#i made this so i could remember that i played this game and how i felt about it ^w^

[lupinqs]

CRUSH CULTURE ━━ paige bueckers x reader

☆ ━ summary: paige has a hopeless crush on you, a cheerleader.

☆ ━ word count: 5.4K

☆ ━ warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, this one’s tame

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, inspired by this request (lol i know this was forever ago)

☆ ━ author’s note: hiii i hope y’all enjoy—lemme know if you guys want a part 2 and if so send in ideas for it!!! i have been hopelessly uncreative recently!!! also yes i have been writing tmtc and safe and sound i promise—new chapter of tmtc should be out sometime this weekend, no idea on safe and sound because goddamn that fic takes me forever to write

PAIGE HAS ALWAYS noticed you—though, funny enough, at first it wasn’t because you cheered. That part didn’t even register until her junior year, when she started paying attention to things off the court. But she’d first noticed you back in her sophomore year, in that one class she didn’t feel like she needed at all. She’d often zone out, either doodling in the margins of her notebook or letting her eyes drift around the room as she let her mind wander. Her gaze would skip over classmates until, one day, it stopped on you.

And, God, she remembers that moment. The way she’d blinked, like she needed to reset her brain for a second because… well, you. It wasn’t anything specific, nothing she could even name at the time. But there was this something about you that made her stomach flip. From then on, whenever she zoned out, her eyes would find you before she even realized it. You’d be focused on your notes or lost in thought, completely unaware, and Paige would catch herself staring just a little too long.

She’d think about talking to you, but for some reason, you made her nervous. And that wasn’t something Paige was used to feeling—not with girls. She’d been confident her whole life, even a little cocky when it came to flirting, and her reputation certainly proceeded her. But with you, all of that confidence vanished. Her brain would go blank, her hands would fidget, and her heart would pound just watching you, sitting across the room. The idea of walking up to you, striking up a conversation, felt almost laughable. You’d somehow managed to turn her, Paige Bueckers, into a stammering mess with just a look.

And then there was the other part—the part that kept her from making a move even when she managed to work up the nerve. You looked so…straight. She knows it’s a stupid assumption, but something about the way you carried yourself—she’d convinced herself that you had to be straight. Maybe it was the way you fit in with the other girls, how they flocked around you like they were all in some effortlessly straight, picture-perfect group. Whatever it was, Paige felt certain you’d never look at her the way she looked at you.

So she let it go, or at least, she tried to. But you kept slipping into her thoughts, distracting her in that class, making her mind wander back to you when she least expected it. Her silly little crush on you lingered all through sophomore year, and even when summer rolled around, she found herself thinking of you every now and then, imagining what it might have been like to know you outside of that class.

Then junior year rolled around, and her whole world changed with that ACL tear. Benched for the season, her focus shifted in ways she never anticipated. Instead of charging down the court, she found herself sitting on the sidelines, watching, observing things she normally wouldn’t have noticed. And it was during one of those games, one of those long, frustrating nights when she just wanted to play, that she saw you again—this time, on the court as one of the cheerleaders.

At first, she couldn’t believe it. She actually had to blink a few times, like her brain was trying to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. This was her third year at UConn, and she hadn’t noticed you were a cheerleader ever. Maybe she really was just unobservant, but it truly shocked her. You looked completely different from how you did in class—more animated, more alive, like you were in your element. And when you started that long, impressive tumbling pass down the court, her jaw dropped. She didn’t even know you could do that, and it left her staring, heart hammering in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. (And maybe the tiny little uniform helped speed it up, too.)

From then on, Paige couldn’t keep her eyes off you during games. She’d always find herself watching you, wondering if you’d somehow feel her gaze, hoping that maybe, just once, you’d look her way. She spent so many games like that—sneaking glances, letting her mind wander, imagining what it might be like to finally work up the nerve to talk to you. But game after game, you never seemed to notice her, too focused on your routines, your teammates, and the cheering crowd around you.

And Paige? She knew she was hopelessly stuck. She’d sit there on the sidelines, feeling ridiculous, pining after a girl she couldn’t even talk to, a girl she thought she’d never really have a chance with. It was her worst crush yet—the kind that left her feeling off-balance, stumbling over her own thoughts, trying to convince herself that it didn’t matter—and she’d never even spoken to you. But each time she saw you out there, smiling, moving with that same effortless grace, she’d feel that same pull, that same quiet, persistent ache.

It’s senior year now, and Paige has one thing on her mind: basketball. It’s been more than a year since she’s played, and she’s determined to make this season count. All summer, she told herself the same thing over and over: Stay focused. Don’t get distracted. No more drifting thoughts, no more daydreams, and absolutely no more pointless crushes on girls she can’t have. And especially no crushes on you.

You, the cheerleader she’d spent too many junior year games staring at from the sidelines. You, the girl she still thought about when her mind wandered late at night, even though she knew better. No, this year, she was locking in. She’d worked too hard, too long, to let her head get all twisted up over you again. She was here to play basketball, not to chase after some unattainable crush.

But as she jogs onto the court for warm-ups, trying to ignore the butterflies that come with her first game back, her eyes somehow find you anyway. Just like they always do. And it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re laughing with the other cheerleaders, your hair perfectly styled in a half-up-half-down, a bow nestled in it, your uniform hugging you just right. The lights catch on your skin, giving you this soft glow, and your smile—God, that smile, so open and sweet and painfully distracting—has her heart skipping a beat before she even realizes it. Paige quickly snaps her eyes away, reminding herself she’s here to play, not to get lost in some imaginary world where she has a chance with you. This is her first game back, and even if it’s just an exhibition against Dayton, she’s got to make it count.

With a deep breath, she manages to brush you off. The pregame excitement kicks in, and her focus sharpens as the game begins. And it’s everything she’s been waiting for—the sounds of the court, the rush of the crowd, the thrill of moving with the ball in her hands again. She’s finally back, and for the first quarter, she’s locked in, feeling the rhythm of the game, feeling unstoppable.

Then it happens. KK makes a bad pass, and Paige is already in motion, chasing down the ball to save it from going out of bounds. She dives, stretching to reach it, but it’s just out of reach. Before she can stop herself, she’s crashing full speed into the sidelines—right into the cheerleaders.

Right into you.

The impact is quick and jarring, and she scrambles to her feet as fast as she can, heart hammering in her chest. She’s prepared to rattle off an apology when she realizes who she’s just barreled into. You’re significantly smaller than her, and her stomach drops as she takes in your wide eyes and the faint wince that flickers across your face. But you handle it with the same grace she’d always admired from afar, waving her off with a laugh and saying, “It’s fine! You’re good!�� Your smile is easy, casual, and she’s even more mortified by how sweet you’re being about it.

She tries to apologize again, but you’re already brushing it off with that smile, and she feels her face heating up as she mumbles something unintelligible before hurrying back onto the court. But now her head’s a mess, all her carefully built-up focus gone, replaced by the embarrassing replay of what just happened. She tells herself to get it together, but it’s no use. Her mind keeps drifting back to the look on your face, to the sound of your laugh, to the softness in your smile when you waved her off.

The rest of the game passes in a frustrating blur. She’s off her rhythm, missing open shots she’d normally sink with ease, getting caught in rotations she usually anticipates. By the end, she’s only scored eight points—a painfully low number, especially for her—and she feels the weight of it like a stone in her stomach. She should be thinking about the game, her missed shots, how to get her focus back. But as she sits on the bench, watching the last few minutes tick away, all she can think about is you standing there, laughing off her clumsy collision, looking up at her with that easy, unbothered smile.

So much for not getting distracted.

After the game, Paige is still kicking herself over how sloppy her performance was. She lingers in the locker room, hoping to avoid any unwanted run-ins. But finally, when she’s convinced she’s given it enough time for everyone to clear out, she heads out into the quiet halls of Gampel Pavilion.

Except, of course, her luck isn’t that great. Just as she’s walking out, she spots you—still in your cheer uniform but with a UConn sweatshirt thrown over it, heading down the hall, cheer bag on your back. Her first instinct is to turn around, bolt back into the locker room, and hope to avoid any more humiliation, but it’s already too late. You look up, and your eyes meet, and suddenly she’s frozen in place, panicking because she’s actually staring straight into your eyes.

And then you smile at her. That smile, the one that sends her brain into a meltdown every time. But it’s so much worse now because your smile is directed at her. And, suddenly, you’re walking up to her and saying, “Hey, good game tonight,” and Paige is pretty sure her heart has stopped.

She tries to seem casual, to play it cool, but all she can manage is a shrug and a half-hearted, “Eh, wasn’t my best.” She’s hoping you don’t notice her stutter, but her cheeks are burning, giving her away.

You just wave it off, your dimple showing as you grin up at her. “Nah, this was just your warm-up. You haven’t played in, like, over a year. Next game you’ll drop thirty.”

Paige blinks, and the fact that you know she’s good at basketball—even though everyone knows she’s good at basketball—is enough to send her into a coma, she thinks. “Oh, gosh,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck, struggling to find words. “Gonna have to now, just for you.” The second it’s out of her mouth, she mentally facepalms. That totally sounds like she’s trying to flirt with you.

But you just laugh, eyes crinkling as you look at her, completely unfazed. “I’ll hold you to it,” you say, and that smile doesn’t waver.

There’s a pause, and Paige knows this is where you’re about to say goodbye, and she panics because, after two years of thinking and practically obsessing over you, she’s finally talking to you, and it feels too short, too fleeting. Before she can second-guess herself, she blurts, “Oh—uh, hey, about earlier… when I ran into you. I’m… really sorry about that.”

You shake your head, smiling even wider, brushing it off with an easy laugh. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time; more than you’d think.”

There’s something so casual and warm about the way you say it, and she feels herself relax a little, caught up in the fact that you’re looking right at her, not at all bothered, almost… endeared? And for some reason, seeing your dimpled smile has her stammering like she’s never done before.

“So… uh…” Paige stumbles, her words failing, her confidence gone. “Are you, um, going to Ted’s tonight?” She bites her lip the moment it’s out, but she presses on. “You know, a lot of people go there after the first game—it’s kinda, like, a…thing. Which, y’know, I guess you probably already know about because… you’re, like, not a freshman…” She sounds so stupid. God.

You tilt your head slightly, considering, before you smile at her again. “I wasn’t really planning on going, but…” You pause, looking at her with a bit of a spark in your eyes, and for a second, she feels like she might actually combust. “Should I?”

Paige’s eyes widen, and she’s nodding before she can stop herself. “Y-yes! I—I think you’d have a good time.” She mentally scolds herself for the stutter, but you’re just nodding, still smiling, still looking so effortlessly at ease while she’s a nervous mess.

You laugh softly, a sound she’s sure she’ll replay in her head all night, and say, “Alright. I’ll think about it. And if I do decide to go, I’ll see you there, Bueckers.”

And with one last smile, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there in shock, her heart racing and her mind replaying every word you just said. She’s tempted to pinch herself, convinced this has to be some elaborate daydream because there’s no way she actually just talked to you.

She doesn’t move for a long moment, replaying the way you said her name, the sound of your laugh, and the chance that she might actually see you tonight.

IT’S LATER in the night at Ted’s, and Paige is doing her best to stay composed, talking with one of the guys from the men’s team. Dirty Shirley in hand, she’s feeling just the faintest buzz, not enough to loosen her grip on reality but just enough to feel the edges of her confidence soften. She’s nodding along to something the guy’s saying when, over his shoulder, she spots you walking in.

Paige’s attention falters as she takes you in. You’re in baggy jeans that hang low on your hips, and a leather tube top that clings in all the right places, dipping enough to make her gaze lower slightly. She can barely tear her gaze away as you head over to the bar with a couple of friends, both of whom Paige recognizes from the cheer team. You’re laughing, leaning into one of them, completely at ease, and she can’t stop watching.

She realizes she’s staring a little too long, so she quickly excuses herself, not to talk to you—God, no, she can’t even think straight around you—but to hide by her teammates before she does something stupid. Her teammates notice her the moment she approaches, grinning as they watch her flustered expression.

“You see who just walked in, P?” Azzi teases, nudging her.

Paige groans, cheeks burning. “Don’t start.”

But they’re all laughing, and Ice is elbowing KK with a smirk. Nika, who’s been listening with a barely disguised grin, rolls her eyes. “Okay, this is ridiculous. You’ve had a crush on this girl since, like, forever. Go talk to her.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t. She’s—” Paige doesn’t even finish the sentence, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see you at the bar, waiting for your drink. She’d be lying if she said her confidence hadn’t evaporated the moment you walked in, looking like that.

“Girl boo,” KK sighs dramatically, before grabbing Paige’s wrist and dragging her toward the bar. Paige stumbles after her, mumbling weak protests, but KK is determined, practically hauling her across the crowded floor until they’re standing right next to you. KK orders a Sprite, leaning casually on the bar and glancing over at you with a grin. “Hey, girly pop! You cheer, right?”

You smile, looking more at Paige than at KK, and Paige’s heart thuds against her ribs. “Yeah, I do,” you say, introducing yourself and holding out a hand to KK, but your gaze flickers right back to Paige, who’s half-hiding behind her friend, cheeks pink and looking slightly caught. “Hi, Paige.”

Paige’s voice comes out a little sheepish. “Hey.”

KK smirks, clearly satisfied, and gives Paige a quick wink before excusing herself, leaving Paige standing there alone with you.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as Paige shifts on her feet, trying to keep herself from looking like an idiot, which is hard considering how aware she is of every single thing about you—your posture, your smile, the way you’re leaning in just close enough that she can catch a faint hint of your perfume.

“So,” Paige says, trying for casual. “You glad you came?”

You tilt your head, your lips quirking up. “Hmm, not sure yet. I’m not too impressed so far.”

She nods, stifling a wince, feeling more awkward than she can ever remember. And yet, her mind’s racing, urging her to just go for it, because this is her moment. She’s Paige Bueckers—she’s supposed to be confident. She always is. Besides, if you’re not interested, at least she’ll know. And if you are…

She hesitates, then swallows, trying to keep her voice steady as she says, “Um… can I buy you a drink?”

There’s a flicker of something in your eyes—maybe amusement, maybe surprise—and she’s mentally bracing herself for you to say no when you glance at the bar and say, “Actually, I just ordered one.” Her heart sinks a little, but she forces a smile, trying to play it off. Of course you’re not interested; she should have known better—

Then you’re leaning closer, nudging her elbow with yours, and you smirk, your voice soft and playful. “But you can buy my next one, if you want.”

Paige’s brain short-circuits as your words settle in, her mouth going dry as she realizes what you just said. “Uh, y-yeah, totally,” she manages, trying to keep from looking as giddy as she feels. “I…I’d love to.”

Your smirk turns into a grin, and you’re looking at her like she’s the only person in the room. She’s trying to come up with something smooth to say when, suddenly, one of your friends pops ups beside you and Paige, tugging on your arm, pulling you off the barstool and towards the crowd with a teasing, “Come on!”

Paige opens her mouth to protest, but before she knows it, you’re being swallowed up into the throng of people—not before you send her a quick, apologetic look over your shoulder, your friend still dragging you. Paige frowns, a little disappointed, but quickly catches herself. It’s fine, she thinks, though a twinge of regret lingers. She pushes it aside, grabbing her drink from the bar and returning back to her table, telling herself to focus on celebrating. She’s finally back on the court, and after such a long, difficult recovery, tonight is meant to be about unwinding. So she does, letting her team hype her up as they cheer and clink their drinks in her honor, pulling her deeper into the night.

As the time passes, Paige’s frustration eases, replaced by a warm buzz that dulls everything except the elation of being surrounded by her friends. But even as she sips her drink, she can’t help but think about where you’ve disappeared to, if you’re still here, still laughing with your friends somewhere across the bar. She finds herself scanning the crowd more than once, looking for a glimpse of you. She tries to push it down, laugh it off with another round, but every time she looks around, her gaze seems to search for you.

Eventually, the heat of the crowded bar gets to her. She feels flushed, dizzy from the alcohol and the mass of people, so she slips out the back door for some air. The cool breeze hits her face, and she closes her eyes for a second, sighing as the sounds of the bar fade behind her. She barely has a moment to herself before she notices a figure sitting just a few feet away.

It’s you, sitting on the curb, looking down at your hands as if lost in thought. Paige blinks, unsure if she’s seeing things. But then you look up at the sound of the door closing and smile, that familiar, gentle smile that makes her heart stutter. You seem just as surprised to see her, but your expression softens, like you’re genuinely happy she’s there. And that’s all the encouragement Paige needs.

“You care if I join?” she asks, trying to sound casual, even though her heart’s racing.

“Not at all,” you reply, and she takes a seat beside you, a bit closer than she planned. She feels your warmth even in the night air, and it makes her head spin in a way she can’t blame on the alcohol.

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence stretching between you. Paige watches as you draw patterns in the gravel with your fingers, the lights from the bar casting a soft glow over your face. She swallows, summoning up the nerve to say something—anything that might keep you sitting here with her.

“Why you out here?” she starts, genuinely curious.

You shrug, glancing back toward the bar. “Got a little claustrophobic in there,” you say, voice soft.

“Yeah… me too,” Paige nods, grateful for the fresh air and this quiet moment with you. The silence returns, but this time, it’s charged, heavy with something she can’t quite put into words.

Finally, Paige finds her voice again, her words slipping out before she can think them over. “You’re a good cheerleader, y’know. You do all those flips and shit—it’s impressive.”

You let out a small laugh, looking away for a second as if flattered. Paige is almost certain she sees a faint blush on your cheeks, and the sight makes her smile a little, lips curving upward. “Didn’t know you really paid attention to the cheerleaders,” you respond, teasing.

Paige scoffs, shrugging as if it isn’t a big deal, even though she feels like she’s been caught in some sort of confession—which, she kinda has. “Well, I did sit out for a year, so… I had to find something to watch.”

You tilt your head, smirking as you ask, “So you chose to watch me?”

Paige’s cheeks warm, and she silently thanks the alcohol for the courage that lets her meet your gaze. “Yeah,” she murmurs, watching as you look away, biting your lip as if trying to hide a smile. The sight makes her heart skip in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

After a moment, Paige adds, “I think we… had a class together, couple years ago?”

You nod, eyes lighting up at the memory. “Yeah, we did. Sociology, right?” you reaffirm, nodding in tandem with her. “’M surprised you remember that—you always seemed so disinterested.”

Paige nearly blanches, genuinely surprised you’d noticed her too. She didn’t think you’d have remembered her, much less noticed her back then. The notion gives her some of her usual confidence beck and she manages a chuckle, shaking her head and tilting it slightly toward you as she murmurs, “Ah, so you were watching me too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you as you nudge her shoulder. “Shut up,” you mutter, but the blush on your face doesn’t go unnoticed.

There’s another pause, the two of you sitting side by side in the quiet, both of you lingering on the edge of something unsaid. Finally, you break the silence, voice soft and hesitant. “How come you never said anything before?”

Paige swallows, the question catching her off guard. She doesn’t know how to answer without giving herself away, without admitting the way her stomach twists every time she sees you around campus. So instead, she asks, turning the question back on you, “How come you never did?”

You don’t seem to mind that she didn’t really give you an answer. Instead, you just shrug, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know… you make me kinda nervous.”

The confession makes Paige’s heart alight, feeling like it’s on fire and might spread throughout her whole body. She’s used to people being in awe of her for basketball, for her skills on the court. But hearing you say that you feel that way too, like she’s someone more than just her reputation, shakes her. Besides, you’ve always seemed so incredibly at ease around her, never even bothering to look her way. So, almost incredulously, she asks, “Why?”

You scoff, looking at her like she’s missing something obvious. “Um, because you’re Paige Bueckers. Basketball prodigy, campus celebrity.” You raise your eyebrows at her. “I think most people would be.”

Paige feels a rush of warmth at your words, the way you say her name like it means something special. She searches your face, feeling the air grow thick around you, heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. And maybe it’s the alcohol in her system, maybe it’s the way you’re looking at her like she’s somehow both intimidating and endearing at the same time, but she’s feeling bold. Bold enough to keep this conversation going, to see where this moment might lead.

She clears her throat, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it helps… you make me nervous.”

You laugh, a little breathless, clearly surprised. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Paige insists. “You ain’t see the way I stuttered around you earlier? Ion know, ma, you just kinda fuck with my head.”

She watches, grin widening, as you blush at her words, the color blooming across your cheeks. It’s addictive, seeing you react like that—because of her. She doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when you ask, gaze set out in front of you instead of on her, “Why would I fuck with your head?”

It’s a good question, one Paige asked herself for a long time. It never took her long to figure out the answer. Though, she’s a little nervous to explain herself.

And she gets even more nervous when your gaze slides back onto hers, your head turning towards her. Paige’s smile falters, just slightly, at the eye contact. It’s intense, the kind that feels like it’s holding the world still for a second. Paige’s heart is a drum in her chest, each beat vibrating through her veins. Her eyes slide across your face, your features, tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips, the faint shimmer glitter swiped along your eyelids. She catalogues every detail as if she’s never going to get this close again—a very real possibility if she doesn’t up her game.

Finally, she leans in—just slightly—her voice low and steady as she answers you. “You got this positive energy that makes you just… stand out in front of a crowd. Big smile. Bright eyes. Mm, I just… like seeing that in people.”

The words settle in the space between you, warm and lingering. Paige hesitates, letting them wrap around you both before adding, her voice dipping lower, her boldness shooting upward, “And it doesn’t help that you’re too beautiful for your own good.”

