#i know i’ve had this kind of slump before and i too shared it here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crackedpumpkin · 6 months ago

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𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟏𝟎 |

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

#1 Rule of Fake Dating: Don’t make it your go-to excuse for everything.

You learned this the hard way after telling Abby you had a ‘date’ to get out of her study session invite. Her eyes widened to proportions you never imagined possible as she gasped and demanded the full story of how you met your soulmate.

Before you could spin a convincing lie, your phone rang. The familiar ringtone makes you smile. For once, you were actually grateful for his annoying ass.

“What’s up, Brooky?”

Cole’s long-suffering sigh nearly makes you burst out laughing. “I’ll buy you a drink if you promise never to call me that again.”

You bid Abby a hasty wave goodbye, watching her slump back down in disappointment over not getting any juicy details. “Depends on how expensive it is.”

“You do realise that I don’t get paid for my heroism.”

You wince. “That’s so true. You guys should really talk to the mayor about that.”

“Right?” His voice picks up, clearly hitting a sore spot. “I mean, I already feel bad enough living off Cyrus’s goodwill, especially with all of us there.”

Sandwiching your phone between your ear and shoulder, you adjust the bag on your arm and hum in agreement as he continues. “Plus, I don’t know. Master Wu’s insistent on us doing everything for free, but I think the renovation costs might’ve made him reconsider taking on a few private requests.”

“What kind of requests?” You unintentionally tune him out as you exit the university grounds to look for him. Standing on your tiptoes, you scan the crowd. Nothing. You frown, craning your neck in hopes of spotting that familiar mop of black hair. “Where are you?” you mutter, your voice slipping into irritation.

“What was that?”

“I said–”

A firm tap on your shoulder cuts you off. Startled, you spin around and instinctively lash out, your fist connecting with someone’s side.

“Oof!” A pained grunt follows as Cole doubles over, clutching his ribs. Despite his wheezing, he still manages a crooked grin. “Is this how you treat your boyfriend now? Should I be worried?”

“Oh my god!” Your hands fly to your mouth, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry! You can’t sneak up on people like that!”

Straightening up, Cole gives you a mock-wounded look, still rubbing his side. “Noted. Next time I’ll announce myself with a trumpet.”

“Good,” you reply, crossing your arms but quickly softening. “You’re okay, though, right?”

“Define ‘okay,’” he teases, but his attention shifts as his gaze flicks over you. His brows furrow. “Uh… are we matching right now?”

You blink, glancing down at your outfit — a brown dress paired with a white bag — before looking back at him. He’s wearing a white shirt and long brown khakis.

It hits you both at the same time.

“No.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

You gape at each other in shared offence.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head.

Cole narrows his eyes, gesturing between you. “Who’s copying who here?”

“Obviously you copied me,” you reply, placing a hand on your hip.

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Sure, because I definitely planned to match my soulmate’s outfit for a date in public.”

“It’s not a date!” you hiss, glancing around as a few bystanders glance your way with interest.

Cole raises a brow, an all-too-amused smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, so you do admit I’m your soulmate? As in, accepted it?”

You groan, punching his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he says, stepping aside to take your bag. “But at least I’m fashionable.”

“Don’t push it, Brookstone,” you warn, stepping past him. He simply shrugs, an easy grin on his lips when you hand him your bag without a second thought. He slings it onto his shoulder, starting to walk with you.

“So, where’re we headed?”

“I’ve got a lesson with Master Wu today, remember?”

“‘Course I remember,” he huffs with a wounded tone, placing a hand on his heart. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Okay,” you say, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face Cole. Your tone is calm, but there’s a certain edge to it that makes him pause. “If you’re going to keep up this boyfriend act, then you better be prepared for the consequences.”

Cole raises a brow, clearly amused. “Consequences? Like what? You making me carry your bag for the rest of my life?”

“Worse,” you reply with a smirk, resuming your pace. He follows, though the grin falters ever so slightly. Good. Let him wonder. Let him wonder and forget till the day you fill his entire room with tiny rubber dildos, enough to make an army.

You’re just about to elaborate with another (hopefully) ominous sentence when a familiar voice calls out your name from afar.

You turn to see Holly heading your way, her usual bright energy radiating even from a distance. Next to her is a boy you don’t recognise at first, but when he comes into view you realise he’s the brother you met the other day.

“Hey,” you greet, waving as they approach. Cole glances at you questioningly but stays quiet.

Holly’s eyes flick to Cole, curious. “Who’s your friend? Is he…?”

You spot the perfect opportunity and take it, turning to Cole with a sickly sweet smile. “Oh, where are my manners?” Taking a step closer, you thread your arm through his. “This is Cole.” You bat your lashes for effect. “My boyfriend.”

The words that leave your mouth feel like poison, and you immediately feel like you’ve taken a nosedive straight into the fiery depths of hell. In your peripheral, you can feel Cole glance at you, his smirk widening.

Bastard.

Holly’s jaw drops. Her brother rolls his eyes at her reaction, crossing his arms. You recall his name starting with an L, trying to scrounge up his name from the tangled ball of yarn you call a memory when he suddenly speaks.

“Calm down,” he says casually, shrugging like he’s commenting on the weather. “They’re probably just soulmates. You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it.”

Holly scowls, swatting at the hand he’s using to poke her arm. “I know that, Leo. I was just surprised to see her, that’s all.”

The sudden mention of it makes you flinch. Fake dating or not, the fact that the truth is out there in its purest form of the word soulmates is enough to trigger the nerves in your chest. After spending so long denying it, you’re suddenly supposed to accept it?

Leo notices your reaction and shrugs again, unbothered. “Holly told me about you not finding your soulmate. Till now, I guess.” His gaze darts to Cole, “Honestly, it’s not everything people make it out to be. Besides, the whole thing is overrated anyway.”

The ease in his tone catches you completely off guard. For a moment, you forget Cole’s smirk or Holly’s wide eyes. Your lips twitch upward into a small, genuine smile. “You’re not wrong,” you admit softly, meeting his gaze.

Leo’s grin widens ever so slightly. “Glad someone gets it.”

Cole, apparently done being ignored, steps forward and extends his hand. “Cole,” he says, flashing a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Leo takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “Leo. I’m this dumbass’s brother,” he elaborates, gesturing to Holly who looks ready to shove his head into the wall. You wish you could do the same to your fake boyfriend.

Your gaze flickers to their hands, catching the subtle shift in Leo’s expression; a raised brow, the slightest tilt of his head. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but you see it. Intrigue.

The handshake ends, and Leo steps back, his expression slipping back into its usual nonchalance. Holly doesn’t seem to notice anything as she starts talking to Cole about something you barely register.

“Oh, wait,” you say, digging into your bag. “Do you have Instagram? I should follow you.”

Leo nods, pulling out his phone as you exchange handles. Just as you confirm the follow, Cole’s voice cuts in, laced with over-the-top concern.

“Babe,” he says, the word so dripping with mock affection it’s almost painful. “You’re following another guy on Instagram? I’m starting to feel... jealous.”

You shoot him a side-eye glare that he ignores entirely, his grin widening. You can practically hear the smugness dripping off his words. Fighting the urge to shove him into the nearest wall, you plaster on an exaggerated grin.

“Jealous?” Leo echoes, smirking slightly.

“Of course,” Cole replies, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer till you’re all but squashed against his chest. His very broad, muscular chest. “My Snugglebug here doesn’t just hand out her Instagram to anyone, you know.”

Snugglebug.

I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

“Oh, but my love,” you say, voice sugary sweet as you lean into him, batting your eyelashes. “Don’t be jealous. You’re the only one for me.”

Cole’s smirk falters for a split second, and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“Good,” he replies, recovering quickly. “Because I was thinking of getting us matching Instagram bios. Something like, ‘Forever & Always’.”

Holly bursts into laughter, while Leo watches with what you can only describe as amused bewilderment.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” you coo, patting his cheek. “But I was thinking something simpler. Like, ‘My Rock’.”

“Perfect,” Cole echoes, his voice dripping with mischief as he gently tilts your chin to face him. “I’ll change mine to ‘My Light’.”

Oh. Oh, he’s dead.

Holly clutches her stomach, still laughing, while Leo shakes his head. “You two are... something,” he mutters, his tone dripping with amusement.

You force a smile, plotting Cole’s imminent demise. “Aren’t we just?”

Cole squeezes your shoulder lightly. “The best couple, right?”

“Oh, come on,” Holly finally bursts out, half-laughing. “You two are insufferably cute.”

“Cute,” Leo echoes, though the shit-eating grin on his face makes you want to bury yourself six feet under and pray no one ever comes to your funeral. Scratch that, no funeral needed for your demise.

You step away from Cole, letting his arm drop, and shoot him a glare that promises retribution. He just grins back, smug as ever.

“Let’s go,” you mutter, grabbing your bag from him and stalking past Holly and Leo.

Behind you, you hear Cole chuckle softly. “Anything for you, Snugglebug.”

You don’t look back, but the intense heat in your cheeks are enough to tell you he’s won this round.

It’s only after you board the bus after waiting for ten minutes, hike up the mountain stairs (you’d gotten used to it at this point), and stormed past a perplexed Zane to grab some water and chug it down that you finally deign Cole with a scathing glare after the agony of silence.

“What’s wrong Snugglebug?” The bastard’s as smug as ever, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. He tilts his head innocently, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Did you want to take it to the next level? Change our Facebook status to ‘Taken’, perhaps?”

If not for the fact that the glass you’re drinking out of being classified as monastery property, you would’ve hurled it at his head without hesitation. Instead, you take a deep breath, set the glass down with no more than a soft clink, and plaster the tiniest smile on your lips.

“Cole?”

He’s wary now. You take a step toward him, the very picture of serenity when he suddenly takes a step back, slowly moving away to the other side of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” You ask sweetly, watching him awkwardly smile back in response as his arm scrambles for something behind his back. “What’re you looking for, Cole?”

“Nothing,” he says, though you pick up on the smallest of trembles in his voice. “Just… loving how relaxed and completely okay with everything you are. Have I ever told you that you’re the best out of all of us?”

“Not at all,” you hum, stepping closer and closer to him until he’s flattened himself to the refrigerator door, looking down at you hesitantly. “The best, you say?”

“Mmhm.” He nods slowly, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Your lips twitch ever so slightly, lifting your hand up. His eyes widen, gaze fixated on your hand as it swings down toward him.

And lands on his shoulder in the form of a gentle pat.

“Okay.” He watches you move away, heading to the sink to wash the empty glass. “I’m gonna go to Master Wu’s class now. You’re on bodyguard duty for the whole week, right?”

You can sense how flustered he is when he mumbles out confirmation, turning around and watching him stiffen noticeably when your eyes meet his. “Sounds good!” You chirp, placing the rinsed glass onto the dishrack and leaving the kitchen without another word.

— — — — — —

“Here’re the rubber... ducks you ordered.”

Zane holds out a small, nondescript package. His tone is neutral, but the slightest tilt of his head gives away his curiosity.

It had been two days since the whole fake boyfriend debacle with Holly and Leo, with Cole behaving more quietly ever since you cornered him against the fridge. He’d laid low, keeping jokes to himself and bristling each time you sent an emotionless smile in his direction.

But this morning, he’d seemed back to his old self, slipping in snarky little comments about your relationship.

Earth Ninja or not, you were thisclose to snapping the next time he referred to you as Babezilla in front of Kai.

But right now, you have more important things to focus on. Like the package in Zane’s hands.

“Thanks!” You say, grabbing the bag from him and clutching it to your chest like it’s some precious heirloom whilst grinning like an absolute madman.

Zane doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just... stares. His eyes linger on the tightly wrapped block in your arms. You’re pretty sure if you poked him he’d teeter right before falling.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, calculating every possible reason for your delivery. When his eyes narrow ever so slightly, you know you’re dangerously close to being interrogated.

You pat his shoulder, offering him your best reassuring smile. “Don’t ask.”

