wrote his feelings? his thoughts? his issues? like cmon, he literally has NO ONE to consult with about the insanity of his life before cucumber-bro, and his life is really crazy, and he used to be the person who wrote out his feelings via novel but look dude he's not about to tempt fate by writing out another novel rn so a diary makes sense. or at least like, random venting

and again, this isnt even mentioning airplane having some potential verbal fuckups that mobei jun can add to his ever growing file of "shang qinghua has something fucking going on"

and like, maybe mobei jun hasnt actually figured out the exact truth but he has some eerily close guesses. or maybe airplane wrote a lengthy journal explaining literally his entire fucked up life and mobei jun knows Everything.

look im just a little bit obsessed with mobei jun casually being aware for YEARS that shang qinghua is from another world and might have once had god-like powers over this world. i think this is very funny and i think it could work in a canon compliant way. cuz i also like to think that some of mobei jun's aggro at shang qinghua was a mixture of

you literally wont tell me who you really are. you claim to be my loyal subject but you wont even tell me your real name and Yes I'm Upset About That

you fucking fucker, you literally PLANNED that horrible event to happen???? you suck so bad omfg. THAT WAS TRAUMATIZING FOR ME YOU JERK NO I DONT CARE IF YOU FEEL BAD ABOUT IT NOW

your handwriting sucks and im mad that i didnt just have to decode your weird other language, i also had to decode your fucking horrendous handwriting and i dont know if i can ever forgive you for that

you barely ever show your real personality in front of me and i have to learn how you really feel by reading this fucking notes and YES IM UPSET ABOUT THAT

i also just love the idea of Something Happening to do with the multiverse and basically mobei jun is the only one who isnt remotely surprised lmfao. binghe is in crisis mode, cucumber thinks he's gonna die, airplane is freaked out, and mobei jun is just like "yeah, figured some dumb shit like this might happen. you didnt know binghe? dont you pay any attention to your husband :/ dude, they're not even good at hiding it, i thought you were supposed to be smart"

also the simultaneous heartattacks that cucumber and airplane would have that mobei jun just KNOWS like thats hilarious. imagine they need to talk about something secretly in public and its super urgent and mobei jun just starts using chinglish or webspeak or something perfectly and cumplane are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT

mobei jun: that mofo is hella sus, but keep it on the dl. ttyl i need to do a vibe check

cumplane: ?!?!?!?!?!?

[fanbasetwo]

GYUVIN HAVING A SECRET CRUSH ON YOU!!

NOTE FROM SENA , i actually had an idea in my mind (which might explain how I made this one so fast lol) thank you for requesting this anon, I actually had fun writing this one! [REQUESTED] college au MASTERLIST!!

join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

i. THE CLASS PREZ & THE NEW STUDENT

From the moment you entered the classroom as the new student, Gyuvin—class president and campus golden boy—was assigned to guide you around.

He approached you with his signature bright grin and confidence, extending a hand. “I’m Gyuvin, class president and your new best friend. You’re in good hands.”

He quickly learned you struggled a bit with your studies, but instead of judging, he offered to help you. “No worries. I’ve got you.”

Gyuvin loved tutoring you—mostly because it gave him a reason to spend time with you.

ii. HELPING YOU CHEAT

Gyuvin is so against cheating—seriously, he’s class president, he’s responsible! But… he’s also whipped for you.

During a particularly tough exam, you whisper that you’re doomed, and Gyuvin just sighs dramatically. “Don’t move, okay?”

He slides his answer sheet ever-so-subtly toward you under the pretense of stretching, whispering, “This never happened.”

After the exam, he scolds you gently: “I can’t believe I did that! You owe me for breaking my morals.” But then he softens and grins, ruffling your hair. “You’re lucky it was you.”

He’d never admit that seeing your relieved smile made it all worth it.

iii. THE PROJECT PAIRING

When the professor announces a paired project, Gyuvin immediately claims you as his partner, leaving no room for debate. “We’re a team—no questions asked.”

Working on the project together brings you closer. You spend late nights in the library, him explaining concepts and teasing you when you get distracted.

He’d always bring snacks—especially a strawberry milk bottle—because he “can’t have his baby starving.”

The first time he calls you baby, you roll your eyes and shove him playfully. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You’re basically my baby at this point. I take care of you,” he jokes with that boyish grin.

iv. THE STRAWBERRY MILK HABIT

Gyuvin starts carrying a strawberry milk bottle everywhere, and his friends are utterly confused.

“Why do you always have that?”

“My baby might need it,” he says casually, ignoring the teasing looks.

Whenever you look tired or stressed, he wordlessly hands you the bottle with a small smile. “Drink up. It’s your favorite, right?”

Even before you started dating, it became a small tradition—his way of silently showing he cared.

v. HIS TERRIBLE “SECRET” CRUSH

Gyuvin genuinely thought he was being sneaky, but in reality, everyone (including you) figured it out long before he confessed.

His friends constantly teased him for how obvious it was—how his eyes lit up when you walked into a room, how he couldn’t stop talking about you, and how he always prioritized you over everything else.

