#but yeah i think that's something to chew on

[nanamisgirly]

you're bit too possessive toward your nerdྀི

the moment you spot them through the glass wall of the library study room, something primal inside you snaps.

your nerd. your sweet, tall, stuttering nerd.

and some other girl leaning all over him. all giggles and twirls of her stupid hair, looking up at him like he hung the stars. you can practically see the way her fingers brush “innocently” against his forearm. and gojo—this sweet, beautiful idiot gojo. he's just smiling, shyly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, completely, utterly oblivious of the advances the girl is making.

you see red. not the cute, flirty kind of jealous. no. 

you see murder.

by the time you stomp into the study room, he lights up the second he sees you—like a golden retriever seeing its favorite person. “babyy!” he blurts, half-standing so fast he nearly knocks over the chair. his knees bang the table. his pen scatter. he's flushed pink already, hands fidgeting with the hem of his stupid neat sweater, beaming at you like you're the sun itself.

meanwhile, the girl beside him falters, confused as hell when you swoop in, grab a fistful of his collar and yank him down into a messy kiss—a possessive and mean one, kissing him like you're marking him, like you're making a fucking declaration.

gojo gasps against your mouth, stunned, but immediately melts, tilting his head to give you more. he kisses back with desperate little noises, afraid if he doesn't, you'll change your mind and leave. when you pull back, he's breathless, blinking at you all dazed and drunk, glasses slipping halway down his nose. “i missed you…” he whispers.

you don't answer him, to focusing on the other girl. staring straight at her awkward form peeking up her books, face pale. you tilt your head and smile—sharp, unfriendly, a predator showing teeth. she scurries away without a word.

gojo blinks between you and the empty chair, confusion pinching his brows. “she…left? we didn't end the explanations—”

you grab his jaw in one hand, squeezing his cheeks until his lips squish pouty. “you,” you hiss, leaning so close your breath fans his pink ears, “are so fucking stupid, satoru.” his wide, panicked eyes blink down at you. “i-i am?” he stutters, looking on the verge of tears just because you're mad at him. “i-i didn't even—i mean…i was j-just doing the private lesson…i-i told you about it!” he babbles, desperate. not understanding a thing.

you shake his head a little by the jaw, making his glasses slip down worse. “yeah, yeah. i agreed on a private lesson." you snarl, voice dripping poison-sweet. "not private fucking sex.” you yank his wrist, dragging him out of the little study room, ignoring the curious heads turning to you. 

satoru stumbles after you, tripping over his own feet—over himself just to keep up. “y-you're mad,” he whines, almost breathless, cheeks burning red. “w-what did i…i didn't—”

his voice gets smaller when you spin around, shoving him back hard against the nearest wall. his back thuds against the cold surface, and he freezes up, chest heaving. “you really don't get it, huh?” 

that dumb, pretty face of his—lips pink from your previous kiss and from him nervously chewing them, his glasses crooked, his hair all messed up—god, you could eat him alive. “you let that clingy bitch touch you like that?” you spit. “smile at her like that? let her giggle and bat her lashes like you didn't already have someone who should be the only thing you look at??”

satoru is practically vibrating in place, like a kicked puppy. his Adam's apple bobs hard when he swallows. “i-i didn't notice!” he chokes out. “i swear, angel, i didn't! i-i didn't even l-look at her. .” your nails scrape up his chest through his hoodie, making him whimper. “you're mine, aren't you, 'toru?” he nods so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. “y-yes!! yours! of c-course, only yours!”

your hand snakes lower, palming the half-chub tenting his sweats. poor thing :( so quick to get hard just from yelling at him. “you're lucky you're cute,” you snap, but your heart is hammering at how real the panic was in his voice. 

you squeeze him through the fabric. his hips jolt into your hand with a pathetic little gasp. you watch his pretty white lashes flutter, poor boy was genuinely confused why you're so pissed—poor sweet nerd who only ever wanted you :((

you click your tongue. “my pretty nerd,” you mock sweetly, squeezing his cock harder through his pants, making his knees buckle. “getting hard just ‘cause i’m scolding you? bet you'd cum just from me slapping your face.” 

“i-i could! i would, i-if that's what y-you—ah!—want,” his mouth works uselessly searching for words, his brain short-circuiting because your hand's still lazily stroking him through his sweats. you lean up, biting his jaw hard enough to make him whines. 

"you’re gonna make it up to me," you murmur against his skin, voice syrupy sweet. "gonna let me use you however I want. gonna be a good boy for me, huh, satoru?" he was towering over you but he was so, so submissive.

he nods so fast again his glasses damn near fall off. "a-anything," he breathes. "please. please let me—lemme be good—i'll be so good, promise!"

[himbosandhardwear]

He's managed to talk himself into - Robin thinks Eddie likes you and Wayne thinks it's about time - and out of - that's no guarantee of success and you just figured out you liked him four minutes ago, maybe sleep on it - asking Eddie out by the time he comes out of his room, finding Steve standing in the hallway like the twins in The Shining. At least that's what he assumes he looks like, based on the way Eddie jumps when he sees him.

“Jesus, Harrington, why save my ass if you were gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack three months later?”

He moves Steve bodily to the side so he can pass by, hands to Steve's arms, and then heads to the kitchen to dig through the cupboard above the sink.

“Wayne, have you seen the spider cup?” He asks as he leans up on his tiptoes to reach into the back. His shirt rides up and gives Steve his own heart attack when he catches a glimpse of the dimples on the small of his back.

Fuck. Yeah, not the first time Steve's seen Eddie's waist and gotten flustered. He's never felt so stupid. And he'd once chewed and eaten not one, not two, but three plastic grapes before realizing something was wrong.

“Check underneath,” Wayne says, snapping Steve's eyes away from Eddie's skin.

He opts to return to Eddie's room and wait; if there's a spider somewhere in the room, he'll take his chances.

He still has no idea what he's going to say to Eddie by the time he comes back, empty handed and pouting.

He glances down near Steve's feet. “Oh, she's gone anyway.”

“Who? The spider?”

“Yeah, you must've scared her back under the bed.”

“Cool. Good luck with that later.”

He shrugs like it's no big deal. Steve supposes you don't tattoo a big fuck off spider on your chest if you're scared of them.

“You figure out your big epiphany?” Eddie asks as he flops back down next to Steve. The bed jiggles with his weight.

“Mmhmm,” he confirms.

Eddie waits patiently for Steve to go on and when he doesn't, he gets a dry stare. “Is it a secret?”

“..........no?”

Eddie snorts. “You know, as the resident freak, it's my duty and my pleasure to inform you that you're being weird.”

Yeah, he knows that already. He rubs at his eyes, praying for inspiration, and somehow, it works.

“I'm heading to the VFW, boys. Money on the table for pizza if you want.”

They make eye contact as Eddie yells his thanks.

“He knows we both have money, right?”

“Yeah but he's never been able to treat me before. It's kinda sweet. Don't tell him I said that.”

“Never.” It is sweet and it's the exact thing he needed to push him into… “Hey, so you said something about Mexican food earlier?”

He swings his head up from where he'd just laid it down on the mattress. “Yeah!” He goes up on his elbows next. “You interested?”

His stomach swoops like he's on a roller coaster. “Yeah. You know a good place?”

“Hell yeah I do. If you don't mind a drive, there's a little joint in Indy that has enchiladas the size of your head.”

“Awesome. Tomorrow?”

He drums his hands on the bedspread in excitement. “Hell yeah! Let's make a day of it! The Plex might be playing something good and my favorite record shop is right around the corner.”

Dinner and a movie! God, he's nailing this. It was so much easier than he imagined-

“I'll pick Rob up first and then swing by your place, say noonish? Maybe oneish, I shouldn't promise noon.”

“Oh.”

Eddie looks up at the tone of his voice. “What? You wanted to drive?” The longer Steve doesn't answer the more worried he gets. “Or Rob can't come? I assume that's why you called her.”

“No,” he drawls, slow so he doesn't have to confess the truth right away.

“Okay?” Twin lines bracket his mouth, not sweet like his dimples but deep set frown lines that immediately make Steve feel like dirt.

“I thought maybe…it'd be just you and me?”

It might be that Eddie can't parse why Steve is being weird about something as normal as two friends spending the day together, but Steve's nervous system interprets Eddie's silence as apocalyptically bad. He starts fiddling with the frayed bit of his cutoffs so he doesn't have to look at Eddie anymore.

“Sure?” Eddie eventually answers. “Any particular reason why Robin isn't coming?”

Steve rubs at his eyes in frustration, convinced he's about to blow this whole thing to shit before he's even started. “How is it that I was better at this at fifteen than I am now?” He mutters. Probably because he was young and dumb and everyone wanted him so it was easy. After a moment to collect his courage, he looks Eddie in his huge Bambi eyes and says, “Because you generally don't invite your friends to go on a first date with somebody.”

“Date?” Eddie coughs.

“Yeah.”

“Date?” He asks again

“Yes.”

“Like, a date?”

“Just like a date.”

“As in you. And me. On a date?”

“Ideally.”

“.........Date?”

This would almost be funny if it wasn't so frustrating. “Edward Munson, would you like to go to dinner and a movie with me? Otherwise known as a date?”

He's still staring at Steve like maybe Steve is turning into a blueberry. Which reminds him the whole plan for today was supposed to be ‘get high and watch Willy Wonka’, but they'd both got distracted, being consumed with each other's company. And then Eddie changed his life forever by explaining what liking something felt like. Steve's used to having to have things explained to him but being talked through having a crush on someone is a new low.

“Why?”

“Why?” Steve boggles at him. “If you don't understand that part-”

Eddie waves both hands. “No, why me? Since when do you even… You're not… I don't understand where this is coming from.”

“Right,” he agrees, since this whole thing would seem sudden to Eddie, “uh, I guess since you said your interests consume you day and night, you become obsessed, you want to spend all day with them, and the first thing I thought about was…you.”

‘Me?’ Eddie mouths silently.

“Yeah. You. You're my interest. Took me a little bit to catch up, but, yeah, I'm totally obsessed with you.”

Eddie cracks a disbelieving laugh and then slaps a bunch of his loose hair in front of his face, like a little kid trying to hide.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie laughs some more but it's just hysterical enough that he gets it's not at his expense, it's still in disbelief.

“I don't want to rush you to make a decision but I'm kinda freaking out over here-”

Eddie launches himself across the bed and lands heavily in Steve's lap, which is pretty great.

He takes Steve's face in his hands and jiggles him a bit. “You like me?”

“Yep.”

“What if I kissed you?”

He snorts. “I'm not sure what world you live in where I admit to being obsessed with you and wanting to take you out but somehow I wouldn't want to kiss you.”

“So….yes?”

Fuck it. Steve pulls him down and kisses him. He kisses him like his subconscious had been more than aware he wanted to for months now.

They fall back onto the bed, Eddie still straddling him, and make out like it's 2am on prom night.

Things are starting to really heat up when all of a sudden Eddie starts giggling into Steve's mouth.

Steve pulls back enough to scowl a bit. “Wanna share with the class?”

“No.” He tries leaning in again but Steve stops him with a yank on his hair, which gets him a groan. He files that info away for later.

“Seriously, what's so funny?”

“Agh! Nothing! I was just thinking about how I used to fantasize about this but I always had this grand speech prepared first. You know, back when I had any pride. I was gonna tell you all about how I wouldn't be your secret and if you wanted me it had to be out in the open, but I'm realizing now I could not give two shits about that. I'll be your back door man. Hell, you could get married and have kids and I'll be the other woman for as long as you want.”

He tries to kiss Steve again but he yanks even harder this time. “Eddie, that is fucked up and I'm going to be so mad at you later for even saying it but first, that's not even an option considering Robin and Wayne already know.”

Eddie leans up on his hands, looking down at Steve in shock. “They do?! Wait, how the hell does Wayne know?!”

“Obviously I told Robin as soon as I figured it out and Wayne heard the whole conversation through the wall. He thinks it's about time I got my shit together, so I think we've probably been flirting with each other a little too much in his presence for him not to know.”

Eddie scowls, staring off into the distance as he contemplates this. “That’s why he left, huh?”

“Yeah. He's an ally.” Steve giggles.

Eddie looks back down. “Well then. Can't waste this opportunity. You're cool with kissing… How do you feel about blow jobs?”

Steve rolls Eddie onto his back and shows him how cool he is.

Tag List

@ravenfrog @disrespectedgoatman @grtwdsmwhr @pidgeaf7 @quartzandsundry @resident-gay-bitch @sheldarp @karakro @beckkthewreck @xocowilde @racer-reader @comedictragedy

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[tobesolnelyx]

inlove with fratboy shauna… has me thinking of fratboy lottie now, ughhh seriously i would love to see that—

— sports car || fratboy and g!p lottie matthews headcanons 🦌

a/n: no cause the vision is CLEAR. immediately thought about those courtney’s pics in caps. fratboy!lottie gives extreme tate mcrae songs vibes omg.

summary: she’s a spoiled frat but at least she likes you, right? girlfriend!lottie. modern college au.

warnings: NSFW content - MDNI

★ — to begin with - most people at college think she’s a rich, spoiled, bratty asshole. and you know what? she kinda is. she always has those stupid sunglasses (she thinks they’re making her look cool— uh, well…). she has a cap collection, too! probably tried once melissa’s one, and decided to buy weird amount of them. i mean, it’s not like she has better things to spoil money on.

★ — probably thinks would stay like this. if she hadn’t met you.

★ — you met her when she…kicked soccer ball so hard that it hit your head. you’re just random victim who was walking beside the field. it was afternoon, not really a practice. she just wanted to play with her buddies or whatever.

“shit, are you alright?” she immediately went to check on you. cause maybe she is an asshole, but not entirely heartless one. “im so sorry. i swear it was an accident…”

you glared at her, but she looked genuinely concerned about you. of course, you heard about her, you were prepared she’ll laugh it off or something. she didn’t. like in those cheesy romantic movies— you both were screwed up since that very moment.

