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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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Eddie's at a party, lunch box in tow, and he's making a fucking killing.

He sets up shop in the crowded kitchen, but that doesn't stop him from spotting King Steve in the living room. Harrington's face is still fucked up from the fight with Hargrove, and he's tipping a cup almost vertically into his mouth. He's not too surprised when--the next time he spots the jock--he has a can of beer in each fist.

More customers flood up to him, and he can't help but be a little grateful for the distraction. Harrington is one unrequited crush he just can't kick.

Lunch box cleaned out, Eddie heads outside for a smoke. He's fishing his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket when he hears a snuffling sort of shuffle that sends his heart racing.

He edges forward, just enough to make out the heap of a person half-heartedly sitting up against the house. A person in fitted blue jeans, tight polo, and Member's Only jacket; swoop of chestnut hair catching in the flash of fire from Eddie's Zippo.

"Harrington?"

The guy startles, stability wavering, eyes blinking too much. "Munson?"

"You alright, man?" He asks, though he can already tell that Steve is most definitely not.

Steve shrugs. "Why do you care?" It's not mean, sounds genuinely curious.

Eddie gets it. He has no reason on earth to show concern about King Steve. In answer, he taps his boot against Steve's sneaker, giving him a small smile. "Not sure. But I'm here, so..."

"Just needed some air. Clear my head."

"How much have you had to drink?" Eddie asks.

"One or two,"

"Dozen?"

Steve laughs. "You're funny. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I've heard," Eddie says, can't help but laugh a little too. "Wanna talk about what's going on?"

Eddie thinks that'll be a "no," but then: "Nancy dumped me."

"Yeah, big news."

"Ugh, people are talking about it?" Steve whines. It's really cute and Eddie hates himself for noticing. Hates himself more when Steve loses his balance, tips onto Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie doesn't tip him back.

Eddie can tell that Steve isn't fully with him anymore. He's a little afraid to leave the guy alone, so Eddie talks about the latest Hellfire campaign. Sober Steve Harrington probably has no idea what dnd is, but the drunk version is kind of a rapt audience.

He's just explaining about owlbears when Steve's voice, soft and sad, says "I just want someone to love me, you know?"

The admission renders Eddie speechless for a second, his chest fucking aching for the jock. He says "Oh, Stevie," knows he sounds too sad, is sure of it when Steve's nose wrinkles (it's cute; it's so fucking cute. Eddie hates himself for noticing).

Before he can backtrack, Steve slumps over, body going limp as he passes out. "Jesus H Christ," Eddie barks.

With a heavy sigh, and way too much fondness, Eddie stands. "Let's get you home, sweetheart."

He gathers Harrington up in his arms--dude is heavy--and carries him around to his van.

---

Steve wakes up, head throbbing and tongue fuzzy, with no idea how he got home and into bed. Can't really recall anything after he stumbled outside, aside from talking to Eddie Munson. But maybe that was a dream? Either way, he's home, not really any worse for wear. It's enough to let him forget all about it; what's one drunken party in a life full of them?

That Wednesday, he opens his locker after the final bell, and a Hershey bar falls out. He picks it up, flipping it over to see a note on the foil wrapping, "thought you might need something sweet to cheer you up." It's not signed, and Steve slips it into his backpack, knowing he's got a silly smile on his handsome face.

The little gifts continue to show up once or twice a week. Candy, plastic vending machine toys, sketches of the school grounds, caricatures of classmates and teachers. Sometimes they even come with a note in handwriting he doesn't recognize.

Along with the little treats, he starts seeing Eddie Munson kind of everywhere. And it's not like Steve hadn't seen him before--guy was hard to miss--but he was never around this often. Wasn't around this often and he and Steve had never shared a smile, a quick bob of the head, a quiet hello.

It isn't long before they're talking. Nothing much, nothing serious. Complaining about teachers, about classmates; sharing weekend plans. Only now Steve can't pretend to not notice the way Eddie dimples up when he smiles, the subtle muscles that bunch under the sleeves of his Hellfire Club shirt, the long litheness of his legs. Steve knows he's attracted to other guys, it's just that he didn't realize he'd be attracted to Eddie.

The gifts keep coming. Once, he opens his locker to find a plastic ring fashioned into a golden crown and a note that says, "made me think of you, Stevie." There's something about the "Stevie" that catches deep in his brain, but he can't make it connect to anything.

A few months later, Steve opens his locker and pulls out a drawing. This one--it's of him. He's gazing out into space in a way that managers to be dreamy and wistful. The Steve in the drawing is lovely, and it makes something clench deep in his gut, that someone sees him like this.

Steve tries to be more aware of the people in his surroundings, to figure out who his admirer is. He's not very good at it, even as more sketches of him--all depicting him as a gorgeous, ethereal thing he definitely isn't--show up in his locker. Especially when, so often these days, the person he sees the most is Eddie.

---

The presents in his locker continue into April, and would probably last until the end of the school year, but Steve's got a migraine starting. He keeps aspirin in his locker, gets a hall pass out of English to get some.

When he reaches his locker, though, someone is already there, with the door open. Someone in ripped black jeans, heavy black boots, a black leather jacket, and patch covered denim vest.

"Munson?" He asks. His heart beats so hard it reverberates in his ears, making it hard to hear.

Eddie jumps back, hands fluttering, face flushing bright red. "Ste--Harrington! I--uh--," he's backing up, his hands held out from his body, like he's pushing Steve away even though they aren't touching.

"Were you--?" Steve tries to ask, but the words won't quite come. There's familiar warmth low in his stomach, a twisting that has nothing to do with his impending migraine.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear," Eddie says. He's breathing hard, eyes too bright, and Steve thinks he might be about to cry, but then the metalhead is turning away, starting to run.

"Eddie, wait!" Steve calls, chasing after him without much thought. "Please!"

Eddie doesn't stop until after they've crashed out one of the side exits, are alone outside.

"It was you? Leaving the--?"

Eddie nods, presses his hands to his eyes. "Sorry, I'm sorry, Harrington. I just--"

"Don't be sorry," Steve begs. "It's been--I liked it."

"Even now that you know they're coming from the freak?" Eddie spits. He still hides his face behind his hands.

"It's sort of been the best part of my year, if I'm being honest."

Only now does the metalhead remove his hands, blink back at Steve, dark eyes wide with shock. "Really?"

"Yeah. It made me feel-- important, I guess? Like, maybe someone saw me as something more than King Steve."

Eddie smiles now, looks down at the pavement. "I just didn't want you to think that you weren't--" he stops then, presses his mouth tight.

"Didn't want me to think what?"

"That you weren't loved, Stevie."

The statement hangs between them, Eddie's face pinking again, as the words wrap their way around Steve's heart. Loved. That he's loved. It clenches at every part of him, and he surrounds himself with the truth of it, what all those little presents were saying without words.

"Eddie, I--" he's overwhelmed by the gesture, the meaning, the reciprocal buzz in his chest, because Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson, loves him, and this fact is turning Steve's world on it's head in the best way.

"I'm sorry, Steve, really. Please don't hate me, or--or--"

"It means so much to me," Steve says, his voice a little broken. He reaches a hand out, slow, telegraphing the movement. "Can I?" He whispers.

Eddie nods, and Steve strokes the skin of his face with his thumb. "Thank you."

The metalhead nods, leaning into Steve's touch, they shift close, until their foreheads meet, until they share the same air. They stand that way for a while, long enough that they hear the bell ringing, and only then does Steve break their quiet. "Eds?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"You wanna hangout some time?"

Eddie laughs. "Yeah. I really, really do, sweetheart."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #one shot #secret admirer #fluff #a tiny bit of angst #friends to lovers #feelings realization #feelings confession #pining eddie munson #oblivious steve harrington #mutual crushes #high school au #eddie is in love with steve

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forestryprompts · 7 months

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Character A: So, what if we don't hate each other as much as we used to?

Character B: Are you saying you've actually grown fond of me?

Character A: Don't push it. I just... tolerate you now.

#dialogue prompts #story starter #writeblr #writerblr #prompt #writing inspiration #writing prompt #dialogue prompt #writing prompts #prompts #imagine your otp #otp prompts #oc prompts #imagine your ocs #feelings realization #enemies to lovers

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maefansblog · 6 days

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Colin definitely misses Penelope when he gets back. He wants to spend as much time with her as possible. She sees Colin and, of course, gives him an ego boost.

Penelope grounded him through his letters on his first tour, and without her writing him, Colin went crazy. He lost sight of who he was to a point that he created a new social personality as a rake like he thought was expected from him. Why did he think it was expected? The men who would talk to him also had rake personalities, and women would give him attention if he was "charming" and flirty. His brothers even congratulated him for having more "proportion."