He blinks, his head tilting further. “But I wasn’t—”

“Don’t.”

Zane lets it go, though the way his brow furrows suggests this will remain an unsolved mystery he’ll revisit later.

Fat chance, my guy.

Clutching the bag tighter, you make your way toward Cole’s room. His music isn’t blasting through your head like it usually does when he’s nearby, a sure sign he’s out on patrol. Perfect.

As you reach his door, you take a deep breath, preparing for the task at hand. Operation Dildo Baggins was officially a go. You’d been sitting on this idea for a while with no official target, and now, with Cole’s recent antics (antics being the kindest possible way to describe the utter humiliation and embarrassment you’d been subject to with nicknames like Snugglebug, Babezilla, and worst of all…Babycakes), it felt like the perfect time to strike.

Slipping inside, you survey the space. His room is a mess, but it’s a mess you can oddly appreciate. Weights in one corner, a pile of laundry in another, and his bed unmade. The mattress practically has a Cole-shaped indent in it, while pillows lay haphazardly around.

You pull out the bag and unzip it, grinning at the contents. Tiny, brightly colored rubber dildos, all varying in size, shape, and shade. Some even had glitter. A stroke of genius, if you said so yourself.

Now, where to start?

You’re halfway through Operation Dildo Baggins when a sharp inhale makes you freeze. You slowly turn, expecting to be busted by Cole himself, when you see a wide-eyed Jay and Kai in the doorway.

Jay’s lips are parted, his gaze darting to the opened package on the floor, where its contents are spilling out, while Kai stands there with his arms crossed, one brow arched in silent amusement.

You glance from the sparkly pink palm-sized dildo in your hands to the two of them, trying to form a coherent explanation.

“...It’s not what it looks like.”

Jay erupts into a fit of giggles, pressing himself against the open door while he chokes on a shaky inhale. Kai steps inside, admiring your handiwork. You relent.

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like,” you relent, stepping down from the footstool you’re using to hide one of them above the closet. “It’s revenge. Or as I like to call it, Operation Dildo Baggins.”

Jay lets out an absolutely unhinged wheeze, sliding down the door frame as he laughs uncontrollably. “Dildo Baggins?” he chokes out between gasps. “That’s — oh my god — that’s genius.”

Kai strolls in, folding his arms as he surveys the chaos of tiny rubber dildos strewn across Cole’s room. “So,” he drawls with a smirk, “does this have anything to do with you being called–”

“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, jabbing a finger at him before he can utter the cursed nickname. Your glare is enough to make him pause. “I still have a coupon for another bag.”

He wisely shuts up.

“Anyway,” you continue, clutching the sparkly pink offender in your hand, “if you two idiots are here, you might as well help.”

Jay perks up immediately, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I am so in,” he says, practically bouncing as he steps over to inspect the pile, picking up a few he deems worthy. Kai shrugs, amused, and picks one up, flipping it idly in his hand.

“Alright,” you announce, “we’ve got to be smart about this. No obvious spots. Think subtle, think devious.”

Jay nods enthusiastically, like you’re outlining the master plan to a heist. “Subtle and devious. Got it.” Then, with an impish grin, he holds up Cole’s clear shower gel bottle, tilting it slightly to reveal the viscous blue liquid inside. “Ooooh, this is a good spot.”

You gape at him. “Jay–”

Before you can finish, he unscrews the cap and carefully slides in a few glittery dildos, where they sink and swirl lazily in the gel like the most ridiculous snow globe. He beams proudly.

“Perfect,” he declares, holding it up like a trophy.

Kai snorts. “That’s evil.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Teamwork truly does make the dream work,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small grin tugging at your lips as you snatch the bottle back and shove it into Cole’s shower bag.

“Focus, team,” you say, regaining your composure. “We’ve still got plenty more to hide.”

Kai tosses a dildo into the air, catching it with ease. “I call dibs on his sock drawer.”

Jay claps his hands together, rubbing them like an evil mastermind. “And I’ve got ideas for his weights.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve assembled the worst accomplices in history, or maybe the best. Either way, the amount of gleeful scurrying, whispered plotting, and the sheer evil glint in their eyes makes you think you’ve found your partners-in-crime for life. Operation Dildo Baggins had been an unparalleled success.

By the time you’re done, it’s time to unwind in the game room, the massive TV already aglow with the chaos of Overcooked’s cartoonish kitchen. Jay thrusts a controller into your hands while Kai rummages through the kitchen for snacks. They’d insisted you stay for dinner, and honestly, how could you refuse? A day of dildo-hiding makes a girl hungry.

“Okay, new plan,” Jay says, resetting the level for the third time. “You stay on cooking duty. I’ll chop, Kai delivers. We’ve got this.”

“Pretty sure you said that the last two times,” you deadpan, cracking your knuckles and adjusting your grip on the controller. “And yet, here we are.”

Kai returns with a bowl of chips, plopping down beside you. “Third time’s the charm,” he says, tossing a chip in his mouth. “Now stop arguing and start chopping.”

The game begins, and chaos ensues. You’re barking orders like a drill sergeant. “Jay, the tomatoes! KAI, THAT PLATE IS BURNT. WHY IS IT BURNT?!”

Jay is in another fit of giggles as he accidentally throws a perfectly good onion into the trash. “It slipped!”

“HOW DOES AN ONION SLIP?!”

“Guys, calm down–” Kai starts, but you cut him off, voice rising in desperation. “No calming! DELIVERY! We need that plate out NOW or we fail again!”

The door opens behind you, but you’re too focused on the timer ticking down and the chaos on the screen to look. The sound of a water bottle being uncapped and a few long gulps makes you hyper-aware of his presence, though. Not to mention the fact that you’d heard the faint melody of his usual playlist approaching the monastery which had made you accidentally throw away a good pot of cooked rice.

Cole.

You can feel his gaze on you, but there’s no time to address him. Not when Jay’s standing in the middle of the screen holding a pot and doing nothing useful.

“Jay, fuck off! Kai, DELIVER THE PLATE!”

“I’m trying!” Kai protests, nearly tipping over his drink in real life as he frantically mashes buttons.

It’s no use. The timer runs out, and the screen flashes a giant FAILED in bright red letters. You drop your controller with a groan, leaning back against the couch.

“That’s it. I’m done. You two are hopeless.”

“Hey,” Jay protests, “I’m great under pressure! Just… not in a fake kitchen.”

“You’d starve if we ever got trapped on a deserted island,” you mutter, reaching for a chip.

“Looks like you’ve got everything under control here.”

Finally, you glance over your shoulder. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, his water bottle in hand, watching you with that infuriating smirk. Also, he was wearing a sleeveless tank top which, you hate to admit it, looked good on him. But also, his arms had the slightest sheen of sweat.

In conclusion, gross and yucky.

“Care to back that up with action, or are you just here to talk shit get hit?” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I’d destroy you,” he replies smoothly, taking another swig of water.

You snort. “Please. You’d fold under pressure faster than Jay did when I asked him to deliver a plate.”

“Hey!” Jay protests, only to pause. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Cole chuckles, setting his water bottle on a nearby table. “You sure about that? I’ve got quick reflexes and perfect hand-eye coordination. I’d mop the floor with you, just like I did when we sparred.”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t even touched the controller,” you retort, a spark of competitive energy flaring up in your chest. “Also, I totally let you win.”

“Oh, this I’ve got to see,” Jay interjects, scrambling to set the game to player-versus-player mode. He tosses a controller to Cole, who catches it effortlessly.

“I’m not kidding,” Cole adds as he strides toward the couch. “You’re about to witness greatness.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you scoff. “Hope you’re ready to eat my dust.”

Before you can say another word, Cole leaps over the back of the sofa in one fluid motion, landing right beside you. You blink, startled by the sheer grace of it, but quickly mask it with a scoff.

“Fancy moves won’t save you here, Brooky boy,” you mutter, gripping your controller tightly.

“Oh, I don’t need fancy moves to beat you,” he says, leaning slightly closer, his smirk infuriatingly confident. You shove him away with disgust, suddenly aware of how close you are. Before you can move away, however, Kai makes himself comfortable and manspreads. You roll your eyes.

“Bring it,” you reply easily, choosing your avatar.

Jay, already giggling in anticipation, hits start. “Let the carnage begin!”

The match starts, and the game becomes a blur of chaotic, fast-paced action. Your fingers move furiously over the buttons as you fight to keep up with Cole’s surprisingly sharp gameplay.

“You’re getting slow,” he taunts, the familiar chime of bells signalling completed orders going off non-stop for both sides.

“Slow?” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “I’m just warming up.”

Kai leans back with a laugh, munching on chips. “This is better than TV.”

For a moment, your eyes dart to your competitor. Cole’s leaning slightly forward, his full focus on the screen, brows furrowed in concentration. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, that stupid smirk never quite leaving.

Then, it hits you. The scent.

It’s faint at first, but the more you notice it, the stronger it becomes. A warm blend of spiced cinnamon and vanilla, rich and inviting, like stepping into your kitchen during Christmas to sneak a few cups of hot chocolate with your mother. A pang of nostalgia washes over you, unbidden and completely out of place. You shake your head slightly, trying to ignore how oddly comforting it feels.

How does he smell this good when he hasn’t even showered yet?

Your avatar stumbles on screen, moving erratically as you remain stuck in that memory. Cole notices instantly.

“Losing your touch already?” he snorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

The sound of his voice yanks you back to the moment. “What? No!” you snap, glaring at him as you hastily mash buttons to catch up.

“Sure looks like it,” he teases, that insufferable grin widening.

Without thinking, you shove him with your shoulder. He barely budges, laughing as he nudges you back. Your heart is racing in your chest, though you quickly chalk it up to the pressure of the game.

The timer on the screen counts down to the final seconds, and your competitive streak kicks into overdrive. Your fingers fly across the controller as you focus all your energy on completing as many orders as possible. The kitchen on screen is pure chaos with ingredients on every inch of floor space, chopped cucumbers everywhere, pots almost overboiling, but somehow, you’re thriving in it.

Also, a part of it is on fire but with five seconds left, you’re prioritizing getting the food out rather than extinguish it.

“Come on, you’ve got this!” Jay cheers, leaning forward in excitement.

“Not a chance in hell,” Cole counters, his tone light but determined.

With a final flurry of button-mashing, the round ends. The results start to tally, both of you subconsciously leaning forward in anticipation. When the screen reveals you’d beaten him by two completed orders, a triumphant cry tears itself from your throat.

“I am unstoppable!” you declare, throwing your arms up like you’ve just claimed the title of world champion.

Jay hits a button on the controller, triggering cheers from the speakers. Kai sets off a party popper he somehow produces on cue. Confetti rains down, and you take a mock bow, basking in your victory.

Cole leans back on the sofa, swirling his water bottle in one hand, a soft grin playing at his lips. “You’re really proud of yourself, huh?”

“Obviously,” you say, spinning around to face him. “Beating you at anything is worth celebrating.”

His grin widens, and there’s a flicker of something in his gaze. Amusement, sure, but also a hint of challenge. “It was beginner’s luck.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Excuse me? I’ve been playing this longer than you’ve been doing your ninja stuff.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, sitting up straighter. “If we played again, I’d wipe the floor with you.”

Kai lets out a low whistle. “Oh, he’s laying it down now.”

Jay, grinning from ear to ear, grabs another controller. “This I have to see.”

Your eyes narrow at Cole, your competitive streak kicking into overdrive. “Fine. Rematch. But let’s make it interesting.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, like a bet?”

“Winner gets to change the loser’s contact name for them. No swapping, no amendments. The name has to be kept and can only be changed through official Overcooked Betting.”

Cole eyes the hand you put forth, waiting patiently for him to shake it and accept the terms.

He takes it.

The stakes are set, controllers gripped, and tension hangs in the air as the rematch begins. The sound of clattering plates and sizzling pans fills the room, each of you hyper-focused on the chaos of the Overcooked kitchen. You’re determined to hold onto your victory streak, while Cole, equally motivated, keeps throwing glances your way, his smirk bordering on smug.