★ — she swiftly becomes possessive over you. sometimes it’s subtle. just arm around your waist, mostly around your shoulders, when you’re walking together. sometimes it isn’t. she drags you on her lap at parties and friends meetings, resting chin on your shoulder. sometimes her hands are going way too low or way too high. you swat them off but she grins the the devil. (she loves spreading hands on your thighs and belly tho.)

★ — she’s so possessive and protective that you can be sure she’s going to get into a fight for you. actually, every occasion to smash some man’s face is a good one. and if someone is being mean to you, or worse, flirts with you? she’s ending with bruised knuckles, cracking someone’s nose.

★ — she’s ridiculously rich. she has some expensive car, leather and shits. always making a show with it. she also likes to fuck you on it’s hood. and in those moment? she’s surprisingly not overreacting because you made a mess. this freak is going to lick your cum from the hood. (well, it’s pedantic clean anyway. sometimes you think she might be caring about her car more than about you.)

★ — right! she’s whiny as fuck. actually acting like a toddler sometimes. no wonders, lottie learned that she always gets what she wants. so when you’re not paying attention to her annoying ass, she starts pouting.

“babe, im busy.” you murmur and she whines trying to snitch your notes for the next class.

“c’mon.” she pokes you. “i can buy you fake diploma anyway.” she rolls her eyes while chewing loudly on her gum.

“wha—“ you stare at her, wondering if she ever uses those braincells. “that’s not the point!”

she just scoffs wrapping arms around you and pressing kiss to your head. she’s way taller than you, so sorry buddy, you’re trapped now.

★ — oh right, her mission is to spoil you, too. you see something on internet, saying that it is pretty and after few days she throws package at your lap. hands on hips and she’s smiling proudly.

“lottie that’s hundreds of bucks i—“ you start but she just shrugs. like it’s fucking nothing.

“yeah, and?” she tap your nose. “it was cheap anyway.”

it wasn’t. at least not for you.

★ — you have hundreds of gifts from her. jewellery, clothes, music records, books. anything you mentioned once, that you would like to have. it’s not like you even asking her for it. but you let her buy things anyway. you think it’s some love language.

★ — she buys you lingeries, obviously. goes to the store with you, sitting there while you’re trying them on. bulge growing visible and hard in her pants. until she just shoves you against the wall and fucks you senselessly covering your mouth with her hand. you’re messing up this lingerie. not a problem tho. she pays for ruined and new one for you.

★ — loves teasing you. not only in bed. she just loves being annoying. never knows when to shut up, when to stop.

“are you done?” you ask her when she’s constantly poking you or pinching. she’s just bored, c’mon! just give her attention!

“nuh uh.” she says with stupid smile and she simply throws herself at you. caging you for the next few hours. (eventually getting a boner after a while and you have to jerk her off).

★ — lottie who loves to take you everywhere with her. on her soccer games. family gatherings or vacation. she just loves to show you off. loves to have you close. and you’re always in those pretty dresses she buys you.

★ — lottie who will eventually take them off while her parents are asleep. you guys are messing up sheets, but who cares? someone will clean it anyway. she’ll make you ride her face only to look at you desperately grinding against her tongue. she holds your hips, while her dick is embarrassingly close to eruption from this sight alone.

★ — she kind of sucks at words of affirmation. she’s mean to you. sometimes. sometimes you can’t stand her ass but she’s trying. and she would literally crash out if she’d lose you. she won’t tho. if she had to, she would lock you in some expensive apartment and wait until you would want to be with her again (as a joke…obviously…)

[hearts4hughes]

hiii I was maybe thinking reader telling their parents that they’re going to a friends house for the weekend and instead they sneak out to Coachella with Rafe and somehow they find out (maybe a clip of them together being cute goes viral on tt and their siblings sees it and snitched but up to you!)

RAFECHELLA 2025

“you’re kidding…right?” his voice rings through the phone in disbelief. a beat of silence passes. “y/n, you’re twenty years old.”

“i know, rafe,” you sigh, dragging your fingers through your hair.

he’s quiet for a second, and then you hear the frustration bleed into his voice. “so why are you sneaking out like you’re fifteen?”

you chew on your lip, glancing over your shoulder like your parents could somehow hear you through the walls. “because they wouldn’t let me go if i asked.”

“and that’s fucking stupid,” he snaps, not even trying to hide how mad he is. “you’re grown, y/n. you don’t need permission anymore.”

you don’t answer, so he keeps going, softer this time. “you should be able to just…go. live your life and not lie about it like you’re doing something wrong.”

your heart squeezes because you know he’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “i’m just not trying to start a war with them,” you whisper.

he exhales again, sharp and shaky. “i get that, baby. i do. but you deserve better than feeling like you have to hide. especially from them.”

you blink fast, chest tight, throat tighter. “c’mon,” he murmurs. “you coming or not?”

your heart jumps. you nod even though he can’t see you. “yeah. i’m coming.”

and when you slip out your window an hour later, rafe’s already leaning against his truck, arms crossed, waiting. he doesn’t say anything when you approach. just pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head, and opens the door for you like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“they’re gonna be mad,” you mumble once you’re on the road, headlights slicing through the dark.

“let ’em be mad,” rafe says simply, reaching over to tangle your fingers together. “you’re with me now.”

-

coachella feels like another world. you’re not thinking about home. not thinking about the lie you told, or your parents’ rules, or any of it.

you’re with rafe. you’re alive.

you’re laughing at something he says when you feel your phone buzz against your hip relentlessly.

you ignore it at first, too high on adrenaline, cotton candy, and the way rafe’s looking at you like you hung the fucking moon. but eventually, curiosity wins. you pull it out, frowning at the flood of notifications.

mom: CALL ME.

dad: we need to talk.

sam: LMAOOOOO you’re trending sis.

you blink. rafe leans over your shoulder.

“what’s goin’ on?”

you show him the screen. his brow furrows. then you swipe over to TikTok…and there it is.

a video of you and rafe at the last set. you on his shoulders, arms in the air, laughing. him gripping your thighs, grinning up at you like he’s never seen anything better in his life.

captioned: found the hottest couple at coachella !!!

already at 300k likes and climbing.

you feel your stomach drop for half a second. then you shrug, stuffing your phone back in your pocket.

“fuck it,” you say, grinning. “we’re already here, right?”

rafe snorts, pulling you closer. “that’s my girl,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss onto your forehead. “i fuckin’ love it.”

you let yourself fall against him. they can be mad. they can ground you, they can lecture you. you don’t care.

because for the first time in forever, you feel free.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @13hischiers @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @xoxosblogsblog @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae

[hyruling]

For the domestic prompt - buddie, 'a spare room'?

combined with 9. books stacked on a nightstand

---

The house is fine. 

Definitely better than the glimpses Buck would get on FaceTime in those first few weeks. The wallpaper is gone, replaced with a nice shade of blue paint. The grout in the kitchen is sparkling, the sink faucets replaced with something from this century, and the floors are — well, a work in progress. But they’re covered with nice rugs, and Eddie’s scattered some fake plants around, added some pictures to the walls and mantle. It’s nice. Cozy, but strangely devoid of Eddie. It doesn’t have the same lived-in feel as the house in LA, doesn’t have the knickknacks picked up at various zoo trips or baseball games or homemade projects from Chris’ school. He hasn’t asked, but he can assume Eddie has them stored away somewhere, waiting to be unpacked when the rest of the house is done. 

He can acknowledge his bias though. Eddie could own a thousand houses, and none of them would make him feel like the way the one on South Bedford does. Still, he compliments Eddie’s hard work, following Eddie around as he’s given the grand tour. 

And Eddie — well, Buck doesn’t quite know what to think about Eddie, who’s been fluttering around him like a skittish animal since they pulled into the driveway. 

“How’s the setup?” Eddie asks.

Buck turns. Eddie’s hovering in the doorway of the spare room, wringing his hands together. It’s small, just a bed with an end table and a lamp. In the corner is a small chest of drawers it looks like Eddie picked up at Goodwill — in good shape but definitely used. There’s a fake cactus on the dresser beneath a nice mirror. Eddie is chewing his lip, staring at him like he’s a judge on Rock the Block and is about to send Eddie home. 

“Great,” Buck answers. 

He drops his duffel on the bed and notices the sunflower painting above the bed. It used to hang in the bathroom in LA, between the shower and the toilet. It was his favorite of Eddie’s odd collection of artwork, and he used to tease him about purposefully keeping it in the bathroom just to spite him.  

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah, it looks great Eddie. You really didn’t have to get a whole bed just for me,” Buck adds, scratching the back of his neck. 

Eddie shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a faint flush on his cheeks. “It’s not—it’s a guest room. I would have gotten one anyway. For other guests too, so.”

Continue reading on AO3

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 34

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: They found Bucky, and now you were on your way to Berlin. But just like your worst fears, you realize you might not get to him in time. Before someone else does.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Flashback to Winter Soldier days. Mention of torture. Violence.

Song Rec: Masters of War by Bob Dylan (play when you see **)

Authors Note: Thank you guys for always messaging me and commenting. I love the interactions. The flashbacks are per @justachillgirllui request. Thank you for that! I'll probably write more from your req soon. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“What’s he like?” Steve asked you that night.

He stared at you with this timid look, like he was afraid to know the answer. Not because you might say something bad, but because his own question only confirmed how far he’s drifted. He didn’t know Bucky anymore. He didn’t know the man who was once his family.

“He’s kind.” You whispered, your voice soft. “He’s stubborn, but kind. He’s still good, Steve. That good never died.”

Steve’s head drooped, a bitter-sweet smile graced his lips. “Yeah? He-” he huffed. “I knew…I knew he was still there.”

You shifted, chewing at your lip. “He told me about you.” You blurted, feeling the need to comfort him. “He didn’t talk about that part of his past much, but he told me about you.”

“He did?” Steve perked up, those blue eyes almost sparkling. 

“Yeah,” your lips curled in a timid smile. “He did. He told me about Coney Island- the hot dog stand, and the cyclone.”

Steve burst into a shocked flutter of laughter, his fists balling in his lap. “Yeah- Yeah, that sounds like him.” For a moment you could see the images flashing, like old film flickering between blinks, gone before he could grasp it. 

“He missed you, I think.” 

He looked up at you again, eyes glossed with unshed tears. His pink lips pressed together tightly, trying to control himself.

“He’d never say it, but-” you nodded. “I could see it. Whenever he talked about you, he got this look. I think he misses a lot, that time, who he was, but mostly you.”

Steve nodded slowly, pressing his knuckles to his eyes. “Yeah,” he huffed. “Me too.”

You wondered, for a moment, who they used to be together. You would never know their lives before the serum, before the ice, before time became their enemy. 

You could imagine it. Two kids in Brooklyn, fighting against the odds, against the looming horror of the world around them. A family born of a bond forged through fire and blood. 

You wondered who they’d be now, if things were different.

“A b*mb hidden in a news van ripped through the UN building in Vienna. More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda's King T'Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect... who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes... the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations…”

The feeling that hit you as the news anchor went on was indescribable. Like a fist had wrapped around your ribs in a crushing grip, like threads had been sewn through your chest only to be pulled tighter and tighter. 

You physically clutched your chest, feeling the staggering rise and fall of your lungs expanding. Your bulging gaze bore into the pixelated photograph of Bucky’s blurry face. 

Vision, who you’d met days ago, was now at your side, his crimson hands steadying you. “Are you alright?”

The words scattered like smoke, fizzling into the nothingness that suffocated you. 

He didn’t do this. 

He wouldn’t do this. 

Not the Bucky you knew.

A different type of fear gripped you now. If it wasn’t your Bucky, it was him, and those people had found him. They found him, hadn’t they? They said those words, carving out the terrified creature they spent decades building. 

You had to squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to look away from the video clip that replayed on the screen. 

If Bucky did this, then he’d lost. They got their precious pet back. The screams you fought so hard to bury in your darkest memories scraped their way into your ears. Into your psyche. Burning and tearing at the calm you tried so hard to cling to.

The image of Bucky’s- the Soldier’s- body seizing up and writhing in agony as they destroyed his brain. The smell of chemicals and blood. The sight of tears dripping along his jaw. 

If Bucky did this, the Bucky you knew was gone. They’d wiped him clean. 

So for once in your life, you refused to accept what was right in front of you.

The flight to Berlin was a limbo of anxiety. 

When you took a moment to see past your narrow sighted fear about Bucky, you noticed how quickly the fate of the Avengers was crumbling around you. Natasha and Tony spent almost every waking moment arguing, picking through a thick stack of papers that you came to know as the Sokovia Accords. 

You had been out of the loop for so long, that it took some adjusting for you to get what was on the table. 

The Avengers were powerful, in more ways than they knew. They were strong and fierce and fought for the good of the people. But their strength only bred further chaos.

A caged animal would claw and tear and snarl at every barrier in its path.

But a free animal, one that knew no bound, would mark and claim and destroy anything in their path, if their will demanded. 

You could see both sides of the debate, as it played out before you. Without rules, without consequences, what made the Avengers any different than those they fought? Were they just powerful people fighting according to their own agendas?

The one thing that balanced society was that no one was above the law. Or at least, it was supposed to be that way.

For you though, you always thought that people with the greater ability to handle terrifying matters should be the ones in charge of such. The confirmation of aliens and other worlds and other immense horrors only made you more sure of that. 

There were people out there capable of saving lives. Why stop that? But politics was politics. You were a doctor for a reason. You didn’t want to worry about such technical things. You just wanted to help people. 

But here you were, clinging to your seat as the jet hit the tarmac, trembling over the fate of the world.

Out of everyone involved in the current political and violent uproar, you were the least important when it came to keeping informed.

You had literally no idea what was happening. 

Straight off the plane, you, Natasha, and Tony, were taken to a large facility manned with gunmen. You almost couldn’t take it. It was too familiar. Too close to what was. 

You were led through halls that felt like a stretching tunnel system, until you found a large glass conference room. Before you could get a word out, agents in black gently escorted you away from your companions. 