You blush deeper this time, cheeks tinted more red than pink, and it makes Paige’s heart skip. She can’t help the way her lips twitch into a grin. She’s waited so long to see this—see you flustered because of her. It’s everything she imagined and more.

“Stop,” you protest, fighting a smile as you push at her hands, your tone not carrying any weight behind the word. Paige just laughs, soft and easy, catching your hand in hers before you can pull away. She lifts it slightly, letting her thumb brush over your knuckles as she murmurs, “Nah, really.”

It’s then that the air changes—shifting into something heavier. The space between the two of you is practically nonexistent at this point, your sides tucked right into each other. You’re staring at one another, and Paige can’t help it when her gaze flickers down to your lips, just for a second. But it turns out to be enough. Because then she sees your eyes dart to her mouth in return, lingering there. And that’s when Paige knows.

Still holding your hand, she locks her gaze on yours, her voice firm but soft when she repeats, “Really.”

It’s like that word unlocks something between you because suddenly you’re leaning in, and Paige is doing the same, her breath catching the moment your lips touch hers. It’s soft, tentative at first, like neither of you are quite sure if this is real. But then you press into her just slightly, and Paige swears the whole world tilts on its axis.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, and Paige feels her whole body light up. Your lips are warm, soft, and you taste faintly of tequila and strawberry chapstick. It’s intoxicating, the way you move against her, gentle but with enough purpose to make her head spin. Paige’s hand slides up to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

Your fingers grab at her bicep, holding on like you don’t want to let go, and it sends a thrill through her. Paige’s lips part slightly, and when you follow, letting her slip her tongue into your mouth, it’s like a fire ignites somewhere deep inside her. The kiss isn’t frantic or messy—it’s unhurried, like the two of you have all the time in the world to explore this. She can feel the heat of your skin where her hand cups your face, and she wants to memorize every second, every sensation.

The way you tilt your head just a little, giving her more access, nearly undoes her. Paige tilts her own in response, deepening the kiss further, her fingers slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck. The touch is light, almost reverent, but the closeness makes her heart race.

Your other hand moves, grazing against her side before resting lightly on her hip. Paige’s stomach flips at the contact, her body leaning instinctively closer to yours. She swears she can feel the warmth of your breath between kisses, the subtle hitch when she nips at your bottom lip.

It’s slow, it’s sweet, but it’s intoxicating. Paige swears she’s never kissed anyone like this before, never felt this much just from simple lip-locking. When you pull back slightly—not breaking the kiss entirely, just catching your breath—she can’t help herself. She follows you instinctively, her mouth chasing yours in a way that feels both vulnerable and utterly fearless. You allow her to, tongues half entwined between your swollen lips.

When you finally part, Paige keeps close, her forehead gently pressing against yours, her hand still cradling your neck. Neither of you moves far, the space between you so small your breaths still mingle, soft and warm against each other’s lips. Paige’s eyes flutter open, but she doesn’t look away from you, her gaze locked on yours like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—which, right now, you might as well be.

Her voice comes out lower than she intends, husky and laced with something she can’t quite hide as she murmurs, “You gonna let me buy you that drink now?”

Your lips curve into a slow, easy grin, and Paige feels her chest tighten, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of it. You’re so close she can see the faint glimmer of mischief in your eyes, the way they soften as you look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice soft but sure, “I’d like that.”

The way you say it, the way your smile widens just slightly after, makes Paige’s heart race all over again. She can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across her face. Paige leans back just enough to take in the sight of you—your flushed cheeks, the way your hair’s slightly mussed, and that lingering, breathtaking smile she knows will haunt her in the best way.

“Good,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing your jaw lightly one last time before she pulls away completely, standing up and offering you her hand. When you take it, she holds on a little longer than necessary, leading you back into the bar, already planning how she’s going to keep you smiling for the rest of the night—and, hopefully, much longer afterwards.

[alotofpockets]

Practice makes perfect | Leah Williamson x Reader

Where you and Leah practised kissing each other to prepare for kissing boys, but you quickly realise that after that you don't want to kiss anyone but her

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

-----

As the only two girls on the boys' team growing up, you and Leah clicked right away. Football brought you together, but it was everything else about her that kept you close. Not many people had stuck around in your life the way Leah had. From meeting at six years old to now, a decade later, she was still your best friend.

The football dream was becoming reality for the both of you. The young Lionesses and Arsenal Academy were where you spend most of your time besides school or each other’s houses. The two of you were inseparable and everyone knew it. Where you went Leah went, and visa versa.

“Remember when we were like twelve and we practised kissing?” Leah asks you out of nowhere while you’re sitting in her bed and playing video games. You think back to the moment.

It was a similar situation to this one, you were having a sleepover and had just finished watching a romcom. “How do you know if you’re gonna be a good kisser if you’ve never kissed someone before?” Leah asked with a voice filled with curiosity. 

“I have no clue. Why don’t they show those parts in the movies?” You turned off the tv and pulled the covers further over your body. “Exactly! Like when I kiss a guy for the first time, I want to make sure that like I can kiss him properly, you know?” 

You nodded, understanding her concerns. “What if we practised kissing together? Then we can tell each other if we’re any good.” Leah loved your idea and instantly sat up in bed again. “You are brilliant!” 

She made you sit up as well and once you did she double checked if it was okay. When you nodded in confirmation, she leaned in and pecked your lips. “How did I do?” She instantly asked. “Good I think, what about me?” She smiled proudly, “Nice, you as well.” 

You had practised a couple more times that night, and when you both liked boys, you had practised some more so that the first kisses you would have with them would be perfect.

“Yeah, I remember.” In the meantime Leah had paused the game to fully focus on the conversation she wanted to have. “I was wondering if maybe we could practise something again.”

“What do you want to practise?” You asked to urge her to go on. “Well, I heard from some girls in our class that they’ve been making out with their boyfriends, and they talked about how it goes and everything, but even with that information I don’t feel even remotely ready to just make out with a guy. So, I thought that maybe, if you’re up for it of course, we could practise like we did before?”

Even with the introduction Leah gave, her question still caught you off guard. Leah’s hopeful eyes were hard to ignore while you thought about her question. “Just so we don’t totally embarrass ourselves when the time comes.”

"Yeah, exactly! I don’t want to make things weird between us though, you can totally say no.” She quickly added.  “It’s not weird.” you said shifting to sitting cross-legged, facing Leah, on her bed. “We’re just practising.”

Leah’s face lit up with relief, “Exactly, Just practising.” She turned to sit cross-legged as well. She told you how your classmates had described making out, so you were both on the same page. 

“So, eh,” you cleared your throat, “do we just go for it?” Leah let out a nervous laugh, “I guess so?” You nodded, which Leah took as her sign to start leaning in. She inched closer slowly, until her lips brushed yours. 

At first she just pecked your lips like you had practised before. Your heart started beating faster, but you didn’t understand why. Her soft, warm lips on yours felt familiar, yet somehow different. “Still okay?” She asked to make sure you wanted to do this as well. “Yeah.”

You leaned in this time and let your lips move in sync with hers. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as Leah reached out her hand and cupped your cheek to pull you a little closer. 

When she pulled back after a few moments, her eyes searched yours. “How was that?” 

Your brain felt like it was running a million miles an hour, and you were scrambling to find words. “Good.” You managed finally. “What about me?” Leah’s lips quirked into that proud smile she had done last time, “Good too.” 

A feeling came over you that you had never felt before, you couldn’t quite place it, but before you could overthink it, Leah was leaning in again. “Practice makes perfect, right?” she said softly, and when you didn’t move away, her lips were on yours again.

That night while Leah slept soundly besides you, your mind wouldn’t stop racing. Trying to make sense of what you were feeling. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks later when you saw Leah kiss a boy in your class, that you realised what was happening. The moment you saw the two of them together, you felt a pang of jealousy. All you knew in that moment was that you weren’t jealous of Leah in that moment, but you were jealous of him. 

You turned on your heels and got away from the situation as quickly as possible. Of course, you headed straight over to the football field. The one place where everything felt right. You must’ve spent hours kicking a ball around until your parent’s called asking when you’d be home. “No Leah tonight?” Your mom had asked when you walked in, seemingly without the blonde by your side. You hadn’t even thought about it, but usually Leah would join you on Fridays. “Eh, no not tonight.” You say quickly. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” Your mom nodded and you rushed to your room. 

You checked your phone and sure enough you had a bunch of messages from Leah. The last one read I hope everything is alright. Couldn’t find you at school so I headed home. Please text me back!

You didn’t text Leah back that night, or the next morning. It wasn’t that you were mad at her, of course you weren’t, you didn’t think you ever could be, but you just didn’t know what to say. Every time you thought about her, you saw that boy’s lips on hers. Every time you saw it play back in your mind, it made your chest ache.

But Leah was Leah. Persistent, stubborn, and your best friend. So, it didn’t take her long to just show up at your house unannounced. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She stated from your doorframe, after your dad had let her in. She found you laying on the floor with one of your textbooks in front of you, trying to bury yourself into your homework. “What’s going on?” 

You glanced at her and then quickly focused back on your textbook. “Nothing.” Leah shook her head and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Liar.” She sighed, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You said a little too quickly and defensive for Leah to believe it. She crossed her arms and leaned against your door, studying you like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “I just need some space.” You said softly, unable to meet her eye.

“Since when do we do space?” Her voice softened. She walked further into your room and sat down on the edge of your bed. “Come on, talk to me.”

You wanted to. You wanted to tell her everything. You always told Leah everything, but how could you tell her about your feelings? How could you tell her that you were jealous of a guy she kissed? Talk about the way your heart raced when you made eye contact with her? 

“I’m fine, Lee.” You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes and Leah could tell. You saw that she was fighting her inner monologue to press further, her lips parting like she was about to. Before she could say anything, your mother yelled upstairs, “Leah, honey, are you staying for dinner?”

Leah turned to you, “Do you want me to go?” You shake your head, “No, it’s okay. You can stay.” She opened the door and told your mom she would love to before turning back to you. “I’m gonna help her with dinner, you know, so you can have some more space.” This time you noticed her smile not fully reaching her eyes, but before you could say anything, she had already closed the door behind herself.

You stopped ignoring Leah, because you knew she would just find a way in, but that didn’t mean that your interactions were any less awkward, well at least for you. From Leah’s side it seemed like nothing had happened, while you questioned every interaction you had with her.

When she laughed at your jokes, or let her hand linger on your arm or leg, everything made your skin feel like it was on fire.

A few weeks later Leah was picking out her prom outfit with her mom. She had tried on a bunch of dresses, but none of them seemed to be what she was looking for. Today was the last chance of finding something, since prom was literally tonight. So, Amanda was determined to spend the whole morning driving from store to store until they found something.

It was the third store of the morning where Leah’s eyes fell on a baby blue suit, and she knew instantly that that was going to be the one. Her mom encouraged her to put it on, and the smile on her daughter’s face was exactly the reason why she had.

“This is going to be the one!” Leah said as she admired the suit in the mirror. “It’s lovely Leah Cathrine.” Leah smiled big, “Thank you.” After paying for the clothes, the pair headed back to the car.

“Oh mom, I wanted to ask if you could drive y/n and me tonight.” Her mom’s brow furrowed. “Darling of course I would, but I thought y/n wasn’t going?” Leah looks at her mom as if she was crazy. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh well, because that’s what she said yesterday. She said she wasn’t really feeling up to going.” Leah didn’t understand, you hadn’t told her anything. “But she was so excited about it and had her outfit picked out like months ago already. Do you know why she isn’t going?”

Amanda shakes her head, “I don’t know.” Leah was quick to respond. “You didn’t push further?” Amanda chuckles lightly, “No, that’s more your thing, darling.”

Leah sat back in the seat and crossed her arm, going over what she could do. “Can you drive me to her place tonight?” She nodded, “Sure, darling.”

You were watching a movie in your sweats when you heard a knock on the door. When you opened the door, Leah stood in front of you with a small bouquet of flowers. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at prom?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Leah shoots back instantly. “I’m not going Lee, you should still go though. I’m sure your boyfriend would like you to be there.”

“Boyfriend?” Leah steps inside and closes the door behind her. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.” You shrug your shoulders, “I saw you and Steve kiss, figured you two were together.”

“Oh no definitely not.” Leah said defensively, “He kissed me, and I told him that I wasn’t interested.” You searched her eyes for anything to prove what she was saying wrong, but she seemed sincere. “Oh.”

“So, come to prom with me?” Leah said, holding out the bouquet to you. “Sorry, Lee, I can’t.” She retracted the flowers reluctantly. “Why not?”

Her question hung in the air. Again you wanted to tell her, but you just couldn’t. “I just can’t, please drop it.” But Leah was Leah and there wasn’t any scenario in which she would drop this. “I won’t drop it. You’ve been excited about your outfit, the music, the pictures. You’ve been talking about prom non-stop for months and now you’re here in sweats not going. Please just tell me what’s going on. If I did something, let me in and let me fix it.” Her plea sounded desperate.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and there is nothing you can fix.” You sighed in frustration, wishing she would just drop it. “Did someone else do something? Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine, okay, I’ll tell you.” Leah focussed on you instantly, not having expected you to break so soon. “I can’t go to prom with you because ever since we practised making out, all I can think about is wanting to kiss you again.” 

Your eyes were looking anywhere but Leah, not ready to see the way she would react to that confession. “Please look at me.” She slowly reached up her hand to your cheek to turn your head to face her. You expected anger, disgust, or even hurt in her eyes, but instead you were met with softness. 

“You know the reason I told Steve I wasn’t interested?” You shook your head. “It’s because after he kissed me, I felt nothing. Which was a stark opposite to how I felt when we kissed. I swear it was just practise when I asked you, but I think that was exactly what I needed to realise my feelings for you.” Leah confessed. 

You stare at her for a moment, taking in the confession. She liked you the same way that you liked her? The corners of your lips slowly rose as it was all coming together in your head. And then without hesitation, you lean in and kiss her for real this time. She kissed you back instantly, and pulled you closer like she had done last time. It felt even better than your time practising, now knowing your feelings for each other.

When Leah pulled away, she leaned her forehead against yours. “So, prom?” Your smile grew. “Yes, just let me get changed.” 

You rushed to your room and quickly got ready. “Wow, you look amazing!” Leah said as you walked back downstairs. “So do you!” You pecked her lips appreciatively. She took your hand and pulled you out the door where her mom was still waiting in the driveway. “Ready to go to prom, girls?” She knew by your happy faces that whatever was going on between the two of you these past weeks, was resolved. “Yeah, more than ready.” You said and Leah squeezed your hand. “Yeah, let’s go.”

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 17

Pairings: Bucky x reader AU 🥰🥰

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Sad steve, a little angst, fluff 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

A/N: ugh finally is all i gotta say

Masterpost

Steve stepped into the apartment quietly, the door clicking shut behind him. The living room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow. Sam was sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, the TV playing a muted rerun of an old sitcom. He looked up as Steve entered, his brows knitting together in concern.

“Did you find her?” Sam asked, sitting up and setting the popcorn aside.

Steve nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. She was sitting on a park bench not too far from here.”

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And? She okay?”

Steve hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before walking over to the couch. He sank down beside Sam, exhaling deeply. “She knows,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation.

Sam froze, his jaw tightening. “Knows what?”

Steve looked down at his hands, clasping them tightly as if trying to hold himself together. “That I’m in love with her.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sam sat back, his expression unreadable as he processed the weight of Steve’s words. Finally, he cleared his throat. “And what did she say?”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “She said she doesn’t love me back. I asked her if she thinks she ever could, and…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “She said at one point, maybe. She believes she could have. But now, with everything going on with Bucky…”

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes softening with sympathy. “Man, I’m sorry.”

Steve leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes as the ache in his chest deepened. “It’s eating me alive, Sam. Knowing that if I’d just made a move sooner, she could’ve been with me. Maybe she wouldn’t be so hung up on Bucky. Maybe we could’ve been happy.”

Sam let out a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “Steve… you can’t do that to yourself, man. You can’t sit here and play the what-if game. Trust me, it doesn’t help. And honestly? If I’m being real with you, this was always going to happen.”

Steve frowned, his eyes opening to meet Sam’s. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a sad smile, his tone gentle but firm. “The universe was always gonna have it be her and Bucky. You’ve gotta know that. They’ve got that messy, complicated, meant-to-be kind of thing. And yeah, it sucks for you—it sucks for anyone standing on the outside looking in—but some things just… are.”

Steve looked away, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Sam nodded, understanding the weight in Steve’s voice. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared at the muted TV. “No, it doesn’t. And it’s not gonna for a while. But you’ve gotta find a way to live with it, man. Letting it eat at you? That’s not gonna do you any good.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “I thought… I thought maybe if I just held on, if I waited long enough, she’d see me. But she never has, not like I see her.”

Sam leaned forward again, his tone firm but not unkind. “Steve, you can’t do that to yourself. I know it hurts, but you’re stuck in a shitty situation. The universe has always been rigged for her and Bucky. That’s not on you.”

Steve’s lips twitched in a faint, bitter smile. “You think so?”

Sam nodded. “Oh, I know so. Hell, I figured it out back in college.”

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Remember when I asked her out that one time?”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly, the memory rushing back. “Of course, I remember. You came back, said it wasn’t gonna work, and then you two were best friends from then on.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, that’s because thirty minutes into the date, I realized she wasn’t just talking about Bucky—she was glowing every time his name came up. I sat there thinking, ‘How the hell did I not see this before?’” He paused, his voice softening. “Doesn’t matter what she says or doesn’t say about him. She’s always been his, Steve. And I think he’s always been hers too. They’re just too damn stupid to admit it.”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. “You’re probably right.”

Sam smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, I know I am. You should’ve seen Bucky that night I took her out. He didn’t say anything, but the guy didn’t sit still for hours. He kept pacing around our dorm like he was waiting for her to come back. And once I started hanging out with you and Bucky more, it was even clearer. Bucky looked at her like she hung the stars, and she was over there looking at him like he was her entire world. You couldn’t miss it.”

Steve leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. “So why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t she?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s just who they are. Stubborn as hell, both of them. And I think part of it is fear, you know? They’re both so scared of losing what they have that they’ve been too chicken to reach for more. But, Steve, that’s not on you. It’s not your fault they’ve been stuck in this endless loop.”

Steve’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. “But here’s the thing—you’re not second best, Steve. You’re not just a fallback option, and you shouldn’t let yourself feel like one. If it wasn’t meant to be with her, that’s on the universe, not you.”

Steve let out a small, bitter laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Sam gave him a pointed look. “Not as easy as you think. But I’ll tell you this—there’s a world of people out there who would give anything to have someone like you in their corner. Someone who sees them the way you see her. And maybe one day, you’ll find someone who looks at you the way she looks at Bucky. She may be closer than you think….You deserve that, Steve. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Steve’s chest tightened at Sam’s words, but he nodded slowly, the truth of them settling in. “Thanks, man.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, giving him a warm, reassuring smile. “Anytime. And hey, remember—there’s plenty of fish in the sea. You just gotta let yourself cast the line.”

Steve let out a weak laugh, but there was a hint of hope in it. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Sam said firmly. “Now, ill grab us a beer and lets figure out what the hell we’re doing tomorrow because I’m pretty sure the group’s about to implode.”

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Sounds about right.”

The two friends settled back into the couch, the weight of the conversation still lingering but lighter now. And as Steve stared at the muted TV, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Sam was right.

College First year

It was a crisp fall evening, the kind where the air had just enough of a chill to make you wish you’d brought a scarf. The campus was alive with chatter and laughter, students hurrying to and from the dining halls or bundling up for late-night study sessions. You’d agreed to go on a date with Sam, mostly because Wanda and Natasha had been relentless about it.

“Come on,” Natasha had said, practically throwing your coat at you. “He’s great. He’s charming. And let’s be honest, he’s got arms that could carry you out of a burning building.”

You’d rolled your eyes but agreed. Sam had always been easy to talk to, Steve said he was the better roommate out of him and Bucky, so that was a good sign and you figured if nothing else, it would be a fun night.

When he showed up to pick you up, he greeted you with his signature warm smile, a casual button-up, and a bouquet of flowers that was just the right mix of thoughtful and not overly formal. “Ready to go?” he asked, offering his arm.

The two of you ended up at a cozy Italian restaurant just off campus. It was charming, with string lights and the soft hum of an acoustic guitar playing in the background. The warm glow of the string lights outside the building made it feel like a scene straight out of a rom-com. Sam opened the door for you with a playful bow.

“After you, milady,” he said, flashing that signature grin that had most girls on campus swooning.

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. “Don’t push your luck, Wilson.”

Sam was, as expected, funny and kind, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. You laughed about your classes, swapped embarrassing stories about your friends, and commiserated over the sheer insanity of trying to balance everything college threw at you. He was cracking jokes and telling stories that had you laughing so hard you nearly spilled your water more than once.

“So, let me get this straight,” you said, trying to keep a straight face as Sam recounted an embarrassing story from his freshman year. “You really thought sneaking a chicken into your dorm room was a good idea?”

Sam held up his hands defensively. “In my defense, it was my chicken. His name was Nugget, and he was a gift from my uncle. You don’t just abandon family.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I don’t think a chicken counts as family, Sam.”

“Clearly, you’ve never owned a chicken,” he quipped, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin.