However, Pen sees through that. He starts seeing how important not only their friendship is but how much she means to him.

Someone was saying on here that he used the courting lessons to have Penelope forgive him, to be friends again, and to spend more time with him, and I agree. He doesn't really teach her much, except to have confidence and be herself. He's still going unchaperoned with her, touching her, joking/flirting with her, and meeting up in the middle of the night.

Ooo!! Another thought... maybe this is another reason why in the Willow scene, he is so happy to quit the lessons. I think not only his world turned upside down with the kiss, and he now sees Penelope in a more romantic light. Also, he believes she has fully forgiven him for his words from last season, and they can resume just being together that is outside society rules. The word "friend" starts to sound so strange coming out of his mouth when he is starting to describe their relationship. "Like wow! I like her, AND I can kiss her too? I didn't know I could do that! And I like doing that."

Yet now, she is saying she wants to look for a relationship with someone else, and Colin just wants to make her happiness, even if it's not with him. Which starts his torture.

I'm seeing so many new things!!!

Then his mom says that it's ok to gather courage if she also has feelings. Colin is like, "Absolutely! I'm a good boy, and I will gather courage to ask."

And he freezes. There are so many doubts. He has no idea if she likes him. His fear takes over, and Lord Debling shows up to start a courtship dance. Of course, Colin wants Penelope’s happiness, so if she chose Debling, he would let her.

The second that he realized that Penelope would be engaged and to a man that would not love her, that is when Colin gathers the courage to ask. Pen would not be happy with Debling, and Colin only wants her happiness. Colin realized he wanted to make her happy, she would make him happy, and he would do everything in his power to make her happy. For the rest of their lives. He knew in that moment that he could waste no more time. Who needs courtship when they've known each other most of their lives? Now that he knows she wants to be more than friends, he wants to marry her.

I'm going to watch Season 3 Part 1 again. I'm in a loop, my fellow Bridgerton watchers!

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton s3 #polin #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope and colin #penelope Featherington #colin my wife bridgerton #colin missed pen #feelings #friends to lovers #feelings realization

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kenneth-black · 1 month

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I find it very odd that they are focusing so much on Buck and Eddie during the Bachelor Party sequence in EVERY SINGLE PROMO 😶 Like Chimney has so many other male figures in his life that should realistically be present at his bachelor party…bobby, ravi, albert, tommy, his friend from Chicago, even Mr Lee perhaps but noooo…let’s put up a homoerotic montage of Buck and Eddie getting drunk and taking their clothes off throughout the night 😭😭😭

Something definitely must be cooking 🫣

#buddie canon s8 maybe #feelings realization #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 on fox #911 show #911 fox #buckley diaz family #911 spoilers #911 on abc #911 #911 7x06 #oliver stark #ryan guzman #911 season 7 #911 abc

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elmundodeflor · 2 months

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And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

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wikiangela · 4 months

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you can see it with the lights out (you are in love)

huge thank you to @honestlydarkprincess for hyping up all the snippets I sent you, ily haha <33

rating: G

words: 4.9k

summary: Turns out, Natalia does see Buck, though maybe not in the way he expected. In which Natalia realizes Buck's in love with Eddie and help him see it, too.

[read on Ao3]

___

It’s a quiet evening, the only sounds in the loft are the TV playing some dumb reality show, and the sounds of chewing, as Buck and Natalia eat their take-out dinner. Buck’s hunched over the coffee table, constantly shifting on the uncomfortable couch, eyes glued to the TV, as he’s devouring his meal. He’s aware of Natalia curled up on the other side of the couch, poking at her food and staring off into nothing, deep in thought. He leaves her to it, if she wants to tell him what’s bothering her, she will. Or maybe he’ll ask later.

They haven’t spoken in what feels like hours, just sitting there silently, keeping each other company. It’s been happening more and more often, with Natalia getting lost in her thoughts, and Buck weirdly not being the one to break the silence. He doesn’t mind it with her. It’s nice, pleasant. He really likes spending time with her, even if it’s just this. It’s comfortable. This relationship, just being with Natalia, feels comfortable.

The silence is finally interrupted by Buck’s phone pinging with a text message. It’s laying on the coffee table and the screen lights up, so Buck peeks at it, and can feel an involuntary smile on his face when he sees Eddie’s name. He quickly picks up the phone to read the text and respond, when suddenly he hears Natalia speak up.

“Oh.” she whispers. He looks up at her, phone still in hand, thumb hovering over the text notification, chewing the last bite of his food, and she looks like she just had some sort of breakthrough. “Are you in love with Eddie?” she asks point blank, sounding curious, or like she already knows the answer, and Buck almost chokes on his food, coughing and dropping his phone back onto the table, reaching for his drink.

“Wh- what?” Buck manages to exclaim once he’s pretty sure he won’t die. “Shit, why- where did this even come from?” he asks incredulously.

[read more on Ao3]

#buddie fic #untitled natalia fic #fic: you can see it with the lights out (you are in love)#wikiangela writes #buddie #getting together #first kiss #feelings realization #buck x eddie #natalia helps oblivious buck realize his feelings lol #911 fic #oneshot #buddie fluff

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avatarfan11 · 1 year

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Korra: I’m in love with you.

Asami: We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork.

Korra: I know.

Asami: Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

#lok #legend of korra #korra #asami sato #korrasami #korra x asami #lgbtq #humor #fluff #love confessions #feelings realization #akward #akward asami #legend of korra incorrect quotes #korrasami incorrect quotes

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generalluxun · 4 months

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Bugged by a Bee, ML Fanfic

Chlonette for Femslash Feb! Last one I posted had some formating issues, so I'm going to just throw the pic and the link here!

This is a reverse! AU based on @lulu33-art 's awesome interpretation of a heroic/nice/SO PINK Chloé to go along with emonette's brooding grumpiness.

Main Theme: Feelings Realization. Shadybug PoV

Summary: Shadybug chases Honey Bee across the rooftops of Paris. The resistance hero is ore than Shadybug bargained for, and not in the way she expected. Faced with heroism and kindness from the least likely of sources, something stirs within the dark reflection of Ladybug.

(Image of Honey Bee reposted with permission. Wednesday Fanart unrelated(but adorable!)

#mlbfemslashfebruary #chlonette #reverse au #Honey Bee #Shadybug #ml fanfic #feelings realization #Honey Bee is such a 'hero'#Shady never stood a chance #These versions are so cute I had to write something about them!

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outcastpack · 7 months

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Turns out I don't want new, I want you

In which Liam realises he needed to stop lying to himself and everyone around him, and make a decision. To take a risk and fight or settle for safe.

No matter what choice he made, someone was going to be hurt in some way tonight.

What's this. Another fic in a few days. Yes it is!

Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt, Hayden Romero/Tracy Stewart, Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Liam Dunbar/Original Male Character(s), Mentioned Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Past Theo Raeken/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Liam Dunbar, Theo Raeken, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant (Teen Wolf), Malia Tate, Isaac Lahey, Tracy Stewart, Hayden Romero, Original Male Character(s), Original Child Character(s), Josh Diaz (Teen Wolf), Mentioned Kira Yukimura - Character

Additional Tags: Liam Dunbar Loves Theo Raeken, Theo Raeken Loves Liam Dunbar, Bisexual Liam Dunbar, Bisexual Theo Raeken, Protective Tracy Stewart, Parent Theo Raeken, Liam Dunbar feels a lot of things, Wedding Rings, Feelings Realization, Pining Liam Dunbar.

#teen wolf #theo raeken #liam dunbar #thiam #thiam fic #feelings realization #dad theo raeken #thiam moodboard #inspired by robron #my writing

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 days

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June of (minimal) Doom 2024 Day 3 - Well, well, well...

Satoru impatiently taps his foot as he watches how the girl currently talking to Suguru hands him a piece of paper. It makes something twist in Satoru’s chest, something ugly and painful, and he turns away with a huff.

He wishes Suguru would snap at her, would tell her to get lost, that he’s actually busy and does not have the time to talk to her, but Satoru knows that Suguru is too polite for that. Suguru would never do that, would never tell off a complete stranger like that, Satoru knows that very well, but it doesn’t stop him from day-dreaming.

“Can we go?” Suguru eventually calls out to Satoru and Satoru heaves out a sigh.

The girl must have left, then, and he wonders what happened to the piece of paper that no doubt held her phone number.

“I’m not the one keeping us,” Satoru grumbles out as he makes his way over to Suguru who frowns at him.

“You okay?” he wants to know and Satoru glares after the girl.

She’s turning back just as Satoru finds her in the crowd and the look on his face must truly be frightening because she visibly jumps and then hurries off.