“Focus on your side, Cole,” you snap, dodging his attempt to distract you as his elbow inches closer to your ribcage. You swat it away with your arm, using the side of your head to bonk his shoulder.

“Multitasking is my specialty,” he shoots back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Cole stealing glances at you between frantic moves, his expression equal parts focused and amused. You push harder, refusing to let him win.

Jay and Kai are on the edge of their seats, munching snacks as if watching the most gripping movie of the year.

When the final seconds tick down and the scores flash on the screen, you let out a loud groan. He’d beaten you by one order.

“No!” you cry, dropping the controller in defeat.

The tension leaves his body, relaxing against the couch with the air of an accomplished man. “Hand it over.” He puts his hand out to you, palm side up. You eye it, wondering if it’d be too late to order more rubber dildos.

“A bet’s a bet,” Kai reminds from beside you. Groaning, you fish out your phone from your pockets and toss it into his hand. He unlocks it easily, having seen your password before during another study session where he’d kept himself occupied with books while you furiously rushed an overdue essay.

With every ominous tap tap tap of his fingers against the screen, you bristle. His expression is infuriatingly focused, as if he’s crafting a masterpiece.

When he hands your phone back, you snatch it and glance at the new contact name. Your eyes widen in horror.

He’d changed the contact name from ‘Cole Brookstone - Ninja’ to ‘Cole <3’. It’s so simple, yet the heart he’d added after his name makes you wince. Your fingers ache, inching toward the edit icon before he hums disapprovingly.

“Can’t change it,” he remarks offhandedly, peering down at his nails with a frown. You can see the corners of his lips struggling to remain turned down, knowing full well the bastard is busy laughing his ass off internally. “You made the rules, not me.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” His childish retort eggs you on, and you stick your tongue out childishly in turn. He makes a face, only to stop when you raise a fist and hit his side - lightly. He groans in exaggerated pain, clutching his waist.

“How could you, Babycakes?”

Jay’s loud gasp makes the heat rush to your face and coloring your ears crimson, narrowing your eyes. You can practically see Jay’s expression as he files away this juicy tidbit for later use.

“You did not just call me that,” you hiss, jabbing your finger at Cole’s chest.

“What? It’s your nickname for me,” he says innocently, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

“That was not my nickname for you!” you snap. “It was–”

“Oh, I know,” Cole interrupts, cutting you off with a smirk. “It was ‘Cole Brookstone – Ninja.’ So professional. So... boring. I thought we meant more to each other than that.” He blinks innocently as he looks at you, his smile bordering on evil.

“Boring?” you echo, your tone dangerously low.

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, like he isn’t goading you on purpose. “No creativity, no flair. Just straight-up boring.”

Your jaw drops, and you lean forward, pointing a finger at him. “Excuse me? You don’t get to talk about creativity when you put a heart after your own name. How is that not boring?”

“It’s not boring because it’s cute,” he counters smugly. “And admit it, you winced because you thought it was cute too.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Kai’s voice cuts through the bickering before you can let loose a string of curses you’re pretty sure would’ve gotten you banned from being around the monastery’s classes for elementary students.

“Okay, enough.” He steps between the two of you, holding up his hands like a referee breaking up a particularly petty fight. Also, he’d somehow produced two yellow uno cards from seemingly thin air, waving it at you both in warning. “You’re acting like toddlers fighting over crayons.”

“He started it,” you grumble, folding your arms.

Cole snorts. “Oh, grow up, Pumpkin Pie.”

Kai sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, as you part your lips to fire back, he glances at you, a meaningful look in his eyes that reminds you of your earlier enacted revenge.

So, you press your lips together, taking a deep breath. Think mini dildos hidden in his pillow. Think glittery ones floating in his shower gel.

Suddenly, all the tension leaves your body, and you open your eyes with a serene smile.

Cole notices the change instantly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What’s that face?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say calmly, turning away from him with a shrug. “Just decided to be a good sport and a role model for the younger generation.”

Kai catches the edge of your smirk and shakes his head, muttering, “You two are exhausting. Not even Nya was this much trouble growing up.”

Cole watches you carefully for a moment longer before relaxing back into the sofa, though the wary look doesn’t completely leave his face. “You’re up to something,” he mutters.

“Maybe I am,” you reply, not bothering to deny it. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

He frowns, aout to say something before you’re interrupted by Zane walking into the room wearing an apron that’s an almost offensive shade of bright pink. You have to double check to make sure you’re not just seeing things.

“Dinner is ready,” Zane announces before scanning your faces. “Have I interrupted something?”

No one moves or responds. The mention of food acts like a switch flipping in everyone’s heads.

“Nah, you’re good buddy,” Kai groans, standing and stretching dramatically. “I’m starving.”

“Same,” Jay says, bounding after him. He throws a playful arm around Kai’s shoulders as they head for the dining room.

You follow at a more leisurely pace, Cole casually falling into step beside you. Neither of you speaks, the earlier bickering melting into a comfortable silence as the scent of freshly baked bread and herbs fills the air.

When you reach the dining room, the table is set with steaming dishes spread across it. Master Wu, Nya, Lloyd, and Pixal are already seated, pausing their discussion when you all enter.

For a moment, you notice the way Master Wu and Lloyd change their grave expressions into a wide smile, though there’s still a solemn tint to their eyes. Part of you bristles, but curiosity is easily buried by hunger.

Without a second thought, you and Cole gravitate to seats next to each other. It’s unconscious, natural, and nobody comments on it outright, though Nya raises an eyebrow as she glances between the two of you.

You happen to look up and meet her gaze, raising a brow in silent question. She just smiles and looks away to chat with Jay.

“Wow,” Lloyd says, leaning forward to inspect the spread. “Zane, you’ve outdone yourself. Again.”

“Is that herb-crusted salmon?” you ask, practically drooling.

“And garlic knots,” Cole adds, pointing to a heaping basket.

“Correct,” Zane replies with a slight bow of his head. “I’ve also prepared a vegetable medley with a lemon-butter glaze and rosemary roasted potatoes.”

“It smells amazing,” you say, eagerly reaching for a garlic knot.

“Smells amazing?” Cole laughs as he piles his plate high with potatoes. “It looks like a five-star restaurant in here. Zane, you’re spoiling us.”

“Preparing meals for my friends is not spoiling,” Zane replies evenly. “It is an expression of care.”

“You’re the best, Zane,” Lloyd says, already chewing on a piece of salmon. “Seriously, I don’t think I could go back to eating instant noodles after this.”

“Not with Zane around,” Pixal chimes in, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He would somehow make them gourmet.”

Jay leans toward you, whispering theatrically, “Don’t let him fool you. Zane’s just trying to make sure we can’t eat anywhere else without missing him.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nya teases, nudging Jay with her elbow.

“Not complaining,” you quip, popping a piece of garlic knot into your mouth and groaning. “Oh my god, this is ridiculous. Zane, how do you make everything taste so good?”

“Precision,” Zane answers simply.

Cole nods, as if Zane’s simple explanation made more impact than any of Master Wu’s advice ever did. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Zane is the kitchen ninja.”

“More like the ninja chef,” Nya says, smirking.

“Or the ninja of nourishment,” Lloyd adds, earning a snort from Jay.

Master Wu chuckles softly, his hand resting on his teacup. “It is good to see you all enjoying yourselves. Bonding over food is an ancient tradition.”

“Especially when the food is this good,” Cole says, digging into his plate with gusto.

“Damn, leave some for the rest of us,” Nya says. You can only stare with begrudging respect as she spears a roasted potato off of Cole’s plate with a cartoonishly long fork that extends to his plate without the need of standing up. She catches you looking at it, grinning widely as she pops the stolen goods into her mouth. “Like it?” She asks through mouthfuls, carefully waving it around. “Crafted it in the workshop today.”

“Hey!” he protests, but it’s half-hearted.

“Sharing is caring,” Pixal says lightly, passing a dish to Lloyd, who is too focused on his meal to notice her amused smile.

You scoff playfully. “Not with these potatoes. If you guys aren’t fast enough, I might empty the whole thing.” Glancing over when you feel a nudge, you roll your eyes at Cole’s earnest gaze. “Fine, I suppose you can have a piece.”

Kai gags. “The couple are so sweet it’s disgusting.”

“Not a couple,” You and Cole automatically reply in sync, shovelling more food into your mouths and munching. You don’t have to lift your head to see the sceptical glances exchanged, putting aside your usual snarky replies to focus purely on enjoying every bite of Zane’s cooking.

“You wonderful, wonderful man-droid.” You mumble out between bites. Zane nods his head in humble thanks, Cole muttering a similar sentiment.

The rest of the meal passes in a flurry of light-hearted jabs and never-ending enthusiastic praise for Zane’s culinary talents (all of which which the man-droid rightfully deserves). Plates were cleared, dishes stacked, and as the group slowly disbanded to their own devices, you found yourself lingering in the quiet warmth of the dining room, helping Master Wu wipe down the table.

“Thank you for letting me stay for dinner so often,” you said, glancing at him with a soft smile. “And for letting me hang out at the monastery so much. It’s… nice to be here.”

Master Wu paused mid-swipe, his wise eyes crinkling with warmth. “The monastery welcomes those who find comfort within its walls.”

You tilted your head at his cryptic tone, sensing there was more to his words. “That’s… oddly specific.”

He chuckled softly, folding the cloth in his hands. “You are exactly where you are meant to be, young one. Even if the reason has not fully revealed itself yet.”

You frown, your brows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gives you a knowing look, one that somehow carries both gravity and lightness. “You will understand when the time is right.”

Before you can press further, the sound of footsteps draws your attention. Cole appears in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets with a relaxed grin.

“Ready to head out?” he asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long.

You glance back at Master Wu, who merely nodded as if to say the conversation was over.

For now, that is.

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing your jacket and stepping toward Cole. “Thanks again, Master Wu.”

“It is always a pleasure to have you here,” he replies with a small bow, his tone warm. “Safe travels.”

Cole holds the door open for you as you step out into the cool evening air. Comfortable silence falls over you both like a warm blanket, walking toward the doors. The stars twinkle above, and there are barely any clouds above you both to obstruct the view.

One of the perks of living on the peak of a mountain, you suppose.

“Did Wu drop one of his cryptic wisdom bombs on you?” He asks after a beat, his tone teasing.

You huff in amusement. “Something like that.” You pause, tugging your jacket. “Do you ever understand all that weird cryptic stuff he sometimes spouts? Just last week he was telling me about not jumping out of a well.”

Your response elicits a laugh from him, the sound deep and easy. You find yourself smiling at it, a warmth in your chest as you look at him. “Honestly?” He sighs, hands deep in his pockets as you make your way down the stairs. “I just smile and nod, then just hope I’ll figure it out somehow.”

“Really?” Your interest is piqued. “How about when you saved the world and all that? Couldn’t have done it without deciphering his mysterious sayings.”

He grins. “You should’ve seen the way we were all racking our brains, trying to understand what he was saying. It was worse at the start, before we all knew Lloyd was the Green Ninja.”

“Worse? How?” you ask, your curiosity pushing a teasing smile to your lips as you both reach the end of the stairs and make your way over to the bus stop.

Cole shakes his head, his grin widening. “We were clueless, running around like headless chickens. Wu would drop some riddle about balance or destiny, and the rest of us would argue for hours about what it meant. There was this one time–” He breaks off, laughing to himself.

“What?” you prod, nudging his arm gently.

“There was this one time Wu told us we had to ‘look inward to find the strength to move forward.’” He mimics Wu’s calm tone, his expression mock-serious. “So naturally, Kai thought it meant we needed to meditate or something. He sat us all down in a circle and tried to lead a group meditation. Jay couldn’t stop cracking jokes, and Nya fell asleep within five minutes.”

You burst out laughing at the image. “What about you?”