It seemed that your affiliation with Bucky made you a liability. Or at least, you gathered as much when you were told to sit and wait for someone to begin your questioning. 

You couldn’t say you were shocked. You’d been in hiding with a serial assassin for over a year, only popping up right before the king of Wakanda is murdered. It was a bad look. But you just couldn’t focus on that. You couldn’t focus on your imposing criminal charges, or how suspicious they might find you.

All you could think about was what was happening to Bucky. 

They were going to take him, dead or alive. It didn’t matter. 

They were going to lock him away. They were going to kill him. 

You couldn’t bear it. Outside your glass cage, you watched soldiers and political agents fretting about computers, flickering through body camera footage. You couldn’t make sense of it. 

How could this be happening? After everything the world had thrown at you both, why this? Why were you forced to bear this weight?

Through your haze, you could see Natasha sternly speaking with a man in uniform outside the door. Their voices floated through the glass walls, but you couldn’t piece together their words. 

Natasha pushed past him and into the room. “How ‘re you doing?”

You went stiff, your scabbed hands shaking in your lap. “What’s going on?” You tried to steady your voice. 

Natasha slid smoothly into a chair close by. “Tony’s explaining your situation now. You’ll be cleared soon, don’t worry.”

You blinked at her, confusion sweeping through you at how easily they handled things. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not going to prison, Y/n,” she offered with a smile and a lifted brow.

“And Bucky?”

She sighed quietly, her gaze floating out to find Tony, who was on the phone. “That’s a bit more complicated.”

“He didn’t do this- not him.” You whispered, staring down at your shaking leg. “He didn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Natasha muttered. “Steve ’s rocked the boat, and he rocked it hard. It’s gonna take a lotta work to fix this shit.” She chuckled to herself dryly, pinching the bridge of her nose. She seemed to be thinking of something you couldn’t see. 

Something that wasn’t for you. 

“Have they found them?” You gulped.

Nat glanced back up at Tony and the agents outside the glass room. “Looks like it,” she stood. Your gaze followed hers to the many monitors and screens displaying footage of heavy duty vehicles rolling through the city. 

You shot to your feet, swaying a bit as you caught yourself. 

He’s in there.

They found him.

“Natasha-” You blurted, catching the woman in the doorway. “They won’t hurt him, right?” You kept your eyes on the armed truck as it flashed across the news. 

Natasha’s short moment of silence made you turn. “You should try not to work yourself up. It’s gonna be a long night.”

The glass door softly swung shut.

A sickness sunk through the pit of your stomach and spread in your veins. 

You couldn’t protect him from this. You couldn’t save him.

You always knew this. 

But God, why couldn’t you ever save the people you wanted to?

Bucky blinked, every flutter of his lashes heavy with the weight of exhaustion. His absent gaze swept over the cold, sterile environment around him. 

“Soldat, lay back.” A sharp voice commanded him. 

His body fell back onto the table without a fight. Tinted lights bore over him, exposing his naked flesh. He shivered as he felt the needle slide into his vein. 

After every mission, there was an in depth physical, tracking his vitals and mobility. His breath shuddered out in a cloud before him, puffing and floating. He tried to track what looked like smoke as it disappeared before him. 

His head lolled to the side, avoiding the staggering lights that blinded him. His eyes rolled shut. For a moment he thought he could fall asleep on that table, as the nurse examined his bionic arm. He could let the darkness take him, sweep him into the nothingness.

Like the calming force of the ocean, dragging his body through waves of salty ice. 

He was familiar with ice. Even now, as his body trembled from the freezing cold that seeped through the cement walls. He tried to picture the sun, tried to pretend the blinding light above him was the warm light of summer. 

He tried to remember warmth. He tried to remember the last time he was outside, free to roam. He tried to remember himself.

He was sure he was someone once. He was sure there was a before. Before the physicals, the needles, the pains, the death. There had to be.

He was young once, wasn’t he? 

Or was he truly just a weapon, built in a lab from spare parts?

A hand gently smacked his cheek, startling him awake. The older woman standing over him flicked a flashlight between his pupils. “Not yet, Soldat. You can’t sleep yet.”

His lips parted on words that wouldn’t come. He panted softly, shivering and numb as he was examined. 

Sleep wouldn’t come for him yet. 

But he was just so tired.

Steve shuffled into the glass room with an air of tense silence, Sam trailing behind him. You watched with a sense of dread building in your gut as they moved. 

They saw you and said nothing. 

“What-What’s happening? Where is he?” You tried to stand, but your weak legs trembled beneath you. 

Steve avoided your gaze, shame burning beneath his skin. 

Sam turned to you, helping you to sit down. “He’s downstairs,” he moved into the chair beside you. “He’s being psychologically evaluated.”

“Evaluated?” You frown, turning to look at Steve. “What for? They’re just-” you curled a fist in your hair. “They’re just gonna lock him up anyways.” You followed Steve’s stormy gaze to the monitors outside of the glass room. To the many images displaying Bucky, locked in a container.

A metal crate. A cage. Like an animal. 

You stifled a wrecked sob, your knuckles pressing your lips closed. 

You couldn’t handle it. The sight of him, his face, his arms bolted down, the armed guards. You couldn’t do it. 

You were struck by the sight of him alone. Blurry through unshed tears, but there. Alive. In the same building as you. So close, yet so out of reach. And there he sat, like a vicious animal, locked up.

You couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. What he felt. You thought of the day you guided him through a panic attack. You remembered the wild look in his eye, terrified and ready to fight. But now he just looked so defeated. So helpless. 

He thought he deserved this. 

Your stomach turned.

The glass door behind you swung open and a blonde woman strode in, handing Sam the receipts for his and Steve's suit. 

“Bird costume, really?” Sam huffed.

“I didn’t write it,” she rolled her eyes.

Steve glanced back at her. They shared a look. The woman's thin finger slipped onto a console in the center of the table and pressed a button. 

The TV in the corner of the room beeped, then an accented voice began speaking. “I’m not here to judge you…” You flinched, staring up at the screen. You saw Bucky, from a small camera built into his containment unit. “I just want to ask you a few questions.” A man with an accent spoke in a calm, patient voice.

“Do you know where you are, James?” Bucky was silent. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky.” His voice came out a rough whisper. He spoke with a gentle shame, like he could only form the words to detest his birth name, and prove who he is.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as the questioning continued. Steve picked up the case file of the bombing and began sifting through the pictures. You refused to look at the pixelated photo that resembled Bucky.

“Why would the task force release this photo to begin with?”

“Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can.” Sharon offered.

“Right. It’s a good way to flush a guy outta hiding.” Steve replied thoughtfully. “Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.

“You’re saying someone framed him to find him.” Sharon muttered quietly. 

You shifted in your seat, looking between the blondes. It made sense. It made perfect sense. This is what you were scared of.

“Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing.” Sam sighed. You glanced at the man, your jaw clenched.

“That was different,” you whispered.

“We didn’t bomb the UN. That turns a lotta heads,” Steve lifted a brow.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him, it guarantees that we would…” Sharon trailed off, her eyes shifting to Steve in a sceptical way.

All eyes turned to the TV now. Something cold crawled beneath your skin. Something cold and simmering and familiar. Something that felt a lot like dread.

“Tell me Bucky, you’ve seen a great deal haven’t you?” The doctor offered, his muted voice quietly floating back to your ears.

“...I don’t wanna talk about it…” Bucky whispered.

“You feel that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop?” The doctor turned to something on his table. “Don’t worry, we only have to talk about one…”

“Steve, this isn’t right-” You shakily rose from your chair. “This-”

The room went black. All lights and screens flickered to darkness. A red glow emitted from the emergency generated lights. 

Outside the glass room, chaos erupted. Men with guns began filtering into the hall. The air left you as your frantic eyes found Sharon.

“Sub level five, east wing,” she urgently explained. 

Steve and Sam shot out of the room in a flurry. You wavered, but Sharon caught you, holding you steady. “What’s happening?” You gasped. 

“I don’t know- but someones going through a whole lot of trouble to get to Bucky.” She helped you lean against the table. “I have to go, stay here.”

You couldn’t move as Sharon left you. You couldn’t move as the horrific thoughts filled your head. What was happening? 

The glass door swung open, Natasha popped her head inside. “Time to go, c’mon.” 

“What?” You staggered forward. “Where? What’s-”

“We don’t have time, you need to move with the evacuation. You’ll be safe with these agents, but you have to move.” She gently took your arm and led you out. 

“You’re going after him, aren’t you? He’s gotten out- he- the Winter Soldier,” you heaved, stumbling after Natasha. “You’re gonna kill him-”

“We aren’t going to kill anyone, Y/n- look at me.” Natasha gripped your shoulders. “I know you’re scared, but I need you to focus. Go with the evacuation. Let us handle this.”

Tony swept past the two of you, and without a word- only a firm look- Natasha left you with the crowd. 

The evacuation was hectic, dozens of agents and workers fleeing the building in a rush. You were swayed with the crowd, stumbling through men and women in suits. People were screaming.

Or maybe that was just the voices in your head, begging you to go, to find him. 

You stumbled outside, your thigh burning. You couldn’t catch your breath. It was the fear, you knew that, but you couldn't breathe. You never used to be so afraid. So constantly edging on anxiety. You used to be in control.

You couldn’t control anything now. You were helpless. 

“Y/n?” A voice called to you from afar. You spun on your heel, finding Sam. 

“Sam?” You gasped. “Sam- where- what happened?” You grasped his arm tightly as he clutched your shoulder 

His expression soured, then his gaze shifted to the crowd. “The doctor, it was him. He flipped the switch.”

You bit back the dry sob that wanted to escape. He did it. He said those words. He shattered the fragile wall Bucky spent so long building back up. And he ripped free something else. Something darker. Something tortured.

“Let me come with you,” you blurted. You hadn’t even realized you said the words until Sam gave you a funny look. “I can-”

“You’re staying far away from this.” Sam interjected. “You’re barely on your feet. You’re not coming.” 

“I can’t just-” You dug your hands into your hair, yanking at the strands. “Sam- I can’t leave him.”

Sam’s lips pulled into a soft frown. “You have to.”

You knew he was right. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t an Avenger. What good could you bring? But you knew that you couldn’t turn away. You couldn’t just catch a plane back to the compound and wait it out. You wouldn’t leave him. “No, I don’t. I won’t.”

Sam steadied you with a pained look, but sighed. “You’re killing me, here.” He grimaced. He rubbed a hand down his face. “Head to the airport, we have backup coming and need someone to meet them there.”

*The old blue beetle stunk of aged leather and motor oil. The engine popped and rattled as Steve swung it into the parking garage. The normally packed garage was now empty, save for a few vehicles spotting the area. 

Bucky could only assume the airport was being evacuated. Most places were. Berlin had become grounds for the manhunt to find him. 

But he couldn’t focus on that. He could barely sit still. 

He’d become the Winter Soldier again, just like that. That man made it seem so easy, to pick him apart and reduce him to nothing but an obedient soldier. 

He’d hurt people. People were dead. And it was all his fault. 

The beetle made a screeching sound as it came to a halt, its old motor dying out. Steve and Sam climbed out, meeting a handful of others Bucky didn’t know. He didn’t move. Their voices carried against cement. Bucky stared down at his bionic fist, glaring at the shifting plates. 

“Thanks for having my back,” he heard Steve say. 

He slowly climbed out of the vehicle, rounding it to lean on the trunk as he waited.

“It was time to get off my ass.” A woman with red hair he didn’t recognize said.

“How about our other recruit?” Steve turned to Clint.

“He’s rarin’ to go. Had to put a little coffee in him,” Clint stepped back and yanked the van door open. “But, he should be good.” 

A man groaned from inside, then crawled out. “What time zone is this?” Scott squinted at the light, approaching Steve with awe.

Clint turned back to the van. He reached an arm inside, his voice low as he whispered a quick, “Watch your head.”

Bucky glanced up, like it was an afterthought. 

But then he saw it. 

Your head dipped under the van door as Clint helped you out, steadying you once you stood. 

Bucky’s breath hitched in his chest, the air around him stagnant and thin. He stumbled forward, his blue eyes wide and searching.

And then you saw him. 

Your eyes met. 

You released a sound resembling a sob. Maybe a cry. Maybe relief. 

The voices around you faded to static. The world slowed. 

Bucky’s body went rigid, like maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe it was a trick of his warped mind. Maybe it was a trick of the light, and if he moved too quickly, you might fade away.

Maybe he’d blink and none of it would be real.

But then you moved. 

You staggered forward on your bad leg, swift and unblinking as you closed the distance.

“Oh my god-” You wept, throwing yourself at him. Trembling arms wound around his back and yanked him close. Your face pressed to his shoulder as you sucked in a violent breath.

Bucky made a choked sound when you collapsed into his arms. He only moved once he felt your warmth seep through his clothes, your breath puffing against his chest through his clothes.

Then, like a thread snapping, his weight sagged into you.

He curled his flesh palm around your nape, pressing you close. His metal arm slithered around your waist, tight and unyielding. He  buried his nose in your hair. He could smell your shampoo. 

You were real.

He let out a trembling breath, his grip growing tighter. He clung to you, cradling you close to his body in a way he hadn’t in decades. You curled your fingers in his shirt, stretching the worn threads. “I thought-” He whispered, his voice rough against your crown. “I thought you-” He couldn't finish the thought.

You trembled in his arms, your fingers curling in his shirt and hair, threads and strands tugged gently in your fist. You felt the stuttering rise and fall of Bucky’s chest against yours. His heart beat. 

He’s alive.

“I almost was,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him, still close enough to feel his breath. One hand, shaken with tremors, curled around his jaw, softly brushing his cheek. “I almost- They picked me up again…” You stared widely at the man who was once your safety. “I’m so sorry,” Your voice wavered.

Bucky just stared at you, his weighted left arm curling tighter around you. He watched the way your gaze flickered over his face, and the way your lips formed your frantic words. Your shoulders rose and fell subtly with each breath. You looked different. You looked sunken in, tired. You looked like you.