“You gonna keep it?” Satoru asks, sliding his eyes over to Suguru only to find him still frowning at Satoru.

“Keep what?”

“Her number?” Satoru clarifies and great, now he’s mad at Suguru too because he made him say it.

“Why does it matter?” Suguru wants to know, stuffing his hands into his pockets and Satoru imagines he can hear how the paper crinkles as Suguru clenches his hand around it.

“It doesn’t,” Satoru mutters under his breath because it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t matter at all, and yet it does. He’s not sure he can explain that to Suguru, though, so of course the next thing that comes out of his mouth is something so incredibly stupid that Satoru wants to knock himself unconscious. “You should call her.”

He wants to pluck the words right back out of the air and stuff them back in his mouth but of course something like that isn’t possible so Satoru can do nothing but watch how Suguru narrows his eyes at him.

“Are you being serious right now?” he demands to know and Satoru shrugs awkwardly.

“I mean–she was kinda pretty?” In a very bland kind of way, not that Satoru looked at her for long enough to really figure this out.

Besides. He doesn’t even know what Suguru’s type is, anyway.

Suguru only continues to stare at him and by now it’s unusual enough that Satoru squirms under that gaze.

“What?” Satoru defensively says because he doesn’t know what’s going on anymore and it doesn’t help when Suguru simply huffs and turns away from him.

“Maybe I will. Call her,” Suguru eventually mutters and Satoru is glad that he’s no longer looking at him, because Satoru is certain that his face just did a very not normal thing at hearing that.

His stomach certainly dropped down to the floor.

“Great,” he mutters and picks up the pace, hoping to leave Suguru behind him, if only for a little bit, just long enough for him to get himself back under control.

“Satoru,” Suguru calls after him and he sounds strange in a way Satoru can’t place and that alone is enough for him to slow down.

“I’m just hungry,” Satoru quietly says once Suguru catches up to him. “Can we go eat now?”

“Sure,” Suguru agrees and they don’t speak about the incident again after that.

It still takes Satoru most of the evening to banish it from his thoughts though.

~* ~* ~*

Satoru fights the acute urge to strangle someone with his bare hands. The guy Suguru is currently talking to is leaning in real close and Satoru can see his hand brush up against Suguru’s waist as if it has any right to be there.

And yet Suguru is not punching him in the face and telling him to get lost.

Satoru doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that.

Satoru snaps when the guy smiles such a flirtatious smile at Suguru that a shudder runs down Satoru’s back and he even leans in close as if he wants to make sure that Suguru doesn’t notice anyone but him.

And that’s totally a no go.

“Hey, Suguru,” Satoru calls out and he absolutely does not bask in the way Suguru’s eyes snap to him without hesitation, the guy right in front of him clearly forgotten for the moment. “We were supposed to meet Shoko, remember?” Satoru asks out with a pointed look at the watch he’s not wearing.

“Right, sorry, I’m ready, we can go,” Suguru immediately says, leaving the guy where he is and Satoru allows himself a triumphant smile at the confused annoyance he spots on his face.

Serves him right, thinking he could take Suguru’s attention away from him.

“What did he want?” Satoru asks once they are a good way away from the guy and Suguru shrugs.

“He was asking me for a date,” he gives back as if that doesn’t mean anything and Satoru goes strangely hot at hearing that.

“And is that something you’d want?” he wants to know, praying to every deity he knows that his voice sounds normal and not as desperate as he feels.

Suguru gives him a side-glance.

“You–do know I’m gay, right?” Suguru carefully asks, clearly knowing just what Satoru is asking about and Satoru blinks in surprise.

“I did not know that,” he replies, voice faint and decides not to care too much about why his heart suddenly feels as if it’s going to beat right out of his chest. “Do you want him, then?”

He doesn’t know why he keeps asking, doesn’t know why he always keeps pushing when things like that happen, but he can never help himself. He has to know, has to know just how close Suguru is to slipping straight through his fingers.

“I–don’t want to go on a date with him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Suguru tells him, no longer meeting Satoru’s eyes and again, it almost feels as if something possesses Satoru because he simply can’t shut up.

“Maybe you should,” he hears himself say and immediately wants to punch himself in the face. Instead he keeps talking. “He seemed nice.”

“You–want me to go on a date with him,” Suguru repeats sounding just as surprised as Satoru feels and he wishes he could simply teleport out of here right this instance, but they are supposed to meet Shoko and both Suguru and her would skin him alive should he ditch them now.

“I mean,” Satoru trails off with a shrug, not really explaining what exactly it is he means.

It’s not as if he knows it himself.

“Right,” Suguru mutters, something bitter flashing over his face and Satoru hates this; hates himself for always prying, hates people for hitting on Suguru and he even hates Suguru a little bit, for not seeing him as a potential dating partner.

“You never turn anyone down,” Satoru eventually says, with a bitter twist to his lips and Suguru huffs out a laugh.

“It’s also not as if I ever call anyone back or agree to go out with them. It’s called being polite, you know. But of course you wouldn’t know because you haven’t been polite a day in your life,” Suguru tells him and gently bumps their shoulders together.

And just like that, Satoru already feels much more like himself again.

“I wouldn’t know because you’re never polite to me,” he pouts and that, at least, makes Suguru laugh.

“Because I know you and you don’t deserve it,” Suguru shoots back, grinning brightly at him and even though Satoru easily falls into this banter with him, he can’t help the wistful stab to his heart.

If he didn’t know Suguru, if he were just a stranger on the street, then maybe he’d have a chance.

Satoru hates that thought.

~* ~* ~*

Suguru is out, on a date, and Satoru wants to claw his face off.

He hasn’t felt like himself ever since Suguru told him that he’d be busy this evening and even though it’s only been half an hour since he left, Satoru already feels like dying. He has been pacing the entire time, his hands tugging on his hair and he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the next few hours.

Oh gods, what if Suguru doesn’t come back at all tonight?

Satoru cannot be on his own with those thoughts in his head, so he makes his way over to Shoko’s room, barging in without knocking out of pure desperation and very predictably it earns him a lighter flung straight at his head.

He takes it like a champ, because he knows he deserves it and also because like that he can pretend that his head throbs because of that.

“What do you want?” Shoko asks him, not getting up from her bed but she glowers at him and Satoru simply sits down in the middle of the room.

“Suguru is out on a date,” he desperately says and there’s a beat of silence before Shoko laughs.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of your actions,” she then says and Satoru hates that he can’t even deny that. “I told you it’s stupid to always tell him to accept whatever advances he gets and this is truly deserved, you know.”

“Shut up,” Satoru grumbles out, because it’s not fair. Why could Suguru not go on a date with him? “It’s not–I wasn’t urging him to go. I was just–asking.”

“And subtly letting him know that it would be alright with you if he went on a date, Gojo, come on, you’re not normally this stupid. What did you think would happen if you always pushed him in that direction?”

“Not this,” Satoru whines out. “This wasn’t what I wanted at all.”

“But it is what’s happening now,” Shoko mercilessly says.

“Why couldn’t it be me?” Satoru whispers and Shoko snorts.

“Because maybe you didn’t make it clear that a date with you was on the table? Because you kept pushing him to accept these strangers instead of being the possessive bastard you wanted to be and now he thinks you want him to go on dates with these strangers.”

Shoko isn’t even looking at him anymore, too busy with her phone to give the situation the attention it deserves and Satoru glares at her.

“I’m having a crisis here, could you maybe at least pretend to care?”

“I didn’t throw you out yet, did I?” Shoko drawls out as her eyes slide back over to him. “That’s as far as I’ll go, seeing as this is a problem of your own making. You could have just confessed and asked him on a date yourself.”

“But–” Satoru starts but he’s not really sure how to finish that sentence.

Yes, he could have done those things. He also could have ruined the best friendship in his life like that.

“What if he hated me afterwards?” he asks, voice quiet and Shoko sighs.

“Not possible, and you know it. Gojo, you know he would have said yes, if you asked, right?”

“Is that why he’s out on a date with someone else right now?” Satoru shoots back and Shoko rolls her eyes.

“Goddamnit, do you maybe think that he’s out on a date because you kept pushing him to do that and he thinks he has no chance with you? Did that ever occur to you?”

In all honesty, it hasn’t, but he’s not about to tell Shoko that.

“You know what, get out,” she suddenly says, and Satoru knows her well enough to know that an argument right now would be futile.

The best and only thing he can do right now is leave, before she starts to threaten him with bodily harm, so he gets up from the floor.

“Fine, I’ll go. Thanks for nothing, I guess,” he mumbles and Shoko gives him a viscous grin.

“Oh, you’ll thank me, alright,” she cryptically says and then expectantly looks towards the door.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Satoru rushes out and practically flies out of the door in his haste to get away from her.