“I just sat there thinking about how hungry I was,” he admits, shaking his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Turns out, all Wu meant was that we needed to believe in ourselves. But, you know, saying that plainly wouldn’t be very ‘Master Wu.’”

“Of course not,” you agree, grinning. “Mystical vagueness is his brand.”

As the two of you reach the bus stop, you glance at him. “So… did all his cryptic advice ever help? Like, for real?”

Cole nods, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Yeah, it did. Sometimes not right away, but it always made sense when it mattered most. Like when we were trying to stop the Great Devourer… or when we were facing the Overlord. Those were times when his words stuck with us, even if we didn’t get them at first.”

The bus pulls up, and the two of you step on. Cole fumbles briefly, patting his pockets with a furrowed brow before finally pulling his transit pass from his back pocket. “When you travel by dragon, bus passes don’t exactly come to mind,” he mumbles defensively. You roll your eyes with a playful smile as you both settle into seats near the back. As the city lights blur past the window, you glance at him again, catching the thoughtful look on his face.

“What about you?” you ask, leaning slightly toward him. “Was there ever a moment where something Wu said clicked for you?”

He smiles, but it’s a little more subdued this time. “Yeah. Back when we were stuck in the Cursed Realm, Wu told me, ‘A leader doesn’t just carry others; they let themselves be carried, too.’”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “What did that mean?”

“It meant I didn’t have to do everything alone,” he says quietly. “Back then, I felt like I had to shoulder everything for the team. But Wu was right. Being a leader means letting the people around you support you, too.”

You let the thought sit for a moment, then give him a small smile. “Sounds like solid advice.”

“It was,” he agrees, glancing at you with a faint smile of his own. “Even if it took me a while to figure out.”

The two of you share a quiet moment, the conversation lulling into another comfortable silence as the bus hums along. It’s only when you notice his reflection in the window with his expression relaxed, the corners of his lips slightly curved… You feel the odd warmth in your chest again.

“Thanks for sharing,” you say softly, your voice barely above the hum of the engine.

He glances at you, his grin returning, playful now. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not usually this talkative.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you reply, smirking. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin your mysterious tough-guy image.”

The bus finally reaches your stop and the both of you tap out. Your apartment building is within view, but a part of you lingers, your footsteps slower as you approach. “Got any plans for next Saturday?”

You hum in thought. “Only to pick up the cake I ordered a while back.”

“Oh. I’ll tag along.” You glance at him, mildly surprised at the statement. He catches your look, raising his brows in question. “I gotta stock up on croissants. It’s been ages since I had some of his cinnamon rolls too.”

“Where do you even find the space for all that and not gain weight?” You ask, though it’s more to yourself in jealousy than an actual question. Unfortunately, he hears it.

“Having a gym in-house does wonders when you can’t sleep.” His voice is tinged with something you recognise instantly — sorrow. You’re about to ask, but decide against it when you see the look on his face.

“You can pick me up in the afternoon then,” you say lightly, looking at a random streetlight. He hums in agreement. “And let’s try not to match again.”

That gets a chuckle. “Don’t you mean ‘try not to copy me’?”

“You’re impossible.”

The lift is only a few paces away. You feel him stop, turning to see one hand shoved into his jacket pocket, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture seems effortless, but there’s something steady about it, like he’s rooted to the spot. The faint light from the hallway catches the curve of his smile, his gaze soft and lingering, almost bordering on fond as he looks at you.

“Goodnight, Snugglebug.”

Scoffing, you enter the lift and press the button to your floor. “Goodnight, Brookstone.”

For tonight, you’ll let him get away with this one.

— — — — — —

It’s around midnight by the time Cole reaches the monastery. He’d taken his time on the way back, stopping by a convenience store to pick up some pre-cooked chicken breast, planning to microwave one as a snack after tonight’s gym session.

He grabs his headphones from the lounge but pauses, setting them back down onto the table.

She’d probably be asleep by now, right?

He leaves without his headphones, entering the gym where Lloyd is busy doing his usual sets. Both of them were the more regular visitors, having encountered the other far too many times at odd hours to instinctively understand the dark rings under their eyes and haunted tinge in their gaze.

“So,” Lloyd breaks the silence, glancing over as he lowers the speed on his treadmill. “Your soulmate, huh?”

Cole exhales sharply, the weight of the question hitting heavier than the bench press he’d just finished. He’d been waiting for Lloyd to bring it up but didn’t expect it to be now, in the middle of their usual workout session. “Yeah. We’re not exactly eager about it either,” he says, walking over to the bench and starting a few stretches. His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of tension in his shoulders. “It won’t impact my duties.”

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that.” Lloyd raises his hands in assurance, though his thoughtful gaze is now fixed on his teammate. “I’m just saying, it must be exciting, right? Meeting the person you’re supposedly destined to be with.”

Cole snorts, shaking his head. “Destined. Right.” He shifts his position, stretching out his arms. “It’s not like that. We’re just... soulmates in name. That’s it.”

Lloyd hops off the treadmill, grabbing a towel as he narrows his eyes at Cole. “Sure doesn’t seem like it’s just a label.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cole asks, arching a brow.

Lloyd shrugs, leaning casually against the nearby wall. “I mean, you’re... different around her. Like when you got all defensive when Kai tried to eat her fries the other night.”

“She was clearly going to eat them!” Cole protests, the words spilling out faster than he intended.

“And how you knew her favorite bubble tea order?” Lloyd adds with a sly grin.

Cole freezes for a second before recovering with a huff. “She mentioned it once.”

“Uh-huh.” Lloyd tilts his head, his smile widening. “And that time you made sure to save her a spot during movie night, claiming it was ‘just coincidence’ when she showed up?”

“Coincidence,” Cole insists, though the tips of his ears are turning pink.

Lloyd’s smile falters, his expression softening. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” Cole mutters, crossing his arms defensively.

“How much you notice about her.” Lloyd’s voice is quiet but steady. “The little details. The way you remember stuff she’s only said once, or how you pay attention to what makes her laugh or what annoys her. It’s not just about being soulmates, Cole. You care about her, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Last week, when she complained about being cold, you handed her your jacket without thinking,” Lloyd cuts in, raising a brow. “No one even asked you to. And don’t tell me that’s just duty or being polite.”

For a moment, Cole doesn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “It’s... nothing. She’s part of the team. That’s all.”

Lloyd lets out a soft laugh, pushing off the wall. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. Just don’t wait too long to figure it out. Soulmate or not, people don’t stay in one place forever.”

Cole scowls at his retreating back. “For the record, this is worse than when Master Wu tried giving us the talk about the birds and the bees.”

He can vaguely make out the casual “deal with it” that Lloyd remarks as he turns a corner. Rolling his eyes, he shoves all lingering remnants of their conversation into the back of his head before continuing his workout.

After two more hours pass, he finally decides he’s had enough, heading to the kitchen where he’d dropped off his chicken breast from earlier, waiting for the microwave to heat up when he spots a text from you that he’d missed.

He picks it up, reading it before his brows furrow in confusion.

What’s a Dildo Baggins?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Taglist: @candyquokka @mossy-mika @em-100-blog @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viennasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight @jebesovovise @ryeheep @letthelightin2112 @classically-bored @clearlawyereaglewobbler @anajellyc @the-midnight-duck @fru1ty-bage3ls @elysiuansstuff

#ninjago #lego ninjago #cole brookstone #cole brookstone x female reader #cole x female reader #ninjago x reader #cole ninjago #lego ninjago x reader

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prettygirl-gabi · 5 months ago

Text

Title: The Feels

Rating: General Audiences

Pairing: Azzi Fudd x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: Azzi crushing and she’s crushing bad

Word count: 1,260

Tag: @authentic-girl03

Freshman Year

I met Azzi during the first week of our business communications class. I remember walking into the room in my UConn volleyball jacket, a little nervous but ready to face the day. Azzi caught my eye immediately, sitting near the back with a notebook in front of her, already jotting something down.

“You can sit here if you want,” she said when she noticed me hovering. Her voice was soft, inviting, and I nodded, sliding into the seat beside her.

“I’m Y/N,” I introduced myself. “Freshman, volleyball team.”

“Azzi,” she replied, giving me a small but warm smile. “Freshman too—basketball.”

From that moment, we clicked. Study sessions turned into shared meals in the dining hall, which turned into late-night talks about everything from our families to our dreams. Azzi was easy to talk to, and her quiet strength drew me in like nothing else.

Now

Fast forward three years, and Azzi and I were as close as ever. My dual role as a volleyball player and cheerleader kept me busy, but Azzi always made time for me, an I did the same for her. Whether it was meeting up for smoothies after practice or us staying up late to help each other with assignments.

But something had shifted lately. Azzi seemed quieter than usual, more reserved. She’d blush when I hugged her, and her hands would linger just a second too long when we high-fived. At first, I brushed it off. But then I started catching her staring during practices or glancing my way during group hangouts.

Paige noticed it too.

Azzi's POV

“Just tell her how you feel,” Paige said one afternoon in the locker room. She was sitting on the bench, lacing up her sneakers, while I sat slumped against the wall.

“It’s not that simple,” I muttered.

Paige rolled her eyes. “Azzi, she’s your best friend. If you can’t be honest with her, who can you be honest with? Besides, the way you’ve been looking at her lately—it’s kind of obvious.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “You don’t understand. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Paige leaned back, giving me a knowing look. “Y/N likes you. Trust me, I’ve seen the way she lights up when you’re around. You just need to make a move.”

I hesitated, my heart racing. “How, though? What do I even say?”

Paige smirked, standing up and tossing her towel over her shoulder. “Leave that part to me. Just be ready tomorrow night.”

Reader's POV

I was confused when Paige texted me, asking if I was free to hang out with her and Azzi. Normally, Azzi would’ve been the one to make plans, so I was surprised when Paige took the lead. Still, I agreed, curious about what they had in mind.

When I arrived at Paige’s apartment, the lights were dim, and there was a cozy blanket fort set up in the living room. Azzi stood awkwardly in the center, her cheeks flushed as she played with the hem of her hoodie.

“What’s all this?” I asked, stepping inside.

Paige popped her head out from behind the couch, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “This,” she said, “is my cue to leave.” She gave Azzi a wink before slipping out the door.

Azzi cleared her throat, looking anywhere but at me. “Uh, hey.”

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, finally meeting my eyes. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something. And I thought this might be a nice way to do it.” She gestured to the blanket fort.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Azzi, this is adorable.”

Her face lit up, and she motioned for me to sit down. Once we were both settled inside the fort, surrounded by fairy lights and snacks, she turned to me, her expression serious.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” she began. “About us. About how much you mean to me.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Azzi…”

“No, let me finish,” she said, her voice steady despite the nervous look in her eyes. “You’re my best friend, Y/N, but… I want to be more than that. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, and I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to mess up what we have. But I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

I stared at her, my mind racing. Azzi liked me?

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” she added quickly. “But I had to tell you.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Then, without thinking, I reached out and took her hand in mine.

“Azzi,” I said softly, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

I laughed, squeezing her hand. “Yes, really. I like you too, Azzi. I always have.”

The relief on her face was palpable, and before I knew it, she was pulling me into a tight hug.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” she murmured, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

I smiled, holding her close. “Well, now you know.”

The Next Morning

Paige couldn’t stop smirking as she watched Azzi and me walk into the dining hall together, our hands intertwined.

“Told you,” she said smugly, earning an eye roll from Azzi.

“Alright, alright, you were right,” Azzi admitted, though her smile never wavered.

I laughed, leaning into Azzi’s side. “Thanks for the push, Paige.”

“Anytime,” Paige said, giving us a wink. “You two were long overdue.”