He felt the urge to cradle your face in his hands and touch his forehead to yours. To feel your breath on his skin. 

You were so close, but in that moment it wasn’t close enough.

“I thought they-” You pressed your mouth in a line, forcing yourself to swallow your words. “Oh, Bucky-” you blinked back the tears blurring your vision. The calloused fingers on the back of your neck dragged forward. His warm thumb swept along your cheek, brushing away unshed tears.

You took a moment to stare at him now, closer than you felt you’d ever been. He looked so different, yet unchanged. 

His long hair looked tousled and unkept. His blue eyes looked bright and tortured, shadowed by his pinched brow. His blushed lips parted on words he could never get out. His stubble had grown in, you could feel the rough drag of it beneath your palm. 

You noticed the red henley.

When Bucky didn’t respond, your expression relaxed, your lips quirked up. “You’re wearing my shirt.” You muttered, your gaze flickering down to the red henley.

He released a quick breath. You felt it fan across your cheek. His strong hands loosened, slowly releasing you. “Technically, It’s mine,” his voice was rough, but quiet.

“Technically.” You swallowed, sliding a step back. 

“Besides, I think I’ve ruined it.” He shifted his prosthetic arm towards you, showcasing the burnt black bullet holes in the sleeve.

You bit back a smile. “Dick.”

He huffed out an ill timed laugh.

A loud speaker overhead blared an alarm, a voice speaking German followed. You flinched as the sound travelled, echoing through the garage. Bucky’s hand settled on your waist. 

“They’re evacuating the airport.” He swallowed, looking back to the others, who you now realized were watching you. You flushed in embarrassment at your emotional outburst. You slowly released Bucky. 

“Stark?” Sam glanced back at Steve. The man you met in the van, Scott, echoed the word.

And then reality came crashing down on you in one heavy swoop.

“Suit up.” Steve commanded, already moving into the beetle's truck to fetch his shield. 

Your wide eyes found Bucky again. “What’s happening?” 

Those tragic blues swept over your face. “I have to go.” Those whispered words felt like another ending, wedged right into their newest beginning. 

“What?”

“There’s-” he swallowed, like he was still piecing together his mind after coming out of the controlled mind space. “There’s more Winter Soldier’s.” You gaped at him. “In Siberia.”

“Siberia? Where you were kept?” 

He nodded, glancing up to see everyone moving to start changing. “The doctor from the compound is going after them. We have to stop him.” His voice was low, barely a whisper.

“You’re going to Siberia?” You took a second to catch up. You were beyond overwhelmed. 

Steve stepped close to you, holding out a folded tactical uniform to Bucky. “We need to go, Buck.” His voice edged on awkward guilt. 

You pulled back, giving Bucky space to take the gear. You couldn’t stop this. No matter how much you wanted to. And besides, if there was anyone who was going to get this done, it was Bucky. 

Bucky took the suit, then turned back to you. “You need to get out of here.” His tone shifted to something familiar, something like the voice you heard through the radio months ago. 

“He’s right, if Tony’s here, we aren’t leaving here without a fight. Take a car and get away from the airport, understand?” Steve said gently, with that firm but kind set of his brow.

You swallowed as a set of keys were pushed into your hand. “Okay…” you whispered, the keys making a soft sound as you shook. 

To your shock, Bucky slid his palms around your face and lifted your jaw to look at him. “Be careful.” He urged, his cold metal fist soft on your skin. 

“Back at you,” you whispered, gently petting his knuckles before pulling away. “I’ll see you after this, okay?”

It felt too soon. Too quick. You had two seconds to feel him breathe beneath your hands, and now he was slipping away again. And he was leaving, charging towards danger in a way you weren’t used to. You just wanted to keep him safe.

His jaw clenched, the muscles fluttering in his cheek. He nodded firmly.

 But somehow, even as he agreed, you worried even he didn't believe it.

A/N: I am starting to regret not squishing a bunch of the earlier chapters into one to make them longer... ugh... whatever :) Hope you guys enjoyed. I also hope ya'll played the song for the reunion portion....

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout @local-crazy @nynxtea @cherryheairt

[kitkat13001]

✦ — 3. centerstage

⋆.˚✮ prev ⟡ m. list ⟡ next ✮ 2.6k words

-> hitoshi shinsou x pro-hero!reader

✮ the longer you work with hitoshi, the more you notice things are starting to change. you’ve always been self-assured, but this team-up is really throwing you for a loop. ✮ tracklist: 505 - arctic monkeys, tek it - cafuné, wait a minute! - willow, deja vu - olivia rodrigo, fire - tv girl, closer - chainsmokers + halsey

you’re still not quite sure how to feel about this whole working-with-hitoshi thing. you’ve been pondering his apology ever since he voiced it, something uncomfortable stirring inside you from the entire ordeal. 

you’d considered returning it (since you’re definitely not absolved of blame in the matter), but you haven’t found a good time. it feels half-assed in any case, so you’ve just been trying to play it cool. 

luckily work has kept you both busy enough, what with the mission having progressed more than you’d been expecting. it’s been a good buffer to have something to focus on other than each other. 

it’s actually been kind of…nice. there’s still that lingering weirdness of the monumental history between you, but you’re slowly falling back into old habits. 

conversation comes a little easier during long patrols, occasionally stopping out for coffee during late nights of report filing, less venom behind quips exchanged during combat. you try not to let the nostalgia of it all overtake you — though that’s easier said than done.

“hey!”

your head snaps up, given no time to react as a bolt of energy hurdles right for you. you yelp as your body is yanked out of the way just in time, debris raining down behind you as the charge hits the wall you were just standing in front of. shinsou’s capture scarf is wrapped securely around your waist, him standing a few feet away with a pinched-brow expression. you shoot him a sheepish smile before readying yourself for the next strike, jumping back into the fray with hitoshi at your side. 

you two make quick work of the villain and it’s not long before she’s seething, wrapped up in hitoshi’s capture weapon. you’ve been trying to pick off stragglers from the syndicate in the hopes of extracting more information, but it’s been rather unsuccessful. still, a villain off the streets is a win you’ll take for now. 

you dust yourself off, flashing a sly look at shinsou. 

“can i compliment you this time or are you going to chew off my head again?”

“no, go ahead and sing my praises,” he replies with the hint of a wry grin. 

“ha!” you snort. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you’re quiet for a few seconds before giving a little laugh. “we should compete in the asshole olympics.”

“oh, we’d win gold.”

“mm, maybe silver. maybe. give ourselves some grace, save the gold for real pieces of work like them,” you reply with a hum, nodding at the villain sitting on the curb before you. he gives another little half-smile, chuckling to himself. 

it doesn’t take long for law enforcement to arrive and take the villain away, leaving you and shinsou with a quick thanks. 

“you going to get all dolled up for the cameras?” hitoshi asks as you’re walking back towards the agency. he’s talking about a press conference that edgeshot has arranged, both for exposure and to calm the public. you haven’t come out with the information about the bust being moved up, but you and shinsou have been approved to give a vague statement in order to quell the public’s curiosity (and gas yourselves up). 

“nah, i like the fresh-out-of-battle look,” you reply. “i think dirt and blood suit me.”

he snorts at that. “definitely.”

“how ‘bout you?”

“oh yeah, i’m about to head to hair and makeup right now,” hitoshi replies sarcastically. he grunts when you shove him lightly. 

“shut up! i meant, like, are you going to be fine in front of the press?”

he shrugs. “i’m not afraid of the cameras, i just don’t like them. not much of a choice here, though, but it’s whatever. you’re probably going to do most of the talking anyhow.”

“oh, am i?” 

he gives you a look. “aren’t you?”

“tch. yeah, yeah.”

once you get back to the agency, you both split to file your reports and get ready for the press conference later. 

you decide to remain in your hero suit, only giving yourself some minor touch-ups. best not to look like you’re trying too hard, especially when you know hitoshi would never let you hear the end of it. 

you’re actually on your way down when hitoshi drops down beside you, hanging from his capture weapon for a second before he drops to his feet. 

you’d be startled if he hadn’t done this a million times before, back when you were partners. 

instead, you fix him with a deadpan look. 

“you’re such a spider-man wannabe.”

he wrinkles his nose, though its near-imperceptible under his mask. “the comic book guy?”

“don’t act like you don’t know who spider-man is, hitoshi.”

“i’m not a thing like him,” he insists, matching your pace as you two walk to the conference room. 

“you’re right,” you reply coyly, “you’re batman because you’re emo.”

“you’re such a geek.”

you can hear the buzzing of reporters even from down the hall. you sneak a glance at hitoshi, but if he’s nervous it doesn’t show. he looks aloof as always — hands in his pockets, permanently hooded eyes, slouchy shoulders. your brows pinch just a little, squaring your shoulders and striding into the room with purpose. 

the reaction is immediate. you’re nowhere near top-five (or even top-ten) status, but your work with the lurkers has made you quite recognizable. the reporters squawk about, calling your hero name and waving microphones around. cameras flash in your face from all around the room, but you don’t pose for them this time. 

you head straight to the podium, trying to exude confidence. you can’t quite tell if hitoshi’s presence by your side is a source of comfort or nerves. 

the reporters quiet down when you tap the mic, introducing yourself and hitoshi. 

“good evening. i’m glad to be here with nighthide to assure you all of the safety of our community regarding the syndicate under investigation. we’ll be giving a statement and taking a few questions tonight.”

hitoshi steps forward beside you, reading the prepared script off a card in his hand. he projects a certain nonchalance, but there’s no mistaking the confidence behind his demeanor. 

you had told him before that he hadn’t changed, but that’s not true. he’s grown, clearly in more ways than one. you’re so caught up in him that you nearly miss your cue until hitoshi steps back to allow you to resume your place. 

the clamor starts back up as journalists and reporters push forward to get to you. 

a sharp-looking woman in the front thrusts her microphone in your face, waving over the video camera. 

“this is quite the fresh team-up,” she remarks, gesturing to you and hitoshi. “may i ask — what exactly is your relationship to nighthide?”

you’re used to leading, invasive questions during interviews. reporters love fishing for drama and personal anecdotes. you’re normally good about redirecting or deflecting, but this one has caught you slightly off-guard. they never start off the bat with something this direct, and there’s something off about her accusatory tone. 

“i— we’re coworkers?” you wince internally at the nerves apparently in your voice.

she presses on. “but you were in the same class at u.a. were you not?”

“yes, we have records that indicate you were both ranked in the top 10 of your graduating class!” chimes in another.  

“well, yeah, but—” you don’t even get to finish your sentence before another anchor interjects. 

“another one of our reporters dug up these photos—”

“is it true that you two were romantically involved?”

you sputter, cheeks burning as you burst out with a “no!”

“did you have plans to start an agency together after graduation?”

“we have records of you two teaming up in your early career—”

“—photos of you both in kyoto during the mass evacuations—”

“do you plan on pursuing this—”

“—awfully close for ‘coworkers’ to—”

your face is hot from embarrassment and the bright lights. the camera flashes have turned from irritating to unbearable. you can’t even get a word in between them. the assault doesn’t cease, and now they’re pouncing on shinsou too. 

“is there a reason you’re choosing to emerge from the shadows now?”

“yes, and does your choice of partner have anything to do with that?”

“is this all a publicity stunt or are there other factors of your personal history at play here?”

“i—” hitoshi’s violet eyes flicker to you for just a moment and it sends a bolt of panic through your body. you don’t give yourself the chance to name whatever emotion is swirling in his deep gaze, breaking away from the suffocation and shoving past your security detail to get out. 

you hurry down the hall and out the back, practically gasping for air as you burst out the door. 

the evening breeze cools the sweat that’s beaded on your forehead and nape, and you shakily take a seat on the steps. you glance back to ward off the paranoia, but no one’s followed you yet. 

you don’t know how long you sit there, stewing in anxiety and guilt, humiliation and frustration. your head whips up like a threatened deer when the door opens, but your shoulders relax a little when you see that it’s hitoshi, and that he’s alone. 

he takes a quiet seat beside you. you expect him to say something, but he remains silent.

“not gonna offer me a smoke?” you ask when the silence stretches uncomfortably, a half-hearted attempt at a joke. 

he glances at you with soft eyes and the ghost of a smile. “nah, ‘m tryna quit. apparently it’s bad for you or something.”

you give a shaky laugh. it’s another long moment before you speak again, voice small. 

“sorry for ditching you back there.”

it’s bad enough that you turned tail, but leaving hitoshi to fend for himself against those reporters? your gut shrivels with shame. 

“‘s okay. i drove ‘em off well enough,” he replies easily. 

“i don’t normally freak out during interviews,” you admit, rubbing your arms self-consciously. 

“i know.”

you turn to look at him. “you…know?”

hitoshi chuckles dryly, kicking a pebble away lightly. “you’ve got quite the glowing record, rookie. i’m sure they’ll forgive you.”

he speaks with such familiarity that your stomach does a little somersault. “you watch my interviews?” you muse, trying not to sound hopeful. 

hitoshi shrugs. “when they’re on.”

your face pulls into a little smile. “you watch my interviews.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs, pulling his scarf up around his face like a defense. “‘m not a stalker. aizawa keeps up with all your careers and i’ve seen a couple telecasts, alright?”

you hold your gaze, beaming. “you watch my interviews.”

he makes a noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “don’t read too much into it, okay? what i’m trying to say is that you’re gonna be fine. they won’t hold it against you — and if they do, i’ll make such a scene that you’ll look golden again. good as new.” he finishes with a huff of finality and you laugh. 

you’re close enough now that your shoulders are touching and it’s taking everything in you not to rest your head against him like you’d done so many times before. 

you didn’t realize just how much you missed him, not until now. 

you sit quietly for some time longer, but the question leaves your lips before you can talk yourself out of it. 

“can i ask you something stupid?”

hitoshi glances at you swiftly before looking back down at the pavement. “shoot.”

“were you… “ you’re not even fully sure you want to know, but it’s been eating at you for so long that you figure you might as well ask. “are you mad at me? for everything?”

he gives a long sigh after some deliberation, and then he’s quiet for a long moment after that. you think he’s not going to reply, and you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t, but then he speaks.

