#he really looked like he wanted to say ''oh cool!'' or ''weird!''

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 8 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Now that Anna knows what Bob's hands feel like when he's holding her close, she doesn't know how to stop herself from going back for more. But she's unwilling to even humor Bob when it comes to what he wants the most.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 5300 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

"I'm waiting for you to thank me."

Bob looked up to see Nat in front of him with a little smirk painted on her lips. He'd been spending the last twenty minutes trying to act normal, something he forgot how to do after Anna kissed him in the kitchen. Because it wasn't just a kiss, it was everything. It felt like she really wanted him.

"Thank you for what?" he asked cautiously.

Nat laughed heartily like he'd just told a very amusing joke. "For pushing you and Anna together. Bradley told me the situation, and that woman was jealous of me touching you. Her face was all pinched, and her lips were pressed into a tight line. Jealous. She wants you. And my god, she's hot. What the fuck do they do at San Diego State? Only interview you if you've got your PhD and a modeling contract?"

Bob knew he was blushing, and he was happy she wasn't calling him out on it. His friends were all talking about him and Anna behind his back at this point, trying to figure out what was going on. "We kind of just made out in the kitchen," he muttered, glancing across the yard at Anna who was talking to Jess and still holding the can of ginger ale he gave her.

"Yes!" Nat said with absolutely no subtlety, slapping Bob's shoulder. "Oh fuck, the two of you will have the cutest kids! Freckles and strawberry blonde hair!"

He had to close his eyes against the idea of it, willing the flush in his cheeks to subside. When he opened them again, Anna was looking right at him. Her gaze was a little unsure, and he was starting to get afraid she wouldn't let him drive her home later. But he wanted to walk her up to her door. He had been thinking about it since the very first time he drove her home.

"It's not like we're together or anything," he muttered.

"Yet," Nat told him, looking so certain. "Not yet."

It was getting late, the sun dipping lower in the sky. The temperatures would start cooling down once it was dark, and Anna was only wearing shorts. Bob's eyes easily found those freckles on her thighs once again. Her skin looked so damn soft. He wondered if he would feel goosebumps beneath his fingers if he traced that pretty pattern, gently connecting her freckles with an imaginary line. He had to swallow hard as she started heading his way.

Nat squeezed his wrist and muttered something about work, and then she vanished into the house. With Anna standing right in front of him, Bob wished he could just lean in and kiss her the way Jake always did with Jess, and the way Bradley always did with his wife. He wanted it. With Anna.

"I'm getting a little chilly," she told him. "I guess I overestimated how warm autumn was going to be in San Diego. It's still better than New Jersey though." She was talking to him like she hadn't been rubbing the front of those little shorts against the fly of his jeans barely an hour ago, and now he was sweating.

"You should wear jeans next time," he replied before realizing how stupid he sounded. "Not that you should be covering your legs or anything like that! You have very nice legs. Nice freckles? I just don't want you to be cold."

He cradled his forehead in his hand while Anna laughed softly. "I'll wear jeans next time. Do you think you could give me a ride home soon?"

"Sure," he promised immediately. "Absolutely."

"Great." Then she turned, and Bob heard her saying goodbye to Jessica. Why was he so awkward? Why was that exchange so weird? How was he supposed to make Anna want to kiss him again when he could barely string two normal sentences together?

--------------------------

Anna was trying to make a quick getaway, craving another few minutes alone with Bob. His truck was cozy, and she knew it would feel warm. His voice was sexy, and so was the way he moved. She wanted to kiss him again, even though she knew it was a terrible idea.

"Take some leftovers!"

"No, I'm fine," Anna told the hosts as Bradley tried to talk her into taking some of the extra burgers home. "But thank you." She was terrified that Jess may have said something about how sad Anna's lunches were; she had been doing her best to hide her current financial state from her friends, but she must have slipped up somehow.

"Well, will you come over for dinner one night? I love cooking for Sugar, but I always end up making way too much food."

Anna looked down at her feet. "Sure. I could do that. Jake invited me over there, too. I know he always cooks for Jess."

"Okay," Bradley said, his voice a little rough and his face annoyed when Anna looked up. "I'm a lot better at cooking than Jake is, first of all. Second of all, why don't you have dinner at his lame ass condo, and then let me know what he cooked. Then I'll cook a much better version of it for you and Sugar one night."

She was trying not to laugh; she knew they were competitive, but she didn't know it was quite this bad. "That sounds great, Bradley. Thanks for inviting me over today."

He just waved her off. "You're always welcome. You're one of us." He said it so casually before he started scraping the grill and cleaning it up, Anna just stared at the pattern of his tie dye shirt for a few seconds. He considered her part of this group now? This ridiculously cool friend group? If she thought about it for too long, she knew she would start crying. 

"Thanks," she whispered, turning and running directly into Bob's solid chest.

When she looked up at him as her fingers grazed along his shirt, he asked, "You ready to head out?"

"Yeah." Anna felt the slight pressure of Bob's hand at her lower back, guiding her toward the door.

"After you," he said softly. 