As Azzi and I sat down to eat, I couldn’t help but feel like everything had finally fallen into place.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

#gabi writes #support the writers!#gabi answers #uconn wbb #oneshot #°~prettygirlgabi ask~°#uconn huskies #uconn women’s basketball #azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader #azzi35 #azzi x reader #azzi fudd uconn #uconn x reader #uconn #wbb x reader #ncaa wbb #wbb

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iansdreamer · 1 month ago

Text

The train station || Christian Yu ; Part 3

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Comfort, Fluff. ౨ৎ

Inspo: "Nothing lasts forever. But because nothing is everlasting, every moment we shared together was all precious." That's what they should've believed in. ౨ৎ

Word count: 2.2k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You were there again. Same bench. Same time. Same hope ticking like a second hand in your chest. The rumble of the train echoed through the platform, a familiar thunder that somehow still managed to make your heart stutter. You looked up. Every time those doors slid open with a hiss and a wave of warm air, your eyes darted to the entrance, scanning, hoping.

But each time, it wasn’t him. Just strangers and briefcases. Tourists fumbling with maps. A little girl licking ice cream. A couple arguing in hushed tones. Your shoulders slumped just slightly with every miss, the glow in your eyes dimming a little more.

This was supposed to be the last time, you told yourself. The last time you waited like this. The last time you let your heart do this to you. You pulled your coat a little tighter, the chill of disappointment creeping in, sharper than the wind.

You looked down at your shoes, mentally preparing to get up and finally leave. Enough was enough.

Then you heard it.

The scrape of sneakers against the platform floor. The breath of wind carried something else too—something warm and sweet. Before you even looked up, your heart knew. And when your eyes lifted, there he was.

Christian.

He stepped through the train doors, head turning, scanning the crowd like he was searching for something. No—someone.

You.

And the moment his eyes met yours, his face lit up like morning sun breaking over quiet hills. That smile—lopsided, boyish, brilliant—took the air from your lungs. You couldn’t stop the way your own lips curved up in response.

You were just about to wave him over, but he didn’t give you the chance. His feet were already moving toward you, purposeful and steady, like he’d known exactly where you’d be.

“Hey, strawberry,” he said, voice warm with affection and something unspoken.

This time, unlike yesterday, the seat beside you was empty.

And without hesitation, he dropped into it like it had always belonged to him.

You blinked, letting out a laugh under your breath, still reeling from how his presence could shift the entire weight of the world off your shoulders.

“Hey,” you replied, barely able to contain your smile.

“Back on the train again?” he asked, playfully nudging your shoulder.

You shrugged. “I guess I’m starting to like train rides more than I thought I would.”

He gave you a knowing nod, the kind that said me too, even if he didn’t say the words aloud.

From beside him, he picked up a small brown paper bag, the kind that crinkled softly in his hands. “Got something for you. Picked it up on my way here.”

Your eyes lit up. The moment he held it out, the scent hit you—sweet, rich, comforting.

“Oh, so this is what I’ve been smelling?” you teased, taking the bag from him. “For a second, I thought it was you.”

He laughed, a soft rumble that settled deep in your chest. “You hurt me,” he said with a grin. “But fair enough.”

You opened the bag slowly, like it held something delicate. Inside, nestled carefully, were chocolate-covered strawberries. Your favorite.

Your heart melted a little more.

“These are my favorite…” you murmured, touched. “Thank you, Christian.”

He leaned back with a grin, proud of himself. “You’re welcome, my soon-to-be favorite strawberry.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue like it had always been meant for you, and the way he said it made your pulse trip. Something in your chest tightened in the best way.

You couldn’t look at him without smiling.

“You know…” you began softly, keeping your gaze on the strawberries, “what if I wasn’t here today? What would you have done with the bag?”

He smiled again—God, that smile. Dangerous. Soft. “Well, I guess I’d just eat them while thinking of you. Then hope I get lucky again.”

You giggled, but it came out a little uneven. You could feel the question sitting heavy on your tongue, and you hesitated. Should you say it?

Your fingers toyed with the edge of the paper bag. Then you took a breath.

“Maybe… we don’t have to hope to see each other anymore.”

His head tilted, curiosity flickering behind his lashes. He didn’t say anything just yet, and for a second, panic buzzed in your throat. But you powered through, cheeks burning.

“I mean… maybe we could just exchange numbers?” you said quickly. “So we don’t have to leave it up to fate every time. I mean, I like seeing you. It doesn’t have to be a maybe, or a coincidence. You know?”

You swore he looked like he got whiplash from how fast you said that. But then—his expression softened. A shy smile pulled at the corners of his lips, eyes crinkling slightly.

“I… yeah. Of course,” he said, a little breathlessly.

He handed you his phone without another word. Your fingers brushed, and the contact sent sparks right up your spine. You typed your name in, added a strawberry emoji next to it before handing it back. He looked at it, smiled, and then saved it without hesitation.

“Strawberry,” he said again, almost like a mantra. “Perfect.”

There was a beat of quiet after that, but it wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Warm. The kind of silence that holds promise instead of discomfort.

You both watched the train tunnel blur past through the glass. The world moved, but for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Christian nudged your arm lightly. “So… what now?”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean?”He smiled. “Now that we’re not leaving it to the universe, what do we do with all this time?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well… you did bring strawberries.”

“I did,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“So I guess we eat them,” you grinned, pulling one out and holding it between your fingers. Before you took a bite, you offered him one.

He looked at you, eyes dark and focused for a beat too long. “Feed me?”

You laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, leaning forward slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

You rolled your eyes playfully but brought the strawberry to his lips anyway. He took a bite, slow and deliberate, a tiny bit of chocolate smudging the corner of his mouth. He licked it away with a smirk that should’ve been illegal.

“Delicious,” he murmured. “But I think I like the feeder more.”

You looked away, flustered, biting your bottom lip to hide the grin threatening to split your face.

The train began to slow, and the speaker crackled with the next stop announcement. But neither of you moved.

“I was actually planning to get off here,” you said, glancing at the platform.

Christian turned to you, voice softer. “Do you want to?”

You looked at the crowd moving outside the window. The rhythm of feet, the flutter of coats, people chasing lives that didn’t involve chocolate strawberries or sudden smiles.

“No,” you said honestly. “Not today.”

He nodded, content, and the train pulled forward again.

You stayed on the train.

Neither of you said much as it pulled out of the station, just exchanged glances like you were both silently admitting: Yeah. Let’s see where this goes.

The hum of the tracks filled the air again. Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of steel and glass, speckled with color from flashing signs and scattered street vendors. Christian shifted beside you, elbow barely brushing yours. You didn’t move away. The paper bag rested between you now, half-full of chocolate strawberries, but the excitement of the moment had you forgetting to eat more.

“Let’s get off at the next stop,” he said suddenly.

You looked over. “Why?”

He shrugged, eyes still on the view outside. “No reason. Feels right.”

A pause.

Then you nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

There was no logic behind it, no real destination in mind—just the kind of impulsive idea that felt exciting in the way only something new could be. So when the train screeched to its next halt and the doors slid open, the two of you stepped off into a neighborhood neither of you knew by name.

The platform was quieter here. Less foot traffic. Fewer signs. You followed Christian up the stairs that led to the street, emerging into a place that felt tucked away—unfamiliar buildings, a faint smell of incense in the air, and narrow sidewalks lined with shops that didn’t match. A bubble tea place next to a hardware store. A florist wedged between a tattoo parlor and a bakery.

He looked around and exhaled, hands in his coat pockets. “Huh.”

You smirked. “You brought us to the middle of nowhere.”

“Hey,” he grinned, “middle of nowhere’s got charm.”

You started walking, nowhere in particular. Just side by side, shoes scuffing pavement, city noise soft in the distance.

“So…” he began, glancing at you. “What do you actually do? Besides haunting train stations, I mean.”

You laughed. “Wow. You make me sound like some cryptid.”

“A cute cryptid.”

You gave him a look, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. No flattery. Serious question.”

You folded your arms loosely as you walked. “I’m a design student. Visual communications. I do freelance here and there—posters, logos, album art, that kind of stuff.”

He looked impressed. “That’s dope. You make stuff people see every day.”

“Hopefully not on accident,” you joked. “What about you?”

He nodded slowly. “I do film stuff. Music videos mostly. I direct and edit. Sometimes shoot, too.”

You looked at him sideways. “Wait… wait, are you that Christian Yu?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean that Christian Yu?”

You tried not to smile too wide. “You’re the guy who did that dreamy short film with the piano and the mirror scene and—”

He winced. “God, don’t remind me.”

“It was good!” you laughed. “Overdramatic, yeah, but beautifully shot.”

He squinted like he was deciding whether to take the compliment. “I’ll take ‘beautifully shot.’ I’ll ignore ‘overdramatic.’”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “You’re allowed a little drama. You’re a director.”

He chuckled. “Fair point.”

As you turned the corner, a small independent bookstore caught your eye—dusty windows, warm light spilling out, a wooden sign swinging faintly in the breeze. Without saying anything, you both veered toward it, pulled by the same instinct. A bell jingled softly as you stepped inside.

It smelled like paper and pine. A record played low in the background—jazz, maybe. The place was cluttered but in a cozy way, floor-to-ceiling shelves with books piled on every available surface. A cat snoozed near the register, unfazed.

You wandered to a shelf in the back while Christian lingered nearby, flipping through a photo book.

“You read much?” you asked, peering at a collection of poetry.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Mostly scripts. Sometimes journals.”

“You journal?”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “Not every day. Just when I feel like I’ll explode if I don’t.”

You turned to him. “That’s kinda beautiful, actually.”

He looked at you for a moment—really looked. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

You didn’t break eye contact right away. Something quiet settled between you again. Not romantic. Not quite. But something.

You found an old paperback with a worn cover and held it up. “This was my favorite book in high school.”

Christian took it, flipping through the pages. “Looks like it’s been through war.”

“It has. That’s why it’s good.”

He smiled and handed it back.

Outside, the light had shifted—golden hour blooming between buildings. You exited the bookstore, hands empty, but heart a little fuller.

A light breeze had picked up, tugging your hair, and Christian reached over without thinking, gently brushing a strand away from your face. The gesture was instinctual, subtle. He didn’t linger.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Always,” you said.

You ended up at a food stall tucked between a pharmacy and a graffiti-covered wall. A woman in a red beanie sold hot rice cakes and fish cakes from big metal trays. You each got a skewer and stood by a faded bench to eat.

The city was starting to darken. Neon signs blinked awake. Somewhere nearby, a busker started singing—something soft, something aching.

You both sat down on the edge of a wide planter box near a mural, watching people pass.

Christian looked down at the bag still in his hand and offered you the last strawberry.

You took it. “Even after I teased you about the smell?”

He smiled. “Even then.”

You bit into it and leaned back, head resting against the cool brick behind you.

“This has been weird,” you said after a minute.

“Weird good?”

“Yeah. Weird good.”

You looked over at him, and his expression matched yours—half-amused, half-intrigued. You could tell he wasn’t sure what this was either. And that made you feel okay.

You didn’t need it to be anything yet.

You just liked being around him.

“Hey,” he said, standing and stretching. “Come on. Let’s catch the next train back.”

You stood too. “Back where?”

He shrugged. “Wherever we started. Full circle.”

You smiled. “Okay. Full circle.”

You walked to the nearest station, chocolate-stained paper bag in one hand, and a kind of calm you hadn’t felt in weeks sitting quietly in your chest.

#dpr ian x you #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian fluff #dpr ian #christian yu x you #christian yu x reader #christian yu #cute #dpr ian x female reader #christian yu fluff #fluff #angst #train station #train #love #christian yu x female reader #k hip hop #kpop

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mrshowtimexo · 2 months ago

Note

A HSR Himeko x Reader please. March 7th basically plays matchmaker between you two as she knows you two like each other more than just colleagues/friends. The thing that stopped the two of you is due to respect for one another.

Thank you for your request! I remember reading this as I was half asleep earlier and getting such a good idea for it, so I hope I can bring it to life!

I sort of wrote this from the perspective of reader being newer to the Astral Express (less than a year on board to be exact, give or take about 9-10 months) and the romantic interest happened probably around their 7th or 8th month of being on the express. Additionally, March is more comfortable with being expressive around Himeko, as they have known each other longer.