As the food arrived, the conversation shifted to classes, mutual friends, and campus gossip. Everything felt easy—until Sam tilted his head, his playful smile fading slightly.

But somewhere between the second course and dessert, Sam tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know, I’ve noticed something about you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh no. What? Is it the way I hold my fork? Natasha said it’s weird.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just… you talk about Bucky a lot.”

Your fork froze mid-twirl, and you blinked at him. “I do not,” you said quickly, your voice a little too defensive. “Do I?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart skipped a beat.

Sam nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. I mean, I get it—you’ve been friends forever. But it’s not just that. It’s the way you talk about him. And the way your eyes kinda… linger when you bring him up.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you quickly looked down at your plate, twirling spaghetti around your fork. “It’s not… I mean, Bucky and I, we’re just friends. Best friends, that’s all we’ve ever been.”

Sam gave you a look, one that was both knowing and a little amused. “I'm sensing that maybe someone, not naming names, is feeling a little more than just friends?” He paused, his smile fading into something more serious “Does he know?”

Your stomach twisted, and you set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And please don’t tell him. I don’t even know what I want, and the last thing I need is for him to know that I’m…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “In love with him?”

Your head shot up, and you glared at him, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Sam said gently, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know how I didn’t put two and two together before, but it’s written all over you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your temples. “Well, great. Now you know my secret. Are you gonna tell him?"

Sam laughed, reaching across the table to gently tap your hand. “Hey, I won’t. But… you should probably figure out what you want. For your sake, not his. I don’t think I’m the guy you’re supposed to be out with tonight.”

You felt a pang of guilt, but Sam’s easy grin quickly soothed it. “Sam, I’m sorry—” You sighed, your fingers gripping your fork tightly. “It’s not that simple, Sam. Bucky and I… we’re complicated. And I’m not even sure he thinks of me like that.”

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man, you’re both blind as hell. But hey, that’s not my business.” He reached across the table giving your hand a squeeze “Don’t be, I’m glad we did this. I mean, it’s not every day you go on a date and realize the person you’re with is completely hung up on their best friend. But hey,” he added, his smile widening, “I can already tell we’re gonna be the best of friends.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said with confidence. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Now, if you’re done breaking my heart with all this Bucky talk, I have an important question for you.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “What question?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asked, completely serious.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Ghosts,” Sam repeated, his grin widening. “It’s a make-or-break question for me. We can’t be friends if you’re one of those ‘ghosts aren’t real’ people.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier easing slightly. “I don’t know, Sam. I’ve never seen one.”

“Classic ghost-denier response,” he said with mock disappointment. “But it’s okay. I’ll convert you.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “What are you, the Ghost Whisperer?”

“Exactly,” he said, winking. “And by the end of the semester, you’ll be a believer too.”

The rest of the evening was spent walking around campus, talking about everything and nothing. Sam made you laugh so hard your sides hurt, and by the end of the night, you felt lighter—like you’d gained not just a friend, but someone who truly understood you.

As he walked you back to your dorm, he gave you a warm hug, whispering, “Don’t wait too long to figure out what you want, alright?”

You nodded, feeling both grateful and a little overwhelmed. “Thanks, Sam. For everything.”

“Anytime, Ghost Denier,” he teased, pulling back and giving you a mock salute. “Now go figure out your complicated Bucky situation before I have to knock some sense into both of you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you opened your door. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Y/N” he said , turning and walking down the hall. “And remember—ghosts are real!”

As you closed the door, his words echoed in your mind. Figure out your Bucky situation. If only it were that simple.

The city was quieter now, the usual hum of nightlife softened as you made your way back to your apartment. It was late, the chill in the air biting at your skin as you wrapped your coat tighter around you. Natasha’s words echoed in your head, their weight pressing heavily on your chest. Stop wasting time.

When you reached your building, your hands were shaking—not from the cold but from the uncertainty of what waited for you inside. You hesitated for a moment, staring at the door, before finally gripping the handle and pushing it open.

The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of the lamp in the living room. Bucky was still there, sitting on the couch in the same spot you’d left him hours ago. His posture was slouched, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. But now, his eyes were red and puffy, the streaks on his cheeks betraying the tears he’d shed.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze fixed on the floor as you tried to steady your breathing.

You swallowed hard and turned back toward the door, pressing your back against it as you shut your eyes tightly for a moment. You inhaled deeply, gathering the courage you needed, and when you finally opened your eyes again, you faced him.

“Do you mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid.

Bucky blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He stood slowly, his hands hanging at his sides, and took a tentative step closer. His voice was hoarse when he spoke, raw with emotion.

Bucky’s voice cracked as he answered, “It’s the only thing I’ve ever meant.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them wrapping around you like a second skin. You stared at him, your breath hitching as every wall, every defense you’d built, threatened to crumble under the sincerity in his voice.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, like he was afraid any sudden motion would shatter the fragile moment between you. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you since the day you tied your shoe in kindergarten and told me you’d be my best friend forever.” A hollow, broken laugh escaped him. “I think I loved you even before I understood what love was.”

Your lip quivered as tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Bucky…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I mean it, doll,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “Every girl, every date, every time I tried to move on—I couldn’t. Because none of it felt right. None of them were you.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the sheer honesty in his gaze cutting through every doubt, every fear.

Your voice broke as you finally said, “You can’t just say this now, Bucky. Not after everything.” You wiped at the tears streaming down your face, frustration mixing with the flood of emotions. “Do you know how hard it’s been? To watch you with other girls, to convince myself that what I felt didn’t matter because you didn’t feel the same?”

He winced like your words physically hurt him. “I know,” he said softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been such a coward. I’ve spent years too scared to say it, too scared to ruin what we had, and instead, I ruined it anyway.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as you looked away, your voice rising. “You didn’t just ruin it. You hurt me, Buck! You let me believe I was just your backup, your best friend who didn’t measure up to everyone else.”

His voice cracked as he took another step forward. “You were never my backup. You’ve always been my first choice—always. I’m just an idiot who didn’t know how to show it.”

You let out a sharp laugh, the kind born from heartbreak and exhaustion. “And Steve?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Did you ever think about what telling me about him would do? How I’m supposed to face him now, knowing what I know?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “I know I shouldn’t have said it. I know it wasn’t my place, but I was desperate. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—to Dean, to Steve, to anyone.”

“Steve doesn’t deserve this,” you said, your voice softening, your heart aching for the friend who had loved you quietly and selflessly for years. “He’s been nothing but good to me.”

“I know,” Bucky said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that’s why I hate myself for saying anything. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I couldn’t watch you slip away again.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, feeling the frantic beat of your heart as his words washed over you. “You don’t understand what this does, Bucky. To us. To all of us. What if this destroys everything, friendships...”

He closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out but stopping short, hovering near yours. His voice was low, desperate. “Maybe it will. Maybe we’ll burn everything to the ground. But I can’t lie to you anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t feel this—don’t feel you—like a part of me I can’t live without.”

The dam finally broke. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I love you too,” you cried, the words spilling out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve loved you for so long it hurts. But I don’t know how to trust this, Bucky. How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

“You love me” He breathed out like it was his last breath, he blinked away the tears of relief his hands finally found yours, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “But I swear to you, I will spend the rest of my life proving I won’t.”

The tears were falling freely now, both yours and his, as the weight of everything settled between you. His hands tightened around yours, and he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “I’m all in, sweetheart,” he whispered. “No more games. No more running. Just us.”

The room felt like it was spinning, your heart pounding so hard it hurt, but when your eyes locked with his, everything else disappeared. In those piercing blue depths, you saw it. The truth. The love. The promise. The years of unspoken feelings and tangled emotions were laid bare between you, and for the first time in so long, you let yourself believe it—believe him.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, surging forward, your lips crashing into his with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release, a culmination of years of pain, longing, and unsaid words. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline, while his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld you into him.

The kiss was messy, frantic, and raw. His lips were warm, firm yet trembling with emotion as they moved against yours. His hands roamed, one tangling in your hair while the other settled on your waist, holding you steady against him. You could feel the desperation in the way he kissed you, the silent plea for you to believe him, to stay, to never leave again.

You broke the kiss for a second, gasping for air, but Bucky didn’t let you go. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both stood there, trembling. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t even realized were still falling.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You and me… we can make this work. We have to.”

The intensity in his voice, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze, made your chest tighten painfully. You nodded, your tears blurring your vision, but a soft laugh escaped you—shaky, but real. “You and me, Buck. Always.”

A flicker of a smile broke across his face, small but genuine, as if he could barely believe this moment was real. His arms tightened around you, pulling you so close that you could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your chest.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. His lips brushed yours again, this time slower, softer. It was as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you, the taste of you, as if he couldn’t quite trust that you were truly his.

Your hands slid up to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the faint stubble on his cheeks. You deepened the kiss, letting it linger this time, savoring every second. His lips were gentle yet unyielding, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into the way he kissed you. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise.

When you finally pulled away again, your breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against yours once more. His voice was soft but resolute, every word laced with a quiet, unshakable certainty. “We’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay. It’s us.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, and for the first time in years, you felt truly whole. “It’s us,” you repeated, your voice a whispered vow.

[jjenthusee]

Where We Are

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: honestly this has been marinating in my mind for a while because a while ago I saw @sunnie-angel post this small writing (linked here) and I wanted to write something for it, but I haven’t gotten to sit down and complete something :( BUT i finally sat down and wrote because i needed something as a break from my end of semester stress from school :D i would also recommend reading the linked post first so it gives some context and insight to why i was so drawn to it and how it heavily inspired this fic. ENJOY and like, comment if your comfortable 💐

Summary: How do you live with the memories of Jason after his death as Robin?

Tags: AAAANGST, have a nice day :)

Word Count: 1.6k

A boy.

Full of so much life and raw emotion, who stood against the worst of Gotham.

He saw so much of its poison. It struck him, filled his veins, but he fought every day against the pain. Only when he finally left did Gotham return its thanks.

Everyday was torture. The memorials, the photographs, the graffiti. Streets littered with “We remember you.” Every waking second was a reminder that he was gone.

No more late night chats, meeting at the library, leaning against his shoulder.

You can still taste the bile that consumed your throat when you opened your door to Alfred standing there with the most chilling expression. Once he said your name in such a matter-of-fact tone, you knew. Your heart ached the same way it did when your thoughts brought you back to your worst fears, maybe it ached worse but that memory is buried in the back of your mind.

You slammed the door on Alfred. Grabbing your phone, calling one of the most recent phone numbers in your call history. It rang and rang. Nothing.

You left voicemail after voicemail. Begging, yelling, crying into the ending message to pick up.

You couldn’t walk down the road that led to the same library you spent all summer with him. The humid air beating down on you before the air conditioning sent a chill down your back. Scanning your library cards, returning books, letting Jason give you recommendations.

The memory made your eyes water.

You did everything to avoid it all.

Taking the longer path to school, playing music in your ears loud enough to drown out the passerby’s conversations about how tragic such a thing could happen to a young boy, avoiding any sort of color that matched the suit he was so proud of.

The same one that took him.

The more you avoided, the more the image of him chased you. Billboards, coffee cups, baseball caps. Robin was everywhere.

Until you saw a memorial video that some Gothamite made on social media.

It broke you one more time.

You screamed and screamed until your voice couldn’t. He was gone. Your Jason was truly gone.

You couldn’t get mad at him cheating at board games, you wouldn’t hear his laugh, no more asking him to drop off food while he was on patrol.

The world took the other half that completed you.

When the pain numbed out and you felt the guilt of your actions, you apologized to Alfred. You got back on track for school, the world wasn’t better, but it didn’t weigh on you as much.

You finally took a walk down the road you didn’t dare look down. You held your breath when you crossed over the invisible line, taking you down a familiar path, but with only one pair of shoes on the sidewalk this time.

You walked with your hands clenched, before you found yourself in front of one of the small memorial stands. A tiny Robin keychain stared back at you. You paid the seller with cash and continued on your walk.

The air hung heavy in your lungs as you stopped. Coming face to face with Jason’s favorite gargoyle that sat in front of the library steps. You fought the tears with lowered eyebrows and a stiff expression to place the key chain on the base of the statue. You grabbed a permanent marker out of your bag to write in big bold letters, “We Remember You.”

It was sloppy writing, but it captured your unrelenting, unapologetic emotions that Jason had always told you was why he loved being your friend.

As the weeks went by, more tiny Robins appeared on the gargoyle. Flowers were placed and you finally listened to the city mourn your friend.

Eventually you graduated, took a job at the library because you didn’t know anything about your future into being a young adult. Life was simple, it was enough.

You finally felt some stability on the anniversary of Jason’s death before you heard talk of a new Robin. That a replacement had been made.

You were at a rage again.

When times were too tough or when you just didn’t know how to handle yourself, you called Jason’s phone. Leaving voicemails admitting how much you missed him, how mad you were that he couldn’t even wait until you were able to beat how many books he checked out at the library, now it wasn’t fair to continue the competition by yourself. How mad you were that they didn’t retire the Robin suit after he sacrificed everything for it.

You didn’t even question how his phone line was still running as long as you could leave more voicemails.

When your rage started to cool, you joined Alfred one morning while the cold air chilled your face. Alfred handed you a hot tea that you refused to take, but Alfred always managed to get his way. It brought a smile to your face when you realized Jason used to do the same thing.

You walked with him down your familiar path to work. Before Alfred could say anything, your body unconsciously walked up to a new park bench. It wasn’t worn, but freshly placed with a shiny plaque that you couldn’t move your eyes from.

“In memory of Jason Todd-Wayne, a son who is loved as much as he loved books.” You quietly read.

You couldn’t move. You didn’t say anything to Alfred as he handed you a handkerchief when you felt the tears drop down your chin. The two of you just stood there, admiring the wood, the brass, and the memories.

When Alfred said his goodbyes, you stayed there. Afraid to sit down, but afraid to leave.

You spent the following anniversary standing next to the bench, next to the one place that was so precious to your childhood. The fear prevented you from taking a seat.

By the next anniversary, you managed to sit on the bench. Alfred visited again, shining the plaque and wiping down the park bench. You didn’t say much, but it was comfortable and breathing wasn’t that difficult that year.

By the most recent anniversary, you were starting to spend every important milestone at Jason’s bench. When you got your degree in library science, you sat with your cap and gown. When you got a job promotion at the library, you came to sit and watch the sunset.

Life was content as you passed Jason’s bench and gargoyle on your way to and from work. It was a part of you.

One late night as you locked up the library, making sure all the part-timers and volunteers made their way out safely and secured the doors, you said goodbye to your coworkers as you made your way down the worn steps.

Your feet ached from the new shoes that didn’t support you enough, but your walk back to your apartment would be short to endure the pain. The fatigue could wait until you walked through the front door.

You trudged through the familiar path, passing the same trees, shops, gargoyle. Fifteen paces, another thirty, but you couldn’t continue to count your steps when you saw someone facing Jason’s bench.

A tall man, large build, covered in a large hoodie with the hood raised. Only a couple strands of hair stuck out the opening, but you couldn’t see a clear face.

It was eerie how still the figure was, the small fog of breaths were the only indicator that the person was living.

You quickly moved to the edge of the sidewalk as you distanced yourself from the large man. You held your breath as you briskly walked passed, but a small ache hit your chest. A tiny feeling, so minuscule that you tried to talk yourself into not looking back.

Why would you do that late at night in Gotham?

Two paces, five paces. You paused and turned your head over your shoulder.

They were gone. Only a clear yellow street light shining down on Jason’s bench.

Weird.

But you weren’t going to find out what that was. You paced back to your apartment, throwing your jacket off, letting your aching muscles relax on the couch. You sighed as you couldn’t get the figure out of your head.

By the morning, you woke up early to get some breakfast on your way to work. A quick drink and some food to help give you some energy. You said ‘Good morning’ to the owners, passed by other early commuters.

You held your warm drink, breathing in morning air and taking your breakfast to-go, until you sat at Jason’s bench. It had been a while since you got to enjoy a meal there.

You sat, listening to the birds, seeing morning joggers pass, kids making their way to school, and you finished your meal. You got up to throw your trash away and took one last glance at the plaque.

You memorized the phrase engraved on there, but still took the time to read through every word. You took your hand out of your warm jacket pocket and felt your hand graze over the cold brass, your fingers feeling the grooves and the strict maintenance courtesy of Alfred.

In one last sigh, you turned to get to work, tapping the base of the gargoyle before the steps, happily humming to the calm start to your morning. Then another ache hit you just before your last step.

You turned around, but all the people hanging around the block were further away, enjoying the company of others or taking a stroll. You glanced around, unsure of what you were looking for.

But your search was interrupted by the cheerful voice of your coworker making his way up the steps.

You pushed down the feeling of the unknown, but some days you always felt like maybe Jason was with you, maybe from his bench built in his memory or the fact that this place was important to the two of you, but you always knew you were going to carry a portion of Jason with you.

In some comforting way, you told yourself that maybe your Jason never left.

[jeonsblackgf-writes]

High times & Hellfire | Eddie Munson

summary: Eddie Muson wasn’t the ordinary drug dealer to you, he was something more…you just can’t quite put your finger on it yet.

warnings: smoking

word count: 5,233 (she’s a long one sorry)

pairing: eddie munson x black!reader

AN: im trying to get into writing in the second person. pls lmk how i did lol. this is my first time doing this.

—————————————————

It’s 1985, and Hawkins High is buzzing with the energy of senior year. Everyone’s excited for graduation, but no one more than you. You were popular, smart, and had a reputation for being both sweet and spicy—just like your personality. You weren’t a cheerleader, not by any means, but you had an effortless cool about you that made everyone want to be your friend. Or at least be around you. You had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most important person in the room, but it was all a balancing act—a way to keep yourself untouchable while still enjoying all the attention.

And there was Eddie Munson. He was your go-to guy for anything you needed, but mostly, you were there for the weed. Eddie was, without a doubt, the coolest kid at Hawkins. Hell, the guy practically ran the Hellfire Club, his own little universe where the outcasts ruled. But while the rest of the school might not have understood Eddie’s brand of chaotic charisma, you got him. You always had.

And Eddie, he liked you in a way that made your connection feel like it was more than just transactions. He knew you had a sharp mind, that you didn’t need him for the weed alone. He respected you for that—something most people couldn’t see past the smoke and mirrors. You two had a bond, and it was undeniable.

It was late on a Friday afternoon when you met him at the usual spot. The corner of the parking lot near the back door of the school—hidden away from prying eyes, a space where you could just… be. Eddie had a new stash for you, as usual, and you couldn’t wait to see what kind of goodies he had this time.

“Hey, beautiful,” Eddie greeted, a grin stretching across his face as you approached. He leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, your voice smooth like honey, but with just enough edge to let him know you weren’t here to play games. You reached for your pack of cigarettes, matching his vibe, pulling out a long, thin one. You’d been smoking for a while now, and your preference had shifted to the slow, relaxing kind of high that came with marijuana. It was Eddie who had introduced you to it, and he’d been your supplier ever since.

“You know, I was just thinking,” you said, taking a drag of your cigarette. “I could just come to your Hellfire meetings and hang out, but… that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

Eddie’s eyes lit up, amused by your comment. “Are you offering to join the ranks of the legendary Hellfire Club? We might just make an exception for you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you laughed. “I’m just here for the goods today.”

Eddie smirked and fished around in his jacket pocket before pulling out a small baggie. “Got something special today. Gotta try it before you buy it, as always.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s so special about it this time?”

Eddie leaned in closer, the familiar scent of musk and weed mixing with his cologne. “It’s a hybrid—half sativa, half indica. Thought it might be right up your alley. Something that’ll give you a good high, but still leave you with that clear head you like.”

You took the bag from him and examined it, the little nugs inside looking especially pristine. “You really know me, Eddie.”

He chuckled, “Of course I do. We’ve been doing this for what? A year now?”

It had been just about that long since Eddie had first made you one of his regulars, back when you’d stumbled into his world by accident. You remembered the first time you’d asked him for weed, how he’d given you a skeptical look but agreed, a little wary of selling to someone who wasn’t exactly his usual crowd. But you charmed him in your own way, and from that moment on, he’d always had something for you, a steady supplier who treated you like someone more than just a customer.

You smiled, tucking the bag into your jacket. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. You wanna join me for a smoke? Or are you too busy making Hellfire plans?”

Eddie gave a dramatic sigh, looking at the time. “I suppose I could spare a few minutes. The dungeon calls, but I can always get back to my party planning later.”

You led the way, walking to the secluded spot behind the school where the two of you had smoked together countless times. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and weed as you both settled against the brick wall, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot.

As you lit up the joint, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Eddie. His wild hair, his clothes, his whole chaotic energy… It was all so intoxicating. Not just his weed. Him, too.

“Tell me,” you said, as the smoke filled your lungs and drifted lazily upward, “what’s the deal with the Hellfire Club anyway? You guys just get together and play Dungeons & Dragons, or is there something more?”

Eddie chuckled, taking the joint from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment too long. “It’s a little more complicated than that. We’re like… a family. All of us are outsiders in one way or another. We get together and forget about everything else. The world doesn’t always treat us right, but at least we have each other, you know?”

You nodded. “I get it. You guys are a good crew. And, hey, it’s not like the rest of Hawkins is exactly kind to you either. You make it work. That’s what matters.”