Anna had to walk inside the house and past Natasha, who she had clearly embarrassed herself in front of before. But the brunette just waved goodbye like she was completely unfazed by the events from earlier. Like it was totally normal for Bob and Anna to be together, heading out front to his truck as the setting sunset turned the sky orange.

Bob pulled the door open and helped her into his truck, and Anna thought maybe it was okay for this to be normal? To get a ride home from Bob after kissing him in her friend's kitchen? To have a painfully unrelenting crush on him that made her feel like perhaps love was a choice that you made for yourself? 

She watched him walk around the font of the truck, his glasses catching the last rays of sunlight as the streetlights started to warm up. He was beautiful. He climbed into the truck gracefully and looked at her bashfully. She was the reason he wasn't more confident right now; she knew it, and she was annoyed with herself for it.

He cleared his throat quietly and said, "Before I forget, I have your copy of Papillon." Then he reached for the glovebox, his knuckles brushing her bare knee. "Sorry," he whispered, pulling his hand away immediately.

Anna's heart was in her throat. How was she supposed to tell him that she liked it when he touched her, even by accident. He reached for the glovebox again, this time making sure his movements kept him clear of her leg. "It's okay," she told him, breathing deep. "I didn't mind it."

The only answer she got was Bob carefully handing her worn out book back to her. There was another little note folded up inside which made her remember she never read the one that was in Wuthering Heights before she left it in her office at work. He started the engine. The drive back to her place was too long, and too short at the same time. She was surprised to find that he was heading in the right direction without a reminder about her address. As the sky darkened, Anna tried to listen to the music playing on the radio, but all she could really hear was the sound of her own heart pounding. 

When Bob parked the truck in front of her building, she watched him squeeze the steering wheel with both hands while he stared out the windshield. "Anna...when you say you didn't mind it when I touched you...what does that mean? And what happened back at the cookout? Am I allowed to kiss you now? Or am I supposed to just figure out how to get over you?"

She fumbled with her seatbelt, heart thundering at the sound of his unsure voice. She wanted to ask him why he even liked her, because she had literally nothing to offer someone like Bob Floyd. But instead she said, "I meant I like it when you touch me. Even if it's by accident."

He turned to look at her, and when he saw she was crawling across the seat, his eyes went wide, and his hands slid from the steering wheel. "Anna." He inhaled a sharp breath when she planted one hand between his thighs, brushing his jeans with her fingers. She couldn't stand him thinking she didn't want him for another second. He was all she wanted. Somehow moving to San Diego got her some actual friends and a job she liked, and now a decent man with only green flags was into her, and she just couldn't make him think she felt otherwise. Even if they couldn't be together.

Bob's hands were planted on the seat at his sides, and he wasn't moving an inch as Anna straddled his legs. It was dark out, but she could see his gaze dip down to her cleavage before he met her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was deep with need. "Is it okay if I touch you now?"

"Please."

Anna's little cry of delight echoed through the cab of the truck as soon as Bob's hands settled on her bare thighs. His touch was light yet intentional, and it just left her wanting more. He was running his thumb along the frayed edge of her denim shorts, teasing her as he whispered, "I want to kiss you."

She didn't answer. Instead she reached for him, letting her fingers sink into his silky hair, leaning closer until her lips met his again. The kisses in the kitchen had been a little frantic, forcing her to get over the fact that Bob didn't want Natasha. He wanted Anna. But this was something different. Languid and slow. Needy yet decisive. She wanted to touch the rough stubble of his cheek, so she did. She wanted to feel his bottom lip tugged gently between hers, so she did. Then she parted her lips and tasted him.

The scrape of her nails along his jaw had his fingers sliding up inside the bottom of her shorts, and she wished she wasn't wearing them at all. She wanted to know the feel of his hands everywhere. "Anna," he murmured against her lips. She tugged on his hair and kissed him a little rougher, but she gasped and gave up control as soon as his big hands found their way over her shorts to her hips and yanked her snug against him. There was no more polite distance. No more breathing room. Just his hard body pressed to her soft one.

Bob's glasses were cool against her cheek, keeping her grounded as his fingers met the skin of her lower back while he tasted her tongue. His touch tickled her, and she rolled her hips forward, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. "Please," Anna whined, like it was the only word she even knew. Then her mouth was back on his. Bob's fingers traveled an inch higher, and she ground against him, but this time he broke the kiss.

When he tipped his head back, he looked bashful in the glow from the streetlights. She could feel him. He was getting hard for her, and it was delicious. Her brain supplied every suggestive line of poetry it had ever absorbed in her lifetime, and all she wanted was to make him get harder. 

She was ready to start unzipping his jeans when he eased his hands away from her body and whispered, "Will you let me walk you to your door? I've been wanting to do that for weeks."

----------------------

It was slow going, trying to get to Anna's apartment door. They kept stopping to kiss, even going so far as to end up with her body pinned between his and the wall in the stairwell. Her soft laughter as he kissed the side of her neck echoed through the enclosed space, and then she said his name.

"Bob."

Actually, it was more like a whine, and it reverberated off of the walls beautifully. "Yes, Anna?" he whispered, letting her lace their fingers together. He wanted to do this all the time. He wanted to be her boyfriend. 