“i was,” he admits quietly, “for a long time. hurt, i guess, more than anything. but it was all such a long time ago and we’re both different people now and…” he shrugs, helpless. “i don’t know, i guess it feels stupid to hold on to such old feelings when there’s more important shit to be done, yknow?”

hitoshi sneaks a quick glance at you, searching for something in your molten eyes. you hold his gaze even after he’s looked away, something stirring in your stomach that you can’t quite place. 

“can i ask you something even more stupid?”

he exhales a little huff, an almost-chuckle. “knock yourself out.”

you feel stupid saying it out loud, but you don’t think you can’t possibly humiliate yourself any more now. 

“…can we try being friends again?”

to your surprise, his lips quirk into a tiny half-smile. he snorts softly, knocking his hand against yours. “sure. ‘f you’ll stop being a brat about it.”

your brows pinch in a scowl, which only widens his smile. 

“i’m not a brat!” you insist, jabbing at his shoulder. 

“i’m not a brat!” he echoes back, parroting your voice with his modulator. 

“i hate when you do that!” you huff. the way you’re smiling doesn’t sell the statement. 

“ah, you like it.”

you two stay out back for a while longer, not wanting to break the fragile bubble of respite. as the sun begins to drop, you both agree to head back and face what’s sure to be a mountain of consequence inside. you almost shiver at the thought of facing kamihara after the scene you’d made. 

you try not to dwell on the feeling of hitoshi’s hand in yours when he helps you to your feet, or the way his touch lingers even after he’s let go. 

you’re rounding the side of the agency where most of the press has dispersed, though none of the stragglers are brave enough to approach (which you’re glad for). 

there’s someone else standing over by doors, though — a figure who becomes increasingly familiar as you approach. 

you stop in your tracks, dumbstruck. she catches sight of you and hitoshi, lighting up as she hurries over. 

“is that eri aizawa?” you cry in exaggerated disbelief. even though you’re playing around, seeing her scamper over to you sends a pang of bittersweet nostalgia through your stomach. she looks so grown up compared to the last time you saw her, but you still see the timid little girl you remember from your days at u.a. 

“oh my god, you’re so big!” you marvel, throwing your arms around her before you can help yourself. she giggles when you lift her with the force of your hug, giving her a playful spin before you set her back down. “last time i saw you, you were about yea high!” 

you wave your hand at waist length and eri’s cheeks turn a bashful shade of pink. “well, it has been a while…congratulations on your mission, though! i was super happy when ‘toshi told me you guys would be working together again!”

you turn to hitoshi, who you’d just about forgotten was there, but his face is pretty much unreadable. 

“yeah, it’s been…” you trail off when eri’s head turns back when her friends call out, a group of junior high kids lingering back behind you.

she hoists her bag back up with an apologetic smile. “sorry, i should get going. you two have hero work and i’ve got a test tomorrow.” she makes a yikes face and you laugh fondly. 

“better get moving then, little lady. good luck on your test.”

“thanks! it really has been too long, though.” she frowns like she’s thinking before she lights up with renewed joy. “you should come by for dinner again! i miss when you would always come around. i could even get dad to make your favorite.”

your stomach sinks, just the tiniest bit, but you can’t say ‘no’ to her giant smile and big scarlet eyes. so you muster up a big smile, squeezing her shoulders fondly. “dinner sounds great.”

“perfect! it’s a date then.” 

eri beams up at you, and you try very, very hard not to look at hitoshi. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics, header by kitty with pics from pinterest!

taglist: @deadhands69 @frvv @cccandynecklaces @tokeposts @lover-no-lover61 @getvaccinated @accidentpronedork @crushmeeren @p4rkcha3w0n @cyberesc @bloomstream @eloshifts @bythevay @cc1306 (ask/comment if you’d like to be added!)

🫵 this one’s for toke n sydney!! had fun w/ this one!! (even if it was a pain to finish LMAO) next chapter might be a little shorter, but things really pick up from there. hope everyone’s enjoying it so far, i def am!! <33

[bowtiepasta]

higuruma doesn’t mean to scroll so far back.

it starts with something innocent — as most things do. a new photo of you in his sweatshirt, a text he missed from earlier. but he somehow ends up in last fall, rewatching a boomerang you sent of you biting into a fruit tart: lips glossy, eyes flicking to the camera.

he shifts in bed, the sheets cool against his thighs, and sighs deep from his chest because this is getting embarrassing.

you’re not even naked, not saying anything dirty, only laughing while you chew and lick sugar off your fingers ..and he’s fucking hard.

by the time you actually sext him (what if I woke you up with my mouth next time?), he’s already half gone, head tilted back and breathing your name through bared teeth.

minutes later, when you call to say goodnight — your sleep-littered heaven-sent rasp-cured voice through the receiver — he lets his forehead hit the pillow, pretending not to be furiously stroking his cock beneath the blankets <3

he whispers, “goodnight, love.”

but the way he gasps when you tell him you dreamt of him?

god.

he won’t sleep at all.

“what was that?” you yawn into the receiver.

higuruma stiffens, wiping his palm against his comforter, heart hammering like he’s sixteen again.

“nothing,” he croaks, then clears his throat, trying for steadier and miserably failing. “just tired.”

you make a soft little noise. “me too. ‘m sorry I woke you up.”

“you didn’t,” he says too fast, too earnest. “I’m... glad you called.”

you giggle, low and lazy. “you sound funny.”

“do I?”

“mhm,” you hum, smiling. the nightlight he bought you from that thrift store down the road makes your cheeks look like strawberries. “all out of breath. like you ran a marathon or something.”

he drags a hand down his face, willing his pulse to slow.

“long day,” he says weakly.

“mm. you work too hard.”

there’s a pause where he thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep, but then you sigh, and it crackles a little before the sound fully goes through: “wish I was there. I’d help you relax.”

his mouth goes dry. “yeah?” he breathes. “yeah.”

“I’d… scratch your back. let you put your head in my lap… stroke your hair… kiss up and down that pretty nose.”

he squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenching in the sheets. you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

“bet you’d fall asleep in five minutes,” you add, laughing gently.

“or,” you say, a sly little lilt sneaking into your voice now, “maybe I’d keep you up even more.”

he makes a helpless noise before he can stop himself, forehead hitting the pillow.

you catch it this time, voice perking up.

“…wait. seriously, what was that?”

“nothing.” “you look guilty.”

“it’s nothing.” “are you constipated?”

“goodnight,” he says quickly, practically strangled, but you’re stubborn — which he should expect by now.

“miss me or something?” you tease, and he swears he sees god.

“because,” you murmur, careful, like you’re just now realizing, “I wouldn’t mind… if you did.”

a beat.

“wouldn’t mind,” “if you thought about me.”

higuruma groans quietly into the mattress, hopeless.

you smile against your pillow, turning up your volume.

“next time you can just tell me, you know.”

hi i’m too lazy to format an author’s note and may start just typing them out under a god awful reaction gif like these for my convenience. anyway. thank you for reading. i love u

do not copy, edit, or repost, any of my works on any platforms.

[aryadelvich]

hiii could u write something about a movie theater date with luigiii. i think it would be so cute to cuddle in the seats and fall asleep in the car ride back

Yeah it’s cute, it’s the kind of date you do when you’re profoundly in the relationship and you know every details about him and it’s the same for him. Here it is, hope you like it.

Movie date - Luigi Mangione x reader

You and Luigi had been together for years, and every single time you went to the movies, it was the same old song, a full-blown argument over what to watch.

Luigi always wanted The Lion King. You wanted Midsommar. Total chaos.

If you were in the mood for a romantic movie, he wanted action. If you craved a thriller, he suddenly got sentimental and wanted a romance. You were basically like cats and dogs—stubborn, loud, and absolutely ridiculous. And yet, as always, Luigi was the one who gave in.

He could never really resist you, no matter how much he pretended to be "the man of the house" for a grand total of thirty seconds.

The rare times you did watch his pick, it either didn’t bother you, or (miraculously) you actually agreed.

"Seriously? You're picking this over The Lion King?"he groaned.

"Luigi, we’ve all seen The Lion King a million times as kids. Why rewatch it just because it’s live-action? It’s basically an animal documentary at this point."

"It's a classic,"he argued, crossing his arms like a grumpy kid.

"Yeah, a classic we already know the ending to. Meanwhile, Midsommar? Mystery. Suspense. Terror. Actual emotions!"you shot back.

"Hmph,"he grumbled.

But he still shrugged and stomped off to the concession stand to buy popcorn, candy and, of course, a bottle of water, because he knew you’d ask for one halfway through.

You felt a small pang of guilt watching him go. Just a small one.

You were practically bouncing in your seat as the movie started, already thrilled by the weird, creepy vibes.

Meanwhile, Luigi sat next to you, arms crossed, chewing popcorn like it was made of cardboard, a permanent look of betrayal stamped across his face.

You just ignored him, too busy soaking in the first thirty seconds of ominous music and unsettling smiles.

Ten minutes in, he whispered:

"Why is everyone smiling like that? Are they all on drugs?"

"Shh,"you said, waving him off, eyes glued to the screen.

Thirty minutes in:

“No way. NO WAY. This dude just jumped off a cliff like it’s a team sport. WHAT IS THIS MOVIE, Y/N?"

An hour in, you could feel him slowly... disturbingly... starting to lean forward. His popcorn-eating slowed. His eyes were glued to the screen, wide open. He looked like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time.

An hour and half in, when the craziest scene hit—flower crowns, screaming ceremonies, and some truly traumatizing dancing—Luigi clutched your arm.

"Look finally the flowers.”he whispered, voice trembling.

He shook his head in awe, eyes sparkling.

The movie ended. The lights came back on. You stretched your arms, cracking your neck a little.

Next to you, Luigi looked... suspiciously calm.

You squinted at him.

"So?" you asked. "Be honest."

He stayed quiet for a second, then finally blurted out:

"I LOVED IT."

You almost choked on your own spit.

"What?! You?!" you cried.

"Just... wow. I need to add this movie on my letterbox profile.”

"I thought you hated it..."

"At first! But then I understood. The symbolism. The trauma. The slow burn. It's genius!"

Luigi was already launching into a full dissertation.

"I mean, the cinematography? Stunning. The symbolic representation of grief through pagan rituals? The tension in the daylight scenes? Genius. Absolutely genius. Did you notice the mirroring of Christian iconography twisted into Nordic folklore—"

You blinked at him, stunned. You hadn't even caught half of that.

"...Yeah," you muttered. "Totally. I caught that too."

"AND," Luigi said, almost bouncing on his feet as you both walked to the car, "the part where the relationship dynamics subtly mirror the disintegration of Dani’s personal identity in favor of communal integration—wow. Ten out of ten."

You stared at him, utterly betrayed.

He was supposed to suffer.

In the car, Luigi was still going on, driving with one hand and waving the other around like the Italian that he is.

"You see, the real horror wasn’t the rituals," he said passionately. "It was the slow erosion of autonomy! Midsommar deconstructs the psychological impact of grief and isolation—"

You tried to nod along. You tried to keep up. But the soft hum of the car, the tiredness of the day, and the very warm window were too much.

Your head gently bumped against the window with a tiny thunk.

Luigi, mid-lecture, glanced over at you. You were out. Completely asleep, breathing softly, your forehead against the cold glass. He immediately shut up, smiling softly to himself. He adjusted the heating so you wouldn’t get too cold, turned the music way down, and drove the rest of the way in silence. Every few minutes, he'd sneak a glance at you — the way your nose scrunched when the car hit a small bump, the little snore you tried to fight off. And he smiled wider every time.

Tag list : @contrarianshitstan-blog @bean-is-reading @iinfinitelimits

[259kmvn]

oblivious

confessions of a flirt to his oblivious childhood friend, tartaglia x reader fluff

tartaglia is hot. everyone knows that. he doesn't shy away from establishing that fact; strutting around like he owns every room he walks into. that's why it's up to you, as his childhood friend who's (supposedly) immune to his hot appearance and demeanour, to put him in his place— just like today.

as usual, you're hanging out with him at the nearby park, enjoying sandwiches and some juice on a wooden bench. "y'know, i still can't believe that you've never dated anyone before," you say mid-sandwich, observing the couples that pass by, "you're too flirtatious to not have any partners." you take a bite before turning to him.

"...you think i'm too hot to not get bitches?" he replies, playful in his wording as he chews his bread. you don't need to see his lips to know that he's smiling.

"you know what i mean," you roll your eyes. "you're always flirting around and making weird faces that are so— like that! just like that!" at that moment, his eyes caught yours, eyebrows theatrically raising in a suggestive manner. the apples of his smooth, soft cheeks rise ever so gently and you have to react quickly before you fall for it—

"stop that, that's disgusting!" you couldn't help but stifle a laughter, "see? you're always doing these things and there's no way you're not trying to get at anyone like that." you return to your sandwich after making your point.

"i never said i'm not trying to get anyone..." his looks upwards, like he's trying to recall if he's ever said that. when he doesn't find a recollection, he looks back at you. a smirk emerges, suspicious and teasing. "but hmm... so you do think i'm hot."

he winks.

a grimace pulls your lips wide. "oh my gosh, stop! i never said anything about you being hot. i'm just saying that you're— gah—" you're interrupted by his dramatic pouting, "do you act like this with other people?!" he chuckles at your animated movements, clearly enjoying tormenting you. he's only about to make it worse.

slinging his arm around your shoulder (though not touching you directly— rather, his arm rests on the bench you're on instead), he leans in, cheeky. almost sharing a breath with you. "you don't want me to be like this with other people?" a head tilt, and for a split second his eyes conveyed innocence. only for a split second, though.

you can't handle it. it's worthy to note that right now, you're blushing hard, your face is warm, and you're only getting more riled up, "i did not say that— gosh, you're actually impossible to talk to, you know that?" you lean back in resignation, not realising his arm was closer to you than you thought. it's electric, his skin against your back, and you lurch forward at the contact immediately. "ah! i'm, i'm sorry. didn't realise your arm was— y-yeah..."

tartaglia, who also seemed surprise at the sudden contact, withdraws his arm carefully. he places his hand on his lap and leans back, looking up at the sky. in your subduing flustered state, you hear him release a sigh. "so, you don't like me that much, huh..." he says, a tinge of melancholy in his voice.

oh..? what's this? an unassuming hint of guilt whispers in your heart and you can't help but listen.