Content: HSR! Himeko x GN Reader

Warnings: None! All fluff. also not beta read

WC: 1128

masterlist

“Come onnnn Y/n! You know it’s a good idea, it’s so obvious she likes you too! You just have to have confidence!” March said to me, dragging out almost every other word.

While she could be right, Y/n didn’t want to bother Himeko with it. Sure there’s a high chance she likes them back; through her mannerisms and offers, it’s obvious there’s some tension, but nobody will speak up. A deep sigh fell from their throat, followed by them slumping their head slightly into one of March’s plushies they’d been holding onto.

“Himeko is a lady March, I want to at least put some respect to her name. I know it sounds silly but I really don’t want to damage our friendship that we’ve grown these past few months,” Y/n replied, sighing once again, more shallow this time. “She’s such a beautiful and kind person. I enjoy drinking coffee with her while gazing out at the stars. I don’t want to potentially stop that from happening again. Even if she does like me back, would things be more awkward?”

“No silly, of course it wouldn’t be awkward! You must be blind, have you seen the way she looks at you? Besides, who else has she ever asked to share her coffee supply with daily? That stuff isn’t the easiest to get a hold of, you know. She really cares about you, too, I’ve seen her do loads more for you than anyone else, without being asked as well. Overall I think it’s blatant and you should just tell her how you feel.”

March’s heart to heart really had Y/n thinking on the situation, weighing out their options. Now burying their whole face in the plushie, they decided they would tell Himeko during their daily coffee tomorrow. Quietly excusing themself from March’s room, they went back to their own and got ready for bed. Little did they know, March soon after skipped out of her room, in search of the redheaded lady.

After finding her cleaning up some cups in the party car, March sat down at the bar across from her, a huge grin on her face.

“March, you have that look on your face. Tell me what’s going on,” Himeko asked, ending the sentence with a small chuckle and a smile of her own.

“So Y/n righttt~” March started with, “you got a biiiiig fat crush on them don’t you,” she added, a mischievous tone in her voice. Himeko’s eyes widened, nearly losing grip on the cup she was holding as she stiffened just a little bit. She very quickly recovered, once again looking relaxed, but with a small tint of red playing on her cheeks.

“What are you getting at here March?” was her response, immediately cutting to the chase to avoid any further awkwardness. While March was very correct in what she had said, Himeko didn’t think she’d go straight to being so smug about it. Sure March was a cheerful and fun girl, but Himeko had never seen her try to play matchmaker before since there’d be no prior romance on the express.

“I think you should tell them sometime soon. I think they really like you too, yknow! Besides, you and I both know how they look at you, so much kindness and devotion in their eyes. It’s like there’s dream clouds floating between you two when you look at each other!”

Himeko’s blush intensified, and when she spoke she didn’t stutter, but rather spoke slower to avoid doing so.

“I would love to tell them March, but out of mutual respect of working with them as an equal I think that I should keep it to myself. They're a really kind and wonderful person, but I’ve liked things the way they are lately. It’s not often you find a person in the universe that gives you a sense of peace like they do,” she finished cleaning the glass in her hand, gently setting it down with the last word. Himeko carried a more sincere look on her face, a small smile and light blush adorning her complexion.

“Ugh, this is harder than I thought!” March said with a giant overexaggerated sigh, throwing her hands in the air before bringing them down to rest on her hips. “I’ll let you decide if you want to or not Himeko, but I’m counting on you to do it soon! Watching you two blush at each other and interact all friendly is getting really painful!”

With that, March left the party car, leaving Himeko to stand behind the bar alone. She gently sighed and made a mental decision for herself.

“I’ll just tell them tomorrow then,” she whispered to herself, grabbing her phone from the counter and heading to her room for bed.

Soon enough, the Express Crew’s version of ‘morning’ rolled around, the usual time that most members would wake up, besides Dan Heng. Most would usually spend their time in the parlor car or the party car, yet you and Himeko were in the passenger cabin. Sat at the farthest table from the parlor car, right in front of a window, the two of you shared some freshly brewed coffee.

The air wasn’t tense, it was calm and peaceful, like most mornings with Himeko were. Her golden eyes were looking out into the starlight, stunning as always, but her lips were pursed like she had wanted to say something. Y/n was in a similar manner, but they were looking at her instead. She turned to look them in the eye, replacing the look with a tender smile.

“Himeko, I have something I should tell you,” Y/n started out simple. “Before I say this, I must tell you that whatever the outcome, I will always respect you and your wishes,” a small pause--seemingly hesitation--quickly recovering when they see that curious look in her eyes.

“Himeko, I like you, beyond being friends. It’s been eating at me, so I needed to tell you while I had a chance.”

She let out a small giggle, a light tint of pink on her face.

“Y/n, you know I feel the same as you do, right?” Her smile never once faded, maybe it had even gotten bigger, as she looked at them in adoration. It was Y/n’s turn to blush, a dark red, both from the feeling of reciprocation and the beautiful smile on her face. Relief washed over them, glad that she had felt the same after all.

“Then, I think we should start calling this morning routine ‘dates,’ correct?” they asked, smiling back at her.

“I think we should.” She gently took their hand into hers, and they spent their morning hand in hand, looking into the stars.

Divider by reluctant-mandalore. Writing all by me. Do not copy/translate/use. Reblogs appreciated.

#himeko hsr #himeko x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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katakosmos · 21 days ago

Note

16 and 54. Whoever 🙏

Put That Guy in a Situation!!!

(terrible things) evan; prompts: meeting past/future self, kidnapping; word count: 1078

Evan was going to kill himself.

Well, not exactly himself, but... It was too complicated to explain. He couldn't find the words, with that annoying and constant shrill voice in his ears. He just wouldn't shut up.

“What kind of place is this?” he asked, looking around with disgust.

Evan positioned himself behind him and tied his wrists to the chair where he was sitting. “My room, in university.”

Evan—the other one, he meant—shuddered. “Are you kidding? I hope so.”

Evan (the original) shook his head.

“But this is horrible! What is this mess? And this smell…” He sniffed briefly and then faked retching. There was indeed a very unpleasant smell in there.

“Shut up” said the other one, moving to the front and kneeling down, to tie his ankles as well. He took a few seconds to look at his outfit: not bad, although the shoes… “I share a room with someone, that’s why it’s like this.”

“Didn’t they leave you paired with Pandora? That’s absurd.”

Evan snapped his head up. “Right? That’s what I always say, too!”

But then (blushing, because what the hell was he doing) he composed himself again, and went back to focusing on his task.

The other Evan, huffing and puffing, pushed his hair out of his eyes. He sat perfectly straight, and smelled really good (what kind of cologne did he wear at 16?). Too bad he was so brusque and irritating.

“So what’s this guy like, your roommate? Smart, at least, I hope. Not neat, or elegant. Judging by the state of this room, I’d say you share it with a wild animal…”

Barty chose—of course—that moment to open the door.

“Who’s an animal?” he asked, smiling, and ouch. But then he actually realized the scene before him, and he froze in the doorway.

There was Evan, kneeling on the floor, holding a large fuchsia ribbon. But… There was also another Evan, sitting in the chair and immobilized. And it was Evan, of course: the nose was the same, exactly the same, with that little bump at the beginning; the hair was identical, and both Evans had a mole on the side of their mouths. Only one was older, and the other was clearly younger. And this one had perfectly intact eyes, a slightly rounder face, and was gaping at Barty, while the usual Evan—the one Barty knew, Rosie—bit his lip.

Barty squeezed his eyes shut, thinking he was hallucinating. “Evan?”

They both cocked their heads to the right. “Yes?”

With one hand over his heart and the other behind him, Barty slumped against the door. “Oh my God.”

He looked desperate. Evan stood up with a smile.

“Shhh,” he murmured, moving closer, “everything’s going to be fine.”

Barty pulled him into a hug, resting his chin on his head. “What is even happening…”

And so, Evan turned and began to explain.

“He’s me. I mean, he’s me from the past. I don’t know how he got here: I saw him following me, so I knocked him out and dragged him to our room.”

“What the fuck, Evan.”

“But I don’t know what to do with him now. I’ve got hom tied up waiting for an idea. I thought I’d study him a bit, see how all this is possible. Do you have a scalpel, by any chance? Or a syringe? Do you think Madam Pomfrey will give me one?”

“What the fuck, Evan. I love you.”

The other cleared his throat. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, meeting Barty’s gaze for a moment and then looking away, his face slightly red.

“Not me, not at all. Can’t you just let me go?”

“And go where? People can’t see you… They can’t see me like this.”

But Barty, curious, had approached little Evan (“You’ll be Evan, while he’ll be Rosie”) and was watching him with a tender smile. Evan kept his gaze fixed on the ground, but his face was getting redder and redder. He was sweating.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen” Rosie replied from behind him.

Evan glared at him. “No!” Then he shyly peered into Barty’s face. “I’m seventeen.”

“That’s a lie” Rosie continued.

Barty smiled and walked around the prisoner, giggling. He then turned to Rosie, who was watching the scene with a certain nervousness, crossing his arms over his chest: “You were so cute.”

“Oh, stop.”

“That’s right! I always wanted to meet you when you were younger… And look at you! You were so French.”

“I hate you.”

“Sorry,” Evan interjected, looking at his older self and Barty, who was looming over him, “but who are you?”

Oh, not that question. He couldn’t… He wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment of admitting the unacceptable.

“Barty” he said quickly. “My roommate.”

Barty pursed his lips, turning away. He raised an eyebrow.

Rosie held his gaze, pleading. Barty, no. Barty–

“And,” he began, the little bitch, “his boyfriend.”

He could see him smiling, the bastard. Damn him.

Evan opened his lips. He stood still—thinking—for a few seconds, but he looked ridiculous, tied up and bowed so well.

Then he looked at Rosie, who had gone pale by then. “Him what?!”

With a grunt, Rosie dropped to the floor, spreading his legs and arms like a starfish, and staring at the ceiling.

Humiliating. “I know.”

“You… You promised, no more boys with pretty eyes!”

“I know! But after this,” he said, pointing to his covered eye, “I’ve gotten worse! I can’t help it!”

“And—And how tall is he?”

He was about to throw up. “1.86.”

“Evan!”

He covered his face with his hands, rolling onto his side. “And you haven’t seen the tattoo yet…”

Evan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He blacked out, briefly, before waking up, his face pale.

“I don’t feel good.”

Barty, who had been watching them with some amusement, knelt down in front of Rosie. He grabbed his wrists, exposing his face, and smiled.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” he said shyly, “you have to go. Get out of here and leave us alone, drowning in our shame.”

Barty laughed in disbelief. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

He swaggered towards the door, and Evan followed his every move dreamily, unable to look away.

“You’re so hot” he said, without thinking.

But he immediately regretted it. As Barty, after blowing him a kiss, closed the door behind him, the other Evan threw a book at him, knocking him out once and for all.

#this was so fun omg #this is the reason why i didn't write tt from evan's pov. it would have been too ridiculous #he's sooo embarassing like cmon. barty is exactly his type 😭😭#i want to write 100 of these #evan rosier #barty crouch jr #rosekiller #irene writes #ask game

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averysleepdeprivedaustralianman · 7 months ago

Text

Soo uh..Forgot to post whoops!

Decided to just uh..Make a continuation of the Scarlet's Return..Heh?

Scarlet's Return-A week later!

One Week Later After Pearl's return–

The warm light of the Hermitcraft sun spilled through the windows of Pearl’s base, illuminating the room with a comforting glow. The clinking and humming of the redstone contraptions that ran throughout her base had returned to a soothing rhythm—a stark contrast to the chaos still echoing in her the horrid events of Double life.

Pearl stood infront of her storage room—absentmindedly organizing her chests peacefully. Her hands moved mechanically, sorting stacks of quartz and sandstone, but her mind was elsewhere. Every so often, she would glance at the corner of the room where the crown sat on a pedestal, untouched since that night.