She just made a strangled sound as he kissed as many of her freckles as he could get his lips on before pulling her away from the wall. Then they finally made it upstairs to her door. If she invited him inside, he wasn't sure what she would expect. As much as he was ready to skip all of the pleasantries, he knew he needed to do this just right.

"Oh," she whispered, seemingly to herself as she unlocked her door. But she didn't turn the knob as she looked back at him over her shoulder. Her pretty brown eyes flashed with concern, so he took a step away, but then she just looked sad. 

"Everything okay?" he asked. She nodded. "Will I get to see you this week? I'd love to buy you a ginger ale at the Hard Deck. Or Chippy's."

She bit her lip before abandoning the door and wrapping her arms around his neck. She was all rough kisses on her tiptoes, and Bob was ready to turn the knob, head inside and deal with the consequences later. But she ran her tongue along his bottom lip before pulling away from him just as quickly. "I need to...I'll see you later, Bob."

In a flash, she squeezed herself in through the smallest gap imaginable, and then she gently closed her apartment door behind her. Bob stood there for a minute, his cock still half hard in his jeans as he stared at the spot where Anna had just been standing. She was giving him whiplash at this point, but maybe he sort of liked that kind of thing.

He quickly adjusted himself in his jeans before heading back downstairs and out into the cool night. He was going to have to ask Jake or Bradley how long he needed to wait before asking Anna out. They would know what to do. And he had Nat back now as well. He had enough resources that he would figure it out.

But the next day after work, they all seemed to make everything more confusing for him. 

"So did you finally fuck her then?" Bradley asked casually as he put deodorant on in the locker room.

"Well, no," Bob muttered. "We just made out for a bit."

"Kids these days," Bradley muttered, shaking his head. "Well, did you at least thank Nat? For coming to your rescue?"

Bob sighed, knowing this man was going to be no help after all. "I already talked to Nat," Bob replied as they walked out of the locker room. 

Of course Natasha was in the hallway and did a double take. "Did I just hear my name? I've been so popular since I got home yesterday." Her smile slipped into a look of excitement. "Did you fuck the redhead?"

Bob cradled his forehead in his hand. "Her name is Anna. And no, because I'm actually trying to date her."

"Why not both?" Nat asked, leading the way out to the parking lot. "Give that girl what she so desperately wants."

Bob was scared Anna was going to pull away again. He hadn't heard from her at all since last night when she disappeared into her apartment. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be texting her or not today. It was like he was living in a choose your own adventure story, but somehow none of the options were correct.

He turned right toward his truck while Bradley and Nat both turned left, but then he realized that Jake had parked next to him and was already in his own truck talking on the phone. Bob tried to sneak past, but Jake put his window down and said, "Jess wants to know what's up with you and Anna."

"Is she on the phone?" Bob asked, tossing his bag into his own truck.

"Hi!" came Jessica's voice through Jake's bluetooth. "What did you do to Anna? She was practically singing when she showed up at lunch today."

Bob immediately scrambled toward Jake's truck and stuck his head in the window. "She was?"

"Yes. And she was having a hard time paying attention. You know how she gets when her head is in the clouds."

Jake met Bob's wide eyed gaze and smiled. "You should go to her office hours," the other man drawled. "That's like a green light for fucking on her desk."

"Hey!" Jessica complained through the phone while Bob grimaced. "Jake, keep your mouth shut about it. But yes, Bob, you should go to her office hours. She'd probably really like that. It shows you're thinking about her."

Well Bob was almost never not thinking about Anna, so maybe it wasn't a bad idea. "Take her some flowers," Jake added. "Seriously, man, she'll be handing you her panties within a minute."

"Hey!" came Jessica's voice again, and this time Bob ducked into his own truck, not wanting to hear any more of that conversation.

-----------------------------

Monday was a bit of a blur. The first thing Anna did when she got to her office was grab her copy of Wuthering Heights from her shelf. The note she forgot to read from Bob made her smile right away.

This book made me feel like it's okay to be completely caught up in another person to the point where you forget where you are or what you're doing. Also, I'm going to think of you every time I see a dog eared page for the rest of my life.

She whimpered softly. There had been a similar, slightly more intimate note tucked inside Papillon when she checked it last night after she squeezed herself into her depressingly tiny apartment in embarrassment. She would never be able to invite Bob inside for anything. Not for a cup of tea, and not for a sleepover.

After that, Anna spent the entire night on Sunday reading her favorite poems and touching herself. Sky Writing seemed to have fallen in love, based on his new post. That idea wasn't surprising at all. Anna was convinced he was the perfect man, so it was just a matter of time. But the thing that did surprise her was the way he wrote about a certain woman with red hair. Late into the night, she was laying in her tiny bed with her fingers inside the font of her underwear, picturing Bob as she read the words to herself.

It was almost too much. Her lips were still a little bit puffy on Monday from all the making out, and she felt sated if only by her own touch. She knew Bob's beautiful hands would be so much better, and she was still thinking about them when she went to find her friends at lunchtime. 

Tuesday wasn't much better. The only damper was that she hadn't heard a single word from Bob. Nothing. She hadn't texted him either, because what was she supposed to say? Hi, I think I could fall in love with you, but I'm not allowed. Can we still make out? That would be the worst idea in the world.