"listen... i never said i don't like you. i just—" you pause, "i just..."

you just what? you almost hear him say, though you're sure it's just your thoughts.

he doesn't turn to look at you, but you feel the weight of his gaze seeping from the corner of his eye. he's listening. "everyone thinks you're hot. hell, you know you're hot. so why haven't you dated anyone yet, then? something doesn't make sense. i... i think..." your eyes travel the park as you search your thoughts, "you're lying to me about something."

you reanimate when you realise you might've said something odd. "not— not that your private life has anything to do with me! but... i would like our friendship to be built on honesty, y'know? ...don't ask me why." that last sentence is curt, like you don't want to elaborate further. and tartaglia doesn't expect you to. he doesn't reply at all.

you both let the silence simmer, finishing up your sandwiches. it's tense, with many words being unsaid, but somehow, it's not awkward. when he's finished with his sandwich, he claps the crumbs off his fingers. he's ready to speak.

"you wanna know why i've never dated despite," and he laughs a little, "despite being hot?" he sees a squint approaching your eyes, "this is in your words, so don't fight me about it." the squint retracts itself. he rests his elbow on his lap, and his chin on his hand, closing the gap between you and him. not too close— never too close, you realise, and it's never the case that he takes up your space unnecessarily. but now's not the time to think about that.

"it's 'cause i think you're hot. and i only care if you think i'm hot." and there it is: his shit-eating grin. but behind the playful tease of his perfect teeth, you hear something genuine. "in other words, i like you." your lips press together tightly as the realisation dawns on you.

"in other other words, i only want to date you. ever."

you're still processing his words.

"in other other other words, i—"

"alright, i get it! you don't have to.. geez, you don't have to keep saying it like that," if the blush you had before was raging and intense, this time it's tentative; uncertain, contemplative. you could almost say that it feels sentimental. "...since when? why now? i have so many questions," you don't have the strength except to whisper your thoughts.

to this, he laughs— and for the first time, you realise how melodic his voice is. well, it's always been melodic, but it's only now that you're letting yourself accept it. "dude, i've been flirting with you since we were teenagers— i don't know what to tell you. i can't believe how oblivious you are!" and his laugh continues, contagious in that you also embarrassingly laugh along.

"you can't blame me! i thought you're always just... like that!" you argue back. attempting to scrape up whatever dignity you have left. "you're hot enough to be like that, anyway..."

tartaglia's ear perks up. shit. you shouldn't have said that. "what did you say~?" he cups a hand behind his ear, taunting you to repeat yourself.

"you're not gonna hear that from me again!" you stand up, abrupt, and brush the crumbs off your thighs. tossing your empty juice cup into a nearby trashcan, you stomp away, "i'm going home."

"hey, wait!" he follows suit in a giggling rush.

you walk home with him in tow, and as he always does, he synchronises his walking pace to yours. you can't help but ask him, "when did you first..?"

"hmm... it definitely was not love at first sight," he starts off. to this you playfully kick his shin, and he avoids it with ease. "i couldn't stand you at first. you were too smart, too attractive, too good at bickering with me— still are, by the way. but i guess something changed when we became teenagers."

amidst your embarrassment at hearing him praise you, you slip in a snide. "hormones?"

"heh, probably," another kick in the shin, "but i grew attached to you. now, there's no one else i think i'd rather spend my whole life with. i don't think i can imagine a life without you arou—"

"woah, woah! slow down. starting to sound like a proposal there," you interrupt, and your face is extremely warm as you do so. "we're not even... dating..." there's a hesitation before you continue, "...yet..."

but it seems tartaglia doesn't hear the 'yet', with how dejected he looks when you say it. "yeah... you're right," his response is curt.

you finally arrive at the front of your house. it's not odd that he's walked you home without a question— he always does so since you were young. and now you wonder if that is odd. you thank him for hanging out and prepare to wave goodbye, but something stops you from leaving. maybe it's his slumping figure, or his avoidance to meet your gaze.

"take care, i'll... i'll see you around." he says, and his tone is octaves lower than it's ever been. it leaves a crushing feeling in your heart. the feeling gets worse when he turns to walk away without even sparing you a glance. you're stuck in your spot, assessing your options. his long legs have already taken seven steps away from you, leaving a shadow behind.

"tartaglia, wait!"

he freezes in his tracks. head perking up slightly at your voice. you start jogging towards him, and he turns to face you. he notices a determination in your stature. he becomes curious.

"i... i appreciate you having the courage to tell me you like me. i know i'm not the best at.. not being oblivious, so i'm really grateful that you told me. directly. in my face." his eyebrows raise in anticipation, "i'm also sorry for not noticing earlier. and i'm sorry for calling you disgusting just now." (he's already forgotten that part). "also, sorry for kicking you in the shins. i just— um, well. what i mean to say is,"

you gently rest your hands on his shoulders and lean in...

to kiss him.

[rafesorchid]

COTTON CANDY SKIES

plot: after a clumsy first meeting, rafe falls fast for the sweet, scatterbrained reader, and their slow friendship turns into something softer—leading to a shy first date.

CONTENT: Light swearing, slow-burn romance, awkwardness, fluff, light public embarrassment.

part 2

have fun!

you were sprawled on your bed, phone upside down on your pillow, legs kicking in the air, waiting for rafe to text back.

you’d sent him a very important question three minutes ago and it felt like a lifetime.

baby: do u think fish get thirsty or no??? baby: bc like. they r in water??? so do they still drink???

you stared at the screen, chewing your lip.

then you gasped when his name popped up.

rafe: baby i ain’t even sure how to answer that rafe: you’re somethin else

baby: lol is that bad baby: i feel like it’s a good question??? baby: i googled it but the answers were too science-y and i got confused

rafe took a second.

then:

rafe: it’s a good question rafe: real good rafe: and you’re real cute for askin' it

you buried your face in your pillow, squealing.

then you scrambled to type back:

baby: awwwww stopppp baby: i was gonna ask u another question but idk if ur busy???

rafe: never too busy for you baby rafe: call me

your heart thumped so hard you thought it might actually launch you off the bed.

your thumb slipped a little — you meant to hit “call” smooth and cool, but almost hit “facetime” by accident — and somehow, you managed to tap it right.

it rang once.

then twice.

and then —

“hey, sweet girl,” rafe’s voice rumbled through the speaker, warm enough to melt you into the mattress.

you swallowed.

“hi rafe!!” you said way too loudly.

then you winced.

“sorry i didn’t mean to yell. i just got excited. i also didn’t mean to call i was trying to text but my thumb is slippery from lotion and—”

you were rambling.

again.

but rafe didn’t seem to mind.

you could hear him smiling.

“s’okay, baby,” he said, voice all syrupy. “like hearin’ your voice better anyway.”

you kicked your feet harder, cheeks burning.

“what were you gonna ask?” he prompted, voice easy and low.

you flopped onto your stomach, squishing your face into the pillow for a second before mumbling,

“do you think clouds taste like cotton candy or like whipped cream?”

there was a pause.

then a deep, helpless chuckle.

“you’re fuckin’ adorable, you know that?” rafe said.

you blinked at the ceiling.

“…is that a compliment?”

“best one you’re ever gettin’,” rafe promised.

“also,” he added, “definitely cotton candy.”

you giggled.

“that’s what i thought too!”

for a second, neither of you said anything.

just breathing.

just feeling the line buzz soft between you.

you fiddled with the string on your hoodie, heart thudding too fast.

you weren’t even dating — not really — but talking to rafe felt like being caught in a daydream.

bright and easy and warm.

then rafe cleared his throat.

“hey,” he said, a little rough. a little shy. “you free saturday?”

you blinked.

“i think so,” you said. “unless i forgot something. sometimes i do that. one time i double-booked myself for a dentist appointment and a haircut and i got my teeth cleaned with half a mullet—”

rafe was laughing, deep and wrecked, before you could even finish.

“baby,” he said, still laughing, “i’ll take my chances.

wanna take you out. like— like a real date.”

your stomach did a full somersault.

“like… a real real date?” you asked, voice small and hopeful.

“yeah, sweet girl,” rafe said, soft and sure.

“been wantin’ to.

figure it’s about time i make it official.”

you buried your face in the pillow again, squealing so quietly he almost couldn’t hear it.

“okay,” you said, breathless. “i’ll go! but only if you promise not to laugh if i spill something. or if i trip. or if i get spaghetti in my hair. that happened one time too—”

rafe cut you off with another warm, easy laugh.

“baby,” he said.

“i’m gonna think you’re perfect no matter what you do.”

you blinked fast, the lump in your throat sneaking up on you.

no one had ever said it like that before.

no teasing.

no hesitation.

just real and simple and true.

“okay,” you whispered.

“i’ll pick you up at six,” he said. “wear whatever you want. you’re already perfect to me.”

you nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

“okay,” you said again, dazed and dreamy.

rafe stayed on the line a second longer.

like he didn’t wanna hang up either.

“sleep good, sweet girl,” he murmured.

“dream somethin’ pretty.”

“like cotton candy clouds?” you asked, sleepy and giggly.

“yeah, baby,” rafe said, voice all honey and smoke. “just like that.”

you fell asleep with your phone still clutched in your hand.

dreaming of pink skies and a boy who looked at you like you were made of sunlight.

author's note

i'm literally sosososos grateful for all 81 of you <3 if you want more specific drabbles/fics send in an ask! love u all lots <3

[hannahssimblr]

Jen and I used to play takeaway bingo when we were teenagers. You wind up at enough of them between midnight and two, and start noticing a pattern. Someone fighting—one point for your card. Someone forgetting what they ordered—another. Someone trying to get into the locked staff toilet. Someone kissing. A hen party singalong. The presence of a blow-up doll. Someone passed out in a booth, getting sick outside the door, a drink exploding over the linoleum, hapless drunks jostled around by bouncers.

The kebab shop is quiet tonight. One point for my card, for the guy snoring in the booth next to Evie and me.

She eats in silence under the lights, those grim fluorescents that hum faintly and cast a contaminated grey hue over everything—the kind I always thought made the food look suspect.

Still, she doesn’t care. She shovels it in. A kebab, handfuls of chips, chicken goujons, leaning over the paper packaging with greasy hands poised like a connoisseur of drunk food. Touch nothing but what you intend to eat. Can’t trust the surfaces. Never risk touching your clothing with saucy hands.

I watch her with admiration, fingers drumming idly on the side of my Pepsi can. I told her I wasn’t hungry, even though my stomach’s been growling since ten, and almost believe it myself when I say it. Hunger’s easier to ignore than the blow to my pride that would come from admitting I can’t afford a bag of chips. I long for the tacos I left on the plate earlier. Thirteen euros for them, sitting now in the bin in the Mexican place while I starve here.

But here I am anyway, watching her eat, the surreal, satisfying feeling of being with her again. Her. In the flesh instead of in memory. The different, less triumphant reality than what I had imagined.

She eyes me while I twist open the can, the hiss of it seeming to remind her I’m here. 

“Wow, greedy,” she says. 

“Yeah, I’m a mess. Might have to have me airlifted out after this feast. Here, can I’ve a chip?” I reach for the bag, and she swats my hand away. 

“No. Look at you—doing that thing boys always complain about. Girls not ordering anything and then stealing their food. This is modern feminism.”

I laugh. “Oh, come on. Just one, for Christ's sake.”

She eyes me distrustfully as I pluck one skinny chip out. 

“You want to count it?” I say. “Make sure I haven’t another hidden in my hand?”

“Ugh, shush for a minute,” she says, this edge of desperation in her voice. “Please, I really just want to eat this.”

I lean back, taking conservative sips of my drink while she tears into her food. It’s a bit insane, the ferocity at which she goes at it. This kind of relentless feasting, head down, elbows out, chewing with mechanical focus. Like if she stopped, she’s have to think about talking to me again.

“Skipped dinner?” I say eventually, and she wipes a blob of sauce from the corner of her mouth. “Didn’t have time to eat today.”

“Ah.”

“You went to some Mexican place earlier,” she says between bites. “The guys were saying.”

“Yeah.”

“Hm, risky move, isn’t it? Bringing you to a Mexican restaurant?”

“Why’s that?”

She shrugs, and a piece of kebab meat drops onto the paper. “Because you’ve probably had, you know, actual real Mexican food when you lived in the states. That’s what everyone always says, isn’t it? Like, ‘oh, you don’t know Mexican food until you’ve had it in America’, or something like that.”

“I imagine they’d probably say that about Mexico, too.”

She just smiles. 

“Well, yeah, the food was okay. It was nice to see Claire and Shane again. That was the real reason I went out. They look good.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, of course. Shane’s gotten real fit, you know? He’s in great shape.”

Evie lets out a derisive laugh. “Yeah.”

“Hm?”

“Like, yeah. He’s working out the whole time. Twice a week home to train, then the coach has him sanctioned to the gym every other day, just about. He’s gone full protein-shake mode, at this stage. I assume he’s aspiring to become the Hulk.”

Feel my smile thinning. “Good for him.”

“Mm. Bit miserable, don’t you think?”

“Clearly you do.”

“Well,” she pauses thoughtfully, swallowing a bite of kebab. “He doesn’t do anything fun, in my view. He doesn’t have free time anymore, and his coach has all these rules, even, about things he’s not allowed to do off the pitch. It’s like a totalitarian regime.”

“Alright,” I say, and her face falls. 

She doesn’t speak then. Just wipes her mouth with a serviette and shifts in her seat. Eyes locked on the food, though there’s something stiff in her posture now. 

I sip my drink, watching her a bit as she pretends to focus on the next bite, but it’s like she’s eating something made of rubber, something unappetizing, eyes zoned out, like she’s left the room without her body. 