Eddie’s gaze softened, his usual devil-may-care expression giving way to something more genuine. “Yeah, well, it’s easier when you’ve got someone like you around.” He paused, almost as if he was waiting for your reaction. “You don’t exactly fit the mold of the rest of the people who hang around here.”

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and gave him a sideways glance. “I’m not like everyone else. Never have been.”

“And that’s why you’re here with me.” Eddie grinned, leaning back against the wall, looking almost mischievous. “You’re not the typical pretty, perfect cheerleader who can’t do anything but look cute. You’ve got brains. And attitude.”

“Is that a compliment, Munson?”

“Take it how you want,” Eddie smirked. “But yeah, it’s a compliment.”

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence, passing the joint back and forth, the world outside fading away. It was moments like these that made you feel like everything was right—like you could forget about the pressure of school, the looming future, and just exist in this small bubble with Eddie.

You could feel the warmth of the sun fading as evening approached, the chill setting in with the promise of a long night ahead. You were getting lost in the high, the connection you shared, and the way Eddie made you feel—like you were the only person who mattered in the whole damn town.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight, Eddie?” you asked, tapping the ash off your cigarette.

“Well,” Eddie began, “we’ve got our usual Hellfire session, but after that, I might just have something a little more… personal planned.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Oh really? And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave you a sly grin, his eyes flicking to yours, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken words. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the weed anymore.

“Maybe we’ll find out after the meeting,” Eddie said cryptically, his tone suggestive.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’m looking forward to it.”

As the smoke continued to swirl around the two of you, the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, and the air grew crisp. Eddie’s words lingered in the space between you, a little mystery in them that you couldn’t shake. There was something more, something beneath the surface of your usual banter, and you couldn’t help but be curious about where it might lead.

“You’re not planning on skipping the Hellfire meeting, are you?” Eddie asked, breaking the comfortable silence, his voice a little teasing. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke that drifted lazily into the cool evening air.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not that heartless. Besides, I’m curious about what new adventures your D&D crew is going to get into.”

Eddie laughed, that deep, infectious chuckle that you always found so endearing. “It’s more than just an adventure. It’s a full-on journey,” he said with a mock-serious tone. “I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. It’s gonna be epic.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You and your Hellfire. You guys are like a secret society, plotting world domination through dice rolls.”

Eddie shot you a wink. “That’s the plan. One dungeon at a time.”

You finished your cigarette and flicked it to the ground, crushing it under your boot. You’d already smoked the joint he’d rolled for you, and now you were feeling that familiar wave of warmth and calm, a gentle high that made everything feel a little more… right. It was hard to explain, but whenever you were around Eddie, time seemed to slow down. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, the company, or a little bit of both, but you always felt at ease with him.

Eddie stood up, brushing off his jacket as he held out his hand to you. “Alright, enough of the smoke break. Let’s get this over with, and then we can really get to the fun part.”

You eyed his hand for a second before taking it, your fingers briefly brushing against his. The touch sent a small shock through you, something electric, and for a split second, you hesitated. But only for a second. You grabbed his hand and let him pull you up, feeling his warmth as he steadied you.

“You know,” you said, giving him a playful smile, “I think I could get used to this. Hanging around with you, I mean.”

Eddie grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “I’m a hell of a lot more fun than most people around here, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, glancing down at your shoes as you both started walking toward the school’s main building. “You definitely are.”

By the time you reached the Hellfire Club’s meeting spot, the large, old boiler room in the basement of Hawkins High, the rest of the group was already there. You’d been to a few meetings before, mostly just hanging out while Eddie and the others played their game, but tonight felt different. It was like you and Eddie were sharing something unspoken, and you weren’t sure if anyone else had noticed.

The air inside the basement was thick with the smell of pizza and soda, and the usual energy of the Hellfire Club filled the room. The usual cast of characters was present: Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will—all the guys who were usually inseparable from Eddie. You were the only one who didn’t quite fit the mold, but that didn’t bother you. If anything, it made you feel like you had an edge, a way of seeing things no one else did. Eddie made sure you were never an outsider.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dustin said with a grin, looking up from the game board where his character was just about to face off against a monstrous dragon. “The queen of cool herself.”

You shot Dustin a playful look, sitting down on the old, mismatched couch in the corner, close enough to Eddie but not directly in his space. Not yet.

“Queen of cool?” you repeated with a raised eyebrow. “You better watch it, Henderson. I could teach you a thing or two about being cool.”

Eddie chuckled, sitting at the head of the table with a smug look on his face. He seemed to enjoy the banter that flowed so easily between you and the others. It was almost as if you were part of their world without needing to be directly involved in their game.

“So, what’s the plan tonight?” you asked, leaning back into the couch, taking another drag of your cigarette. “Are we saving the kingdom again or slaying more dragons?”

Eddie grinned widely, clearly excited. “Oh, we’re doing both, baby,” he said, gesturing to the map he’d spread out in front of him. “We’re heading into the depths of the Underdark tonight. Things are about to get real dark and twisted.”

“Sounds fun,” you said, eyes glinting. You were high enough now to enjoy the sound of their nerdy talk, even if you didn’t totally understand all the references. Hell, you didn’t need to. You were here for Eddie.

The session kicked off with all the usual enthusiasm, everyone getting involved in their characters’ quests and battling off the imaginary beasts Eddie had conjured up. You could see how deeply invested they all were, the way Eddie led them through the storyline with a mix of humor and intensity, his voice deepening as he described the dungeons and creatures that lurked within.

But as the game went on, your mind wandered back to Eddie. He was in his element, clearly, but there was something about the way he kept glancing over at you that you couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just a look—it was a pull, a silent conversation that played out between you and him with no one else in the room aware.

You shifted on the couch, catching his gaze for just a moment. Eddie’s lips quirked into a knowing grin, and your stomach fluttered. You had the feeling this meeting wouldn’t just end with pizza and dice. No, there was something else in the air tonight. Something that had been building up for weeks now.

The game continued into the night, but you could feel the tension between you and Eddie growing with every passing minute. After a while, the guys started to lose interest, their focus drifting from the game to the usual late-night chatter and laughter. Eddie noticed it too, his eyes drifting back to you, and he suddenly stood up.

“Alright, that’s enough of that for tonight,” Eddie announced, standing up from the table. “I think we’ve battled enough monsters for one evening.”

The guys groaned in protest but didn’t push him on it. They were used to Eddie’s whims, especially when his focus shifted elsewhere. He turned to you with a mischievous smile.

“So, you ready to get out of here?” Eddie asked, the question almost too casual, though you could see the spark in his eyes.

You didn’t need to say a word. You just stood up, following him as he made his way toward the door, his hand brushing against yours again. This time, you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed his hand, holding on just a little longer than necessary.

When you stepped out into the cool night air, the world outside seemed quieter, more distant. It was just you and Eddie, two souls connected by more than just weed or friendship. Tonight, it felt like you were on the cusp of something new.

“You know,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “I never figured you for the type to wrap up a D&D session early.”

Eddie’s grin was all teeth. “Maybe I just have better things to do.”

“Better things, huh?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Eddie’s gaze flickered to yours, his tone dropping. “Let’s find out.”

You and Eddie walked in companionable silence, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallways of Hawkins High. The night air was cool, the stars above twinkling faintly as you made your way toward the parking lot. There was a strange, electric buzz in the air—something unspoken, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. The weed was still swirling in your mind, adding a dreamlike quality to everything around you, but it was more than that. It was Eddie.

He stopped just short of the parking lot, turning to face you, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to blur. The only thing that mattered was the way his eyes were locked on you, the way his lips twitched into a smile, like he was trying to figure out something about you—or maybe about himself.

“So,” Eddie started, his voice low, “we’re alone now. The game’s over. No more Hellfire. Just you and me.”

You tilted your head, feeling your heartbeat quicken. “Yeah, I noticed. I’m starting to get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something.”

Eddie took a step closer, closing the gap between you, and you felt that familiar heat rise in your chest. “Maybe I am,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “But I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “Eddie, if you’re trying to be mysterious, it’s working.”

Eddie’s grin spread wider, but there was something different about it now. It wasn’t just playful—it was sincere, almost vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t seen before. His usual bravado was still there, but now it felt like he was letting down some of his walls, just a little.

He took another step toward you, and this time, you didn’t move away. You let him close the space between you, your body responding to his presence in a way that was almost instinctual. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint musk of the weed still clinging to your clothes.

“I think,” Eddie said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve been wanting to say this for a while now, but I didn’t know how.”

You looked up at him, your pulse racing. “What’s that?”

He met your gaze, his dark eyes full of something that made your stomach flip. “I don’t just want to be your weed guy, y’know? I’ve… I’ve been wanting more than that for a while.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. For a moment, you just stared at him, your heart thumping in your chest. Was he really saying what you thought he was saying?

You took a deep breath, your voice steady but filled with curiosity. “More? Like what, Eddie?”

Eddie ran a hand through his messy hair, a nervous habit that you knew well. He was always a little unsure when it came to anything outside of his comfort zone, but you could see that he was trying. Trying to make himself vulnerable in a way he rarely did with anyone.

“I don’t know. I’m not great with words, okay? But I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Not just as… y’know, a friend who smokes with me, or a girl who comes to my Hellfire meetings. I think you know that, right?” His eyes were earnest now, and the usual sarcasm in his voice had faded.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves. This felt different than anything you’d expected when you first started hanging out with Eddie. The connection you shared had always been strong, but this? This was something new. Something uncharted.

“I… I had a feeling,” you admitted, your voice a little softer than usual.

Eddie stepped even closer now, until you were standing mere inches apart. You could feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. It felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you in this moment.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely a breath. “You think I’ve been wanting this too?”

Your eyes flickered to his lips for just a second, before locking with his gaze again. You nodded slowly. “I think you have.”

The smile that broke out on Eddie’s face was the most genuine you’d seen from him all night. His hands hovered at his sides, as if unsure whether to reach for you or not. But you didn’t need to wait for him to make the first move. You stepped forward, your hand resting gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

“Then why don’t you kiss me, Eddie?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with something stronger than curiosity now. Something more like desire.

Eddie’s breath hitched at your words, and for a second, you thought he might freeze up. But instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours just lightly at first, testing. The feeling of him so close to you, his warmth, his breath, the sweet taste of the cigarette smoke still lingering on his lips—it was everything you’d wanted and more.

The kiss deepened, slow and tentative at first, but then with more urgency, more passion, as if neither of you could hold back anymore. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, the heat of his body against yours setting every nerve on fire. You could feel his heartbeat racing beneath your palms, matching your own. His lips were soft but demanding, a perfect mix of tenderness and hunger that had you leaning into him, wanting more. He let out a soft moan, the sound going straight to your core. As he was tilting his head as he continued to dig deeper in your mouth, Eddie’s hand slid up to your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. His lips were warm, urgent, as though he was trying to anchor himself to you in a world that seemed to be falling apart. You responded in kind, your hands tangled in his messy hair as the world outside faded away.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and a little dizzy, you both stood there for a moment, eyes locked. You didn’t need to say anything—everything was clear in the way he looked at you, the way you felt connected in this moment that was somehow both familiar and brand new.

Eddie’s voice was rough as he spoke, his hand still resting gently on your waist. “So… that’s what you were waiting for, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, still feeling the lingering effects of the kiss on your lips. “Maybe,” you replied, voice teasing. “I’m not always the easiest to read, Munson. But I think you figured it out.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed so far away. It was just you and Eddie now, no longer just a supplier and a customer, no longer just friends. Something had shifted, and you both knew it.

“We should probably get out of here before the guys start wondering where we went,” Eddie said after a beat, his voice lighter now, but still laced with that underlying tension. He pulled away, but not too far. “You wanna head back to my place? We can watch a movie, or… whatever.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you both turned toward the parking lot. “I think I’m in the mood for whatever, Eddie.”

He looked at you, that familiar mischievous spark back in his eyes. “I’m glad you said that,” he said, and the two of you headed out into the night, the start of something new between you both unfolding with every step.

The drive to Eddie’s place was short, but the tension in the car felt palpable, the silence between you both almost electric. You had a feeling neither of you quite knew how to break it, but you also didn’t mind. There was something comforting in the quiet, the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the wind as you drove under the streetlights.

Eddie was focused on the road, but you could feel his eyes glancing over at you every now and then, like he was checking in, making sure you were still there, still with him. The air between you was different now, charged with something unspoken, a kind of anticipation that hummed in your veins.

When you finally reached his trailer, the small, worn-down place that had always been a refuge for Eddie, he killed the engine and turned to face you. His eyes were soft now, a little more serious than usual.

“So…” Eddie began, rubbing the back of his neck in that familiar, nervous gesture. “You wanna come inside, or…?”

You gave him a smile, the kind of smile that made your heart race a little. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The two of you got out of the car, and as you walked toward the trailer, Eddie’s hand found yours again, lacing your fingers together. It felt so natural, like it was always meant to be this way. The gesture was simple, but the connection was undeniable. You didn’t need to say anything—there was no need for words right now. The pull between you two was strong enough on its own.

When you stepped inside Eddie’s trailer, the familiar warmth of the place enveloped you. The dim lighting, the cluttered shelves filled with band posters, books, and strange trinkets—it was quintessentially Eddie. It felt lived-in, comfortable, like the world outside didn’t exist here. You’d been in and out of his place a few times before, but tonight, everything felt different.

Eddie turned on a lamp, casting a soft glow across the room, and motioned for you to sit on the couch. He took a moment to grab a couple of beers from the fridge, handing one to you with a grin. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle against yours before taking a long swig.

You watched him for a moment, the way his hair fell in loose waves around his face, the way he moved so effortlessly, like he was always in his element here. There was a sense of calm about him that you admired, something that had drawn you to him from the very beginning.

“So, uh…” Eddie said, his voice slightly hesitant but still light. “What now? We’re alone, and the night’s ours, so… what’s next?”

You tilted your head, leaning back into the couch and looking at him with a mischievous smile. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”

Eddie’s gaze flickered from your face to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might shy away, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed the distance between you, sitting down next to you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” Eddie said softly, his voice almost a whisper. He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, this time more urgent, more insistent, like he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

The kiss was different this time, more than just a playful tease. There was a depth to it, a connection that reached beyond the physical. His hands cupped your face gently, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, your body responding to the heat of his touch. Every kiss, every brush of his lips against yours, was like a promise—one you couldn’t quite understand but couldn’t deny either.

When you finally broke away, gasping for breath, you rested your forehead against his, the soft rhythm of your heartbeats syncing together.

“That,” you breathed, “was… exactly what I needed.”

Eddie chuckled softly, his fingers tracing small circles on your arm as he leaned back, but his eyes never left you. “I’m glad I could be of service,” he said, his voice low and teasing again. But there was something in the way he looked at you that made the teasing feel more like a genuine moment of affection.

You reached up, gently pushing a stray lock of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “You know,” you said with a playful smile, “I think I’m starting to get why people can’t stop talking about you.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Oh yeah? And what exactly are they saying?”

You shrugged casually, trying to hide the way your stomach fluttered at the thought of him. “You’ve got your own thing, Eddie. People like you because you’re different. You don’t try to fit in, and I respect that.”

He let out a soft laugh, clearly pleased by the compliment. “I’m not trying to fit in. Why would I want to be like everyone else?”

“You shouldn’t,” you agreed, giving him a smile that was equal parts affection and mischief. “Being yourself is way better than trying to be anyone else.”

Eddie’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the genuine Eddie, the one behind the jokes and the loud persona—the one who was unsure but never afraid to be authentic. He reached out and brushed his hand over yours, his touch gentle and almost shy.

“I like being around you,” he said, his voice quieter now, a hint of vulnerability in his words. “I always have.”

The sincerity of his words caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I like being around you, too.”

There was a beat of silence between you two, a moment where everything felt perfect, like you were both waiting for something to happen but not in a rush. Eddie’s eyes flickered down to your lips again, and you could feel that familiar tension building once more.

Without saying another word, he kissed you again, but this time, it was slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened, and you responded in kind, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

And for a moment, everything outside of that trailer—outside of this room, outside of Hawkins—faded away. It was just the two of you, lost in each other, lost in a feeling you both had been searching for without knowing it.

When you finally broke away again, both of you breathless and with flushed cheeks, Eddie gave you a soft smile. His thumb brushed over your lip, the gesture tender, and it made your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he said, his voice a little rough from the kiss, “this isn’t what I expected our night to turn into, but I think it’s exactly what I needed.”

You smiled back, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment. “Same here.”

Eddie leaned back into the couch, pulling you with him so that your head rested on his shoulder. The two of you sat in silence for a while, the peaceful quiet of the trailer wrapping around you like a blanket. Outside, the sounds of Hawkins were distant, but here, in this moment, everything felt right.

“I think this is the start of something pretty great,” you murmured, your voice soft but full of promise.

Eddie didn’t say anything at first, but you felt his arm tighten around you in agreement. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice filled with that same warmth. “I think it is.”

And just like that, you both drifted into a comfortable silence, your connection deepening in a way that neither of you had expected, but both of you knew was real.

——————————————-

AN: luv me some eddie, how i do ?

[everlastingdream]

Part 1 - Part 7 - Part 8

Kara bathed in the artificial light, feeling her powers restoring. But it didn't help with her tangled thoughts at all.

J'onn and Alex was planning a mission, Winn was checking the equipment. And Lena...

After declaring that Lilian Luthor was the culprit, Lena's image blurred even with Winn's device still working. She silently took a step outside of the room to disappear completely.

Lena looked really shaken. But then she appeared ten minutes later, face resolute, only to start helping Winn. They seem able to communicate through gestures alone and judging by his exclamations Lena made some good suggestions.

Honestly speaking, Kara was shaken herself. It's not that she was that afraid to face Lilian Luthor, but the thought about the fact that the woman who called herself Lena's mother (even just for the sake of public appearances) tried to kill her... Anger started to boil inside Kara. For her cousin, for innocent people Luthor family hurt, and for Lena.

"Kara? Is everything alright?"

Alex stepped inside the room in dark googles which made her look silly, and Kara smiled despite the situation.

"Yes, thanks, Alex. I think I need another couple of minutes and we can start".

"It's good. But I'm still not sure if we need to do it now. It will be better if have another day or two to get ready".

"Maybe, but I agree with J'onn. We don't know if Lilian knows that we have Lena's files, so it's better to do it fast, even if we won't take her in custody".

"Yes-yes, I know. We'll do it like you both decided. But I was talking about you. Are you okay?" Her sister looked worried even in her funny googles.

"As much as I can", Kara said truthfully, closing her eyes. "I'm nervous about going into Cadmus base, knowing it can have kryptonite. And..."

Alex just waited for her to continue.

"I kinda don't want to go there. I will need to come to terms that Lena... I want to help, really. And I know it was just couple of days, but... I see her, Alex. I hear her. I talk with her. I... I don't want to see her dead body".

They just sat here in silence. Alex, a steady presence by her side. They both pretended that tears didn't slide down her cheeks.

/ / / / / / / / /

"Kara", Lena was floating near, once again visible to only one person.

"Yes, Lena?" Kara wanted to call her name again. To call her enough times so that her name is permanently etched inside her mind.

"Thank you for your help. If not for you... I would've been stuck inside that apartment for eternity. Meeting you was the best moment of my afterlife". Lena chuckled but it sounded wet. Kara couldn't bring herself to look at her.

"I'm glad to meet you too. Even if we didn't know each other for long, I enjoyed our time together".

They fell silent.

"What's your favorite color?" Lena suddenly blurted.

"Red", Kara smiled despite her surprise. "It was one of the colors of my House, and the color of Rao. What's yours?"

"I don't really remember. But I think it either green or blue".

"Not really a fair game of twenty questions."

"I'm a businesswoman, Kara. I'm not really fair".

Kara hoped that she would remember this smile for the long time.

/ / / / / / / / /

They played all the way to the base. Laughing and bickering like they knew each other for many years. And Alex and J'onn who was usually pretty strict about communication on missions didn't say a word.

But they quited down when the entrance to the underground base showed up.

The way inside was easier than expected so everyone was tense. Lena helped by looking through walls which allowed them not to waste time on unnecessary rooms. But they all were wary of letting her go too far because no one was sure what will happen if Lena found her body.

Kara was crossing the hall to one of the wings when doors locked on the both sides. She always thought it was funny. People could search up how she bents metals and crushes concrete but they still thought simple steel locks can stop her.

"Well-well-well, who do we have here? Hello Supergirl. What brought you to one of my facilites?" Speakers in the corners became active with the woman's voice.

"Where is Lena?" Kara asked with all the patience she could master, even if her hands clenched at her sides.

"And who are you to my daughter?"

"I'm a friend", Kara looked right into camera.

Lilian scoffed and judging by the quiet murmur from speakers gave a string of commands.

"Kara, Lilian's not here", Winn intervened in the ear, "I'll try to track her, but it'll be better if you just go find Lena".

Kara turned around, destroying the lock with lasers without any delay. There wasn't a point in listening to the psycopath.

"You can take her", suddenly sounded behind Kara's back. Lilian's voice was cold and sneering. "She was even more useless than I expected. Perhaps she'll have some purpose being your punching bag. After all, you even called 'Luthor' your friend. Surely there has to be at least some purpose like that".

Kara saw Lena freezing in front of her, almost half way to the next door. She was silent and apathetic as soon as they heard Lilian, blank face facing the wall. But now she started flickering rapidly, which looked a lot like trembling.

"Don't you dare talk about Lena like that!" Kara whirled around, powered by rage and an image of Lena's back, so small and vulnerable.