“You’re so obvious, Gyuvin. Even she probably knows.”

“No way. I’m smooth,” he’d insist, completely unaware that you’d been catching on for weeks.

vi. WHEN YOU FOUND OUT

You finally caught on one day when you overheard Gyuvin’s friends teasing him about how whipped he was for you.

“Bro, you’re carrying two strawberry milks now? Are you building a shrine for her?”

Gyuvin groaned, blushing. “I just want her to be happy, okay? Shut up.”

You cornered him later, smirking. “So… whipped, huh?”

Gyuvin froze, completely flustered. “Who told you that?! I mean—uh—what?”

vii. THE STOLEN KISS

Before you could fully confront him about his feelings, Gyuvin decided to beat you to the punch.

It happened after one of your late project sessions. You were packing up your things when he suddenly leaned closer, grinning mischievously.

“You know,” he said softly, “it’s not really a secret crush if you already know, right?”

Before you could respond, he brushed his lips against your cheek—a soft, fleeting kiss that left you stunned.

He laughed at your reaction, standing up and stretching. “What? I had to make my move before you started teasing me for real.”

viii. THE CONFESSION & DATING

Gyuvin finally confessed properly a few days later. He showed up at your doorstep with a strawberry milk bottle in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Okay, fine. I like you—a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Will you let me call you ‘baby’ for real?”

You couldn’t say no, especially when he looked so hopeful. “Fine. But only if you keep bringing me strawberry milk.”

From then on, Gyuvin became the best boyfriend—teasing you constantly but always taking care of you in his own sweet way.

His friends groaned every time they saw you two together, calling you the “power couple” because of how smitten Gyuvin was.

ix. AFTER DATING GYUVIN

He never lets you forget how hard he worked for you. “Remember when I helped you cheat during that exam? That’s love, babe.”

He still calls you “baby,” but now it’s with even more affection.

And yes, he always—always—has a strawberry milk ready for you because, in his words: “I’ve been your class president, your tutor, your partner… but being your boyfriend is my favorite job.”

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[cxyotl]

hey so yall know that “kieran doesnt die” au ive been writing. um. i drew him.

more notes about this design below the cut :3 tw for eye trauma n torture.

-first off branwens only there bc i was trying to figure out how to draw horses & fill up space… so say hi branwen. he is like. the reason why kieran doesnt end up dying in this au. so he deserves to be here.

-surviving that whole ordeal messed him up pretty bad, physically and mentally. however, being so defensive about his blind side and determined to prove himself caused him to be more active i think. hes still that nervous stableboy for the van der lindes, but he doesnt shy from volunteering to go fishing/hunting with someone or joining jobs. hates using his blindness to gather pity pennies but hey, nobody is gonna suspect the obviously blind dude is working with criminals like the notorious van der linde gang.

-he also gets a little healthier. the rest he got while healing did wonders for him, he hasnt had a days rest since. well before the o’driscolls picked him up, probably. now hes a little less skinny, a little less greasy, and a little more alive <3 the only non-healthy habit he picks up is he does smoke more often than he already did. his nerves are all over the place. Especially when he’s on the edge of camp or out on the trail with someone.

-kieran’s left eye is completely gone. his eyelids and corners on both eyes are scarred up as well, since the o’driscoll who took it gouged em with his thumb. he wasn’t able to get past heavily scarring the right eye, so kieran gets to keep that eye.

-although he keeps his right eye, that doesnt mean its any good. HEAVY corneal scarring and ocular trauma, paired neatly with a small infection, means he’s permanently partially blind in that eye. he can see figures (silhouettes against light) and its all very blurry, but he can Technically still see enough to do his job and a little more. hes extremely photosensitive and it cost him his color perception for the most part in his remaining eye.

-because he’s so photosensitive, the hat kinda needs to stay on anytime hes outdoors. trelawny and mary-beth steal him tinted glasses from saint denis but he doesnt like them very much. the feel of anything, including glasses, so close to his eyes freaks him out. especially bc the lens bridge sits on some scarring on the inner corner. the corneal scars sorta make it feel like hes got something in his eye like all the time. bro cant get a moments peace LMAO.

-the left eye is usually bandaged up. getting any foreign material in the socket is Bad and hes like working with animals. literally brushing fur into the air like nine hours a day. so most of the time hes got that covered and he doesnt like it but. its necessary.

-arthur brought him the cane after remembering seeing blind man cassidy with one. was up in cumberland forest exploring anyway, saw a person sized stick and was like “ok this might work.” left it with mary-beth because he didnt want it to become a Thing that hes gone soft or whatever if that makes sense. its a bit large, but kieran doesnt mind bc he can kinda lean on it if he needs to or get a good sense of how far an object is from him. depth perception was also a little skewed.