The silence drags on longer than it should. 

“So come on, Evie, what’s been going on with you? I can’t believe it’s been so long since we last spoke, to be honest. That’s crazy.”

“I know,” she says, flatlined voice. “Seems we lost touch there at one point.”

I hesitate. “Yeah, I regret that. Life got so busy so quickly and… it was all a whirlwind, really. But, I… uh, I thought of you often, Evie. I always imagined we’d run into each other again.”

“Ah, well, what can you do? Here we are. A year and a half on.” I reach for her arm across the table, a bid for connection, to bridge a gap between us, but she moves away, pretends to want a drink from her milkshake. 

Nice, okay. Good to know where I stand, at least. I fist my hand in my lap. “You look really different. I always think of you with that really long hair you had.”

“Yeah. I cut it all off, as you can see.”

“And do you still run? And swim? Do you do all that stuff you used to?”

“No, actually I don’t,” she says. “I suppose I fell out of the habit when I moved here. Don’t really do most of the things I used to.” She fixes me with a new look, eyebrow quirked in some expression of defiance, like hey, you don’t know me at all anymore, and I will punish you for trying to. “How’s Berlin, anyway? Better than here, after all?”

“Yeah, really good. Hey,” again I move to reach out to her, knowing it’s futile before my hand rises above the table top. Drop it back down to my lap. “If you’re angry with me for losing touch—”

“Why’re you wondering about that?” she cuts in. 

“You’ve gone chilly on me all of a sudden, I don’t know.”

Her eyes widen with fury. “It’d be a bit intense if I was still angry about something like that, wouldn’t it?”

I say nothing. 

“Good to know you got my email, by the way. It was a pity it wasn’t worth responding to, apparently.”

I can’t help but laugh. In shock, really, instead of amusement. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. Yeah, I could have dealt with it better, but I was getting to know a new city, and there were all these new people… I left your email sitting there a bit too long and then, well, I suppose it started feeling like it’d be weird of me to respond after so long.”

“You didn’t really try, exactly, did you?”

I let that one sink in for a minute. Rougher than I expected. I always knew I should have tried harder, but I thought she’d just... forgive me, like she was supposed to. I didn’t want to be the bad guy here. I wanted proof I wasn’t one.

Say something. “You could have sent another message.” A reflex. Hollow sounding, and words sticking in my throat like they belong to someone else. Some weak little man.

Her face seethes. Oh, yes, good. She loathes me. Loathing is preferable to indifference. I might actually take that. The horrible, ugly victory of it. The proof she feels. Felt. Missed. Longed, maybe, for me to fill some dark and terrible hole. I hate the thought and the feeling. Sick triumph, like the smell of decay. I didn’t want to ruin you, not really, Evie. I just needed proof I mattered.

“Look, I–” 

“You have a new piercing in your ear,” she says, sharp jerk of her head, like, no. Don’t dare go on. Her features swiftly neutralise as she goes back to picking at her food while I touch my finger to the silver hoop through my left helix bone. 

“Uh, yeah. I did. I figured–” clear my throat and adjust in the seat. “You know, since my dad already hates the other two, might as well swing for a third.” It was a piercing I got done in Slovenia. Drunk. “It hurt,” I offer. Bled, in fact. She might relish the thought, but I don’t disclose it.

“Little baby,” she replies, smile tugging at her lips. “I got the same one done when I was like sixteen and it wasn’t bad at all.”

“I remember the piercings you had,” I say. “You had four on one ear. Can I see?”

And she turns her head for me, revealing a single hoop, the rest of her ear dotted with tiny punctures. Emptiness now in places that used to be studded with silver and gold. 

“I took them out,” she says, rueful. “They didn’t feel like me anymore.” 

And I am too—rueful about it. “Damn. I thought they were cool.” 

She hums in vague agreement and glances around, eyes on a group of rowdy lads who come in, chanting some tuneless chorus on their way to the counter. “So, any other surprises up your sleeve?”

Yes, literally, up my sleeve. I risk it for another chip. She lets me have it, and I pop it, cold and rubbery, into my mouth as I tug my sleeve up for her, exposing the soft underside of my forearm to the fluorescent light.

“Did you design it?”

“No, I just thought it was cool.”

“Ah, okay. And like, does it mean something in particular? The mango, like. Bit unusual.”

“Uh, no, actually. It really doesn’t. It’s just I was in Thailand and kind of thought it’d be fun to get one.” How devoid of depth and opinion do I sound now, really? I think. Have yet to come up with a decent reason to have a tattoo—can’t even formulate a lie about its meaning. Just cos. That’s why. Stupid thing, really. Artistry is impressive, yes, but I’m not even sure I pull it off. 

“Thailand, yeah? When was that?”

“June,” I say. “I always wanted to go. I think everyone should, if they can, to be honest.”

“Well, go on, then,” her straw squeaks in the lid of her milkshake. “Tell me all about it.”

“Oh, I can’t do it justice with words, really.” I retrieve my phone, aware that photos are safer than conversation. “Here, I can show you.” 

“Yeah,” she shrugs, and gets up. Slips into the booth next to me. “New phone, I see. I thought you’d still have that piece of shit you used to.”

“Had to upgrade. Needed maps to survive Berlin.”

“Hope you’re making good use of the torch feature.”

I chuckle. “Alright, well, let’s look at my holiday pictures when you’re ready.”

She leans over but never close enough to touch as I scroll through Bangkok temples, islands, markets. She’s performing interest, laughing at the right moments, asking non-probing questions. 

When her hair accidentally brushes my arm, she yanks away with a whispered “Sorry” like I might be contagious. 

“Here’s Koh Samui. Near the end of the trip.” 

“I could tell. You look aggressively tanned.” 

“Yeah, I tan easily.” 

“I remember.” A flash of something genuine in her voice. 

“There’s a photo somewhere of a monkey that jumped on my shoulder. Let me find it—” My thumb scrolls too far. “Oops. Uh...”

A photo of Astrid and me flashes on screen. At the lake. Barely wearing anything. 

Panic detonates, my thumb fumbles, scrolling too fast, Jonas asleep on the plane. Then back again. Astrid. My hand on her arse. Nowhere to hide from it. 

I can’t exactly lie or say she’s my friend. 

“Uh, yeah,” I look up from the photograph too fast, my thumb stills on her waist, mid-kiss, glowing on screen. “That’s my girlfriend, Astrid,” I admit. Feeble smile. Might as well be confessing to a crime.

Evie’s gone rigid in her seat. Not smiling, just observing. “Yeah, she’s very pretty,” she says. 

“She’s… yeah. She’s absolutely beautiful.” 

I flip to another photo. If we’re doing this. Astrid posing for the camera, hair sleek and straight, so long it brushes the waistband of her bikini. In moments like this, I see her as others do. Objectively. She’s extraordinary.

How’d you pull her? They always ask, and I have no idea how to answer. 

Evie sits there in this calm way that makes me wish she’d just scream, or something.

“Wow. Yeah. There she is,” she says. Her eyes flick to the men at the counter, clinging to each other’s coat sleeves, bawling out their orders, rocking unsteadily as a unit. And it occurs to me that, though they fill the place with noise, her silence is louder than all of them.

I shut the phone off quietly. Slide it back into my pocket. 

“We should go back, I think,” she says, all mild again. “They’ll all be wondering where we are.”

“Yeah, sure,” I reach for her food wrappers to help, but she tells me no. Takes them herself. 

The men start on her as she moves.

 Here, my mate fancies you. Can he have your number? He’s a gentle lover, he is. Ye’d have a beautiful life together. 

Evie looks bored. Takes her coat from the booth and zips it to the top. 

“We going?”

“Yeah, we can,” I hurry after her to hold the door. 

“This was nice,” I say as she slips out ahead of me. “Thanks for the chips.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for coming with me.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[oopsiedaisydeer]

Hey inez! So i have a request about hallway!Chris. So i don't know if you fw this idea, but maybe one of chris's friends wanting to date/ask y/n to prom and asking chris to help him by getting closer to reader and find out what she likes (flowers, colours etc). This leads to reader feeling false hopes bc she thinks chris is actually interested in her and when she finds out she feels bad and sad.

Im a sucker for angsty fics, sorry if you dont like the idea :)

ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ʜᴏᴘᴇꜱ

It starts the way most crushes do... so quietly you almost don’t notice it at first.

You just happen to share two classes with Chris. He sits a few rows ahead in English, always slouched in his seat, hoodie bunched at the back of his neck, scribbling half-finished notes in the margins of his worksheet. Sometimes he drums his fingers against the desk without meaning to. A small, mindless rhythm you find yourself memorising.

You time your walks between periods just a little too carefully. You slow down by the vending machines, pretending you’re still deciding between pretzels or chocolate, but really you’re just hoping he’ll show up.

Sometimes he does. Sometimes he catches you looking and smiles. This shy, lopsided thing, like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, and it leaves you dazed for the rest of the day.

You tell your friends it’s not serious. "It’s just a dumb crush. He probably doesn’t even know my name," you say, laughing it off, even though you can feel the way your heart kicks up whenever you catch a glimpse of him in the hallway.

Chris doesn’t notice you really. Not like you notice him. But you’re kind to him. You always are. And you laugh at his jokes even when he doesn’t think they’re funny, and maybe that’s what makes him assume you're just being nice.

Maybe that’s why, when one of his friends nudges him at lunch and says, "Hey, you have English with her, right?"

"Yeah, why?" Chris says, half-distracted.

"She’s cute. Think you could help me out? Find out what flowers she likes, her favorite colour, that kinda thing?"

Chris agrees without really thinking about it. It’s simple. Just a favor. And it gives him an excuse to talk to you more, which he tells himself isn't the worst thing in the world. You're cool.

It’s harmless. Sweet. Chris likes harmless things.

The first time he tries, it’s awkward. He leans against the lockers after class, pretending like it’s nothing, like he just happens to be there.

"Hey, random question — what's your favorite colour?"

He says it so casually you almost believe it’s innocent. You laugh, a little flustered, and tell him. He grins, that bright, easy grin you’re already starting to adore, and you can’t help but ask him the same thing back. He tells you it’s orange. You file it away like it’s something sacred.

After that, it gets easier. He starts walking with you to your next class sometimes, joking about the terrible cafeteria food or complaining about your math teacher’s impossible pop quizzes.

You find yourself telling him things you didn’t mean to. How your favourite flowers are your favourites because they remind you of your mum’s garden, how you hate slow walkers more than anything, how you once broke your arm falling off a bike because you were too scared to use the brakes.

Chris listens to you. Looks at you while you talk, making you think he's really listening, paying attention like every word is important. It makes you feel like maybe you’re someone worth paying attention to. Like, maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a dumb crush after all.

So you let yourself believe it's not stupid, and you pay attentiont to him in return. You tell yourself, if nothing else, that maybe you've found a good friend in Chris.

Sometimes you notice the little things without asking. How he always chews the end of his pen when he's thinking. How he hums quietly under his breath when he's happy. What his dog's name is. How he sneezes, what his lockscreen is, how much he loves his friends.

And so you start to believe. Maybe he’s not just asking about your favourite flowers randomly. Maybe he’s asking because he wants to know. Because he cares. Because he likes you, the way you like him.

So you start imagining it. Hoping and wishing for it. The way he might ask you to prom, shy and smiling, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers behind his back. Eyes full of hope.

The way he might hold your hand when you say yes. The way it would feel to finally be chosen.

You don’t see it coming, the way hope sharpens into heartbreak.

It happens fast. You’re lingering by the gym doors after school, just close enough to overhear when Chris’s friend claps him on the back and says, laughing, "Thanks for doing recon, bro. Now I know exactly what to get her for prom."

You stop mid-step. Something inside you flickers and then goes out.

Chris looks up and sees you. And for a split second, something like regret crosses his face.

He opens his mouth, maybe to call after you, to explain, to say something, anything. But you’re already turning away, blinking fast and breathing hard and telling yourself not to cry in the middle of the stupid hallway.

You don’t hate him. You hate yourself, a little, for believing. For hoping. For thinking you could be the exception to the rule.

You walk away, pretending it doesn’t hurt, even though it feels like your heart is unraveling thread by thread.

hallwaycrush!au taglist: @courta13 @snoopychris @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @sheluvsthesturniolos @sturnslutz @chrislova @chrisslut04 @mi-co-uk

a/n: tysm for this request anon,, i hope u liked it!!!!! lmk if u want a part 2 or sumn :>> there is no canon with hallwaycrush!chris,, so you can request anything you'd like with him (pls request stuff jsdfbhsj) !!!

@bernardsbendystraws for the dividers <3

[duxearlier]

A RACE TO YOUR HEART

< wanderer x reader x kazuha >

Summery: Its the end of collage and start of summer. Wanderer and y/n started to plan their summer and how they will spend it. Though those plans change after the big argument. Ignoring eachother, y/n's life started to go downhill more and more and wanting to get away from the big city, they run away to old town where they meet kaehedara kazuha. After spending some time with him, they realize that the male likes them more then friends though to make things complicated, They have a crush on their childhood friend, wanderer. Its up to them to figure out if they will accept Kazuha's feelings or decline it and go back to Scaramouche.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of death, yelling, bullying.

Genre: collage au, childhood friends, triangle love, drama, angst, strangers to lovers.

Taglist: open

< < this is it! I will be finally finishing these smau before making the new one. I've been thinking about it and I really want to finish this one. There are a few chapters left, so not many, but I hope you guys enjoy. I did chainge few things as I coudnt find the original photos I've used for the pfp but other then the pictures and few nicknames, it stayed the same! If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! > >

CHAPTER TEN

< chapter nine || materlist || chapter eleven >

▪︎___________°••>>>*<<<••°___________▪︎

“Why are we watching this? This movie is so bad” y/n laughed, shaking their head as kazuha couldn't help but snicker “I have no idea honestly but we can still laugh at how bad it is” “I guess yeah” they shake their head. It was one of those movies that were bad but you can laugh at how bad it is. “Well it is ending, wanna watch something else?” y/n hummed, stretching out as they didn't notice how Kazuha was somewhat staring at them. “Hm, I'm not sure. Anything you want, I'm fine with watching it” he spoke as y/n chuckled, turning to look at him which surprised them when their eyes met immediately, their cheeks flushed pink. “Honestly, I'm kinda hungry..I want pizza” they sigh “I also wanna build a blanket fout some reason” they spoke, smiling sheepishly as Kazuki hummed.