If Lilian was there perhaps Kara wouldn't be able to restrain herself. But now she just blasted a camera and speakers with a good part of the wall. Like from underneath the water she heard Alex's swearing and Winn's aggresive typing. Even if he won't be able to actually destroy Lilian Luthor, but she will have some big troubles after his intervention.

It actually helped Kara to calm down and speed up to Lena. It was another instance when she regreted deeply about being unable to hug her.

"She was always like that", Lena smiled weakly and went ahead without a word.

Kara, worried sick, went after her.

/ / / / / / / / /

They passed through underground complex, defeating mercenaries, who obviously lacked any real skills. Alex reported that back up teams did the same to the reinforcements outside.

Even if it was good, but it's kind of felt like an insult to have Lena guarded so poorly.

"Supergirl, next is the room around which all defences were made. So we think it's our target", Alex paused. "Good luck".

Kara nodded even if her sister couldn't actually see her. She crumpled door, so that no melted metal would hurt Lena's body.

They stood here, not really looking inside. And seeing Lena hesitate to step in the room made Kara feel like she needed to play hero just one more time for her. So she made the first step after a big sigh even if it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Room was small and crumpled. There was a table, a chair and a bed. Nothing to indicate that there was someone's daughter, sister, friend's body lying inside.

There really wasn't a chance that Kara's eyes wouldn't be drawn to Lena the moment they finally were in the same space.

Lena was- Lena's body was lying on the bed. It looked pale, deadly white, which made her raven hair look even darker in comparison. It was dressed in some kind of prison's rob.

Kara sobbed.

"It's a limited collection jacket, Kara!" She pouted, turning her head away.

"Sorry-sorry", Kara laughed gently, lifting her hands up. "I have no idea about wealthy people trends despite working for Cat Grant. The world of fashion changes too fast. But it suits you!"

"Thanks", Lena smiled shy, blushing just a tiniest bit.

She knew. She knew all along that Lena was dead. That when they find her body, Lena won't open her gorgeous green eyes to look and smile at her. That she won't be warm to the touch.

But still, standing there, face to face with reality, Kara couldn't help her tears.

"It's a shame I can't hug you", Lena whispered when she thought Kara fell asleep after talking about small nothings the day they decided to ask Alex for help. "I bet it would've felt nice. And safe".

She lowered on her knees beside the bed, gently taking Lena's hand in hers, flinching from the feeling of cold skin.

Ghost Lena gasped behind her. But all Kara could think about was grieving for a friend who's smile made her heart race. Who was lost forever because of stupid power play in which she didn't even want to participate.

"I really wish we met sooner", Lena said somber. "I would've loved to take you out for a dinner or, you know, hang out. I'm rich enough for you to eat freely with your kryptonian metabolism." She sighed softly.

Kara winked, feeling bolder after meeting Sam.

"I would've loved to hang out even if you didn't spent a cent. I'm not that kind of girl, you know".

Kara lowered her head to the palm of the cold hand, praying that Rao's light helps guide Lena. And then she heard it.

Badum-badum

Kara's own heart painfully squeezed inside her chest to the point of leaving her gasping for air.

She chocked on the tears, which now freely ran down her face.

Kara looked up, ignoring worried voices in her ear.

When her eyes met Lena's she knew that it was really true.

"Y-you are- you are alive..."

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: the slow burn is slow burning

part 10: the inevitable crash

word count: 3,048

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The street was quieter than usual, the night cold and empty except for the occasional passerby. You made your way down the alley toward the Garrison, a slow, deliberate pace, your thoughts more on the events of the past days than the path ahead. The weight of the decision you made—though correct in your mind—Tommy’s amusement at your actions, the tension in the air between the two of you. It was a lot to carry, but it wasn't the first time you’ve found yourself with something weighing you down.

Just as you reached the corner, you heard footsteps behind you, quick, deliberate, the sound of boots on cobblestones. You instinctively reached for your knife—the concept that it could be Arthur or John trying to scare you crossed your mind. But when you turned, the figure that stepped out of the shadows was one you knew all too well.

Bingham.

The one who used to buy information from you. A man who’d never been above using others for his own gain, his reputation dark enough to send a ripple of unease through anyone who dealt with him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The familiar scar across his cheek caught the moonlight.

“You’re walking alone at this hour, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Not a smart move, considering who’s still looking for your services.”

You stood firm, swallowing the minute flinch on your brow. “I’m not in that business anymore, Bingham.”

He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a knowing, calculated glint. “You think I don’t know that?” He laughed softly, but there was something dangerous in it, something that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not asking for your services, darling. I’m offering you a way back in. You’ve got a talent for finding things out. I remember what you're worth. I doubt the great Thomas Shelby and the Peaky Blinders really know.”

You met his gaze without hesitation. “I've kept my connections, Alfred. I've extended my kindness to the Blinders for a modest fee. I don't think anything else will be necessary.”

Bingham tilted his head, stepping closer. His voice quieted, but the threat was all too real, seeping through each word. “Don’t make me remind you what happened the last time you tried to play both sides, sweetheart. You’re a smart woman. Don’t let the Peaky Blinders loyalty cloud your judgment. It’s only a matter of time before they stop keeping you safe and start seeing you as a liability.”

Before you can respond, a sudden, sharp voice erupted from behind you.

“Come now, y/n. I started drinking without you.”

Tommy placed his hand on the back of your neck, his silhouette cutting through the dim light, standing with a calm, controlled presence that you knew so well. His eyes flickered down to you, then back to Bingham. There was no hesitation in his movement, no uncertainty. He was here, and his presence kept the unwelcome guest from getting any closer.

Bingham didn’t flinch, though the subtle tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation. “The Thomas Shelby,” he sneered. “Of all the people to come out and... Save the day. Surprised you didn't send one of your errand boys to fetch her. Didn't think she was worth a rope from the big man.”

Tommy stepped forward, guiding you with him, not bothering with any pretense of diplomacy. He looked down at the ground. His voice was cold, clipped. “You're standing on Blinders property.” He motioned with his hand. "All of this, those buildings. This pub. The rubble beneath your feet. And this woman—" His grip on your neck tightened. "—she's Blinders property as well."

Bingham’s eyes scanned Tommy's face, but he found no trace of humor. There was no doubt in his mind about the power Tommy wielded, especially with the way he stood tall, unwavering. There was a threat in Tommy’s voice that left no room for negotiation, and he knew it.

“I suppose this is where I bid you farewell, y/n,” Bingham muttered, though his bravado was quickly fading. “In time, we will see each other again. I'll make sure of it.”

Tommy didn’t react to the veiled threat. He just raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. “Come around here without an invitation again, and your body will be beneath this rubble. And then you'll be my property, too.”

Bingham chuckled at Tommy's threat, but, with a final glance at you, he stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he appeared. The tension lingered in the air long after he was gone.

Tommy stood there for a moment, his eyes still locked on the spot where Bingham vanished, his jaw tense. He took a slow breath, finally turning to face you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, the concern in his voice softer than usual, though his gaze remains sharp. His hand remained on your neck though his grip eased until it was a gentle hold.

You nodded. “You shouldn't have gotten involved.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed briefly, a hint of something unreadable in them. “I don't know what that fucking was, but I meant what I said.” He paused, looking at you with a touch of seriousness in his eyes. “The Blinders don't take kindly to strangers on our property. Touching our things. And that includes you.”

You placed your hand on his wrist and eased it down. "I'm not your fucking property, Tommy. Don't think I didn't catch that."

"You're a Blinder now, are you not?"

You could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave you a quick, assessing glance before heading for the door of the Garrison.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. “It’s too cold out here for games. Even yours.”

You followed him, the weight of Bingham's warning still hanging in the air, but now you were sure of one thing: Tommy Shelby wouldn’t let anyone take what’s his. Not without a fight. And part of knowing that meant accepting that—even though you would fight to the death to deny it—he believed you were his, too.

Tommy pulled a chair for you and set up behind the bar. He didn't speak. You watched quietly as he popped open a fresh bottle of whiskey. He pulled two glasses, but as he was about to pour yours, you held up your hand.

"Gin tonight."

The confusion quickly washed over his face. He pulled a bottle of gin from below the counter and filled your cup with a couple of inches. He placed the bottle down with a thud and toasted to the air. An odd silence that you'd never experienced with him before drifted over the bar.

He'd look at you occasionally as you sipped your drink, and you returned the glance. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you knew something was brewing in his mind. Whatever he was thinking about, it was heavy. And though you didn't know the depth of it, you could tell he was carrying it alone.

"So, are you thinking about your big white wedding?" you asked quietly in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Bingham, letting the gin roll over your tongue. "A man who drinks in silence in a woman's company always has something like that on his mind."

Tommy didn't often look shocked, but when he did, it brought a smile to your face, knowing that you read him properly. This time, it wasn't the case.

"No," he whispered. "No white wedding. She wore purple."

For once, you hated that you were right. Though he said so little, the sadness beneath seeped into your skin. The news about his wife's death came to you via a drunk Blinder who sat beside you in a pub. Though, the information alone did not carry the weight of Tommy's loss, his melancholy tone said everything you needed to know. The aftermath of your business never returned the following day.

The gin rested against your lip long enough for the burn to turn into nothing. You couldn't leave the conversation this way, but you didn't know how far to push before he'd back down.

"What was her name?" you asked.

Tommy's eyes connected with yours. It was the only proper way to say her name, the only proper way to tell this story. And though the depth of this story had seemingly died with time, it never got any easier.

"Grace. Grace Shelby."

You lowered your gaze, the name of Tommy's ghost imprinting itself deep into your memory. "Do I need to ask if you loved her?"

"No, perhaps not."

You looked around the Garrison, motioning to the air with your glass. "And what did she think about all this? About you."

Tommy tilted his whiskey all the way back then swiftly poured himself another. "She loved me."

"That wasn't my question." You sat up straight and tapped the counter. "I asked what she thought about you."

Tommy stared at you as he processed what you were asking him. It wasn't a kind question. Or maybe, it was. You were being gentle with him, and that wasn't something he was used to. And if someone had tried, he probably didn't notice.

Grace had, until the end, hoped—expected—things would go right. And so he tried if only for her and her memory. He mourned. He wept—in private, but he still did nevertheless.

And now, here you were. Asking if he really knew what Grace wanted. He should have been insulted except your question didn't imply he was wrong. He knew what Grace thought about all of this. And damn if he didn't try.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"I don't think my permission would stop you regardless," he sighed.

"The way you were before her," you started, your voice low and soft, "are you that man again?"

Tommy's jaw tightened. Now, your questions were teetering on things he didn't know how to answer. He eyed you with caution as you raised your hand and rested it on the top button of his shirt.

"When a woman falls in love with a broken man—" You twisted your fingers, and the button came undone. "She finds you with your shirt open. Cold. Exposed. But you don't know any different because that's how it's always been. And then it happens—" Quietly, you refastened it. "—and suddenly you're warm and safe. She buttons you up and reminds you to take care of yourself."

You smiled softly, a kind contrast to his cold stare.

"And when that story comes to a close—" You tugged on his collar with a brief but strong pull, and the button came clean off. It clattered to the bar. You picked it up and held it in between your eyes and his. "—Either you're cold again or you're not."

Tommy took the button from your fingers and held it in his hand. Such a fragile token, he thought. If he played along with your line of thinking, he could throw it in the river and never be warm again. Or he could hold onto it and put himself together once more. He might never know which choice was the right one.

"Look, Tommy. I won't besmirch Grace's name by saying this, so I'll put it plainly." You reached your hand forward and rested it a few inches in front of his. "There are loves in our life that are meant to make us want more."

The faint image of a face formed in Tommy's mind. Grace's smile, the softness of her eyes. He saw it so clearly, greeting him again just as she had in his dreams for so long.

"There are those that make us want less."

Grace's smile turned blurry like a thick fog from the river drifted over, unkind and unwilling to let the light shine through

"There are those who wish us to be more than we are because they alone saw the potential, and those who wish us to be more than we're capable of."

Heavier and heavier, the fog took over her image.

"And then there is a love, only one love, that takes you as you are. As you were. As you ever will be. Because they take all of the shit, the broken pieces, the parts of us that are shattered beyond belief—and damn, they fucking love you anyway."

Until she was gone. Replaced by the sweet dew of vapors, overtaking the memories he held onto so dearly. Your words didn't force him to forget. Many tried and failed. No, you made him see it all differently, lifting the veil that love so crudely pulled over his eyes.

Tommy came out from behind the bar and stood before you, still turning the button between his fingers. His expression hadn't changed since you started speaking, a sign that he was processing all you had to say. If you were wrong, he might've stopped you. If you were right, then he wouldn't admit it.

What was it—that pull you felt? He felt it, too. The softness in Tommy's eyes tugged at you. The need, the desperation for comfort that he would never willingly seek—it was calling you, and you didn't understand why. Until now, he was your reflection, separated by the half-inch of glass in the mirror, but now the two images would coincide and pray they wouldn't shatter the other.

You expected him to flinch when you reached for his cheek, but instead, he accepted it. And you swore, just for a second, his eyes softened further as the warmth met his skin. He leaned into your palm with the briefest movement that could've easily been mistaken for a twitch. Before you could process what was happening, he mirrored you, his hand on your face, pulling you towards him until his temple rested against your cheek.

"You may call me a ghost, but ghosts only travel to those who call them." you whispered in his ear. "Maybe it's time you hang up, and just live."

The room felt like it was closing in around the two of you, the air crackling with the weight of unsaid words and the weight of every shared glance. Tommy was so close, so close you could feel his heartbeat pounding in sync with yours. The pull of him—this was what you expected, wanted even. You wanted the walls to come crashing down until he spilled out before you. The indestructible face of Tommy Shelby melted away for you at last.

Tommy pulled back and his eyes flickered to your lips for just a split second, the raw hunger in his gaze finally bubbling to the surface. He leaned in just enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, your noses brushing as he exhaled. You could taste the desperation, the cold loneliness on his breath.

That taste rolled over your tongue, and the second realization washed over you in an unfamiliar warmth. You hadn't just broken him down. You were reciprocating. The mirror of your hesitation, a fire ignited from two matches burning into char until plumes of smoke poured out into the sky. Both your pieces on the board were at a standstill, locked in a face off that could only end in the two of you being taken out of the game entirely.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you just a little closer—closer than you'd had ever been. His lips hovered above yours, his gaze never breaking from your eyes.

As the space between you disappeared, the door to the Garrison slammed open.

“Tommy?” Arthur’s voice cut through the thick tension like a dagger.

Tommy stiffened, his eyes still locked on yours, but there was a flash of annoyance, a flash of something—something dangerous and almost angry—that passed over his face. He didn’t want to break this. He didn’t want to stop, but reality was harsh. Arthur’s sudden entrance slammed you both back into it.

Your breath faltered, and in that split second, when everything had been on the verge of shattering, you felt something cold rush over you. A rush of self-preservation, an instinctive retreat. Without a word, you pulled back from Tommy’s grip, your heart racing in your chest.

The heat lingered, still hanging heavy in the air, but it suddenly felt distant. You didn’t know how to explain it, how to admit how close you had come to meeting him down in the place where you forced him to stay—and you hated yourself for it. You couldn't let him see even though you'd both emerged from the same pool.

“Arthur,” you said, your voice colder than you'd intended, a mask sliding back over your emotions. “You’ve got a damn good timing.”

Tommy, still standing where you left him, didn’t speak. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He didn’t want to show how much he wanted to follow you, how much he wanted to pull you back into the moment that had slipped through his fingers. But he kept it in check. He had to.

Arthur looked from Tommy to you, his eyes narrowing. He saw the shift in the air, the way you were both too quiet, too controlled, like something had just cracked wide open and was now trying to fix itself. He could feel it in the room—the heat, the power play, the way you had both come so close to something irreversible.

But no one knew who had the upper hand.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, but there was something in his eyes—a protective concern—for both of you. You wouldn't give him the chance to ask. Not now.

“Goodnight,” you snapped, turning on your heel and heading toward the door.

He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment. Then, almost as an afterthought, you glanced back, your movements deliberate.

"For the next deal, I’ll stay hidden. That’s what you expect, right?" Your words were laced with the same sharpness as before, but this time, there was something else behind them. It was the understanding that however this would play out, whichever of you was the first to slip further than intended—that one mistake could break you both.

The moment was broken, and so was your composure.

[dumpywrites]

Osculate - Jung Hoseok / J-Hope

Prompt: You kissed someone at the party last night… but who?

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: friends to lovers, producer! Hobi, slight drama, slow burn(?), mentions of cheating ex

Pairing: Hoseok x she/her reader

a/n: Welcome back Hobi <3 this is my first time writing about him! Also this turns to be longer than expected but we love the drama hehe

The gentle touch. 

The soft feel of a pair of lips touching yours for a brief moment. 

You kissed someone at the party last night… but who?

The thoughts were going on circles in your head. 

The first thing you realized when you woke up was a pang of headache. Of course, you were supposed to listen to your friends. Maybe drinking gin straight from the bottle wasn’t such a good idea. Of course it was not, but your ex was in the function.

The worse part was that he couldn’t even be considered as an ex. It had been a little over six months since the whole drama with Jaehyun. You went through somewhat of a situationship with him. Honestly, you liked the guy, couldn’t exactly say you had strong feelings for him, but you both agreed to enjoy the flow and get to know each other at a slow pace. For two months you both did all things couples do without any label, but it was not the main problem cause you had a conversation before about it… right? WRONG. He had a girlfriend the whole time. What a joke. 

Truth to be told, you were not that upset to see his face there. To you, even though he had basically ruined your perspective of men forever, it was all in the past. You couldn’t forgive him but there was nothing you could really do, life was just like that sometimes. What disheartened you was your friends inviting him in the first place. 

You had only ever told the whole story to two of them, that being Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon was the one who you called the first second you found out, and Jungkook the next day since you knew Jaehyun from him after all. You hoped that telling him would at least make him consider their friendship and to not trust him anymore, but you continued to see him occasionally in the photos of their stories.

Maybe Namjoon and Jungkook never told the others about it, it wasn’t their fault that Taehyung didn’t know and decided to invite him to his birthday party. Who knows, who cares. You were on your sixth shot of the night and you were feeling emotional. Fuck your friends for being insensitive really. 

Soon after the shots turned into drinking directly from the bottle, the memories were quick to fade away in a blur. 

“How did I even get here…” You mumbled to yourself. You still had the mini dress from last night on, but you were wearing your hoodie on top of it. You wondered if this happened because the person who helped you knew where you kept your hoodies. Coming from the party, the only people who could possibly knew that information were probably Namjoon, but that man couldn’t drive to safe his life. Was it Jin? After all he also had been to your place a few times before to play some video games, at least he knew where your bedroom was. 

The noise coming from your kitchen did sound suspicious though. 

“Hoseok?!”

You were very surprised to find him, considering he had never been to your place before and you couldn’t remember any major interaction with him the night before. 

“Finally!” His smile almost blinded you. “You alright? Sorry I had to use your kitchen, but I made us some pancakes.”

“I’m fine, thank you… I uh… what happened?” You said, sitting down on your dining table. 

“You got super drunk last night, long story short I got you here. Namjoon helped but he had to leave. We were worried to leave you alone, so that's why I'm here. Thank God you got your keys on a carabiner on your belt, or else we wouldn’t be here.”

“Gosh, what happened in between?”

“Nothing much, you were just dancing around, spilled drink on Taehyung and his girlfriend, not sure it was an accident though, and unfortunately you couldn’t make it to the ladies restroom so you puked right in front of the door.”

“Shit…” You facepalmed. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“Come on, I’ve seen you drunk before it’s fine.” He said while placing the pancakes on two different plates. 

“But it wasn’t like this.” You shook your head. 

“It’s fine.” He smiled, somehow the look in his eyes softened. “After what happened with Jaehyun, honestly… I get it.” 

“Oh.” You looked down to your lap. “Did Namjoon tell you?” 

He paused, finally taking a seat next to you on your small dining table. “You kinda told me last night…”

“Of course I did.” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Sorry for trauma dumping, I guess.” 

“You don’t remember anything?!” 

“I don’t remember anything after I finished that bottle of Bombay Sapphire.” You shrugged, bitting your inner cheek. 

“That’s… unfortunate.” He flashed a disappointed grin. “Although I must say, I’ve always secretly hated that guy for no reason, glad to finally have one.” He sneered. 

You looked at him amusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me before?!”

“Dunno, I just feel like I don’t have anything to backup my opinion and I saw how you looked at him. I just knew you wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”

“Fair.” You said with a spoonful of pancake in your mouth. 

“Hey, I’ve told you this yesterday but I’m gonna repeat myself again since you don’t remember anything,” He smiled, moving his body to face your direction. “It’s not your fault. He did that because he’s a bad person and that has nothing to do with your quality as a human being.”

You sighed. “Seems like I done told you my insecurities as well.” You threw a sad smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“If you ever need validation again, come to me. But I’ll be charging you next time.” He grinned and proudly opened his arms. 

You laughed. “The pancake’s lowkey fire though, I must say. I’ll treat you a meal next time.”

You ended up ordering some Chinese food while watching old Harry Potter movies in the background. Somehow the conversation just kept going and you didn’t know before that hanging with Hoseok was this much of fun. You even let him borrow an oversized T-shirt of yours before going home, since you felt bad that he was still with what he wore yesterday. 