Normally he would go hang out with Suguru now, but Suguru isn’t here, so there’s nothing left for Satoru to do but return to his own room, where he flops down on the bed, burying his face in his pillow.

Maybe wallowing in his misery is the way to go after all. He should have known better than to expect sympathy from Shoko, of all people. He should have gone there to get drunk, that would have yielded more results, he’s certain of that.

Satoru groans in his pillow, hating the thoughts Shoko put into his mind, the hope that comes with it. It’s all futile now anyway. Suguru is already out on a date; what reason would he have to agree to go on one with Satoru now as well?

Suguru might be out there, meeting the love of his life and there is nothing Satoru can do about that.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice muffled by the pillow and he wonders if he can suffocate himself like this.

Might be easier than having to watch Suguru be lovey-dovey with someone else.

“Satoru!” Suguru’s voice suddenly calls out, followed by his door flying open and Satoru turns his head around in confusion.

Seeing Suguru stand in his doorway, panting as if he ran all the way here is not helping with that.

“What are you doing here?” Satoru asks when Suguru doesn’t say anything else, too busy catching his breath, it seems.

“What happened?” Suguru asks him, a hint of panic lacing his voive and Satoru frowns as he sits up.

“Huh?”

“Shoko said there’s an emergency.”

Satoru’s mouth drops open as he remembers how she’s been on the phone during their talk. She must have messaged Suguru at that time and Satoru doesn’t know if he’s grateful for it or not.

“There isn’t. I’m sorry you rushed here all the way.”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Suguru accuses him, finally stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “You always answer me.”

“I didn’t hear it,” Satoru says with a shrug, and in all honesty, he doesn’t even know where his phone is at the moment.

“Satoru, you–” Suguru steps closer to the bed, his gaze fixed on Satoru. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Satoru glibly says and forces himself to give Suguru his best smile.

It must fall flat, because Suguru’s frown deepens.

“You don’t seem okay,” is the answer he gets, and that clears up exactly nothing for Satoru.

“It’s nothing.” Satoru has never been good at lying to Suguru, so he makes sure to not meet his eyes as he says it. Suguru is too good at reading him as it is, he doesn’t have to make it even easier for him. “I’m sorry you had to cut your date off short for nothing.”

“I’m not,” Suguru immediately replies and now that makes Satoru raise his gaze at him.

“What?”

“I’d rather check on you than talk to someone I don’t really know yet.”

“But–you were there to get to know them,” Satoru argues and he doesn’t even know why.

He should just take this; Suguru just said he cares more about Satoru than the person he went out with and Satoru should be happy about that, should take it and bask in that feeling and instead his mouth keeps running off again.

“You can still call them, right? Tell them the emergency wasn’t one and then you can go back, continue your date.”

“You really want me to go on this stupid date, huh?” Suguru asks, and he sounds so bitter that Satoru immediately drops his head. “Fuck, I knew Shoko was spouting nonsense.”

“What does she have to do with anything?” Satoru mumbles and Suguru scoffs.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’ll just–not be here, seeing as you’d rather see me go on a date than spend time with you,” Suguru snaps out and his tone is finally enough to get Satoru to move.

His hand snaps out, latching on to Suguru’s sleeve.

“Don’t go,” he breathes out but then the words leave him and he frustratedly works his jaw.

“Why not? Give me one good reason, Satoru, please,” Suguru pleads with him and Satoru thinks back to what Shoko said, to what Suguru said and he thinks that maybe he might have a chance.

He just has to be brave.

“Because I want you to go on a date with me,” Satoru rushes out, speaking so fast that the words are all smashed together and he can feel how Suguru freezes.

“Don’t even–” Suguru’s voice breaks and Satoru’s heart breaks clean in two at that.

Being brave is stupid, Shoko is stupid and now he’ll lose the one person he loves.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Suguru finally finishes and turns around to look at Satoru.

There’s a faint blush on his face, but that could be anger, for all Satoru knows and he’s about to drop his hand when Suguru takes it in his, tangling their fingers together.

“You don’t get to joke about this, Satoru,” he says, his voice serious. “You better mean it.”

“I do,” Satoru breathes out, feeling faint with relief. “I do mean it. Suguru, go on a date with me.”

“Why?” Suguru demands to know and Satoru would accuse him of being dense, of being mean, but he thinks this might just be fair.

He has been pushing Suguru on dates after all and maybe it’s time to finally confess like he should have done a long time ago.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

“Why push me on other people then?” Suguru whispers out, though he squeezes Satoru’s hand.

“You know I’m stupid,” Satoru says with a shrug. “I just–I just had to say something and all this garbage came out of my mouth. I just–” he takes a deep breath “—I think I just wanted you to tell me that you wouldn’t go out with anyone else.”

His voice shakes the slightest bit as he admits that and Suguru huffs out a laugh.

“Gods, Satoru, you are so stupid. I thought you weren’t interested in me.”

Suguru steps closer, until Satoru has to part his legs to make space for Suguru and when he finally looks up at him, Satoru’s heart threatens to beat right out of his chest.

Satoru has never seen Suguru smile so softly before.

“I am so interested,” Satoru blurts out and Suguru laughs.

If it were possible, Satoru would fall even more in love.

“Then let’s go on a date,” Suguru says and leans down, brushing his lips against Satoru’s forehead. “Because I am so interested in you, too.”

Satoru pouts up at him, unsatisfied with where Suguru’s lips have just been and he seems to catch on rather quickly because he moves in for a real kiss. Satoru hums happily when they part and Suguru cups his face in his hand.

“I’m in love with you,” he says as if Satoru could doubt that anymore, but it’s still nice to hear and he thanks Suguru with another kiss for it.

“Where do you want to go?” Satoru asks then and in answer Suguru topples them over on the bed.

“I think we stay right here. Get some take-out later because I didn’t get to eat yet and maybe watch a movie?”

“But that’s what we always do,” Satoru complaints and then has a little aha moment when Suguru nods. “We truly are stupid.”

“Speak for yourself,” Suguru immediately shoots back and Satoru pokes him in the side.

“Don’t even pretend, it’s not as if you were any smarter than me,” Satoru says and relishes in the way it makes Suguru laugh again.

“Fair point,” he agrees and pulls Satoru close, tucks him right into his chest. “We really should have known.”

“Better late than never,” Satoru mumbles and buries his face in Suguru’s throat.

“Indeed,” Suguru softly gives back and then they stay like that for a long time, right until Suguru’s stomach reminds them that they should be doing other things as well.

#bt writes #june of doom 2024 #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #jealousy #flirting #feelings realization #love confessions #getting together #first kiss #hurt/comfort #fluff

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wangxianficrecs · 18 days

Text

💙 Am I (Gusu Lan Cultivator, 24 M) the Asshole? by moonwaif

💙 Am I (Gusu Lan Cultivator, 24 M) the Asshole?

by moonwaif (@moonwaif)

M, 41k, Wangxian

Summary: After learning that his roommate and BFF Wei Wuxian is gay, Lan Wangji vows to be a supportive ally. Then one day, Wei Wuxian brings home another man. [Inspired by that one AITA subreddit story.] Kay's comments: AH! This story really is the epitome of one of my favourite tropes: oblivious Lan Wangji! It's so well-written and I love the misunderstandings so much and Lan Wangji's unintentional dickishness, because he doesn't realize that he's crushing hard on Wei Wuxian. He gets sooo jealous of Wen Ning, it's such a joy to read. Excerpt: The first thing he sees is, thankfully, Wei Wuxian. He’s lying on the couch, flat on his stomach and moaning while another man massages his back. Lan Wangji doesn’t breathe. “Mn, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian stirs, head turning slightly in the direction of the door, his eyes remaining closed. “That you?” Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. The other man—the one who is seated on top of Wei Wuxian, straddling his hips—withers under Lan Wangji’s glare, but he doesn’t stop massaging. “Oh, sorry.” Wei Wuxian laughs breezily. “This is, ah—Wen Qionglin. Wen Ning, this is Lan Wangji.” Wen Qionglin ducks his head. “P-pleased to meet you.” Lan Wangji refuses to look at him. “What are you doing?” he grits out, teeth clenched. “Night hunt,” Wei Wuxian grunts. “Threw out my back. Ugh, yeah, Wen Ning, right there . . .” Wen Qionglin digs his thumbs deeply into Wei Wuxian’s lower back, while Wei Wuxian makes some more lewd noises. Lan Wangji has the sudden impulse to grab them and throw them both off the couch. Instead he stomps off to his room, tosses his duffle bag on the bed and starts to unpack. Aggressively. Is this why Wei Wuxian didn’t text Lan Wangji, because he was busy fooling around with Wen Qionglin?

pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern with magic, roommates, oblivious lan wangji, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, miscommunication, jealous lan wangji, jealous wei wuxian, implied/referenced homophobia, lan wangji has friends, angst with a happy ending, feelings realization, hurt wei wuxian, emotional hurt/comfort, coming out

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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hairmetal666 · 25 days

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NSFW; Modern AU

Eddie feels like the luckiest man alive, that he gets to count Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley as his best friends, but he wasn't sure about it at first. No matter how often his new little sheepies praised Steve, Eddie remembered high school. He remembered the Steve that was a grade-A, top-choice asshole. But then--Robin comes out to him. And Steve knows. Steve knows and he's cool about it. So, Eddie comes out to them and Steve is cool about that too.