"She's got her head in the clouds again."

Anna blinked a few times and realized she was sitting by the weird tree with the warm sunlight on her face. Her uneaten sandwich was in her hand, hovering halfway to her mouth, and she had been staring off into the distance. "Sorry," she muttered, finally taking a bite. Her lunch didn't even seem as sad today as she thought about Bob's hands on her thighs. 

"Can you blame her?" Jessica asked. "She kissed Bob."

"Not one bit," the other woman said with a grin, as if Anna wasn't even there. "He's a damn catch. Sweetest man ever."

Anna rolled her eyes and said, "As if you aren't married to the human equivalent of a golden retriever."

"Oh, so she is paying attention," Jessica said with a laugh. "We thought you'd blasted off for planet Bob with no return ticket."

"Your astrophysics jokes are the worst," the other woman said, and Jessica pretended to pout.

"Listen. All I know is that he's a great kisser, and that his hands fit really nicely right here," Anna said pointing to her back and her hips. Both women squealed in delight. "But I can't take things any further with him."

"Why not?" Jessica demanded. "The two of you have been playing this game since you met at the bookstore. And also since you met again at the Hard Deck."

Anna thought about Kevin and all of her money that she'd never see again. She thought about her manuscripts she'd put on hold to work three jobs. She thought about how she'd willingly given up Princeton for him.

"I don't want to drag him down to where I am," she whispered, running her finger along the condensation on her can of ginger ale. "I can't be in a relationship." That's all she wanted to say about Bob and Kevin right now, still too afraid to tell her friends everything. So she cleared her throat and asked, "What's with the cooking rivalry between Bradley and Jake? It's like an episode of Chopped." That seemed to open a very controversial can of worms, but at least the focus shifted away from her personal life.

------------------------------

Bob didn't even know what kind of flowers were the right ones to get, and once again, everyone else gave him useless information. 

"I rarely get flowers for Sugar. I usually just grab some good beers on my way to pick her up from school, and that's enough to seal the deal. Then I get to drink the beer I like while my hot wife goes dow-"

"We get the picture, Bradshaw," Jake said loudly. "Bob, just get some cheap flowers and save the money to make her dinner one night."

"Do not get her cheap flowers!" Natasha chimed in. "If the two of you weren't attractive looking," she said, pointing to Bradley and Jake, "Sugar and Jessica would have bailed before they bothered to uncover actual brain cells underneath the pretty hair." Both men looked startled before eventually nodding in agreement. "You need to get good flowers and plan to invite her for dinner. Not one or the other," Nat finished, pounding her fist into her other palm. "No wonder Bob never gets laid when I'm not around to straighten everything out."

"Can we not talk about that?" he mumbled, adjusting his glasses. "And it's not like I just want to...get laid. By just anybody."

"Yeah, yeah," Natasha said, tapping away on her phone. "You're a romantic. Go get her flowers like these ones."

Bob examined her screen when she held it up for him. He memorized the red and orange blooms the best he could, and soon they started to remind him of Anna's hair. "Got it," he told her, turning toward his truck before anyone else could tell him something that may or may not end up being useful. He'd get the flowers and then invite her over. He wasn't as good at cooking as Jake or Bradley, but he'd try anyway. He was mostly out of practice since he didn't have anyone to cook for, really, but they both offered to send him their favorite recipes. 

The florist was nice and listened to him ramble about orange and red flowers for a minute before putting together something that was even prettier than he could have imagined. The sixty dollar price tag shocked him, but it didn't stop him from also grabbing a book from the front window of the shop next door. It was a new one he'd been wanting to read himself, not quite one of the classics that Anna seemed to favor, but he figured she wouldn't have read it yet. He'd let her borrow it and dog ear all the pages up, and then he'd read it and think about her the whole time.

But when he got to the San Diego State University campus, he sat in his truck and stared at the clock on his dashboard. It was 6:32. She had office hours until 7:00, so he really needed to head in there. Doubt was creeping in now, because they left things off at a weird place. He had no idea what Anna really wanted from him, if anything. If she told him no or hesitated today, he was going to have to start sorting out his feelings for her and dismantling them bit by bit.

It was 6:47 by the time he finally made his way through the academic building on his way to Anna's office. Several people turned and looked at him in his khaki uniform with the huge bouquet of flowers in his hand, and this would have been a lot less stressful if Anna was actually his girlfriend and not a woman he thought might never be that. When he reached the hallway that smelled like freshly baked bread, he found her small office right away where it was tucked back from the main walkway. The door was ajar, and he could hear her voice, so he stood there in the hallway a little awkwardly, trying to fight the urge to run back to his truck.

The door opened another inch, and Bob could see Anna's fingers and her burgundy painted nails peeking out as her voice got louder. "Here's a copy of the extra study guide. Don't forget there's a quiz on Monday. If you can ace that, then I think you'll be in better shape for the final. And try not to be too hard on yourself, Hemingway can be a bit of a challenge for anyone."

"Thanks, Dr. Webber."