You had fun and the question of a faint memory soon left your mind. Why bother? It was probably just a stranger that you would rather not know about. 

From later getting the meal you promised him, the friendship only continued to blossom more from there. 

**

It was a random day after work when you decided to join Yoongi and Namjoon in their studio. Hoseok was supposed to join later after visiting his parents. The cool thing about having producer friends was that you could basically get free early listen to various singers’ songs. And their studio being very cozy and spacious was also a plus point. The company they worked for was also quite chill about visitors. 

“Jimin just texted me, he said he wants to join just for the preview of the song I’m writing for Megan Thee Stallion.” Namjoon said after reading his text. 

“Isn’t his dance class not done until eight or something?” You asked. 

“He recently switched to morning shift, I heard. Something about being too old to teach in that hour.” Yoongi chuckled. 

“He always say that, but I just know he’s gonna be the healthiest when we are old, cause all of us have jobs that requires multiple hours of sitting down. Unlike him.” You said. 

“Ain’t that right.” Yoongi groaned, suddenly fixing his posture. “By the way, where’s Hobi?” 

“Didn’t he tell you? He’s visiting his parents so he’ll be a little late.” You replied. 

“Just found out about that now.” Namjoon replied, suddenly eyeing Yoongi suspiciously. 

“Well, he’ll probably just be an hour late so don’t worry.”

“You’ve been hanging out with him a lot, I see.” Namjoon said. “Even heard you calling him Hobi now too.”

“All thanks to that drunk accident, I found out over trauma dumping that I actually like hanging out with him.” You shrugged.

“Geez, don’t remind me. It was so hard to convince you to come home that day.” Joon complained. 

“Wait, speaking of that day…”

You had heard the story about when you got drunk and what happened in between. But none of their stories ever mentioned about you kissing someone, which was ironic considering that was actually the only part that you faintly remembered about that night. You were sure you were not dreaming, fantasizing even. You knew it was real. You just needed to know with whom it happened, if any chance your friend witnessed the scene. 

“Did you guys see me kissing anyone that night?” You looked at the guys back and forth. 

“You kissed someone?!” Namjoon gaped. “This is another news to me.”

“I didn’t even see you half of the party cause you were mostly at the dance floor and I never even left the table.” Yoongi said. 

You sighed. “I guess it’s probably just some stranger then. I just hope it’s not Jaehyun, because hell no.” You scrunched your nose in disgust. 

“Can’t be him, he was also mostly at our table. Only left after you spilled drink all over Tae and his girl. We got you home right after that.” Namjoon explained. 

“I need to thank you for that, cause heaven knows that fucker wouldn’t stop talking about his new job and how much pay he gets now. Like dude, shut up.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know if Joon or Jungkook ever told you but… something horrible happened between me and Jaehyun.” You looked at Yoongi. 

“I never told them, neither did Jungkook. We thought it wasn’t our place to say so. Looking back at what happened though, we should’ve said something. I’m sorry.” The taller guy said, looking at you with concern in his eyes. 

“It’s fine, I totally get it.” You assured Namjoon. “Me and Jaehyun used to have this situationship thing going on, until I found out that he has a girlfriend.” You said to Yoongi. 

“He has a girlfriend?!” Yoongi asked with widened eyes. You knew it was serious when he started to show a big reaction. 

“Yeah, I don’t think he intends to tell you guys about it too, to maintain his image and all.” 

“That shithead told us he only has two exes and barely go on dates.” Yoongi gritted his teeth. “Why are we still friends with him??? This is fucked up!”

“Jungkook didn’t know the whole story, it’s my fault.” Namjoon spoke again. 

“Guys, it’s fine… I don’t expect you to stop hanging out with someone just because they wronged me.” 

“Uh, you should???” Yoongi protested. “You are our friend too.” 

Your heart softened at the reaction. “I don’t want you guys to fight though…”

“We could just stop inviting him to our hangout.” Yoongi shrugged. 

“We need to tell the others about this, are you sure you’re okay with that?” Namjoon asked, his right hand patting your shoulder. 

“I guess it’s about time.” You sighed. “Just please promise me you’ll hold Jin down in case he wants to throw hands.” You folded your arms, holding back a smile. 

Namjoon laughed. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Just seconds later, you heard the door cracked open. 

“You guys are gossiping without me???” 

Hobi spoke as he entered the studio. He was wearing a jacket, which he took off right upon entering the room, revealing his black T-shirt that now seemed to be slowly transforming into a compression tee with him going to the gym lately. 

“Does he know?” Yoongi asked. 

You nodded. 

“What? What are you talking abou— Oh… don’t tell me it’s about that loser…”

Yoongi’s lips popped a “yup” while Namjoon just sighed. 

“We can finally agree that we should never invite him ever again now, right?” Hoseok said as he took his designated chair. 

“One hundred percent.” Namjoon said, nodding. “By the way, have you ask Hobi if he saw?” The guy pointed at Hoseok while looking at you. 

“Oh.” Your eyebrows raised. “Actually no, I haven’t. Hobi, did you see me kiss anyone at the party?”

Suddenly, the said guy choked on nothing. He quickly fixed his tinted sunglasses, only to then awkwardly take them off, putting them on the table next to his keyboard. 

“I’m sorry, what?!” Hoseok straightened his posture. 

“I’m sure it’s not that much of a surprise, you’re overreacting.” You chuckled. 

“I don’t know… maybe? Who knows. Do you even remember where it happened?” 

You looked at the guy with slight skepticism. “I don’t know. I can’t even remember the face. I remember the feeling??? If that’s not TMI.” You faked a cartoonish shiver. 

“Did you not… like it?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You tilted your head slightly, pondering. “I remember feeling really soft lips, and I actually don’t remember disliking it in any way. But I don’t even know if I was the one who initiated the kiss.” 

“I see.” The guy turned away to face his computer screen. “At least you liked it.” 

“I guess so.” You shrugged. 

Jimin later joined as promised. Both of you quietly listened as the three producers continued on their work. You went out for dinner afterwards and Hobi offered to drive you home, since you used public transport.

There was a bit of oddity in his action’s that night towards you but you couldn’t put a finger on what. He just seemed a like he was holding back something and you didn’t know why. 

You also wondered since when did you start to notice how attractive Hoseok was. Had he always been this way? You were sure he did not change that much from the first day you got to know him. Because lately, he had been glowing, his smile looked extra bright, and the hair looked extra fluffy. 

Sure his fashion taste had developed over the years but he still looked pretty much the same. Maybe you were just dumb not to realize it sooner. Or maybe it’s the new workout routine. Yes, it must be that.

**

You found yourself hanging out yet again at the three’s studio. This time with only Hoseok, since he got something he needed to revise. You were nearby and decided to drop by with some pizzas, knowing how often these guys forgot to eat while working. After texting the group chat, you found out Hobi was the only one there, but the pizza had been bought anyway so you wouldn’t want it to go to waste. 

“Man, remember when you used to be such a fanboy for J.cole? Can’t believe you’re producing for him now. I’m so proud of you, man.” You took a bite of the slice of pepperoni pizza in your hand. 

“I know right? I can’t believe he randomly came across my SoundCloud archive.” He grinned happily. 

“You should try, you know… being an artist? You even dance well. Jimin’s words not mine.” 

“Nah, I don’t think I can handle the fame.” He shooed. “Besides, I don’t think I look good enough to be an idol.” He laughed. 

“Are you kidding me?!”

That sounded way too loud from what you intended. 

“Why? You actually think I look handsome or something???” He said with a judgy expression, almost as if he couldn’t believe you. 

“Hasn’t anyone actually told you that?”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so— why though???” He seemed truly curious. His eyes visibly widened and he scoffed closer with his chair. 

“Don’t fucking ask why!” You retrieved, actually moving away slightly on the couch. “It just crossed my mind, okay?”

He chuckled. “Are you actually being shy right now?” 

“No, I’m not!” You widened your eyes in horror when he got up from his seat, seemingly moving to sit next to you. 

“It’s fine, I get that you don’t actually wanna admit that I’m hot.” He smirked. 

“Aren’t you the same person who literally seconds ago said that he isn’t good looking enough???” You rolled your eyes. 

He took a slice and munched a big bite. He shrugged at you with a downturned smirk. 

“Forget I ever said that.” You scoffed. 

“You too.” He said after swallowing the food. “I think you’re attractive as well.”

You paused. The atmosphere had now suddenly turned thick. Your lips went tiny bit ajar, starring at him with an unbelievable look. 

“It hasn’t changed since the first time I met you. I’ve always thought you’re attractive.”

“Do not say stuff like that.” You looked away, feeling your body burning up, stomach roamed with butterflies. “You’re making me feel weird.” 

You didn’t know what you did but something changed in his eyes after you said that. His face was now only inches away from you. You didn’t think you had seen him looking this serious before ever in the whole time knowing him. 

It felt too weird, so weird that the back of your mind was quietly suggesting to claim his lips. The idea sounded odd but somehow not unheard at the same time. Should you be weirded out that you were thinking of kissing your friend or should you be weirded out by the fact that the thought of kissing him didn’t sound that preposterous to you? Your silly little brain could only handle so much. 

The sound of door knob turning saved you, or maybe not. Both of you instantly jolted and faced the direction of the entrance. 

“Am I interrupting?” Namjoon peeked. 

“N-No.” You awkwardly scooted away from Hoseok. “I thought you won’t be coming?”

“I left my hard drive.” The tall guy said as he moved towards his desk and grabbing the said item. 

“I see… Uh, do you want pizza? We still have some.”  

“Nah, just had dinner at home. You guys have fun though!” He gave a thumb up before exiting through the door. 

“Yeah, that’s weird.” Hoseok said, putting down his unfinished slice of pizza that he still had in his hand the whole time. “I’m sorry.” He giggled awkwardly. 

“I know right?” You laughed as well, but it sounded so fake that you internally gagged. 

That night the thought of his eyes looking at yours sent electricity down your spine. The butterflies in your belly kept you awake. 

**

After that, the mystery kiss never really crossed your mind again. At the end of the day, you were just glad it was not he who shall not be named. 

Just when your mental state was heading towards a better direction, your luck decided that you had to bump into the said guy, Voldemort himself, Jaehyun. God forbid a woman just wanted to grab herself some snack at a nearby convince store. Of course his new job was near your home, because why wouldn’t it be. The universe just loved to toy with you like that. 

“Y/N? Here let me get that for you…”

“No, thank you.” You forced a smile and shook your head at the cashier, signaling the lady to take your card. 

“It’s fine, they’re just biscuits anyway.”

“And I can pay them myself.” You said and quickly stormed away, hoping you would be left alone. 

“Wait!” He called, but you continued to walk out the store, unbothered. 

You squirmed in disgust when you felt his hand stopping you by your wrist. You stopped but shook his hand off immediately. “What?”

“Can we talk? I’ll be quick I promise.” He said, sounding almost begging. 

“No, there’s literally nothing in this world that can excuse what you did to me so I don’t want any further explanation.” 

“I… I feel so guilty. The past few months I’ve been so grossed out about myself…” He spoke out anyway. He looked at you with a pathetic expression. 

“You did something bad so of course you were supposed to feel awful about it. What part of this is my problem?” 

“I think you deserve a proper apology. So… I’m sorry.” 

“Are you still dating that girl?” You asked sternly. 

“No, we broke up due to distance.”

“Good. That innocent woman doesn’t deserve a lying and cheating fucker like you.” You folded your arms. “Is that it?! I would like to leave now.”

“Are you with Hoseok now?”

“What do you mean??? Are you out of your mind?! What made you thi—”

“I saw both of you kissing at Taehyung’s party.”

A few circuits in your brain just snapped because what in the fresh hell was that. All this time, the mystery man was Hoseok all along??? But he never once told you anything about it, even after you mentioned it. Is it embarrassing for him? Did he regret it? And worse, did you force yourself on him??? There were so many questions pilling up in your head. 

Seeing your zero response, he spoke again. “So, you’re not dating him then?”

“It’s literally none of your business.” You simply said before moving your feet to leave him in a flash. 

You were walking, running maybe? You couldn’t even think straight. You had not even reached your apartment complex yet, but you already took your phone out, calling Hoseok without giving it a second thought. 

“What’s up?” You heard the man picking up the call. “You don’t usually call…”

“I kissed you.”

The line went silent for some good second, before you heard him clearing his throat. “You finally remember?”

“Why didn’t you tell me???” You raised your voice. “I even asked you before!”

“It’s a lot more complicated than what you think.” He sighed. “And correction, we kissed. I kissed you back so you weren’t the only one doing the kissing here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. 

“Are you home? Can I come over?” You heard him sighing again. 

“Uh, yeah I am.” You bit your lips, feeling extremely nervous all of the sudden. “Sure, I guess…”

“Okay.” Was all he said before hanging up the call. 

You were now pacing back and forth at your apartment lobby. The security was already giving you funny looks and so did some of the passerby. You couldn’t care less though, because truthfully, your mind was filled with endless possibilities of what happened and how it happened. Deep down you were glad it was him, but the real question was did he feel the same?

By the time Hoseok arrived you were already sitting on the lobby sofa, clasping your hands together out of cold. The aircon and night air were not such a big help with your nervous sweaty palms. Not to mentioned Hobi in his casual clothes… you might be biased but still!

The walk to the lift and to your room was silent. You wanted so badly to make a small talk, but you couldn’t make yourself to open your lips. And the man who you knew as one of the most cheerful person out there, was dead silent as well, which was killing you. 

“Do you want to drink something?” You finally said after a few minutes of unwieldy silence between the two of you. 

“N-No need!” He shook his head. Did he just stutter?

“Okay.” You took a seat on your couch, in which he followed shortly. 

He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “At first I saw you crying silently near the toilet. You just left after the whole drink-spill accident and clearly were not walking straight. I was worried so I followed you there. By the time I reached you, you had already puked…”

“I’m sorry.” You cringed at the thought of him seeing you puke. 

“It’s alright. Fortunately, you didn’t dirty your clothes from it.” He smiled. “I helped you walk out from the club, and that was when you started telling me everything. I feel so bad that I couldn’t do anything about it other than listening to your cries. But a few minutes later, Jaehyun showed up.”

Your eyes widened. “What did he do?”

“Apparently he was looking to talk with you privately but never got the chance.”

“And what happened?”

“I told him to scram.” He chuckled. “Honestly, I’m proud of myself for not punching him in the face that day. How dare he appear right in front of me just minutes after I found out how much of an ass he is?!!” He said in disbelief. “But he refused to leave.”

“Oh…” You began to see where this was going. 

“He was saying a bunch of nonsense I couldn’t even recall, and just out of the blue, you grabbed me by the collar and just… kissed me.”

You blushed upon hearing the words coming out from Hoseok’s mouth. 

There seemed to be a light shade of pink on his cheeks. “I was so taken aback I didn’t know what to do. I mean… I couldn’t believe the girl I’ve been secretly crushing on just kissed me!”

Wait, what?

**FLASHBACK**

“I just want to talk to her!!!” Jaehyun insists. 

“She’s too drunk right now, so fuck off.” Hoseok spat out. 

“Then I’ll take her home.”

“Over my dead body.” 

And that was when you suddenly pulled him for a kiss. It all happened so quick, that even Jaehyun was also at loss for words, but Hoseok kissed you back, eagerly. That of course made Jaehyun even more uncomfortable, enough to make him finally leave the scene. 

The two of you didn’t stop kissing though. Not for a while. Despite being the sober one, Hoseok lost track of time by the touch of your lips. For a moment it was just you, and your friend, making out in front of a club entrance. The club was at the fifth floor of a building, so you were just kissing each other intensely, next to the elevator, against the glass window, like a couple of hormonal teenagers hungry for each other.

Anyone could see you, in fact, one of your friends might caught you on the act, but that did not stop Hoseok. What stopped him was the thought of you being heavily intoxicated. He did not want to take advantage of you, and clearly did not want you to think about him that way in any shape or form. And so he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry… that shouldn’t have happened.”

Your eyes looked glistening, cheeks red, and your lips were swollen. It took Hoseok almost everything in him to not just grab you and go back to kissing you like crazy. 

You looked up, staring at him with droppy eyes and started tearing up again. You just looked so helpless in his eyes. He was so desperate to ease your pain, but he had no idea how, or even if he were allowed to in the first place. 

“Hey, it’s not your fault… you know.” He sighed and took your right hand, intertwining it with his. “He’s a horrible person and that has nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful. You’re one of the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

You only continued to sob, so he pulled you in and hugged you softly. He let you cry for a while before Namjoon and Jimin found both of you outside. They decided it was best if he took her home so Namjoon told him your address and followed Hoseok to his car. 

It was quite the struggle, supporting you and helping you walk to your apartment unit. By this time you were passed out already, so Namjoon offered to carry you, in which Hoseok volunteered in instant. 

Thankfully, your keys were attached to your belt, dangling by a hook carabiner you always liked to use, so it wasn’t hard opening the door. Namjoon opened the door and Hoseok laid you down on the sofa. He took off your shoes carefully before setting them aside. It didn’t seem right to just leave you like that so both of them thought it would be best if someone stayed. 

Long story short, Hoseok carried you to your bedroom. Saw your hoodie laying around and decided to put it on you and leave you in your room. The tiredness then caught up to him, so he crashed out on your couch. 

**

“And that’s all!” The man smiled at you. 

“Hobi, I…” You were speechless. “Thank you… first of all.”

“Don’t mention it. I was happy to help.”

“I didn’t know you have a crush on me…” You said while awkwardly avoiding eye contact. 

“At this point I don’t think it’s still a crush anymore…” He breathed out. “I like you, like a lot now.” He grinned happily.

You were once again too stunned to speak. 

“Well, now that it’s out of the bag, I hope it won’t make things weird between us…” He scratched the back of his head. 

“Jung Hoseok, I literally like you too.” You finally said, making you flushed so red that it reached your ears. 

“You do??? Forreal???” He grabbed both of your hands. 

“Yes, for real.” You giggled, still blushing. “Should we kiss again to seal the deal?” 

“Say no more!”

He stood up, which made you raised your eyebrow at him. But a yelp soon escaped your mouth when he suddenly lift you up, twirling you around before kissing you on your lips passionately. You smiled through it, kissing him back with equal devotion. His lips felt so familiar, but not because you had kissed him before. In fact, you barely remembered how it happened. It was because his touch made you felt secured, so safe, like you were finally at home. 

Thank you for reading! 🪩

[finelinefae]

reaching out [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: just one moment out of very many of tennis!h pining over y/n before they teamed up.

word count: 5.5k

contains: enemies to lovers, pining h, angst, abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, tennis rivals, fluff

a/n: very first tennis!h blurb omggg - i missed my babies so much!! For those who don't know, this is a blurb for my tennis!h series which you can read here !!

. . .

Harry stretched his legs, working his calf muscles, as people settled into their seats in the stands. Today was a big day, one that had drawn a large crowd, but he paid them no mind. Performing in front of a big audience never shook Harry’s confidence. When it came to tennis, his focus was entirely on the game.

It was the county cup semi-final. Harry had competed in the same event last year, finishing in second place behind Henry Waver, who took home the gold before heading to rehab a month later for using performance-enhancing drugs. Harry had come a long way since then, and he was determined to make it to the final and claim first place.

Some might have thought Harry no longer needed to compete in these smaller events, given his path toward qualifying for the Olympics, but he couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the rush of winning, or perhaps the quiet focus that settled over him when the game began—just him, his opponent, and the swift rhythm of the ball being hit back and forth between them.

He walked over to his bench, some people cheering as he walked onto the court. He was wearing all white, a towel around his shoulders and his racket bag hanging from his shoulder. He reached for his water bottle, pouring it into his mouth. 

His eyes scanned the growing crowd, but there was no sign of his parents—not that he had expected anything different. He caught a glimpse of Mitch chatting with a few girls from their year group on the stairs, but Harry's focus shifted immediately to the center of the stands, only to find it empty.

A frown tugged at his lips, the first sign of emotion since this morning. He glanced around, searching for the one person his heart longed to see, but before he could spot her, his coach clapped him on the back.

"Remember what we worked on yesterday—don’t overstep the baseline and make sure to follow through," his coach muttered, his tone more routine than encouraging.

Harry barely registered the words. He shrugged off his coach’s hand, distracted. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled, his mind still preoccupied with trying to figure out why she hadn’t shown up yet.

The opposing crowd erupted into cheers as Lionel Boyce stepped onto the court, raising a hand to acknowledge their applause. Harry barely spared him a glance. He had crossed paths with Lionel plenty of times in his tennis journey and knew the truth behind the polished exterior—Lionel was an arrogant opportunist, desperate for sponsorship deals.

Harry took a swig of water, his grip tightening on the bottle as he set it down and reached for his racket. The game was drawing closer, but the empty seat in the center of the stands—the one he had been watching all afternoon—remained vacant. His chest tightened at the thought of someone else filling it. He wasn’t sure how he’d play with a stranger sitting there instead of the person he was hoping for.

The umpire climbed into his seat, and the announcement for the game’s start echoed across the court. Harry felt a firm pat on the back from his coach as he stepped forward.

“Go show him what you’re made of,” his coach said with a nod.

The crowd erupted as Harry walked onto the court. Most of the cheers came from the Crestwood supporters, and while it wasn’t the loudest reception, it was enough to steady his nerves.