It fucks Eddie up a little, if he's being honest. Like, Steve, objectively, is hot, but Eddie's only ever been superficially attracted to him. He thinks the whole jock archetype just doesn't do a lot for him. Too much negativity attached to their whole thing. But he'd be lying if he said part of him isn't intrigued.

He doesn't develop a crush on Steve, though. Somehow, through all the charm and bitchiness and not-so-secret kindness, his heart remains unmoved. It must be the jock thing.

And then he's scrolling on Twitter. He's scrolling on Twitter and he's not looking for porn, not even in a "Oh no, I never look at porn on the internet" way, and there's this video.

The first thing he sees is the lowered waist band of a pair of 90's-style basketball shorts, Pacers logo just visible. Then it's the long fingers, the broad hands. They're skimming down a tanned, toned torso, not a six-pack but it's somehow sexier this way. Their path draws Eddie's eyes to the dot of moles, the spread of freckles. They're so kissable, Eddie's mouth waters. Those fingers, they linger against the trimmed thatch of dark hair just peaking out over the elastic, before pulling that waistband lower.

Eddie's hard. Rock hard. Fuck, he's so hard a wind gust could make him come.

The guy on screen, he's got his gorgeous dick in hand, giving himself slow strokes and thumbing at the tip to collect the obvious slickness beading there.

It's not really a decision when Eddie unzips and shoves his jeans just low enough to take himself in hand. On screen, the hand speeds up, the stomach shivering, breath coming in soft bursts, somehow almost more intoxicating than the jerking off.

Eddie times his strokes with the video, coming apart faster than he ever has watching porn. He can tell the guy is close, his grip goes tighter, his breath shorter. Eddie's about to go off like a fucking rocket.

The hand stills, the guy's cock fucking quivers, and he's ready for the money shot, will totally come at the same time, except--it doesn't happen.

The screen goes black.

Eddie comes all over himself.

"Fuck, shit, goddamnit," he hisses. He flails around trying to find something to clean himself up with and pause the video so he can read the fucking text.

As wiped up as he can be without showering, Eddie runs the video back a few seconds to see the words, "want the full experience? Subscribe to my OnlyFans."

He's never clicked a link so fast in his life. He's never really explored OnlyFans before, but he signs up for the free trial without a second thought.

The guy's username is KingJock016 and under usual circumstances, Eddie would be disgusted, but it's too late for that. He's already scrolling through thumbnails of hands and dicks and asses and butt plugs and dildos, pausing briefly at a preview of one where KingJock is bent at the waist, perfect ass--dotted with freckles-- framed by the bands of a jock strap. He's deliciously hairy, deliciously ripe, and Eddie is firming up again.

Without fully meaning to, he hits play, and the video starts with KingJock already rocking his cock into his fist. He's moaning in this one, full throated, almost desperate. And there's something about it, something that catches in Eddie's brain, but he can't focus on that when he's watching KingJock trace a finger around his own asshole.

It's insane that Eddie is this far gone without seeing the guy's face, that his toes are curling at the mere sight of KingJock fucking himself. The sounds are obscene, the slick and snap of skin on skin, the throaty moans, the creak of the bed as KingJock rocks into his fist and back onto his fingers.

Eddie's not even touching himself, and he's already standing at complete attention, a heady ache already starting in his balls.

And then KingJock flips his head back, revealing a shock of chestnut hair, the taut lines of a mole-kissed throat, the hard line of a jaw. One eye flashes open, looks directly at the camera, at Eddie.

It's fucking Steve Harrington.

Eddie comes all over himself again.

It's Steve. His best friend, Steve. His straight best friend. Making content clearly targeted for queer men? I mean, Eddie can't fault him. Like, nice work if you can get it, but Steve???

He hasn't done anything to clean up because his thoughts are spiraling too hard. How long has this been going on? Does Robin know? Should Eddie subscribe ? Leave a comment about how this video made him come untouched? Join a live? No, no, of course not. Steve was his real life friend. He couldn't hang out with him and then watch him fuck himself on a wall-mounted dildo.

He hits subscribe though. He'll hate himself for it later. It's only for the trial period, anyway.

He wipes himself off, but the come is already drying, sticky, against his skin and in his body hair. He needs a shower. He needs to practice being normal around Steve now that he--

Shit, Steve. They're going to the movies tonight. Steve's supposed to pick him up in, shit, fuck twenty minutes.

Eddie hurls himself into the shower, moves so quickly he doesn't really have time to think about Steve having an OnlyFans, about how hard he got off to his friend, about how he keeps having flashes of Steve's perfect body play through his head.

It's hard to ignore it when Steve is standing at his door in his form hugging jeans and little t-shirt and Eddie's done for, a dead man; here lies Eddie Munson. He's just standing in the doorway, smiling at Steve and he knows it's manic, but he can't slip it.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks. Eddie hears the words but all it does is remind him of KingJock's breathy moans.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He keeps smiling.

Steve's eyes narrow. He leans into Eddie's space. "Did you drop acid again? We told you not to do it alo--"

"I didn't! Nothing's wrong."

"Your face is all flushed. You feeling okay? You could have a fever."

Before Eddie can react, Steve's resting the back of his hand on his forehead. Eddie flinches, swatting Steve away, which devolves into a brief slap fight.

"I don't have a fever, man. I'm fine. Hot shower, is all."

"If you say so. Ready to get going?"

Eddie nods. He can totally do this. He can pretend he doesn't know about the OnlyFans and the face Steve makes when he's about to come.

The drive is quiet. Too quiet. He thinks his bones are trying to rip through his skin.

He starts talking, isn't even tracking what he's saying. Dnd and then suddenly it's hobbits and then Star Trek for reasons even he doesn't comprehend. He glances over at Steve, and he's burnished golden from the light of the setting sun. He's so beautiful. How did Eddie miss it all this time? Why did he--

"Get any new subscribers lately?" He hears come out of his mouth.

Steve slams on the breaks, sending Eddie careening into he dashboard.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck," Eddie shrieks. The car behind them lays on the horn, then speeds past when it's clear they aren't moving.

"Why are you saying what the fuck at me?" Steve hisses back. He hits the gas, pulling the car to the side of the road. "Eddie--what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chants. He hides his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to--I'm so fucking sorry."

"How'd you find it?"

Eddie snorts. "One of your videos showed up on my TL. That's the algorithm for you."

"Jesus christ," Steve mutters. "You weren't supposed to--it's--"

"What are you even doing, man?"

"My Family Video salary won't cut it, if we're moving to Indy."

"You're not even gay."

Steve mumbles something, but he's looking out the window and not at Eddie at all.

"What was that?"

"Maybe I am!" Steve doesn't shout, but it's forceful.

Eddie's mouth drops. "Does Robin know?"

Steve stares forward, hands tightening on the wheel.

"And you didn't tell me?" It hurts, he's surprised how much, so much it takes his breath.

"It wasn't like that, Ed."

"Oh, no? Then what was it like?"

"It doesn't matter."

"The fuck it doesn't! I'm the first person you should've come to! I know exactly what it's like."

"No, you don't." Steve explodes. "You don't because you made me realize. And I couldn't talk to you about it because I like you. And, yeah, maybe starting an OnlyFans as part of my gay awakening is weird to you, but it's done a lot for me, okay?"

Steve said a lot of stuff just there, a lot of important things, but Eddie's glitched out on one part. "You like...me?"

"Yeah, like. Have you met you?" Steve slumps in his seat, like he's defeated. "You're fucking beautiful, dude. And smart and funny and passionate. Nerdy as hell. I didn't stand a chance."

"But I'm--" Eddie shakes his head. "I mean, look at me."

"I have." Steve nods. "A lot. I really like what I see."

"When I realized it was you in those videos, I came all over myself. Untouched," Eddie blurts. He flushes deep crimson immediately. "Oh my god, I can't believe I just--"

Steve is laughing, hands pressed over his mouth.

"Shut up, shut up," Eddie swipes at him. "It's not funny, oh my god."