“A blanket Fort and food? That sounds like a great way to spend the night” he chuckled, standing up as y/n grinned and nodded. They Immediately moved to grab their phone, ordering the pizza and while waiting, they built their blanket fort. An hour later, the two of them were huddled under a blanket Fort with pizza and some other snacks laying around them.

“y'know..in the end I've never met your friends today as you said” y/n chuckled as kazuha blinked, humming “yeah but we can do that another time. I'll text them later and we can arrange it another time?” He suggested and y/n nodded. “Sounds good to me” they spoke as they nibbled on the pizza, leaning back against the pillows. “I wanted to ask” kazuha spoke up, wiping his hands from all the oil “I want to get to know you more, more better” he started off, looking at y/n “maybe to get to know each other, we can ask each other question and then answer them?” Kazuha spoke as he couldn't help but be more curious about y/n. He wanted to get to know them better.. to get closer to y/n.

y/n blinked, making sure to finish Chewing, taking a sip of their soda before nodding their head “yeah, I don't mind! I would love to get to know you better too” they smile softly at kazuha, noting how he seemed to be staring at them but they brushed it off. It was probably nothing right..?

Kazuha smiles and nods, “How about you go ahead and start?” He asked and that's what they did.

For the next few hours they asked each other questions, from ‘what's your favourite colour’ to a bit deeper ones questions. ‘What is the nature of reality?’ The questions were random, very random, something that they thought of at the moment but it was nice, it was nice to know more about each other and get closer. They ended up talking for hours and hours, exchanging questions and options as well. In the end, they went to sleep around 4ish am and maybe, maybe during the night they might have cuddled at one point but who can say.

▪︎___________°••>>>*<<<••°___________▪︎

< taglist > @archer-fb @veekoko @aeongiies @sketcheeee @kqbukimono @meowanian @jayxncya @inferisk0 @swivy123 @owl778 @v4lerixxq @maayamouii @keiiqq @mochicurls21 @luciledreamz

[hameesstuff]

“Out of Tune, Into You”

Preview: Jaehyun x Reader slow burn story set in an idol AU with NCT 127 on tour, humor, emotional build-up, fluffy light smut, and Jaehyun slowly, deeply falling in love with his best friend—you.

Jaehyun x Reader | Idol AU | Best Friends to Lovers | Slow Burn | Tour Chaos | Humor + Fluff + Light Smut

___________________________________________

[1. Breakups & Banana Milk]

“Dumped.”

Jaehyun said it so casually you almost choked on your protein shake.

You looked up from your stretching mat. “Sorry—what?”

“Yeah,” he said, chewing a rice cracker with the emotional range of a paper towel. “So that’s over.”

You blinked. “Didn’t she fly to Tokyo just last week to surprise you?”

“Yup. Then she told me I’m emotionally unavailable and that I text like a hostage.”

“That’s… honestly fair.”

He gave you a betrayed look. “Et tu, Y/N?”

You offered him a banana milk. “Here. For your feelings.”

[2. This Is Fine™]

You were used to Jaehyun being a mess. Like when he lost his AirPods for a week and they were in his shoe. Or when he tried to cook for the members and nearly set the dorm on fire. But post-breakup Jaehyun was a new flavor.

He started sleeping on the practice room floor.

“Hyung,” Haechan whispered one night, stepping over him. “Is he dead?”

“No,” you sighed. “Just heartbroken and dramatic.”

Jaehyun groaned. “I can hear you.”

You squatted beside him, nudging his cheek with your finger. “Come on, lover boy. Time to shower before you merge with the wood floor.”

[3. Tour Kicks Off & Emotional Baggage Checks]

NCT 127’s world tour began the following week, and the emotional trauma had to come too—packed carefully beside your costumes and mic packs.

You ended up seated next to Jaehyun on the plane.

He nudged you halfway over the Pacific. “Do you think I’m unlovable?”

You snorted. “You’re a 10 with abandonment issues. Girls eat that up.”

He chuckled, then grew quiet. “But seriously… what if something’s wrong with me?”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “There is something wrong with you. You wear socks to bed. But you’re not unlovable.”

He didn’t reply, but he smiled into your hair.

[4. Hotel Room Roulette]

Jaehyun and you always got stuck rooming together on tour. Blame the managers who thought you were “harmless.”

You’d just finished rehearsal in Bangkok, sweat-drenched and sore, when he faceplanted into the bed beside you.

“I’m dying,” he groaned into the sheets.

You smirked. “Need a massage or a miracle?”

“Massage,” he mumbled. “Or your soul in a bottle. You keep me alive.”

You rolled your eyes but handed him your tiger balm. “Here. Don’t say I never loved you.”

He paused. “Can I?”

You raised a brow. “Can you what?”

His voice dropped. “Say you love me. Even fake. Just once.”

You blinked. The room felt too still.

So you said it—lightly, but maybe a bit too softly.

“I love you, idiot.”

He looked up at you then, something unreadable in his eyes.

You pretended not to see it.

[5. Close Proximity Is a Hell of a Drug]

Somewhere between Seoul and Berlin, things shifted.

Like when he handed you a water bottle and your fingers brushed—and neither of you moved.

Or how his hand lingered on your waist during a choreo run-through just a second too long.

Or that one time you tripped coming off stage and landed square in his arms—and neither of you laughed.

Instead, he just whispered, “I got you,” like it meant something.

You ignored the way your stomach flipped.

He was healing. That’s all.

Right?

[6. Houston Hotel & One Bed Horror]

The room booking error was not your fault.

But it was your reality.

“One bed?” you blinked.

Jaehyun blinked back. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a king. Just stay on your side.”

He did.

Until 3 AM when you both shifted and somehow ended up spooning.

You woke up to his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

You carefully slid out of bed and didn’t bring it up.

Neither did he.

But he looked at you for a little too long the next day during soundcheck.

[7. The Teasing Begins]

Haechan, of course, noticed everything.

“You two are getting weird,” he said, pointing between you and Jaehyun mid-backstage ramen.

You coughed. “We’ve always been weird.”

“No,” Doyoung chimed in. “You’re intimate-weird. That post-breakup emotional dependency kind of weird.”

Jaehyun calmly took another bite. “We’ve been best friends for years.”

“Exactly,” Johnny said. “So why do you look like a kicked puppy every time she talks to a backup dancer?”

You and Jaehyun exchanged glances.

Neither of you had an answer.

[8. Confessions in Disguise]

Jaehyun wasn’t always poetic.

But one night, after a sold-out Tokyo Dome performance, he stood beside you on the rooftop of your hotel, city lights gleaming below, and said:

“You make everything feel less heavy.”

You turned to him. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He shrugged. “I’m capable of feelings. Just deeply repressed.”

You smiled. “Well, you’re doing great, champ.”

He chuckled but stayed quiet for a beat.

Then, softer, “I think I’m scared I’ll never feel right with anyone else.”

You stared at him. “Jae…”

He cut in quickly. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me stay beside you a little longer.”

You nodded.

And held his hand.

[9. Late Night, Lights Off]

In Chicago, after three hours of rehearsals and one shower, you flopped on your shared bed, exhausted.

Jaehyun lay beside you, scrolling through his phone.

“Remember when we first met?” you asked, voice soft.

“You spilled protein shake on me,” he replied.

“And you called me a menace.”

He grinned. “Still true.”

You smiled into the dark. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His voice came quieter. “I think I’m in love with you.”

You turned.

But he was already asleep.

Or pretending.

[10. Tour’s End & Love’s Beginning]

The final concert city: Seoul.

Home turf. Cameras. Fans. Pressure.

But Jaehyun only had eyes for you.

On stage, when the lights dimmed, he whispered into his mic during the ending ment: “I want to thank someone who kept me grounded when everything else felt like it was slipping.”

He didn’t say your name.

But the way he looked at you?

Everyone knew.

[AFTERPARTY – “Don’t Tell Me What I Feel”]

The hotel suite was loud with music and half-drunk laughter, the afterparty in full swing. NCT 127 had just wrapped their final Tokyo show, and everyone was still riding the high of it. You were curled up on the couch in sweats and a borrowed hoodie—his hoodie—watching Jaemin and Haechan challenge each other to a drinking game in broken Japanese.

Jaehyun, however, had been staring at you for the past ten minutes.

When you caught him, he didn’t look away.

You raised a brow. “What?”

He stood abruptly, offered a hand. “Come with me.”

“Where—?”

“Just come.”

You followed him into the empty hallway, where the bass of the music faded into muffled vibrations behind a heavy door. It was quiet, warm with summer Tokyo air slipping in through a cracked window.

Jaehyun turned to face you, jaw clenched like he was bracing himself.

“I have to tell you something.”

You blinked. “Okay...”

“I like you,” he said, voice low but certain. “I’ve liked you for a while now. Since before the breakup. I was too scared to admit it, but it’s always been you.”

You blinked again—this time slower—heart tripping a little in your chest.

“Jae…”

“I’m not confused,” he added quickly. “I’m not rebounding. I’m in love with you.”

You froze, eyes searching his face for the punchline. But he was dead serious.

And it broke your heart.

“Jaehyun,” you said gently, trying to smile, “you’re not actually in love with me. You just think you are.”

His brows drew in. “What?”

“You’re caught in post-tour emotions and afterglow and everything’s intense right now. You’re reading into it. You just like having me around.”

“You think I don’t know the difference?” His voice was quiet, tight.

“I’m just… me. I’m your best friend. I’m safe.”

He took a slow step closer. “Don’t do that.”

You laughed softly, sadly. “You’re just overwhelmed. Once things calm down, you’ll realize it wasn’t real.”

He stepped right in front of you now.

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” he said, voice like gravel and heat.

“Jae—”

He kissed you.

Not soft. Not tentative. Final.

His hands gripped your waist, mouth slanting over yours with months of quiet ache finally let loose. You gasped into it, hands bracing against his chest, and that was all he needed to deepen the kiss, tongue brushing yours like a promise he was ready to make real.

He pulled back slightly, lips brushing yours, breath hot.

“I know exactly how I feel,” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to argue—and he kissed you again, silencing the last of your doubt with the kind of kiss that made your knees weak and your heart sprint.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie. His name slipped out between breaths. And when he pressed you back against the hallway wall, his body flush with yours, it was like the months of tension finally cracked open and spilled over.

There was nothing rushed—just heat building slow and steady, lips tracing along your jaw, his hands slipping under your shirt like he needed to feel that you were real. Your back arched under his touch, your hips shifting instinctively, grinding softly into his.

His breath hitched. “God, don’t stop doing that.”

“Then kiss me again,” you whispered, needy now.

He did.

And this time, you didn’t pull away.

THE END

Feedback is welcome :)

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[holy-mother-of-whumpers]

I agree with both... The animatics are spicy, but because of ✨connotations✨ maybe we should call them flavored.

The flavour, for me, being that it's very close and personal. Poseidon bullying Odysseus, Zeus manhandling him, Circe maneuvering him through her legs there is a lot of contact. That's juicy to me 👀😏 still, not overtly or meant to be suggestive.

The fact that most animatics have a setting, aren't happening in the general void many animatics live in (not a negative comparison, if an animatic is trying to give a more ephemeral/emotional effect, removing the setting is a good move) make them somewhat more grounded - and touchable, as the characters often touch each other (like the blood pouring on Eurylochus head: that feels thick).

It's like your animatics are apples while many others are citrus fruits: you can bite into them - again, not against citruses, I don't go peeling an orange if I want to chew and I don't drink apple juice because I HATE IT WITH BURNING PASSION AND THEY SNEAK at least 20% IN ALL THE OTHER MIX OF JUICES AHHHH (why is there apple in my red berries juice huh? Huh???) wait I lost the metaphor, sorry.

I appreciate the orange for its acidity and the apple because I munch happily, but I don't think the apple should be more acidic or that the orange should be more munchable. Me praising the apple is not a shade to the orange.

Back to the point.

Everything is very solid (love the darker outlines for things), I'd even say yours are one of the most 3D-like 2D animatics around/pos.

Also you have a focus on the expressions that make them very raw, like even their feelings are close and personal for us to witness (and bite into, crunchy ehe).

Other also, the use of color is really spicy because it's just a bit here and there like spices are usually just a pinch and enough to make the whole dish more flavored for it! Like Circe and Poseidon's eyes, or when Penelope walks into the hall with the suitors and the background turns danger-red.

I don't think Aphrodite is sexualized, she's so chill with her body she could hang out with Hestia and Athena and none of them would have a problem (Aphrodite is always wearing her charm and to the virgin goddesses the body is but natural), and Circe's seduction is all about power and control, not sexy times.

So yeah, the spice is def there, but it's not necessarily sexy-spice, it's more flavor-spice. I can see people faced with something so solid, raw and touchable and wanting to touch it.

This not to excuse in the least those who harassed you or I heard turned your animatics into bad stuff. Screw them (throwing Aphrodite's dove in their faces like those old memes of cats with cheese slices) praised be your brother with the power of the calculator ahahah

So: spicy but not sexualized; in the way an asexual can be sexy in looks and personality (and write smut) but still uninterested in that aspect for all other intended purposes (I should know).

Just letting you know i LOVE all your Epic animatics 🙏🙏

The extra spice you unapologetically put in some of them makes them stand out more to me and for that they're among my favorites

Hehe thank you! I wouldn't say its extra spicy just cuz I depict nudity more, I mean the tone would be just the same if Circe had clothes on or not. And for Aphrodite's pose she does, it would be still "spicy" even if she had clothing, the dove joke wouldn't land tho... 😅