The door opened all the way, and a young man filed out with a frown on his face, and then Anna was just standing there right in front of Bob. Her hair was in a loose braid, her lips had some sort of purple-ish gloss on them, and she was wearing some snug jeans and an SDSU sweatshirt. "Bob," she breathed, and it sounded like music. Her gaze raked over his uniform and the vibrant flowers before returning to his face, brown eyes more vulnerable than he ever thought they should be.

"Hi, Anna." He couldn't think of anything better to say as she backed up a step into her small office and nodded her head once for him to join her. After two of his long strides, Bob was practically bumping into her desk. Then she closed the door and leaned against it, hands tucked behind her back.

She cleared her throat, but her voice was still soft as she said, "You look nice in your uniform."

"Thanks," he replied automatically. She could have said anything, and he would have thanked her.

"Those are beautiful. Are they for me?" she whispered, eyes falling to the flowers again.

"Of course they are."

Bob watched her eyelashes brush her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed. "You didn't have to do that. Flowers are so expensive."

"I got you a book, too," he said, sliding it out from behind the bouquet. Her eyes snapped open so she could read the title, and he said, "It's a new release, so I was hoping you didn't preorder it or anything."

Anna's cheeks were growing pinker by the second, making her freckles look more prominent. He was about to ask if she wanted to come over for dinner one night when she launched herself across the three feet of empty space, colliding softly with his body. Bob dropped the flowers and the book onto her desk just as she kissed him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

She kissed him like they did this all the time, and his hands went right to her waist where they fit perfectly. "Thank you," she murmured against his lips. "Nobody ever got me books before you."

The words before you echoed in his brain. He didn't want there to be an after. He wanted this to be the real deal where neither of them had to be in a relationship where they weren't constantly trading books back and forth with someone. 

Anna kissed him until his glasses were crooked, and she raked her fingers through his hair until he was sure it was a mess. And somehow she ended up pushing him back until he was sitting on the edge of her desk with his long legs splayed apart. He knew he was in trouble; he could feel himself slipping already. She let her hands trail down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down the front of his shirt. She adjusted all of his pins and touched his name tag along the way as her lips barely brushed his. Her fingers moved so slowly, he thought maybe he could get himself under control, but it was no use. He was hard in his pants, and her exploratory hands weren't stopping.

"Anna."

All that did was make her kiss him harder again.

"Please."

All that did was have her pressing the font of her jeans to his khakis with a little gasp. Maybe the guys had been right about this kind of thing after all. Maybe visiting her during office hours was all it was going to take to get to the next level. Her fingers made it all the way down to his thighs, scraping along just inches from his erection, and Bob was afraid he was going to embarrass himself. He thought about icebergs and refrigerators and the Arctic Circle, but nothing alleviated the aching heat under his skin as Anna licked his lip and almost nudged the tip of his cock.

But then she said the most devastating sentence he could think of. "Bob, I really like you. But we're just friends, okay?" Then she kissed him again like she hadn't spoken something so harsh, and he thought maybe he imagined it. "Just really good friends who make out with each other."

"Fuck," he grunted, trying to get control even as his hands kneaded the bare skin of her lower back. "Anna." He swallowed hard and pulled his mouth away from hers, examining her wide eyes. Her teeth sank into her pouty bottom lip when he said, "I was going to invite you over for dinner later this week."

"As friends?" she whispered, her hands still planted on his thighs. 

Bob nodded like an idiot, because once again, he was going to agree to anything she said right then. "Sure."

She kissed him softly and said, "Okay."

-------------------------

But is it okay? Is it really? Next up, let's see how this dinner goes. We might need Nat to fully step in and take care of business again. Also, I love Bradley and Jake in this chapter so so so much! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[gr7mes]

FALLING BEHIND “everybody’s falling in love but im falling behind.” carl grimes x fem!reader

tags: fluff, kissing, use of y/n, e2l

@p1stach1oss + @gr7mes !! we both did laufey inspired carl fics so check out hers <3

a/n: this is my longest fic ever omg 😭 teehee i love adding him with cold hands🙏 this fic is inspired by falling behind by laufey, the lyrics r in between paragraphs or they’re in italic and bold !! i don’t know how to feel ab this one 😭

you felt like cupid was against you. “he called me pretty y/n. he called me pretty.” enid says, clutching your hand in excitement. you notice how the sunlight hits her face perfectly, no wonder she’s got ron all over her.

and my best friend’s found a new guy

you tried hard. really hard. it was practically impossible for you to get a boyfriend. sure, you had better things to worry about, but it was hard to stop thinking about it when you saw couples everywhere you went.

you were honestly desperate at this point. it was pathetic, really pathetic. but you just couldn’t manage anymore. you wanted to have someone who would let you cry into their chest when you were low, someone who would bend down to tie your shoelaces when they were undone, someone who would love you.

like a normal teenage girl, it was no surprise that you had a crush. of course, to your luck, you didn’t have even a slim chance with him. you were naive, wanting a boyfriend but crushing on the boy who hated your guts. you had fallen in love with carl grimes.

you and the boy weren’t exactly best buddies. when you were younger, he would tease you every chance he got. it’s not so different now. carl had made it his number one priority to make your life a living hell, and oh boy, was he successful.

he was tormenting you, but not in the way he’s trying to. he was all you could think about, and it was irritating. he could be making fun of you, and all you would focus on was his pretty face.

god, his eyes were like the midwinter sky, you could stare at them all day without getting bored. you often found yourself also gazing at his lips. they would be moving but you wouldn’t hear anything. it was hard to focus on things when you were around him.