When Steve gets it together, he finally looks at Eddie, and there's pink in his cheeks and a shine to his eyes. "That might be the most gratifying thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Yeah, well. It was humiliating."

"It's hot, Eddie."

His blush hasn't cooled even a bit. "Yeah?" His voice comes out deep, husky.

"I wouldn't mind, uh--that is, if it's cool with you--seeing it for myself?"

Eddie giggles. "You wanna make me come untouched, sweetheart?"

Steve shifts in his seat. "I'd really like that. Will you let me?"

"Uh-huh, absolutely, definitely. If you don't put this car in drive and get us back to my place, I'm going to literally die."

Steve laughs again, a bright, free thing, and he swings back onto the road. "Not yet, you aren't."

That sends a shock of pleasant shivers down Eddie's spine, right to his dick.

"Maybe we can even make a video together sometime."

Eddie, much to his deep embarrassment, whines, hips shifting with the sudden need for relief. "Oh, you didn't want me to die before because this is how you're planning on killing me."

Steve turns to him, a smirk on his lips and a devilish glint in his eye. "You have no idea what I'm going to do to you."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #modern au #smut #onlyfans au #steve is an onlyfans creator #fluff #oblivious eddie munson #steve falls first #eddie accidentally finds steve's onlyfans #feelings realization #feelings confession #eddie is steve's gay awakening #onlyfans helps steve explore his sexuality #i decided steve's jersey number was 16 #there's a little wedding singer reference in here

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itsonlytext · 8 days

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sea salt & cologne · scene i

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

a miscommunication and some rather bad wording leads to the obvious. (according to sherlock, at least.)

a/n: heyy first sh&co fic (woop woop!). this was my submission to the sh&co flashbang event that took place in around april. writing sherlock and john's pod dynamic is (obviously) much different from what i know, so it felt a little daunting to enter. but i did! and i was paired with the lovely lovely sweet and jubbly @raveboy34 who did the most scrumptious artwork you'll ever see as you keep reading.

≈ 3000 words.

(read this story on ao3.)

"To fifteen-year-old Nadine from Manchester, thank you for your email. I will make sure to give Archie a treat on your behalf. Erm... Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry," he cleared his throat. "To the listeners, I'm not shouting myself out, obviously, this is another fellow John that listens to the podcast! Isn't that cool? Well, John-that’s-not-me, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy your holiday in Brum! It's.. an interesting place. Ah- no, that’s.. Let’s not say that," he muttered, pausing the recording with a huff and unconsciously reaching for the mug of tea that was made for him.

He didn’t know how, but on the rare occasions that he decided to, Sherlock consistently made the most impeccable cups of tea. Without fail. John couldn’t even get his own cups of tea right let alone someone else’s.

After taking a large gulp, he leaned back in his swivel chair and gazed at the laptop screen in front of him.

The past forty minutes had consisted of scrolling through fan mail in his bedroom and attempting to complete this week’s shoutouts. There was an overwhelming list of unread emails and he felt awful having to blindly pick out who to respond to. He played the recording back.

“Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry-”

“Ugh,” he scrunched up his face. “Why do I-”

He played it again.

“-John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny b-”

And again.

“Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry–”

“How’s it going?”

He hastily paused the recording and glanced back at the head that had popped in through the gap in the door. “Hey, Mariana,” he dragged, lamely attempting to exit the tab as she peered in.

Having heard the recording, she frowned quizzically.

“Are you.. giving yourself a shoutout?”

“Yeah, that- No, no, I’m..” he shook his head excitedly. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s another John listening to the podcast! Isn’t that awesome? He sent an email. Said he was going to Brum for the summer.”

“Oh, wow,” she stepped into the room, running a hand through her slicked-back curls. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at the screen. “I wonder if there’s another Mariana listening somewhere in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess there is! Isn’t that cool?”

Another head of dark curls popped in through the door. “Doubt it.”

“Oi!” he turned to Mariana with an apologetic gaze. “Don’t listen to him, I’m sure there’s loads of Marianas out there.”

“Doubt it.”

He huffed, leaning further back into his chair to see. “And why’s that?”

Sherlock stepped in calmly, bringing his fingers together. His hair was damp against his head, and he carried in a fresh scent of shower gel along with him. “Because no one here is named Mariana, so no one listening to the podcast would feel the need to highlight it should that be their name.”

They rolled their eyes in unison.

He carried on with a sharp intake of air through his teeth, his eyes occasionally glancing at the agonisingly bright laptop screen. “But, taking yourself as an example, I’m almost certain there are at least six other Johns in the vicinity of Baker Street. You’ve a painfully common name,” he finished matter-of-factly.

“Oh thanks, mate,” John ignored the sly smile that tugged at Mariana’s lips. “Well, I apologise for not having a- a rich and pompous name like Sherlock. Yeah, how ridiculous of me. Anything else about me that’s painfully common?”

“Actually, yes. In my free time, I’ve written an essay on both your idiosyncratic and conformate behaviours. Would you like to read it?”

“Well–”

“Hang on, Sherlock, you’ve.. Written an essay about John?” Mariana asked, resting a fist on the back of John’s chair.

“Of course I have,” the detective frowned, absently brushing away a stray curl that fell into and obscured his line of view (John). “In the past year that he and I have been flat-sharing, I’ve come to.. Collect data, if you will.”

“That’s really sweet,” she raised her brows amusedly, fluffy curls bouncing on her shoulder as she tilted her head. “So.. Have you written one about me?”

“Actually, it’s totally reliant on observation and the facts,” he responded sharply, diverting his gaze. “I wouldn’t consider it sweet at all. And no. I have not written one about you.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.”

John pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, considering he just called me painfully common, I wouldn’t call that a shame.”

“It wasn’t an insult, Watson, it was a fact - yet another inherent trait of yours.”

“What?”

“Taking everything personally.”

“Oi-!”

“See?”

“Mate, we’ve been together for almost a year and all you can say about me is that I’m painfully common?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “We balance each other out. Like..” he scrunched up his face in thought. “Ying a-and..”

“Yin and Yang.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, mate. So I’m the brawn to your brain.”

“Yes, exactly.” He paused. “What?”

“Oh, because you’re- you’re so uncommon, aren’t y- Well, you know what, you are.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, yeah, of course you do. How’s this for a compliment? You can’t even–”

“Hey!” Mariana put her hands between them in a feeble attempt to soften the tension. “I think we’re all getting a bit worked up. John, why don’t you finish.. Whatever you’re doing–”

“Shoutouts,” he sighed, rubbing his face annoyedly. “I was just trying to do the bloody shoutouts.”

“Right,” then she glanced sternly at Sherlock. “And why don’t you get back to your experiment?”

The detective straightened himself, pulling his gaze away from John with a frown. “Which one? I currently have four ongoing experiments.”

“I don’t know, how about the one that required you to use all my conditioner? You owe me, by the way. My hair feels like straw now, feel it,” she tilted her hair forward.

“No.”

"But I see you’ve managed to condition your lovely, lovely locks,” she carried on sarcastically, gesturing to his wet hair and damp skin.

"Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a new one.”

"Yeah, I- I noticed. It’s nice,” said John. His eyes widened. “It smells nice. Obviously. I don’t.. Feel your hair during the night, that’d be weird.”

Sherlock eyes narrowed amusedly. “Is that a fact.”

For God’s sake, John thought to himself. He just called you painfully common and you’re still acting like some fan. He rolled his lips with a stony resolve, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

Sherlock faltered slightly.

Mariana watched. “Hello.”

The detective calmly tore his eyes away at the sound of her voice. “Besides. That.. That experiment was boring. I finished it. Would you like to know the results?”

She glared at him. “Does it have anything to do with human remains?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Then no.” She turned to John. “I thought we could go for a drink. You know, to remind you two why you’re still living together.”

He sat up straight, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he thrummed his fingers against the desk. “Er, yeah, sure, once I finish these shoutouts.”

“Okay, great. We’ll leave in ten minutes. Sherlock, are you coming?”

The detective seemed to debate this offer intensely - his thick brows furrowing, tanned cheeks hollowing and grey eyes slightly narrowing until he finally said, “Of course I would.”

“Perfect,” she replied light-heartedly. “Let’s go.”

As Mariana began to leave the room, Sherlock followed cautiously, still deep in thought. “I can’t strongly recommend this line of work to you if you are unable to converse about human remains, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hey!” she held open the door with her foot and gestured for him to leave first. “My job is to answer emails, help pay the rent and send out the merch. Not to look at, or talk about, human remains..”

Her voice faded as they left the room and the door creaked shut.