Her chest tightened every time she looked at it. She wasn’t ready to deal with it. Not yet..

A light knock at the door broke her thoughts. Before she could respond, Gem poked her head in, her ever-present smile lighting up the room.

"Morning, sunshine! How’s it going?" Gem chirped, stepping inside with a basket of food in her hands. She didn’t wait for an answer as she pulled pearl away from the storage room not letting her speak. "I brought breakfast~You better not tell me you’ve skipped it again."

Pearl managed a weak chuckle as she was drgaged into a chair by gem–"I was going to eat—Eventually.."

Gem rolled her eyes but kept her tone light. "Sure you were. Here—take this." She handed Pearl a slice of freshly baked pumpkin pie. "Eat first, argue later."

Pearl took the slice, the sweet smell triggering a pang of nostalgia. "Thanks, Gem.."

Gem settled into a chair across from her, leaning her elbows on the table. "So, how’s the head? Any less stormy today?"

Pearl hesitated, poking at the pie with her fork. She didn’t want to lie, but the truth felt too heavy to share fully. "Better. A little," she admitted finally.

Gem studied her for a moment, her usual playful demeanor softening. "That’s good. Progress is progress, Pearlie. Don’t rush it."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds the faint clatter of cutlery and the soft rustle of leaves outside. It was peaceful, but Pearl couldn’t shake the tension coiled inside her.

Finally, Gem broke the silence. "You know," she began, her voice light, "I’ve been thinking.."

"Uh-oh," Pearl teased, though her voice lacked its usual spark. "What kind of trouble are you plotting now?"

Gem grinned but leaned forward, her tone shifting to something more sincere. "It’s not trouble, I promise. Just… I think you need to get out of here!–Away from your base, away from everything. Even just for a little while."

Pearl frowned, leaning back to her sit, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why though?"

"Because you’ve been stuck in this loop.." Gem said, gesturing gently around the room. "You’ve been here, alone, staring at that crown like it’s going to give you answers. And I get it, Pearlie—I really do..But I think you need to breathe a little. Feel the sun on your face, see something new. Maybe remind yourself there’s more to this world than what’s in these walls."

Pearl’s gaze dropped to the table, her fingers curling against the wood. "I don’t know, Gem. I don’t feel like I can just… leave everything behind. Not right now."

"You’re not leaving it behind," Gem said softly. "You’re just stepping away for a bit. Clearing your head. And you won’t be alone—I’ll be with you. No pressure, no expectations. Just… fresh air and some time to think."

Pearl looked up, meeting Gem’s eyes. The hope there was impossible to ignore, but there was no pity—just patience and care. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping.

"Fine" Pearl said finally, her voice quiet but steady. "I suppose I'll come-"

Gem’s face lit up with a grin so bright it was contagious–Not even letting pearl finish she cutted her off—"That’s the spirit! Meet me at the portal in an hour. And pack light—we’re going somewhere new!"

As Gem left, humming a cheerful tune, Pearl stared at the half-eaten pie in front of her. The tightness in her chest hadn’t fully gone away, but for the first time in weeks, it felt like she could breathe a little easier.

Perhaps this was what she needed—a moment to step away, to see the world beyond her base, and maybe even start to heal..

(Meybe I'll make a dessertduo fic later not sure)

#god i need help #gempearl #geminitay #shiny duo #shinyduo

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peaches2217 · 2 years ago

Note

⚡️

For the longest time, I’ve always headcanoned Peach being afraid of thunderstorms, since that’s usually the kind of weather Bowser likes to strike in.

⚡ - Scared of thunderstorms

You, my friend, are a genius.