Across the court, Lionel sauntered into position, basking in the applause. Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as Lionel flashed his best grin to the crowd. He didn’t miss the way a group of girls in the front row seemed to swoon, whispering excitedly among themselves.

The umpire adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, play shall begin. First set—Harry Styles to serve."

Harry stepped into position at the baseline, gripping his racket tightly. As always, he raised it and pointed toward the center of the crowd—a ritual that steadied his nerves and granted him good luck for the game.

But this time, his breath hitched.

There she was, sliding into the seat he’d been watching all afternoon. Y/N.

Her eyes found his almost instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him fell away—the roaring crowd, the pressure of the match, even Lionel’s smug presence on the other side of the net. It was just her, sitting there with that familiar stoic expression.

A small smile tugged at Harry’s lips. She was always like this at his matches, focused and intense, watching every move with the same concentration as if she were playing herself. Her unwavering focus sent a spark of determination surging through him.

He adjusted his stance, exhaling slowly as he prepared to serve. With her gaze burning into him, he played to win the entire thing. 

. . .

Mitch had thrown a party to celebrate Harry’s victory over Lionel, just as he always did whenever Harry won anything. It was a tradition Harry had grown fond of, even though he often found himself dreading the expectation to win every time he played. Victory wasn’t typically celebrated in his world—it was expected. But his friends? They always found a way to make a big deal out of it, and Harry appreciated that, even if the attention wasn’t his favorite part. Being around his friends was.

Harry stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of something he couldn’t identify. Mitch was across the room, chatting animatedly with Sarah. Harry was pretty sure Mitch had been infatuated with her ever since she’d transferred to Crestwood four years ago. Watching them, he wondered if Mitch would ever work up the courage to act on it.

He couldn’t help but glance around, hoping to spot someone else. He knew Sarah’s best friend and roommate might be here, too, but there was no guarantee. Unlike Sarah, who thrived on Crestwood’s social gatherings, her quieter counterpart was more selective about where she spent her evenings.

“Hi, Harry.” He turned to see Astrid approaching, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing with a fresh tan from her recent holiday in the Maldives. He’d only known about it because his mother, after scrolling through Facebook, couldn’t resist mentioning it during their last phone call.

“Hey, Astrid,” Harry said with a polite smile. He didn’t mind her company, but unlike most of the guys in their year, he didn’t feel attracted to her in the same way they did. Sure, she was stunning—legs for days, an effortless smile—but their shared interests barely went beyond tennis and the fact their parents were friends. Friends who, annoyingly, had been dropping hints about the two of them dating for as long as Harry could remember.

“Congrats on the win. You were amazing out there,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced.

“Thanks. I heard you did well at the Championships the other week,” he replied. He hadn’t actually seen her match but knew through their coach that she’d won.

“Yeah, I’m hoping to qualify for the Australian Open,” she said, her grin widening.

Harry nodded, letting the conversation drift until his gaze caught something—or rather, someone—in the living room. His heart skipped a beat.

There she was.

Her smile lit up her face, radiant and warm, eclipsing even the moonlight streaming through the large windows. Her hair spilled to one side, leaving her neck bare, and she was wearing a sleek black maxi dress paired with chunky heels—an outfit so out of the ordinary for her that it was almost disarming. Harry’s eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but he didn’t care. He’d been hoping she’d come.

His smile faltered when Adam appeared beside her. Harry’s stomach tightened at the sight. He knew Adam had a soft spot for her—he’d admitted as much—but assured everyone he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Still, seeing them together made something uneasy churn in Harry’s chest.

“Harry?” Astrid’s voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she’d been saying. She followed his line of sight and spotted Y/N. Her tone shifted, tinged with something that wasn’t quite approval.

“Oh, Y/N’s here,” Astrid remarked flatly. “I’m surprised after…everything.”

Harry’s head whipped toward her, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, her surprise seeming genuine. “One of my friends was at the Country Club a couple of weekends ago. She got lost trying to find the bathroom near the pool and overheard her dad yelling at her—apparently for getting a bad grade on her report card. She said he slapped her.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, cold fury replacing the unease. “He what?”

Astrid shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ve always thought her family was messed up. My dad had a horrible experience at their Country Club—almost sued them after Mom got food poisoning there.” She kept talking, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore.

His attention snapped back to Y/N, watching her closely. Something was different. To anyone else, she probably seemed the same, but Harry knew her too well. He noticed the way her fingers twisted together, fidgeting nervously. Her smile, though bright, didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her makeup seemed heavier than usual; she rarely wore much or applied it sparingly, but today, it looked as though she was trying to mask something—maybe a shadow or imperfection on her cheek, though he couldn’t be sure.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. If what Astrid said was true, there was no doubt in his mind—he’d track down her father and make him regret it in ways that didn’t bear sunlight. But first, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. The problem was, Harry knew her well enough to realise she wouldn’t just open up if he asked. They weren’t even friends. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Y/N didn’t like him at all. 

It wasn’t really a surprise, considering how they’d met—and the fact that he’d spent most of his days tormenting her just to get her attention. It was childish, he knew, but it was easier than admitting how much he actually cared. And he did care—more than he should, more than she probably realised. Beneath all the teasing and arguments, she mattered to him. So, if she was hurt, none of that other stuff mattered. He just needed to make sure she was okay.

When Harry saw Adam walk away, he seized the opportunity to sneak in. As if she could sense his presence, Y/N looked up, her smile immediately fading, and her jaw tightened. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something exhilarating about her reaction, the way she shifted from neutral to visibly irritated, even if it was driven by nothing but disdain for him.

“I’m surprised you were willing to show up, love,” he said, his voice carrying the familiar, mocking tone.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with irritation at the nickname, her posture stiffening even further. Harry had always loved calling her that—it was almost like a reflex, especially since she absolutely hated it. He relished in the way she bristled, every time.

“Not so willingly, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, her arms folding across her chest. “I’m only here because Sarah wanted me to come.” She still hadn’t taken a sip from her drink, Harry noticed, as if it were some kind of shield between them.

“Excuses, excuses.” He clicked his tongue with a grin, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “What did you think of the match?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his question. “You care what I have to say?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice.

“No,” Yes. he replied, his eyes gleamed with a spark of challenge. “But I know you’ve got something to say anyway.”

She gave him a wry smile, the faintest hint of a laugh on her lips. “Well, it wasn’t one of your best, that’s for sure. Your tracking was terrible. You were lucky Lionel cared more about his appearance than his technique.”

Harry couldn’t suppress the chuckle that escaped him. He knew she wasn’t wrong—tracking had been off, and Lionel had certainly played a little too carefully. The dig was unsurprising to say the least but he took it all on board.

“You always have such charming critiques, don’t you?” Harry smirked. “Should I be worried about your career in commentary?”

Y/N’s replied, the sarcasm was back in full force. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stick to calling it how I see it. You wouldn’t last five minutes with me in your corner, would you?”

Harry leaned in a little closer, their banter familiar and comfortable despite the tension. “You’d be too distracted by my charm to focus,” he said with a grin, savoring the challenge in her eyes.

Y/N scoffed but couldn’t entirely hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Right. I think you’d find me too busy pointing out all the flaws you refuse to see.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, the intensity between them palpable in the silence that followed.

“So,” Harry started, the tone shifting slightly, more serious, “what else? What else did you think of the match?” He genuinely wanted to know—part of him knew her critique might actually help him. But the other part of him just liked the way she made him think.

Y/N seemed to hesitate for a split second, the walls she kept up around her cracking just enough for him to notice. “Your footwork was off, too. You were slow on some of your returns, and—”

Harry laughed, cutting her off. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not. But I’ve watched enough matches to know when someone’s not giving it their all.” Her gaze flicked to his eyes, sharp and clear. “And I know you can do better.”

Harry’s smile faltered, something unspoken passing between them, something that felt almost like respect. He had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about the match anymore.

“Well,” he said after a beat, straightening up, “I guess I’ll have to show you just how much better I can be, then.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away, her lips pursed as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she shrugged, that same familiar look of defiance in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on her for longer than he intended, “What about you?” He took a sip of his drink. 

She frowns, “What about me?”

“I haven’t seen you training recently,” He said. 

Y/N’s expression faltered, her eyes flashing with something like hurt or fear. “I haven’t had time.”

“What do you mean? I don’t think I’ve spent a day where I haven’t seen you on the court.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he studied her. There was something about the way she shifted on her feet, the subtle way her fingers tightened around the cup in her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed something was off, but hearing her say she didn’t want to talk about it made his curiosity spike. It was rare for Y/N to hide anything, especially from him. He’d spent enough time observing her—dissecting her every reaction, every word—to know when something wasn’t right.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, leaning forward, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he knew she wouldn’t believe it—not after everything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought she might brush him off entirely. Instead, she let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Since when?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. She was right—he had never given her much reason to trust him. But right now, as much as it pissed him off that she was shutting him out, he couldn’t help but feel... protective. There was something going on with her, something more than she was letting on, and it was like a switch had flipped inside him.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice softer now, “I’m not gonna push you, but if something’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. You know that, right?”

Her eyes finally met his, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in her tough exterior—a flicker of vulnerability—but it was gone in an instant. She shook her head, her gaze hardening.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Harry didn’t buy it, and he didn’t think she expected him to. He knew he was on dangerous territory—one misstep, and no doubt she would lash out at him for putting his nose into business that was nothing to do with him. But something in him refused to let this go. He couldn’t just sit there, watching her shut him out.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for her to follow him, the command in his voice surprising even him.

Y/N glanced at him, confused, her arms still crossed defensively. “What?”

“I’m taking you outside,” Harry said, already standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He could tell she was about to protest, could see the hesitation in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of something—determination, maybe, or a mix of things he couldn’t quite name. “You need a break. You’re tense as hell, and I don’t like seeing you like this.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. “Trust me. It’ll be good for you.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed like she might just walk away, but then she sighed, as if giving in to the inevitable. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”

Harry smirked, fighting the urge to laugh. “No promises,” he teased, already walking toward the door.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty tennis courts. Harry tossed her a tennis racket, watching as she caught it awkwardly. He was doing this for her—for whatever was weighing on her, for whatever had her retreating behind that wall. He wasn’t sure if tennis was the right call, but it was something he knew they both shared, something that might bring down some of her defenses.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious,” Harry replied, stepping onto the court. He grinned at her.

She hesitated before stepping onto the court, but when she did, Harry could see a flicker of something else in her—the tension in her shoulders loosening, just a bit. She wasn’t fully on board yet, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, and that was something.

They began to rally, hitting the ball back and forth with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice. Y/N’s form was sharp, fluid, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed, as he always was. But it wasn’t just the way she played that had him captivated.

It was the way she laughed.

The sound was light, unguarded, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in so long. It was like the weight of everything had lifted for a moment, leaving behind only the carefree side of Y/N he rarely got to see. She had a natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle with a mischievous glint. Harry couldn’t look away.

Her laughter filled the air, echoing across the empty courts, and for a fleeting second, everything felt right. Harry’s heart skipped in his chest as he watched her, the way her eyes shone with a genuine sense of freedom. It wasn’t just the way she looked in that moment—it was how she felt, and how much he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had always known he had a thing for her—he didn’t even try to deny it anymore. But this was different. He wasn’t just in awe of how she looked, or the way she challenged him to be better—he was infatuated with her.

The thought hit him hard, and he tried to push it aside, to focus on the game. But with every smile, every laugh, Harry found himself falling deeper, in a way that he couldn’t control. There was something about her—the way she made everything feel effortless, the way her presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything more vibrant. She was everything he wasn’t—bold, unafraid, untouchable in some ways. And Harry was starting to realize how much he wanted to be the one to reach her.

When Y/N hit a particularly good shot and spun around with that radiant smile, Harry felt a flutter in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being this close to her without completely falling apart.

“You’re not half bad,” she teased, breathless from the rally.

Harry grinned, the praise warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I know. You should be honored to play with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

And there it was again—her laugh, the way she made everything feel lighter. Harry caught himself smiling at her, not the cocky, playful smile he usually wore, but something more sincere. Something that spoke volumes of how much he was starting to feel for her—how much he had already felt.

They rallied for another few minutes, the sun dipping lower as the evening air turned cooler. But Harry wasn’t paying attention to the time, or the way the game was unfolding. All he could focus on was the way her hair caught the last of the sunlight, the way her eyes gleamed with happiness—and how damn beautiful she was.

“You’re good,” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than usual, almost like a confession.

Y/N gave him a curious look, then smirked. “You finally noticing?”

He wanted to say more, to tell her exactly what he was thinking—but it would only complicate things. Instead, he just nodded, watching her carefully, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’ve always noticed,” he said, his voice a little too soft, betraying the quiet ache he felt inside.

Y/N paused, her expression softening for a brief moment before her usual mask of sarcasm slipped back into place. “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to admit it.”

The smile she gave him in return was genuine, full of warmth. And for a moment, Harry forgot about the rest of the world, just watching her, heart in his throat, wondering how he had gotten so lucky—and so lost in someone who would never even look at him the same way.

Y/N took a few steps back, wiping a hand across her forehead, trying to shake off the intensity of the game and the weight of the conversation that had been hanging between them. Harry still stood there, watching her, his breath a little heavier from the rally but his focus unwavering. It was as if he was waiting for something to break, for her to say the words he didn’t want to hear but somehow feared.

She didn’t look at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground like she was trying to find some way out. But then, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost reluctant. "You were right earlier... about me being tense," she said, barely above a whisper.

Harry tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. His heart rate picked up, and he took a tentative step toward her. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, clearly at war with herself, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. But Harry could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her tennis racket, the way her shoulders were drawn up protectively.

“Something happened... with my dad,” she finally admitted, the words slipping out in a rush, like she couldn’t stop them once she started.

Harry’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to push her too much. "What happened?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes redder than usual, her face more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "He... slapped me," she said, the words a simple admission but heavy enough to make the air around them thick with tension.

The air in Harry’s lungs seemed to stop for a moment. His chest tightened, fists clenching at his sides as the words echoed in his mind. Slapped her.

He was careful not to let the anger build, though it was hard. The thought of anyone hurting her—let alone her father—lit a fire of fury inside him, but he knew he couldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so fragile and raw.

“Y/N,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost as if he were afraid the words might break something inside her. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, her lips trembling slightly. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, her voice thick with something he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry replied quickly, his gaze steady. He took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m angry, though. At him. But I’m not pitying you, Y/N. You’re... you’re strong. You don’t deserve that. You never have.”

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. Harry could see her fighting it—fighting the tears, fighting the emotions that were threatening to spill over.

“I got a low grade on my report card this semester,” she whispered after a beat, her voice so small it almost hurt to hear. “My parents think it’s because I spend too much time playing. They threatened to stop funding my schooling if I didn’t quit. Not that I’m going to quit, but I have to lay low for a while.”

Harry’s heart broke at her words. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, the thought of her in such a difficult situation, but he forced himself to stay composed. She was so strong, but there was only so much someone could take.

“Does he…” Harry hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to speak, but he forced them out anyway, “Does he do that often?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but paused, her gaze dropping to the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, and Harry felt that pit in his stomach grow deeper with each passing second. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t the first time,” she said, her voice faltering. “But he doesn’t do it often.”

Harry’s eyes darkened with barely-contained anger. His hands clenched at his sides, a reflex he couldn’t control. “Y/N, he shouldn’t be doing it at all,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and tight. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her, but something held him back. He knew she wasn’t ready for that, and he didn’t want to push her further away.

“No man should ever lay a hand on you,” he added, his voice raw with emotion. “Not ever. You don’t deserve that. No one does.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something else Harry couldn’t name. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, but there was no hint of softness in her expression. She had her walls up again, already rebuilding what little had cracked.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Harry,” she said firmly, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness. “And I don’t need you to protect me. I’ll deal with it.”

Harry’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice softer now. “I can’t just stand by and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to carry this by yourself.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was no bite in it—just a sad resignation. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, her eyes darting to the side. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected. I don’t want your help. I just want to get through this on my own.”

Harry could feel the walls she’d built between them—walls made of pain and pride—climbing higher, and the instinct to break them down was strong. But he knew, deep down, he couldn’t force her to open up, especially not when she wasn’t ready.

“I’m not trying to save you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just here. Whenever you need someone to listen, or... whatever else you need. Just know that.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he could see the smallest tremor in her shoulders as she exhaled. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don't need help,” she said, her words like a wall being slammed shut. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone to try and fix me.”

Harry’s heart dropped, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. But he understood. She was trying to keep control of a situation that was already slipping through her fingers. And maybe she wasn’t ready to let him in, no matter how much he wanted to be there for her.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the weight of his emotions slipping through despite himself. “I just... I care about you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her eyes flicked to his, sharp and guarded. “I don’t need help but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let his gaze drop. “Alright,” he said softly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”

Y/N didn’t respond, and Harry didn’t push. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, looking at her, wishing he could say more—do more—make her feel safe, but knowing it wasn’t his place to force anything. For now, all he could do was wait.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything.

“Want to go another round?” Harry asked, his voice lighter, searching for a way to ease the tension.

“I think we should probably head back. Sarah might be looking for me.” Y/Ns expression softens.

“Right” the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave this pocket of space they were in together. He savoured any rare moment of time he had with her alone and this was one of them.

They walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. As they approached his flat, Y/N glanced at him, her voice quiet but firm. “This doesn’t change anything, you know. I don’t want you to look at me differently just because I couldn’t defend myself against my dad. I’m strong—it just… it caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Harry stopped, turning to her with an earnestness that made her chest tighten. “Y/N, this doesn’t change a thing. Not about how I see you, or what I think of you. You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Her lips quirked in a small, tentative smile. “Good,” she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, “And you better win the final.”

Harry chuckled, his own smile breaking through. For her, he would.

For her, he’d do anything.

. . . 

Harry walked into the school the next day with his tie askew, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his white t-shirt underneath, and his blazer slung casually over his shoulder, hooked with his middle finger. He had no particular reason to look so disheveled—he just liked the chaos it seemed to cause.

As he passed Mitch’s locker, he caught sight of Y/N walking down the hallway. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, like she was in her own world, but Harry couldn’t resist. He flashed a smirk and called out, “Hey, love.”

She immediately paused and turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then the corner of her lips twitched slightly, but her eyes were all ice.

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, seriously,” Harry teased, not backing down. “You got something against me saying hello?”

“Not really,” she replied dryly, her arms crossing over her chest. “But I’m guessing you’re doing it just to get a reaction.”

“You know me too well,” Harry said with a grin. “But still, can’t help it. You just look... irresistible when you’re pissed off.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the irritation. Without saying a word, she lifted her middle finger and gave him a quick, deliberate flip-off. Then, as she turned to walk away, she allowed herself to smile, just a little—just enough for Harry to catch it.

He watched her walk off, his smirk fading as something tighter, warmer, filled his chest. He had always loved the way she carried herself—so confident, even when she was annoyed with him. He liked that she never made it easy. But right now, as she walked away, all he could think was how much he was falling for her.

"God," he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear down the hallway. "I’m so screwed."

[fanon-elio]

Can I request a fluffy where Lycaon takes care of the reader with menstrual cramps? I need comfort, I can't stand the pain anymore. (⁠´⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠ω⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠｀⁠)

Absolutely! I hope you'll get better soon!

-•*Lycaon taking care of Reader with menstrual cramps*•-

Tag: Green Letter (Sfw)

Warnings: none

Not proofread.

It was such a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining, bringing a strong vibrancy to the City. But as everyone was out and about, getting that healthy dose of vitamine D, you were sitting in your apartment. Fucking miserable.

You'd love to go outside to catch some of those healthy rays of light, but right now you had other troubles as you lay around with your bodily anatomy bullying you relentlessly.

Ah yes, it was that time of the month again, where your period knocked on your door like a fucking loan shark ready to collect your dept. Normally your period cramps weren't something your trusty friend the Ibuprofen couldn't handle, but not today it seems.

This time your cramps were really bad.

You felt like you swallowed glass shards, and then stumbled down a flight of stairs. Your back ached, your thighs ached, and your lower abdomen hurt like shit. It was as if your uterus had a vendetta against you, slowly beating you up from the inside as every stinging shot of pain was basically it asking "where's the Baby bitch?"

Even just getting your morning routine done had been a fight! Not just because your shower had looked like after one. The warm water had felt absolutely wonderfull as it eased your pain, but all was ruined by the smell of blood that made you immensly uncomfortable. You cringed when you remembered how you basically turned your poor shower into a saw trap.

'I want to play a game' you can fuck right off!

After calling in sick for work, getting into a fresh pair of sweatpants, and equipping yourself with a warm water bottle, you plopped down on your sofa where you had remained for pretty much the entire morning as you watch some repetitive game show. You sigh, feeling that the bottle had lost its warming, and thus pain relieving attributes again. But you weren't willing to shrimp-walk your way back into the kitchen to boil some more water, so instead you just readied yourself to perish.

Then a knock on your door caught your attention. You sighed as you buried your face in your sofa cussion, internally preparing yourself for the stranious task of 'standing up.' You throw your blanket over yourself, completing your accidental witch cosplay before strudding over to the front door to greet the unfortunate Hensel or Gretel, who would now unwillingly become a victim of your justified bad mood.

You rip the door open, expecting one of your neighbors asking your for eggs or some shit, but come face to face with Lycaon's fluffy white fur. You purse your lips, trying to process the current situation as both of you just stared at eachother for a moment "good morning y/n" he speaks, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice at your current vibe "a-ah. Hi Lycaon! How are you doing?" You ask, embarassment creeping onto your face which was almost as red as... well you already know.