John let out a gentle sigh and swivelled back to face his laptop. “Right, let’s see…” he opened up the tab that he had previously tried to hide from Mariana. He frowned. “Hang on. Why’s the footage so long– Oh, shit, I’ve been recording this entire time!”

The pub was relatively busy with a constant metronome of the door languidly swaying open and shut and the gentle hum of others’ conversations - cushioned only by the soothing tang of refills that glided down their throats in an attempt to ground.

In the search for a small table, Mariana had left the men upfront to order the drinks.

“Two pints of bitter and a gin and tonic, please,” called John as he leaned over the bar with a squint to tune out the overly repetitive pop music.

“Yeah alright, mate. Be a bit because it’s just me today.”

“No worries. Ta,” he scratched the top of his head and settled back into the stool.

Sherlock wasn’t sitting. In fact, he rather awkwardly stood beside John as they waited for their drinks - his posture perfect, his stance unnervingly still. There was a grim (and awfully heavy) twist in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had somehow, in some way, upset John, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. He gazed at the doctor as he thrummed his fingers against the countertop, the reflective surface and soft lights casting a warm glow against his skin.

“Well..” he began, his deep voice cutting through the obnoxious music.

John glanced at him. “What?”

Ah, thought Sherlock. He’s still upset. (Angry? Flattered?) “It’s incomplete, but would you like to read it?”

“Do I want to read an essay about how I’m painfully common? Erm, let me think,” he tilted his head sarcastically. “No, I’m alright mate. Besides, if it’s about me, what more could I possibly want to know?”

“Actually, I’m positive that I know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, you probably do- What? No,” he shook his head annoyedly. “Forget it. I don’t want to read your bloody essay that’s about how I’m- I’m so painfully common.”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “Why are you so obsessed over that phrasing?”

“Because-!” John stopped himself. His lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes softened.

He frowned. The detective tried to use all his innate and learned deductive reasoning to try to understand - he even attempted to reflect on the ‘social etiquette' intervention he had been forced to have with Mrs Hudson last week. But it was all too much: the torturous music (to which he regretted not having brought his ear defenders), John’s uncharacteristic indifference, his lack of knowledge.

Their intense gaze seemed to make John freeze up, his navy eyes unable to pull away, unable to portray the anger his voice lamely attempted to convey. The warm, soft lights reflected into his eyes, illuminating them into a brighter, saturated tone that made Sherlock forget about the (god-awful) twist in his stomach. They were beautiful, Sherlock thought simply. (He was beautiful.)

“It’s-” he leaned his elbows on the countertop and ran his hands over his flushed face. “It’s fine. Seriously, just forget it, it’s fine.”

Sherlock cautiously opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t–”

“Here you guys go,” the bartender slid forward the three drinks.

“Thanks,” said John politely, juggling the three glasses into his hands without asking for help from the detective, who was watching him with a concerned brow etched deep into his skin. “Sherlock. It’s fine, mate.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he watched John carefully walk through the maze of tables until he found Mariana sitting at the back on her phone. After four seconds of debating with himself, Sherlock turned slightly, pulled out his wallet, silently paid for the drinks and sauntered to the table. (Ignored the churning in his stomach.)

An icy wind had been the final push out of Autumn - it had blown away the rusty coloured leaves until the pavements on Baker Street bore nothing but a thin layer of frost.

It had been five days since Sherlock had (mistakenly) revealed the existence of his essay about John and, according to his knowledge, not much had improved in 221B. The doctor was often tucked away in his room, with the excuse of ‘editing the podcast’ slowly fraying and eventually dissolving into just ‘being tired’. Mariana had taken it upon herself to become an intermediary; she waded through the flood of emotions that had drowned both of the men by attempting to speak to them both privately and also sweetening some (rather bitter) messages that they had for one another before delivering them. Sherlock had, of course, seen right through her considerate attempts at cushioning John’s colourful insults, but he didn’t say anything no matter how uncharacteristic her edits were. (He sometimes wanted to tell her to read the essay he wrote about John so that she could learn how to properly speak on his behalf but, in case he accidentally offended her, he kept those thoughts to himself.)

However, when the orders for the podcast’s merchandise started piling up, Mariana had no choice but to plant her focus on packaging and sending them away. And when that happened, his (dreadful) stomachache had gotten worse.

The silence was killing him. (John was killing him.)

By midday, Sherlock had curled up into the sofa, his legs tucked close and arms wrapped around his chest with his fingertips pressing against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His eyes were shut and his face was uncomfortably pressed against a pillow, but he didn’t move. (If he did, the texture of the pillow would send a cold shower of shivers through his body.) Instead he resorted to taking deep, levelled breaths - unconsciously counting his heart’s BPM. (Always calculating, moving. Even when he didn’t want to.)

He had successfully managed to tune everyone and everything that made even the slightest of noise. He had been idle like that since 9.17am, so disturbingly still that, after the first hour, Mariana had to check if he was still breathing. He was.

During the forty-second round of unconsciously monitoring his heart’s BPM, an aggressive vibration had interrupted his counting. Sherlock opened his eyes and, for a moment, he stopped breathing.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. His phone vibrated again.

Sherlock leaned over to the coffee table and picked it up.

Lestrade Says You Weren’t Answering Your Phone. Apparently There’s Something You’d Want To See At NSY

Interested?

It was John. (Oh God, John.)

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Are you?

There was a pause. (Suddenly his BPM was significantly higher than it was 16 seconds ago.)

Maybe

Sherlock was used to the quiet. Most of the time he craved it. A flattened wavelength was his ideal; it opened doors to his thoughts, germinated possibilities and carefully constructed intricate experiments. But this was entirely different:

John never said ‘maybe’ to the possibility of getting to play audience and watch his consulting detective work, to record the perfect material for his podcast and prepare for a rush of adrenaline at any given moment. He never (never) said ‘maybe’ to the idea of working with Sherlock.

The detective switched off his phone, stood up and straightened his jumper.

A gentle string of footsteps told Sherlock that Mariana had walked in. The familiar, .2-second high-pitched creak of a door also told him that she had just left John’s room.

“I assume you were talking about me,” he began plainly, entirely avoiding eye-contact as he strode over to the desk by the window and picked up his ear defenders.

“Why do you assume that?” she lightly asked, setting down a pack of diet Cokes on the kitchen table before beginning to gather her fluffy curls up into a high ponytail.

“What else would you talk about?”

“I..” Mariana hummed unconvincingly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “We talk about lots of things.”

He grabbed his coat from his armchair and shrugged it on. “Like?”

“Hm?”

“What sort of things do you talk about?”

She glanced down and wrapped her cardigan around herself comfortingly. “Like.. Beer. And Archie. Oh! And lots of podcast stuff, which we know you don’t really enjoy, so–”

“Scotland Yard has called. There’s something that they’d like me to see.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Yeah, that’s great! You’ve been wanting a case for a while.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s eyes wandered anywhere but in the direction of Mariana. “Will John be accompanying me? For the podcast stuff. ”

“Er, yeah.”

The voice came from behind Mariana. She took a step to the side to reveal John stepping into the living room with one shoe on his (left) foot and the other in his (right) hand. He bent down and slipped the other one on calmly, his face void of any indifference he had been holding against the detective for the last few days. “Got my mic all charged up,” he patted the small clip-on attached to his shirt. “Just in case.”

Sherlock eyed him carefully. “That’s good.”

It was silent. (His stomach churned.)

“Let us leave,” he said plainly, brushing straight past Mariana and John and ignoring the way their eyes met.

After he left, John sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “See?” he whispered.

Mariana shook her head. “Remember what I said, just–”

“Try again, yeah, I know,” he paused. “Sorry, Mariana- No, yeah, you’re right.”

“I hope so,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him out the living room. “Now go, before he thinks we’re talking about him.”

“Again.”

***

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Mariana?”

“Yep, it’s me,” she poked her head through with a smile. “Sherlock’s still sleeping on the couch. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” John sat up on his bed as she walked in. He politely turned off his phone and focused on her. “What’s up?”

“Three things. One, we’re out of diet Coke.”

“Ah,” John clambered off his bed and pulled open his wardrobe doors. He reached to the bottom, pulled out a pack and handed it to Mariana.

“You keep packs of mini diet Cokes in your wardrobe?” she asked quizzically.

“Don’t tell Sherlock.”

Intrigued, she peered into his wardrobe. “What else do you keep in there?”

“Pop tarts. Only the good ones, though.”

“Huh, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m locked in the flat by myself,” she joked.

“What was the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah, you know the ‘thank you’ cards for the merch that spelled your name wrong?”

“How could I. Jonk is a pretty big mistake to make,” he deadpanned. “I mean, whose name could possibly be Jonk?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I have finally used them all up in our orders!”