“y/n? hello.. did you not hear what i just said?” enid says, eyebrows furrowing into confusion. “no, i did- sorry. go on.” you felt bad, you knew she was happy about this. so why couldn’t you just listen and be happy for her?

“whats distracting you so much? you’re really out of it today.” she says. “nothing, it’s not important.” “you sure? seemed pre-“ you watch as she glances behind you, talking instantly coming to a stop. you notice how her face flushes before she grins. you turn around to see ron, mr. prince charming, smiling at her.

“go, we can talk tomorrow.” you say, nodding your head in ron’s direction, a slight smile appearing on your face. “thank you, thank you, thank you! i promise we’ll talk later. you can tell me all about what you were daydreaming about.” enid exclaims, quickly rising to her feet, finishing her sentence as she walks over to the lanky boy.

lovers stroll without a care in sight

you were making your way back to your house, looking down at the ground beneath you. it’s not that you were completely devastated you didn’t have a lover of your own, but you were upset. “wait up loser!” you hear a voice call out from behind you.

your footsteps come to a halt and almost instantly, carl grimes is standing next to you. you felt your heart stop. play it cool y/n. “hi..?” you wanted to smack yourself right there and then. hi?? hi?!! you were so basic. “what’s got you all quiet? you’re usually so loud, you’re kinda scaring me.” he jokes, noticing how your usual smile was turned into a slight frown.

you found it kinda weird how he noticed the little things about you. you’d known each other for years now, and if you were being honest, he probably knew you better than enid did. boy, did it give you butterflies. if only he liked you back. “m’ okay. jus thinking about something. it’s really dumb though.” “everything you say is dumb. what’s up?” there it is. the daily insult.

“like i said, it’s nothing. don’t you have something better to do?” you say, looking him in the eye. “yeah, but i think this is pretty entertaining. now, can you please tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

ooh, this can’t be right

you knew he was probably being sarcastic, but his words still made your heart beat faster. anything carl said made your heart beat faster.

“you really wanna know?” “have i not made it obvious enough?” he says, rolling his eyes playfully. you sigh. “don’t laugh, but it’s like- everybody’s falling in love and i’m falling behind.” “what do you mean?” he was.. interested in what you had to say?

“everyone is getting their perfect fairytale and i’m just there. enid keeps talking about ron, how he calls her pretty and everything. they’re perfect. meanwhile, no one has even had a crush on me. it’s hopeless. i’m only getting older, i’ve never had a shoulder to cry on.”

carl looked at you with sympathy. “you’re really clueless aren’t you?” he asks, chuckling. “huh?” “y/n, who do you think left the comic you really wanted on your doorstep? who do you think got you the heart locket necklace thingy for your birthday? you’ve never thought about why they were just laying there?”

“i dont- i thought it was just enid surprising me or something.” “i dont think enid sneaked out the week before your birthday to make sure you got a good gift.” he said, looking straight into your eyes. “are you saying- that’s impossible.”

“i am in love with you. that’s what i’m saying.” your eyes widened, mouth parting slightly. “but- how? you’ve hated me since we were like- i don’t even know.” “who said i hated you?” okay. what was going on? carl grimes, the boy who’s been tormenting you since you could walk is confessing his feelings to you?

he sighs. “i-i know i’ve been an asshole. and i’m sorry. i’ve just been scared.” “scared..?” you ask, a puzzled look on your face. “terrified. y/n, you’re the most beautiful girl i’ve ever laid eyes on. i don’t- i didn’t know how to express my feelings. so i’ve just been being a pain in the ass. i know you don’t like me, and tha-“

you closed the space between you two, instantly laying your lips onto his. you didn’t know what was happening, but you knew you weren’t going to waste this opportunity.

one of his hands found its way to your back, pulling you closer. you felt the other one rest upon your cheek. the only thing that was surfacing in your mind was how good the sensation of his lips on yours felt. it was purely euphoric.

as soon as you both parted lips, you already missed it. “what does this mean? w-what are we?” you ask, voice quieter than usual. his cold hands reached for yours, a nervous expression on his face.

“i really wanna be yours. only if you’ll let me.” his words rang throughout your head, the words not processing.

“i really want you to be mine, carl grimes.”