Hiding

~~~

As soon as the Shiverian ambassador took his leave and the doors shut behind him, Peach slumped back in her seat. Typically she waited at least another ten seconds, just to make sure she was truly alone, but her mind was reeling so violently she could feel it in her bones. All she wanted was a moment’s rest.

Discussing trade routes and the renewal of international contracts while also pretending nothing was wrong in the face of constant threat proved difficult.

“Are you alright?” the most tender, most compassionate voice she’d ever had the honor of knowing inquired, and instantly she felt just a bit lighter.

Mario had already relaxed his attentive and dignified posture in favor of stretching his arms over his head. This was normally where he’d crack wise about his aching muscles, how agonizing it was to stand in one spot for so long, his eagerness to spend the rest of the day on the move, but he offered nothing of the sort today. His eyes had caught hers during the meeting more than once. He knew she was in distress.

And why was the great Mushroom Princess in such distress? What threat loomed over her and caused her endless torment?

A thunderstorm. She was scared of a sodding thunderstorm.

With each crash of thunder, she had been forced to gather handfuls of her skirts under the table and hang onto the emissary’s every word to keep her own mind centered, or count each of his whiskers, or follow every last stitch and weave of his parka when the old creature began to ramble aimlessly. Losing face wasn’t an option. Revealing that one of her greatest fears was a fear shared by many a small child was equally unacceptable. Even so, keeping it reigned in for so long was exhausting.

Each time their eyes met, Mario had nodded to her, a silent promise that nothing and no one would hurt her. Now that they were alone, she could feel the pent-up tension leaving her body. She had been safe all along. She could be no safer than she was now.

She smiled and prepared to assure him that she was alright, if tired and a bit frustrated — but an ear-splitting crack of thunder froze her before she could utter a single sound.

The bright and familiar delegation room went dark around her, and suddenly she was alone in her bed, shivering but not knowing why. Unpleasant sensations overwhelmed her huddled form. A sense of dread so heavy it nauseated her. Quick, shallow breaths, too frightened to fill her lungs properly.

Her bed covers ripped back and ice-cold claws wrapping around her.

“Peach?”

WIth a gasp, she was back in the delegation room. The silk of her dress stuck uncomfortably to her skin with sweat, yet a shiver still ran down her spine.

Eyes of the gentlest blue fixated on her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw herself forward and bury her face into his chest, grip the straps of his overalls, weep and beg him to take away her memories of that night. Instead, she forced herself to breathe. Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.

Mario held her gaze as she calmed herself, whispering reassurances all the while — “It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m right here,” anything and everything she needed to hear in that moment. He had taken her hands at some point and held them securely within his own. She was shaking, she realized, yet he was so steady, so stable against her.

Thunder rumbled once more outside of the window, distantly this time. He rubbed his thumbs in circles over the backs of her hands.

“I feel so childish,” Peach whispered, her throat tight.

“You’re not.” Mario squeezed her hands briefly before dropping one to brush a loose strand of hair from her face, and she sighed against his touch. He was far too understanding. Far too patient.

After another moment, he asked, "How are you feeling?"

Peach couldn’t help a rueful smile, closing her eyes and leaning her head into his palm. “Like I want to curl up and hide.”

Thunder. She flinched and willed herself to focus on his touch, the warmth of his skin which permeated his gloves. She willed herself not to go back to that night. It was over. She was safe now. She was home safe, and Bowser was down for the count, and the one who always came through for her was right here.

Something in Mario’s expression shifted when she opened her eyes. He studied her face for a moment, and she in turn studied his, watching as a sort of enlightenment bloomed across his features.

He squeezed her hand once more and gave a single nod of his head. “Then let’s hide.”

And before she could ask any questions, he pulled her from her seat and led her out of the room and into the grand halls of the palace.

No one gave them a second glance as he led her towards the southern wing wherein lay her quarters. Mario had been a castle mainstay for years now, serving as her personal daytime guard for most of that time. There was nothing unusual about him escorting her to her room, especially in light of recent events, namely the two months she was kept as Bowser’s prisoner after being taken by force in the dead of night.

Mario had risked and almost lost his life ensuring it never happened again. Even so, he and the entire royal council agreed that there was no keeping the princess too safe. So in the interest of her security, he was assigned to watch over her at all times; he spent his days accompanying her as per usual and spent his nights on a cot in her drawing room, always on high alert, her ever-faithful, ever-selfless guard.

At least, that was the official story. In truth, nothing kept him there past sunset beyond his own free will and her tentative request, and the idea of sleeping on opposite sides of her bedroom door fell through within the first hour of the first night. Now she dozed each evening and woke each morning tucked safely into his arms. But no one aside from them and their closest friends needed to know that yet.

They made it to her room quickly and without incident, and Peach was almost ashamed of the relief she felt. Already she was eager to hide beneath the blankets with him. She would happily flop right onto the mattress, heels, makeup, crown and all.

Once inside, Mario took hold of the uppermost duvet… and yanked it completely off of the bed. Not what she had been expecting, but he’d never led her astray before, he wouldn’t start now. Right?

She observed in stupefied silence as he brought the blanket over to her desk, a sturdy and ornate piece with a roll top and an empty cubicle framed by drawers, large enough for her to freely move her legs during long hours of study (or swing them like a giggling teenager when writing to her beloved hero). Mario pulled her chair out from its nesting place within that cubicle and began arranging the blanket in its place, singling out the heaviest objects on the desktop to keep it held in place.

It hung in front of the entrance like a curtain, and she felt her face go warm in embarrassment when she realized what he was doing.

“...You’re making a blanket fort.”

“Nope!” He remained focused on his work, his bushy mustache unable to hide his cheerful smile. “This will be much cozier than a blanket fort. Nice, dark, quiet—” he stepped back to admire his work, then turned and presented it to her with a flourish. “Perfect hiding spot!”

She was so baffled that she didn’t even notice another round of thunder.

“This isn’t really helping the, you know, ‘feeling childish’ thing,” she confessed. Bless her Mario, her sweet, brave, noble Mario, she knew his intentions were nothing but pure, and yet…

He hummed in understanding, yet he remained every bit as bright. “No, no, Princess,” he said, approaching her and reaching for her hands, “I promise, there’s nothing childish about it! Luigi does it sometimes you know. Whenever he’s anxious or all his senses are overloaded? He’ll back a table against the wall, throw a blanket over it, crawl inside, e ecco qua! He emerges a new man.”

Stubbornly, Peach tried not to laugh. He couldn’t be serious. Yet the combination of Mario’s impassioned description and the mental images it invoked wrenched a smile from her all the same.

He was being serious. And for some reason, she was buying into it. Stars above she loved this man.

“...Alright. I’ll give it a shot.”

Mario cheered and gave her knuckles a quick kiss before rushing back to the improvised hideaway, lifting one corner of the blanket and ushering her inside. “Your Highness.”

Everything within Peach protested as she sank to her knees in front of her desk and crawled inside. She ignored it and busied herself pulling layer after layer of silk into the enclosure; once she had succeeded in stuffing herself and her dress inside, Mario dropped the blanket back into place, and everything went dark.

Peach blinked, settling into her chosen corner and assessing her emotions as they played out. She felt ridiculous. She felt like a child. Worse yet — she felt secure. He was right. There was something oddly comfortable about this setup. For a moment, she entertained the thought of some villain entering her room, only to leave in a huff upon seeing her bed empty, as though this little alcove were a secret and private extension of the castle rather than a desk with a blanket draped over it.

Thunder, uncomfortably close this time.

“So what do you think, Princess?” Mario asked almost as soon as she registered the thunder. Her pulse quickened, and briefly her mind took her back to that fateful night, but she swallowed heavily and replied before it could take hold of her.

“It’s not bad,” she said. “But it’s a bit roomy for my taste.”

“Oh?”

“You could easily fit two more of me in here, or maybe three Toads.”

“Or… maybe one portly plumber?”

“I was thinking a dashing, handsome knight, actually.” Peach’s trepidation faded to the back of her mind at his bashful chuckle. For someone so outgoing, he flustered so easily.

She heard a soft thud, and then light poured back into the enclosure as Mario lifted the blanket to crawl in with her. A lovely blush still colored his cheeks. “I can’t promise I won’t trample your dress.”

“I have at least ten more in this exact pattern.”

He puffed out his chest in a dramatized show of confidence. “Then here we go!”

They spent at least three or four minutes twisting about, accidentally elbowing one another in the face or in the stomach, giggling together as they tried and mostly failed to accommodate the mass of her skirts and his, well, everything. But eventually they found a comfortable position: Mario pressed his back into one corner with his knees bent, and Peach half-sat half-laid in his lap facing the opposite direction, her cheek on his shoulder and her skirts swallowing the remaining space.

“There we go!” Mario shifted beneath her, and once he settled, he rested his arms around her waist. “Nice and safe, see? No one will find us here. Nothing will hurt us.”

Peach hummed and relaxed against him, draping her arms loosely around his torso. That was something he’d started doing lately, she noticed. It was never “me” and “you” anymore, it was “we”, “us”. Was it intentional? Did he even know he was doing it?

Whatever the case, she hoped he’d continue. She liked thinking of themselves as a set, two inseparable pieces of one cohesive whole.

A clap of thunder even closer than the last pierced the air around them. She gasped on instinct, her body going cold, but immediately Mario’s arms tightened around her, and he drowned out the noise with a stream of reassurances. He sounded so resolute, so certain of what he was saying. And in the darkness surrounding them, they may as well have been the only two people in the world.

Peach snuggled into his warmth and let her fears be carried away on the wings of his promises. He had never led her astray before. He wouldn’t start now.

#giving my blorbos the shiverians half a second of representation #they're literally bipedal seals in parkas how have they NOT become some of the most beloved species in this series #“peaches you're american why did you use the word 'sodding'” because it's a fun word and I like it a lot #super mario bros #smb #princess peach #mario #mareach #mario x peach #peaches' fancy fics #peaches’ prodigious prompts

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scrollsofvelaris · 24 days ago

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Whispers of Wings and Shadow: Chapter 22

A Suggestion

I woke the next morning to sunlight spilling across the plush sheets, the events of the day before crashing back into my mind like a wave.

I dressed in a simple, slate-blue gown that felt soft against my skin and fit like it had been tailored just for me. It was understated but lovely, practical for everyday wear. I had no idea where I was going, so I followed the sound of voices through the quiet halls until I found a large, sunlit dining area. Cassian spotted me first, his grin wide and warm.

“Well, look who finally decided to rejoin the living,” he teased. “Come on, sleepyhead. We saved you a seat.”

Unsurprisingly, the only empty seat was next to Azriel. Of course.

I sat down with every intention of ignoring him completely. A solid, silent protest.

Rhysand, of course, had to be polite. “How did you sleep? Was everything all right with the room?”

“It was great, thank you,” I replied. “And thank you for letting me stay here. Also, for buying me way too many clothes. Honestly, half of Velaris might be naked now because of it.”

Rhys laughed. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry, we left everyone else with at least one outfit.”

Despite my cold-shoulder strategy, I felt I had to at least acknowledge Azriel’s effort. I glanced at him briefly. “Thank you… for the clothes. They’re beautiful. They must’ve cost a small fortune.”

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly. “The one you’re wearing, my mother made it. I asked her to after I first met you.”

I blinked.

His mother?

He told his mother about me?

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I turned back to my food and stabbed my eggs a little too aggressively. That was a big deal, right?

Azriel remained silent for the rest of the meal, probably realizing I was still angry and determined to keep ignoring him. Good. He deserved it.

Cassian and Mor, on the other hand, made it impossible to wallow. They asked about everything, my life, my interests, even embarrassing childhood memories Feyre shared with far too much enthusiasm. They were easy to talk to. Cassian especially felt like the brother I never had, loud and overbearing in the best kind of way.

After breakfast, Feyre asked if I wanted to see Velaris, and I jumped at the chance. A walk and fresh air sounded better than stewing in my own thoughts in that too-comfortable room.

The city was breathtaking, vibrant with life and color. Bookshops nestled between bakeries, musicians playing on street corners, the scent of warm bread and roasted spices in the air. Feyre and I walked arm in arm, Rhys trailing behind us at a respectful distance, giving us space to talk.

We stopped for lunch at a quaint little café with tables set beneath blooming wisteria. The breeze carried laughter and conversation from nearby tables. It was peaceful.

Feyre glanced at me. “You know… Azriel really is a good male.”

I sighed and slumped back in my chair. “I know. That’s what makes it so hard.”

Rhysand joined in, leaning an elbow on the table. “He loves you, you know. He’s been in love with you since he first saw you. And I mean long before this mating bond snapped into place. I’ve spent years hearing about the ‘beautiful girl in his dreams.’ Honestly, it got a little pathetic.”

I scoffed. “Of course he loves me. The mating bond told him to.”

Rhys raised a brow. “The mating bond doesn’t create feelings, Aurora. It doesn’t make you love someone, or make them love you. It only reveals who your perfect match is.”

I laughed bitterly. “So I’m Azriel’s perfect match? That’s hilarious. Have you seen him? Have you seen me?”

They both stared at me.

“Without the bond, he wouldn’t look twice at me,” I added. “He’d probably think I was…repulsive. Definitely not someone someone like him would want.”

Feyre’s expression softened with empathy, while Rhys just looked tired.

“Aurora,” Feyre said, “you don’t see yourself clearly, but we all do. And Azriel? He sees everything. Every inch of you, every piece. And he chose you.”

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My throat was too tight.

Rhys reached over and squeezed my hand. “You love books. You love to learn. Why don’t you go to the library? There are books there on the mating bond. Do the research. See for yourself what it really means.”

I let out a breath and nodded. “That… actually sounds like a great idea.”

“Good,” Rhys said with a satisfied smirk. “That’s settled then. Your next few days are booked.”

I gave him a dry look. “A library pun, really hilarious." I laughed.

Rhys just grinned.

#a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #azriel x plus size reader #a court of frost and starlight

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lostywrites · 2 years ago

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“He’s been refusing to talk to me. I was hoping he’d open up to you,” Max’s muffled words floated through the closed door, reaching the speedster’s ears. Sulking in his room for hours after arriving home, Bart had ignored Max’s attempts at conversation. He vaguely detected Superboy’s voice, but his frustration with Robin had eclipsed any remnants of desire for social interaction.

The door opened, Superboy's concerned voice now seeping into his private space. His bedroom resembled a chaotic collage, with clothes, underwear, and comic books strewn haphazardly across the floor.

“Hey, Imp,” Superboy greeted while effortlessly defying gravity to reach Bart perched atop his bunk.

Shoulders hunched and gaze affixed to the floor, Bart sat on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling. “Just leave me alone.” The words were heavy with a mix of despondency and a stubborn determination to wallow in self-pity.

Superboy sat alongside the brooding speedster, his voice quiet. “You know, Robin was angry because he cares about you. Gotham’s a dangerous place, and he’s lost people he cared about. The Joker triggered some dark memories.”

Impulse’s voice was bitter. “So now I’m a burden he has to protect? I’m not some helpless kid. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, Bart. But sometimes, it’s okay to listen to those who have more experience in dealing with certain criminals. Robin didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“He didn't have to throw it in my face like that. And I’ve had my share of battles, too, y’know. He’s not even super-powered like us. Strip away the gadgets, weapons and martial arts, and Rob wouldn’t last a minute against the kind of criminals I’ve confronted solo.”

“Robin may not have super powers, but that doesn’t make him any less of a fighter.”

Impulse’s shoulders slumped, his anger deflating. “I know that. I just don’t want him to be mad at me. I didn’t come to Gotham to fight crime with Batman. I was there to see him...to, you know, pull a prank or two and get a few laughs...”

“Okay I really gotta ask. What’s with the pranks?” Superboy's tone held a touch of amusement. “Why do you always mess with Robin?”

Bart’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Well, he’s always so serious and intense. It’s fun to see if I can crack that tough exterior...”

Superboy raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Bart. “Is that the only reason?” he asked, playfully nudging the speedster.

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s just my way of having fun.”

“Really, Bart?” Superboy's voice held a note of scepticism. “It seems like you target him more than anyone else. Why haven’t I ever been on the receiving end of one of your pranks?”

Bart slumped his shoulders and sighed. “Alright, fine. Maybe there’s another reason...”

“Spill it.” Superboy prodded.

Bart hesitated before admitting, “I like getting his attention, okay? When I pull a prank or mess with Robin, he pays attention to me, even if it’s to scold me.”

“You know, sometimes when we’re drawn to someone’s attention like that, it might mean something more.”

Bart’s eyes widened, and he looked at Superboy with a mix of surprise and anxiety. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Do you think you might have a crush on Robin?”

“What?” Bart’s expression shifted from surprise to denial. “No way! It’s not like that.”

Superboy sprang off the bunk bed and levitated in front of Bart. “Feelings happen. It’s normal to feel some sort of attraction to someone. If you do like Robin, there’s no shame in admitting it.”

Bart’s gaze flickered, his feelings were obvious despite his attempts to hide them. “Alright, fine. I do have a crush on Robin. Happy now?” He then shoved Superboy away. “Get out!”

Superboy grinned, refusing to budge. “Hey I’m just glad you’re being honest with yourself. And if you ever wanna talk about it, I’m here. I’m serious. I’m not here to make fun of you, I promise. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

As Bart looked at Superboy, he felt a mixture of vulnerability and relief. Confronting his emotions was both daunting and liberating, and with Superboy being aware of his true feelings for Robin, he knew he wouldn't have to navigate his emotions alone.

“Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone...especially Rob.”

“Your feelings are yours to share when you’re ready. I won’t say anything unless you want me to.”

After hours of hanging out and playing video games, Superboy had gone home for the night and Bart found himself restless. His thoughts were consumed by a myriad of emotions he had been grappling with—his frustration and crush on Robin.

Unable to silence the clamour within his mind, Bart finally emerged from his bedroom, his destination set as the kitchen. His quest? To find solace in a late-night snack, perhaps a towering sandwich layered with succulent cured hams and melted cheese...

“What are you doing up this late? It’s a school night.” Max’s voice caught him off guard. The old man had been waiting in the dark in the living room.

The floor lamp then flickered to life, revealing Max, donned in his cosy old man jammies, sitting comfortably in his favourite armchair.

Bart took a deep breath before delving into what had been preoccupying his thoughts. “Max, what does it feel like to fall for someone and they don’t even notice?”

“Oh boy, I had a feeling we’d be having this conversation sooner or later,” Max muttered. His expression softened as he understood the nature of Bart’s inquiry. “Well, it’s not an uncommon feeling. Falling for someone and not having them notice can be tough. It can make you feel both excited and frustrated at the same time.”

Bart’s brows furrowed, his gaze searching. “But what if you want them to notice, but you’re scared they won’t feel the same way?”

Max’s smile was kind, his words carrying a hint of wisdom. “That’s a common fear, Bart. It’s natural to be afraid of rejection. You can’t control someone else’s feelings. All you can do is be yourself and be honest about your own emotions.”

Bart’s shoulders relaxed, a sense of relief washing over him. “But what if being honest feels too risky?”

He followed Max into the kitchen. The consistent rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since he phased through the front door and into his bedroom that afternoon.

Yet, it appeared that Max had already tended to dinner. While seated at the dining table, Bart’s attention was drawn to Max setting down a plateful of fried chicken steak, complemented by a serving of crunchy green beans and a tempting slice of cornbread, all wholesomely prepared and set aside for him.

“Sometimes, taking that risk is what opens the door to something beautiful,” Max continued. “And even if the feelings aren’t reciprocated, it’s better to know where you stand.”

Comfortable with expressing himself through actions rather than words, Bart wrapped Max in a tight hug, conveying his appreciation to the veteran speedster.

“You always know what to say and do the right things to make me feel better,” Bart admitted sincerely.

Max’s smile was warm. “You’re still young, and you have plenty of time to navigate life’s challenges. Just be patient with yourself,” he advised, affectionately ruffling Bart’s hair before leaving the kitchen. “Now, cheer up and finish your supper. Everything’s going to be fine.”