-speakin of mary-beth, the new necktie is a little gift from her :3 yall might recognize it from the cut outfit

-kieran wrapped the cane up because he was getting splinters from it which was Annoying. he takes his knife and sharpens it or smooths it out as needed sometimes. out of boredom or necessity (the soft ground in shady belle and lakay are. decidedly. not great if you already are tripping over everything)

-the little notch at the top is great for hangin up lanterns. which tends to hurt his eye and gives him migraines bc its so close to his face, but it can be useful for holding the light out and seeing figures in the dark that hes lookin out for. or showing others where he is in the dark.

-i just didnt wanna draw his holster, but he can still shoot and ride horses. branwens a good companion :3. as for shooting, he just kinda shoots at figures and uses audio clues for where to aim and fire. hes better with his revolver than anything else, but give him a low sniper position with a high accuracy firearm like the carcano and he could probably get some kills.

-as for riding horses, hes been doin that for years. he just gives branwen cues to stay with other horses or on certain trails, or he can tie the reins to someone elses saddle (but he doesnt like doing this)

i have more thoughts so PLEEEASSEEE ask about it if you have questions or thoughts but these r just like some of the big ones that have to do with his actual design ❤️

[dumbkitsune]

All of Mike's expressions are 100% intentional

And if we put all of them together it tells us one thing: Bro does not like girls

I have been going to acting classes for a while or so and I belive that for me now its pretty easy to analyze a character's behaviour based on what the director has asked him to do:

Directors always tell the actor how they must behave with each phrase they're saying + the context of whats going on. Now, what is interesting here is that they never tell them "Hey, you need to look angry" or sad, or you need to put on a face of disgust, THEY NEVER DO THAT

Imnotgoingtoexplainwhyisthat BUT THE POINT IS, that instead of saying what emotion they must try to express with their performance, they give them a verb:

(For example) Despise, encourage, stress, confuse...

They're not exactly emotions but they help express them and for the actor is easier to portray that charcter.

OKAY SO after all this yapping session (it might be a bit boring but necessary to understand whats coming) lets check out some of Mike Wheeler's expressions:

Lmao this is one of my fav ones

Okay so, based on what I just explain, what verb was Finn trying to portray in this scene? Surely it CANNOT BE "excite" or "fall in love" I mean, does that face tell you that? 💀

IMO this has to be something like "being" in shock or scared even. Confuse might be also the word BUT YOU CANNOT SAY TO ME THAT THIS MAN WAS ENJOYING THE MOMENT.

Ive seen TONS of Milkvans trying to excuse this face, as if the acting doesnt mean anything atp:

"He was surprised that El finally said ily to him"

Well he should have been more happy about it, and if this was true, we would have been able to see a positive reaction out of that kiss. The scene is very long but the only thing we see for a bunch of seconds is a very confused and even disgusted face.

"Mike has been doing that face all season so it doesnt necessarely mean anything"

Okay so first of all that is just straight up a lie, a fact that you literally made up (this also proves how Milkvans do really watch the show with their eyes closed) and secondly, with that you're saying that Finn is a bad actor. Since yk, he portrays his charcter so horribly, he makes the same god damn expression for everything.

This is obviously another lie, Finn is a wonderful actor that for sure captures the emotion the director is telling him to express.

And you dont even have to know all of these details Im explaining rn to know he didnt enjoy the kiss. You just have to see that look on his face💀 like bruh. If you think that my man over here was sooo in love with El Im sorry but you're the delulu one.

Lets move to another one:

(off topic but he looks soo pookie here omggg he is just :3)

I've put Dustin too so we can compare both expressions based on whats going on.

Lil context here, this was Eddie's intro, the cafeteria scene, he was rambling about DnD, how he will graduate, etc.

As we can see in the pic we have Dustin laughing his ass off with Eddie's behavior and then Mike... well, Mike seems to be having a great time like his friend but, uhm... He isnt quite laughing as much like Dustin and the others, right?

Now, if I never watched ST in my life and you pull up this pic so I can figure out the context my answer would be: The guy on the back (Dustin) is laughing at someone or something but the guy at the front (Mike) is not paying attention to the same thing as the other one.

This is because what their faces are telling us is something very different from one another. In Mike's case he seems to be admiring somebody, like a crush of some sort cause he is all giggly n shit.

I bet the director really wanted to make that difference and they gave the actors different purposes for their characters, hence, different verbs to express what they're feelling.

And Im sorry but you cannot tell me they all had the same goal here because the whole scene its not just Dustin laughing, its the whole table who is laughing with Eddie. Except Mike, since he seems focused on something else. (He is a homo)

Here you cant pull up again "It just Finn's way of acting" because as I just said he is an amazing actor that can really put the performance the director told him to do.

Every single face, every single gesture he is making is intentional. Especially when it comes to such a detailed series like ST.

With this second pic I showed its just to prove once more that Mike "might be into some new things" (Finn's words, not mine!)

He aint very keen to the opposite sex, if you get what I mean.

OKAY, WOW, THIS ANALYSIS IS ACTUALLY SOO LONG so for now Im going to leave it here, only for now. Also take into account that this analysis if from my persperctive, so you might not agree with some things.

If you actually liked this analysis and made it this far tysm ^_^ and lmk if you want me to check out more of Mike's expressions.

Part 2