“then i’m all yours, sweet girl.”

everybody’s falling in love

#carl grimes #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #the walking dead #carl grimes x fem!reader #twd x reader #twd #carl grimes angst #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes smut #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes imagine #twd oneshot #twd imagine #the walking dead x reader #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x you

[oh-allie]

shakespeare and swooning

alhaitham x g/n reader

synopsis; you read one shakespeare play and now you want to impress your "buddy" alhaitham with your newfound knowledge !! what could go wrong?

fluff, g/n reader, TOTAL CRACKFIC, prick alhaitham, SWEARING, kind of a modern au ???? i mention "ringing tighnari" but that could just be imagined as using the akasha terminal !!!! didnt write this with a modern au in mind

warning ‼️ PLEASE dont expect this to be accurate, if youre a big classic literature fan then dont attack me for not being a NERD ☹️ just imagine a poser using their fancy words (because they think its cool)

you know how libraries are supposed to be a place of study and tranquility? no the fuck you don't, or at least you don't care, because running through the house of daena with shakespeares, "romeo and juliet," in your hands is NOT very tranquil.

multiple poor akademiya students look at you, PISSED OFF because your shoes are going clu-clonk on the marble floors, which wouldn't be an issue if you weren't scurrying through the library.

is that kaveh ?? he's giving you the same look he gives alhaitham every day ..

... but this is IMPORTANT !! you're on a MISSION right now !! you just finished reading the first act of "romeo and juliet," and you're convinced your brain has expanded tenfold in size.

you're now rushing to your good pal haitham to share your knowledge! how kind and gracious!

you're stopped before his house, you've known him for long enough and gotten close enough for him to let you come in whenever. you know kaveh isn't home, and haitham would never purposefully work overtime, so you're certain you can get his attention and show off in peace.

why are you so adamant about showing off to alhaitham? is it REALLY showing off, or are you trying to, heehee, impress him?? its too late to be flustered at this thought because you already unlocked the door with the spare key kaveh leaves behind one of haithams ugly ass decorative plants and you've taken off your shoes and oh god hes right there and the sunlight from the door is lighting up his face in that way that only happens to him and hes looking at you with a suprised, slightly annoyed, but incredibly fond look and oh no what was your plan again?

"greetings, alhaitham! ☝️🤓" you say, finding a surge of confidence remembering the story you read.

"... hey. what are you doing here?" his response is quick but before you respond he continues, "did you just say greetings?"

"indubidibdibdly! hath you be surprised?" you pretentious hipster. you think youre SO cool, but unfortunately your little crush doesn't seem very impressed either.

"okay, what are you doing? you're being weird." he's not even looking at you, and he's back in his chair before you can rush over and sit on the couch. "is something wrong? should i get tighnari to give you a checkup?"

you'd be touched by the care of the suggestion if he wasn't so cheeky in his tone.

"wha, what, no?! no what the hell- stop ringing tighnari."

"are thou o'er wrought with admiration?" you grin, somehow still under the impression that you sound cool.

he gives an eyebrow raise to that. not bothering to mark his place in his book, he stands up.

"i lie testy in why you act so unpregnant, my dear."

"what"

HUH ? what did bro just say ? testy ???? unpregnant ?? MY DEAR ??? backtrack again, UN-WHAT ??

"be still my beating heart, thou hast taken mine with absolute cunning." is he making fun of you i genuinely can't tell ... its like hes speaking in moon runes right now.

"haitham, heheh, WHAT are you DOING ??" you can't help but laugh at his funny little words, magic man. even if you're clueless to what he just said to you.

"whatever doth thou mean?" he's totally making fun of you !! after ALL your effort to impress him too?

"well, usually i do all the ranting and you sit pretty and listen, so it's weird that you're talking so much, especially like THAT?" fym sit pretty ....

"when words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain." that sounds familiar, but you can't think about it longer before he continues, "shall i compare thee to a summers day?"

"ALRIGHT, i recognize that one, dummy." you laugh, "were you really not impressed by me?" you whisper, the rush of embarrassment you shouldve felt in that library is finally catching up with you.

he stares at you for a second. you just wish you could find out what hes thinking up there, if you could even understand it.

and then he lets you into his mind, with a simple "i love you." as if alhaitham, renowned scribe of the akademiya, top student, couldn't find the words to describe how he felt for you.

or maybe that was what he felt for you. he loved you.

"... you called me unpregnant."

a/n; i read romeo and juliet like... 3 years ago.... so.. uam... 😇😇 totally accurate! hope this crackfic style of writing isnt too niche so this doesnt flop because EMBARRASSING....... do people even like al haitham anymore like guys lets go back to the good old days before the FRENCH came in..... (this is just me projecting cause i havent played genshin in a while and i still lovelove sumeru)

#al haitam x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #DONT LET THIS FLOP GANG IM PUTTING A LOT ON THE LINE POSTING GENSHIN FICS #shakespeare made up the word unpregnant #GUYS PLZPLZOLZ LIKE AND REBLOG SO I CAN SAY it popped off!! #WHEN PEOPLE ASK WHY I POSTED A GENSHIN FIC.... #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #al haitham #al haitham x you #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #al haitham x y/n #alhaitham x gender neutral reader #al haitham x gender neutral reader #was listening 2 when will my life begin when writing 😇 #alhiayham is my fancast for rapunzel !!!! #i started writing this in november of 2023 😇 #allies fics #crackfic #crack fic #wait guys hear me out #crackship layla x alhaitham #IS LAYLA A MINOR WAIT #if she isnt then WOOOOWWWW CUTIE..!!!! #its cute

[secondbeatsongs]