“Finally. But now that means that fifty of our fans have a card that says, ‘Thanks again! From Sherlock, Mariana, Archie and Jonk’.”

“Well, I’ve just ordered another one-hundred cards with the correct spelling of your name.”

“Thanks, Mariana. Honestly though, the guy on the phone was ridiculous, I even spelled my name out for him! Y’know, the same, painfully common name that everyone knows. ”

She glared at him. “John.”

He sighed, running his hands over his face. “I know,” he mumbled. He looked up. “I know.”

“Seriously,” she lowered her voice to a gentle tone. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“I-” he sighed, closing his wardrobe and trying to change the subject. “What.. Was the third thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It was about you still not talking to Sherlock!”

“Ah.”

“So?” she asked firmly.

There was a certainty, an air to Mariana that John had admired since they first crossed paths - always headstrong in her resolutions and cautious enough to ground the men’s often impulsive and derelict decisions. She also always saw right through him. (Both of them.)

John sat down on the edge of his bed. Mariana leaned her back flat against the wall as a nod for him to talk.

“I don’t know, okay? Yes. What he said upset me.”

“He always makes those kinds of comments, though. I mean, to me, as well. You’ve never really reacted this way before,” she commented, hugging the pack of drinks close. “Did he.. Perhaps say something else to you? At the pub?”

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s just the worst bit, isn’t it. That is all he said - painfully common and I just.. Lost it. Like some- Some bloody, stupid.. Stupid child. I don’t know why I did, he’s right, but. What he says means something to me, Mariana. What he thinks. I mean, what makes me different from the other six Johns in the vicinity?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t actually think there are six Johns in Baker Street. We’d definitely know.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it,” he replied gently. “He’s such a cocky git that you can’t tell if he means half the stuff he says.”

“And yet…”

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

There was a glint in her eyes as she watched the doctor debate with himself. “Are you still ghosting him online?”

“No. Well, yes, I have been. But I texted him today. Lestrade says there’s something she wants us to see, and I haven’t had much content for the podcast in a while, so…”

“You’re going to go with him.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Mariana stood up straight. “You need to talk to him, John. He needs you, no matter what he says. Your silence won’t help him understand. Give him another chance.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Mariana.”

They shared a soft, genuine smile and she began to leave the room, only pausing for a moment. “Oh, John.”

He glanced back. “Yeah?”

She seemed to construct her next words carefully. “Try telling him how you feel. I think that’s what he needs. What both of you need.”

John gazed at her, contemplating what she said with a soft frown. He eventually nodded.

read part two of 'sea salt & cologne' here.

tags (feel free to let me know if you'd like to be specifically added to/removed from the sh&co tags list): @helloliriels@dragonnan @strawberrywinter4@with-a-ghost-mr-holmes@7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @raina-at @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @meetinginsamarra @bs2sjh @gomielka @thetimemoves @thegildedbee @iwlyanmw @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @jolieblack @notjustamumj @jawnn-watson @thalialunacy

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dnffics · 3 months

Text

revelations in distance and proximity

by indigoh

Rated M, 10.4k words

Tags: Bodyswap, Angst, Comfort, Feelings Realization

Summary:

“You scare me, George.” George inhales, surprised, as if he hadn't expected Dream to speak. “I scare you?” George asks him. “Yeah,” Dream answers, breathless. George looks at him as he waits, giving Dream time to elaborate. “Sometimes, when you talk to me,” Dream sighs, “I feel like I can’t breathe.” Or, 2020 Dream and 2023 Dream unknowingly swap bodies for a day to heal past wounds. 2020 Dream has an opportunity to confront feelings he’s pushed down and repressed while 2020 George gets some of the reassurance he needs.

#dnf #dreamnotfound #dnf fanfic #dnf fic #oneshot #10k 25k words #rated m #mod.recs #bodyswap #angst #comfort #feelings realization #indigoh

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neontoad · 7 months

Text

“Chuuya.”

As always, Chuuya was working hard to earn the Employee Of The Month award. Paying no mind to Dazai, he didn't take his eyes off the door of the office building they were assigned to watch.

“Chibi.”

No answer came and Dazai sighed.

It was all P-O-I-N-T-L-E-S-S.

No one was going to get in or come out of the building on a fucking Sunday. Even criminals take weekends off once in a while. Except for them, it seems.

“Chuuya, I’m bored.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue and shot Dazai a look of steel.

“Do your fucking job, Dazai,” Chuuya spat. “And shut up.”

Dazai chose to ignore Chuuya’s thoughtful advice. “Such a workaholic! You are going to get a heart attack before you’re 20.”

For a moment Dazai pondered if he should mention that Chuuya will probably be no taller than a barstool when he’s 20, but decided against it. Chuuya probably expects this jab, anyway. This just takes all the fun out of making a joke.

Dazai sighed again and fell into the pile of leaves.

The criminal organisation based in the building was so minor, so insignificant, that Dazai wondered if there was another reason they, out of all people, were assigned to this torturous, mundane mission.

Double Black’s forte was offensive action, not surveillance. Beat somebody up? Sure. Destroy an enemy’s headquarters? Easy. Get the information out of particularly uncooperative people? Say no more.

This shit? Give it to some low-ranking goon.

At least the location was somewhat pleasant. The building was situated across from a small park, and that was where he and Chuuya had been waiting for hours, the bright early morning turning into a sunny afternoon.

Late October had been showering Yokohama with sporadic rains attacking its citizens at the least convenient moment, its lead sky hanging low as an omen of the upcoming winter, piercing winds getting colder with each passing day.

Today was the complete opposite.

As if trying to make up for the weeks of gloom and greyness, the clouds decided to open like a curtain and let the sun grace the city with its presence one more time.

Dazai slid his bandage off his eye and looked at the blue sky through the intricate weaving of the maple trees. The sun on his face, the flicker of sunlight through the leaves, the faint humming of people talking in the background…

He had to admit - it felt really good.

No one had to know, though.

With another tragic sigh, loud enough for Chuuya to hear (of course chibi pretended not to), he sat down and started rummaging through the fallen leaves. Chuuya gave him a side-eye. Of course, Dazai pretended not to see.

Collecting leaves and arranging them by colour felt way more useful and exciting than watching an empty office building for hours on end. The shades of yellow, red and orange danced in front of Dazai like fireworks in his hands as he was getting lost in painting a picture of autumn in front of him, the last farewell to the colourful season before the cloud curtains closed again and drowned the city in gloomy chill.

Chuuya sighed and sat on the grass. He was still looking at the door, but his eyes kept darting to the vivid gradient patchwork blanket Dazai was creating in front of him.

“Grow the fuck up,” Chuuya mumbled and took a leaf from the ground. “The fuck are you doing?” His eyes quickly scanned the gradient carpet, and after a moment of consideration, he put the leaf between two others.

It fit perfectly.

The dance of colourful foliage got even more energetic now that two pairs of hands started arranging the leaves in a perfect pattern, the tribute to the most colourful season growing by the minute.

“It’s mine!” Dazai shouted when he saw Chuuya reaching for a large orange maple leaf, its bright colour calling to be added to the collection.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. It was his.

He slapped Chuuya’s hand and grabbed the leaf, giggling triumphantly.

His eyes met Chuuya’s.

The azure blue matched the bright sky, the shine in Chuuya’s irises sparkling brighter than the sun, this dazzling view momentarily making Dazai forget what he was doing in the first place.

Dazai had always known Chuuya’s personality was bright like fire, but he had never realised how vivid and spellbinding Chuuya was on the outside, too.

He looked at the leaf shaking slightly in his hand.

As if carefully picked from a palette of a million colours with an eyedropper tool, the colour of the leaf perfectly matched Chuuya’s fiery hair, the whole world suddenly tinted with a bright shade of red, the colour making the sunny day even warmer.

“What are you waiting for?” The feigned annoyance in Chuuya’s voice was debunked by the faint lines in the corners of his eyes, and Dazai’s eyes lingered on them, slowly travelling to the strand of hair tucked behind Chuuya’s ear and the ponytail he used to make fun of.

What was so funny about it?

“Oi, shitty Dazai. You awake?”

“Gorgeous,” Dazai whispered out. “Simply gorgeous.”

Was the mission useless? Sure.

But… Was it a complete waste of time?

No. Definitely not a waste of time at all, Dazai thought and put the leaf behind Chuuya’s ear, his heart squeezing at the sight of the rosy blush blossoming on Chuuya’s cheeks, another stunning colour making the autumn day just a little bit brighter.

Thank you for reading! Make sure to check out this wonderful artwork by Nezu on twt <3

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #skk #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #soukoku #fluff #mini fic #teen skk #pm skk #smitten dazai #feelings realization #autumn

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