"I am well, but you seem quite beside you" he says, and you wondered if the bags under your eyes, or your awkward posture had given you away. "Oh no no I'm totally fine!" You exclaim, he just looks you up and down before sighing. "I brought you something, maybe it'll lift your mood?" He gestures to the box under his arm, and you relent, stepping to the side as a silent way of inviting him in which gains you a polite little "thank you" from him.

On one hand you could drop to your knees in prayer for the fact that this fine-as-hell-man came to check on you, but on the other you felt mortified of your friend turned crush witnessing you in such a state.

"Just know that it's an absolute mess in here" you warn him, and wince like a vampire as he opened the curtains. You make your way towards the kitchen, feeling like a terrible host for not having offered him any real hospitality "Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea? ...Vodka?" He tries to speak up as he watched you awkwardly try to reach for the box of tea in your upper cuppboard, dispite your current rather pitiful form. He looks around the room, noticing the previously mentioned dissaray before he approaches, wanting to stop you before you try climbing on your kitchen counter. He sets the box down on the counter next to you, his pressence behind you halting your actions before he puts a hand on your shoulder "why don't you go lie down?" He asks softly in your ear, and you blush at his closeness.

You opened your mouth, wanting to object, but he was having none of that. He bend down a little before sweeping you off your feet, carying you back to the sofa, and sitting you down on it before covering you in blankets and pillows. You look up at him, while he raised his eyebrow as a silent way of telling you to 'stay.'

Accepting your fate, you lean back and cast your eyes back on the TV while he tidies up your livingroom a bit. It still felt a bit awkward to have Lycaon dote over you like that, but it also made butterflies erupt in your stomach. You doze off for a moment, before you feel the sofa tip as Lycaon sat down next to you. He hands you a water bottle wrapped in a dish cloth, warning you of its temperatur before sitting the box in his lab and lifting the lid off.

To your surprise, it was filled with your favorite snacks, painkillers, different flavours of tea, and a heapful of movies. "Damn! You came prepared alright" you tell him, noticing they way his ear twitched. You grab one of the movies from the box and looked at it "Pork peak huh? Didn't know your liked horror movies" you joked, and he chuckled "I picked these up at Random play earlier, I'm friends with the managers there so they gave me a discount" you nodded, the warmth of the bottle in your hands soothing the stinging ache in your abdomen.

But the more you thought about the box and the water bottle, the more you wondered how he knew to prepare all of this. You haven't told him about your cramps, so how did he know? "How did you know to prepare all of this?" You ask. Lycaon turns his head to you before clearing his throat "I uhm... I could smell it. The blood I mean" he explains, averting his gaze. Your face was burning, internally facepalming yourself for forgetting that he was infact a Wolf thiren, so of course his sense of smell was superb. "Everyone has a distinct smell, and I had noticed yours changing a week prior" he explains "I hope you don't think of me as a creep now" he says, but you pull the big oaf into a hug "no, not at all. I think it's really sweet of you!" He returned your embrace, and you could hear the sound of Lycaon's tail thumbing against the sofa.

"I uhm... just hope the smell doesn't bother you" you start, but he stops you "please, there is no need to worry" he reassures you "the smell of blood doesn't bother me." Lycaon grabbs the tea from the box before making his way back to the kitchen. You turn around and lean over the arm of the sofa, watching him as he stood in your kitchen preparing a pot of tea for the both of you.

Your eyes wandered from him to his vest that layed neatly folded over one of your kitchen chairs. At first you had assumed that he had actually taken a day off for once, but scratched that thought because if he really did, he wouldn't be here in work attire. "I hope you don't mind me asking..." you start, watching his ear rotate towards you as a sign that he was listening "what about work?" You ask, watching him remove the tea filter "I don't mind don't worry, I had just gotten off my night shift, and have the rest of the day off" he replied. "And since I had been in the area anyways, I thought I might pay you a visit" he lies, unbeknownst to you. In reality he had been looking foreward to spending time with you, even if his commission had been on the other side of the city. You smiled, looking at the box sitting on your coffee table "you're a real gentleman, thank you" you say, internally swooning over how cute he was when his tail started swishing from side to side at your compliment.

"I still kinda feel bad though, you must be dead tired" you told him, but he was quick to ease your worry "don't worry it's alright, besides..." his movement halted just for a slight moment before he continued "I really like spending time with you" he spoke, his tail wagging evers so slighty faster. Grabbing 2 cupps and the tea pot, Lycaon made his way back over to you, pouring you a cup before handing it to you. You take a sip, releasing a relieved sigh as he putts one of the movies on. You pat the spot next to you, urging him to sit.

The hours melted away, your tea cups as well as the pot sitting empty on your coffee table as you binch through the stack of movies Lycaon had brought. Said wolf thiren was sitting next to you, fighting to keep his eyelids from falling shut. Even though he had assured you that you wouldn't have to feel bad, you still couldn't quite shake off the feeling. But an idea comes to your mind, as you call out to him "If you want, you can lie down and rest" you tell him. It has been a heat of the moment kind of suggestion, since your sofa was so small, the only way for him to lie down properly was with his head on your lap.

But much to your astonishment, he plops his head right on your thighs, releasing a sigh of relief. Unbeknownst to you, he was blushing just as severly as you did, with him having the benefit of his fur covering it from your eyes. "You... may pet me if you like" he speaks, his voice low and filled with weariness. And you oblige, your fingers gently combing through his soft fur, and carefully scratching behind his ear.

Soon you forgot completely about your cramps, with Lycaon's soft snoring capturing all your attention as you considere taking a picture of him before sleep would claim you too.

...

Lycaon's eye cracks open, taking in the surrounding darkness of your living room. He wonders what time it is, with the sun seeming to have said goodbye hours ago, now replaced by the moon's light as it shone peacefully through your window. He knows he should have been home hours ago, but as he looked down at your sleeping form; your head lying on his chest, your own steadily raising and falling with every breath you took.

He knew that he was already home.

*•*•*•*•*

I hope this was to your liking! To the other people who have requested something. Don't worry I haven't forgotten about you.

-Elio

[the-s1lly-corner]

An Eraser (Bloody Painter x Reader) (7MIH Ending 7)

only about four characters left and then we are done! wondering what fandom to do next hmm.... im also thinking of possibly making a quotev acc so i can more interactive stuff- having polls at the ends of these have been fun but quizzes sound so cool tbh reminder that there are polls at the ends of these to determine the next ending notes: reader is gn, admin is still trying to figure out how he wants to write helen outside of hc posts, hes got a bit of a crush on you cws: none word count: 1775

You reach your hand into the hat and pull out…

An eraser. Not the pink blocky ones you would usually see. No, it was one of those fancier malleable ones. The ones you see artists use every now and then… You didn’t even need to look around the room- there was only one person you could think of who would have something like this. You shift the eraser between your index and thumb and show it to Helen who only pats his thighs and rises to his feet. 

“Well damn, alright then.” Jeff said under his breath, seemingly disappointed that he didn’t get to delay the surprise of who you got until you were both shoved into darkness. Jeff flicked his head towards the hallway, “Closets down that way, you’ve both got seven minutes the second the door closes you got that?” His wide blue eyes darted between you and Helen- who had already joined you at your side. You didn’t even notice him closing in on you. 

You decide not to say anything, instead choosing to walk down the hallway that was motioned towards. Helen kept up with your footsteps, his own nearly perfectly matching up with your own. When you stopped, as did he.

It wasn’t until you made it to the closet door that he made his own move, and it was as simple as opening it and waiting for you to enter first. 

“Thank you,” You mutter under your breath and slip right past him. You slink into the back corner of the small space. 

The door shuts behind Helen, leaving the both of you in darkness. 

You tap your palms against the wall behind you as you scrape your head for something to say to fill the silence. Helen decided to be kind enough to break the silence for you.

“I never took you as someone who would play this game,” 

He catches you off guard. 

In an instant you’re straightening up and trying to come up with an explanation. Was this an accusation? Judgment? 

“I mean I don’t usually but-”

“I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing, I’m playing as well,” He gently cut you off. You suck some air between your teeth and fall silent. 

“You don’t seem like the type to play games like this either, you know… I mean, I’m personally fine playing… this stuff… but you kinda…” You fail to find the words. “Seem reserved to yourself?”

The air falls quiet once more for a few moments before it's broken for a second time by Helen. “I was encouraged to put myself out for tonight,”

You hum in response and move your hands from the wall to the bottom of your shirt, busying your fingers with the fabric. 

“Yeah? By who? …Pup right? I only ever really see you hanging around with him,” 

Helen nods. 

You look down to the floor and stare down at your shoes, then to Helen’s- dully noting that he wore boots… stained with paint, or perhaps blood. It was nearly impossible to tell in the darkness. 

“Well, I’m glad there’s one person here that you like- or at least enjoy enough! I remember you hardly ever left your room for anything when you first arrived here,” You give him a smile and hope that he could see it. 

“There’s two, actually.” 

You snap your eyes back up to his mask. 

“It was you who gave me the nerve to stick around for the games, if you didn’t come downstairs I’d have gone back up to my room… though I do wish I got the chance to talk to you before everyone gathered…” He paused. 

“Too many people…” He muttered under his breath. 

“But I bumped right into you- how come you didn’t say anything?” 

Helen’s head tilts to the side. It feels like his eyes were raking themselves over your body- from head to toe. You do your best not squirm under his gaze. 

“You took me by surprise… Nerves is all.” 

You hum again and clench your fists into your shirt fabric.

“How…” You start. Helen rights the angle of his head and you pull your eyes away from his mask. “How long did you…”

Was he admitting to having feelings for you or did he simply want to be your friend? You work your jaw… you could be horribly misreading this. You could make a fool of yourself. 

“How long did you have a thing for me?” 

Helen only chuckles softly- a sound that only lasts for a few seconds before its quieted. “For quite a while… months, now.” 

You open your mouth to reply but he’s already answering your question.

“I wanted to see how long until you approached first,” Helen takes a step towards you. He leans over you with a gaze still fixed right on your face. He smells of paints and iron, and you fight yourself not to scrunch your nose as the scent washes over you. “But I grow tired of waiting, and there’s no one here to steal you away- during the party, of course,” 

He stops right in front of you, leaving just enough space for you to make an escape if you wanted to. “I was hoping you would take out my eraser, even if we do not share a moment of intimacy having you just to myself for a moment is fine enough for me,” 

Your mind blanks for a split second at his words for a moment. 

You had nearly forgotten the outcomes of games like this- though you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind it all that much. You looked at his mask again to try to find his eyes, however you were only met with failure… you force your eyes to remain locked onto the mask’s sockets though as you try to find your voice again.

“I will not force anything on you, nor will I act without your word,” He softly spoke and backed up a few inches away from you. You finally release the hem of your shirt and reach forward- lightly gripping the sleeves that were folded and bunched against his wrists. 

“I… wouldn’t mind-” You grin up at Helen. It’s faster paced than what you normally preferred for relationships, but you had found yourself emboldened by the current setting you’ve found yourself in. “So long as this isn’t a trick to get my blood for one of your projects,” You teased.

…

“I’m joking of course… not giving you my bodily fluids before the first date,” You swat the idea down and pull Helen closer. He allows you to, even lowering his face closer to yours. 

“I wouldn’t… I’ve no spare canvases as it is already… a work with your matter requires one purely devoted to it,” He mutters into your ear. A shiver runs up your spine as he rested his hands on either side of you- effortlessly freeing his sleeves from the admittedly not very tight grasp you had on them.

Helen pulled away and settled his face in front of you, seemingly taking in every single feature of your face. You’d swear he could memorize every pore if he could, if it weren’t too dark. 

He was… close… to say the least…

Helen peeled one of his gloves hands from the wall and let the finger sprawl across his mask. He didn’t take it off or slip it upwards towards his forehead. Instead he shifted it to the side, shielding his face away from the door… but allowing it to give you a full view of his face. 

He looked… tired… more than you were expecting given the hours you assumed he spent on his paintings. Despite that, his blue eyes were nearly glowing with life. Or at least carried a sense of thrill in them- a stark contrast to the otherwise neutral expression pulled across his face… there was a light dust of red across his cheeks… faint in the darkness but you could just barely see it thanks to the proximity. 

Helen remained still and unmoving in front of you despite all of this, though.

Your eyes darted across his face, before his earlier words sparked an idea in you.

You make the first move and begin to lean forward to him, and gently press your lips against his. In an instant you can feel his mouth attempting to twitch upwards into a grin before he simply started to kiss back. Helen’s hands returned to the wall on either side of you and remained. Instead, it was you that decided to begin touching him; by choosing to run your hands through his black hair and move the strays out of the way. 

You both remained that way for… you weren’t paying attention- the only thing that caught you off guard and made you pull your face away from his was light flooding into the small room.

“Woah! Damn! Okay!” Jeff chuckled as he stood in the doorway. 

You shoot a glare at him- you didn’t hear him announce how much time was left… Did he give a warning? It didn’t matter now as your face burned hotter than it had when the door was closed. 

Helen doesn’t seem to pay much mind to Jeff. He only rose to his full height and pulled his mask over his face back to its original position. Only then did he actually turn to face the doorway straight on. 

“You didn’t knock, Jeffery.” He said lowly.

Clearly irritated. 

You pull away from the wall and follow after Helen as he steps out of the closet. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to do anything… damn…” Jeff shot back.

“I owe a Nina some drinks, damn…” You caught him muttering as you passed by. You tried to fight the urge to step on his foot as you passed, instead choosing to focus on Helen, who was waiting on the other side of the hall for you. 

“Hey,” 

Helen nods to you. You chew the inside of your cheek as things fall silent once more… How does one proceed after something like this with someone as reserved as Helen? You shift your weight between your feet.

“Do you want to go somewhere else? You’ve gotten what you wanted from the party- and game-” You sheepishly smile up at him. 

Helen studies you hard for a moment.

“I would love that,” 

“Cool… cool nice,” You smile. He takes your hand after your eyes nervously dart over it. 

You weren’t surprised when he started to lead you to the stairs, and even less when he passed by your room and to his.

[nenilein]

I said this before in my response to firey, but again, this is a misreading of how Sega markets Puyo. Puyo isn't being marketed to children, it's being marketed to millenials who remember Puyo/Madou from their childhoods. Lemme self quote here:

This is really a bit of a misunderstanding of how Puyo is marketed. It's really not a kids game (in fact, Quest has a disclaimer that you should only play it under the age of 14 under the supervision of an adult, because, it's, well, a gacha game, and gacha games are not made for kids at all), but a "nostalgia bait" game, aimed at millenials primarily. Kids are actually just a SUB-SECTION of Puyo's market, which, yes, Sega is happy to get into the fold to, but are not the primary focus. The primary focus are millenials who grew up with Madou/Puyo in the 90s, which is heavily reflected in the merchandising and the character polls. There's a reason why Arle, Schezo, Witch and Draco dominate the polls and merch the way they do.

The reason we don't get Madou 95 type stuff anymore is, again, as I said above, there was a HUGE backlash against Madou 95 back in the 90s. This is NOT what the Japanese fans want. They want cute slice of life shit with these characters, and they want jokes. I actually had a discussion about that with a Japanese fan a week or so ago, where said fan outright said they don't WANT Puyo to go harder on the lore, because it would ruin so many fandom-wide headcanons, it would be more of a hindrance than a help.

Puyo/Madou was never perceived as a plot-heavy franchise by Japanese fans, and plot-heavy installments always tended to be far less popular than plot-light, which makes it a miracle modern Puyo goes as plot heavy as it does and is a testimony to how much the writers care about writing plots with these characters. Back in the compile days, the most plot heavy entries in the series, such as Saturn Madou, tended to be sales failures that contributed to Compile's bankruptcy. The primary reason why Madou Saturn is such a rare game these days is because it sold very poorly.

Okay, now as for what you said...

Okay, so Sonic? Sonic has had SO many irredeemable and dark villains despite being the cool funny hedgehog game that it would make modern Puyo Puyo quake in its boots. 😭 Barring Eggman and Metal Sonic, lemme go over a few.

That's because Sonic, by Sega, has always been perceived as an international franchise, rather an a "Japanese franchise" and is, in fact, barely marketed in Japan. I am serious, I could barely even find Sonic merch on all of my trips to Japan, there's way more for Puyo, and according to Mizuki Hosoyamada, Puyo is FAR more popular within Japan than Sonic (But Sega considers itself an international company first, a Japanese company second, so they push Sonic far heavier).

Sonic is that way, because this is what Sega thinks international (especially American) audiences want! So they write these one-off pure evil villains because they think it brings the "cool" factor that brings sales in the US market.

Puyo, on the other hand, is their safe nostalgia-pillar for Japanese Millenials, so they want marketable characters for that that stick around for more than one game and can be used in fun slice-of-life stuff. Hence why the treatment is different.

If they were that evil, Satan, Ecolo, or Arle (or someone else) would be forced to destroy them (the ultimate fate of Yoggus and Dark Matter), or put them on the bus so they can't come back despite fan demand (Doppel Arle and Strange Klug).

DING DING DING! You're 100% spot-on!

Again, Puyo is the safe nostalgia-pillar! Making character just to murder them doesn't sell safe nostalgia! So they don't wanna invest in it! That shows SUPER well with the Drama CDs and novels, which actually DO have purely evil on-off villains that are disposed off at the end of the story (Ouroboros, the Soul-Sucking Doll, the Mist of Dreams. etc.) But those aren't an investment for Sega, they don't need to pay artists to design them and VAs to voice them, so they allow the writers to write them!

Quest is ACTUALLY averting this now with Thousand/Issen, a villain who is purely evil, goats about being purely evil, and is hated by everyone for being purely evil. The reason they can invest in them tho is because

A) they can make topical commentary on capitalism with them, which is something millenials DIG

B) The way Quest's story mode is structured gives Thousand PLENTY of space to escape into another dimension when things get rough, meaning they can survive even upon being defeated, especially since they are portrayed as a coward. This gives more wriggle room with them and allows them to STILL be a marketable gacha unit.

So yeah, the writers finding "outs" from Sega's "safe nostalgia" marketing strategy. It just requires some work-arounds.

More evidence that it's this- in Puyo 7, Ecolo was full on evil causing problems for fun, but in 20th he lost ALL his memories because there had to be an overarching plot. So he was reverted to just a nuisance like Satan that's safe for the rest of the game's continuity.

I think THAT specifically has a different reason, actually.

Ecolo was redeemed to fill out Ringo's roster of friends.

Suzuran is an INSANELY underpopulated setting (to the point the devs themselves have talked about it) and if they let Ecolo die, it would just be Ringo, Ris and Maguro there, and again, unless it's for Gacha, Sega is very averse to investing into designing new characters that might not get used much (hence why Meena from Puzzle Pop is the easiest, cheapest design to draw, model and animate you could possibly make). So bringing back Ecolo and renvisioning him as an honorary member of the Physics Club was more economical.

Not that I am complaining, because I absolutely love the dynamics between Ecolo and Ringo post-7, I think it adds the existentialism edge to the series that it was lacking up until that, personally. Ahahaha.

I am getting sick of the redeemable/not really evil villains. Yes I do like them but there's just so many now! It was far more varied in Compile!

[Post this and I will reblog with my rant about this subject]

shit, sorry I didn't post earlier. Yap away. Or... yap eway...?

[pixlatedvampire]

You gave those wounds to your god, Enki. Did you think they would heal so easily?

(Uh Oh! Someone gave the priest catholic guilt!)

[steakout-05]

nothing makes me activate like a sleeper agent faster than hearing any noise or music from TF2. i literally have them imprinted into my brain i've heard and memorised them so many times

[giddlygoat]

my brother can make me laugh without moving at all. he can make me laugh on command, just by existing, and there is no physical tell or indication that it is about to happen. it’s like he can will me to laugh and i will. of course we’re not telepathic, but we do speak in unison sometimes. we improvise like no one’s business. we could fool anyone into believing we are psychically linked. when i try to explain it, i sound silly saying it out loud, but i really CAN tell what he’s thinking. we exchange so much information just with a look. he can make me cry laughing and he doesn’t even have to move

[thedrotter]

Do any of you remember a Youtube video about Re:Kinder talking about how the game is seen and percieved by some people (mostly touching upon and arguing against how it has been treated insensitively as some sort of weird legend like "ooo disturbing game with a hidden truth behind it" due to it's creator being dead), as well as talking about the charm of the game (even mentioning it's art at some point) and sadness of the themes without spoiling anything at the same time?? I remember the video avoided saying any spoilers at all and only touched on the literal plot as the kids being stuck in a dire situation in the town with all the adults dead without really getting into the why (it didn't even say one of the kids themselves was the cause— as thus, spoiler free), other than that it just touched on the emotional side of it and vaguely mentioned some scenes.

i also remember at some point the later half (at the very least if not in all of it) of the video, music by Siinamota was playing in the background. Does anyone remember seeing a video like this?

I can't seem to find it anywhere and don't even remember the exact year I watched it.😭 It was the way I found out about this game a while ago, which eventually ended up in me playing it, and I really wish I could watch it again. I thought it was a deleted video by someone called hazel as it was mentioned by a lot of people, but I found that one and it isnt it.😓 I'm wondering if anyone remembers watching something along the lines of what im describing and knows if it's still up.