I love being someone's science experiment

#personal #read: #my top surgeon continues to be fascinated by me #last time it was because I said it was fascinating to watch him pull stitches out of my chest #(he said the last guy had passed out so he kept asking if I was okay) #this time it's because of how well my nerves reconnected on one side #apparently it's not very normal to have good skin sensation in nipple grafts #but here we are #he put a note in my chart and seemed...excited? #he really looked like he wanted to say ''oh cool!'' or ''weird!'' #but he just said ''huh!'' and seemed enthused #he also kept saying ''oh you look *good*'' in a way that was very genuine #and he's right #my chest looks great #but some part of me wants to be like #intense about his reaction. like #o sculptor of flesh. how do you feel when you behold your creations? #is your vision of yourself one of an artist or of a doctor? is this the line you blur? #anyway that'd be weird so I don't say stuff like that #but I do *want* to #sbs rambles #in the tags #gender #top surgery

[unusualshrimp]

hmm gender thoughts

#the people who made pronouns page have another website right #and one of the options there is you can pin your gender on a gradient that goes hypermasculine -> androgynous -> hyperfeminine #and it's like a linear gradient and i hate that SO MUCH. this is hostile architecture for Me Specifically #[disclaimer that if you find that type of thing helpful that's completely fine] #but anyway my gender is like. im a guy but not in a trans guy way #and im a girl but NOT in a cis girl way and i call myself girl in my head a lot but i am a bit Sensitive about how other people use it? #and im always thinking too hard about ''are they acknowledging my 5D chess gender or subconsciously saying it because of my appearance'' #if someone called me androgynous or whatever im stabbing them though. idk that just feels so... gender neutral? and im not gender neutral #do ya feel me. #i feel a bit silly typing all this but ah this is the transgender website i think u all would understand me #im a guy like. you know the weird guy who shows up overdressed to casual events but he looks nice so its fine really #and also like. guy who always wears black and looks cool [the cool might just be in my head but thats fine] #and. i might have to think harder abt how i feel regarding Girl ™. i dont want to discard it because i do love doing my own thing with it #but also like being perceived as a cis girl (intentionally or unintentionally) makes me want to jump out of my body. lol. anyway #this is all so sucks honestly my favourite gender is just creature. #you see a thing so weird you just go '' oh god what is that'' and not gender. although i do like the flavour of it/its that is so niceys... #oh jesus uhh #long post #<- for the tags

[which-waychip]

ourgh... gonna wait till earth has a marketplace discount for the treasure genes but maybe i should just get harlequin and a wildclaw scroll now....

#chipchat #idk why i'm so hesitant about this dragon #i think the blue brown and pink looks so cool.... #maybe it's the wc scroll...... #i DID say i thought the sd was probably better looking #but the wc is really good too and i have wanted more of them (i only have one and he's not a g1) #which is why i committed to it when making an outfit #but my brain is fighting itself like 'no this is too weird! too out there!' #as if i don't have tons of weird and out there g1s already ?!?!? #oh maybe it's how bright they are i have a fairly muted lair overall #that cobalt flair...!

[hailsatanacab]

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!! #i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now... #now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything) #anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

[luveline]

if you are looking for spencer and bombshell requests, what about the first time a girl flirts with spencer after they start dating, but bombshell is fully secure because she knows her worth and understands that he’s a catch? if you need more ideas i can squeeze my brain really hard

love ur brain pls keep squeezing it <3 fem!reader

You’re the cheesy girlfriend no one expects you to be. You change your phone contact for Spencer to ‘My Sweet Boyfriend’ with a heart, you hold his hand in stupid places (though you’d done that before, sometimes), you bring him coffee, you fluster when he kisses your cheek no matter your disposition —you're overwhelmed in the honeymoon phase, and everybody’s surprised. 

“That’s not very cool of you,” Morgan says, having noticed your ducked head, your smile dripping with a private pleasure and your cheek still shining with Spencer’s quick kiss. He’s gone to find plastic cutlery. 

“I’m not that cool when it comes to Spencer,” you say. 

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” 

Morgan is as pleased for you both finally getting together as anyone, even if he finds it foreign. It is weird to suddenly be openly in love with each other, and likely stranger for the team to see you in anything that isn’t total calm collection. 

“He’s so lovely.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Morgan says, more earnest now as he slaps a rolled sandwich down in front of you. “He’s a catch. I asked for no mayonnaise, was I supposed to do that?” 

Emily tucks her seat in next to yours. “He’s totally trapped by that secretary again, I hate to tell you.” 

You turn around. 

“Why would you tell her that?” Morgan asks. 

“What?” 

You peer out of the office door, where Spencer’s being chatted to by a stunningly attractive secretary. She has dark skin and darker hair, alluring almond eyes that light her sweetheart face with a bright charm. “Oh, she’s getting prettier,” you say. 

You’ve got Spencer Reid locked in. Nothing in you doubts that he’s currently infatuated with you. You don’t even care when he laughs at her joke, or when she dips her head bashfully toward him. 

“You better go and get your man,” Morgan says. 

“What for?” 

“She’s flirting hard,” JJ says. She’s only just looked up from her phone. “He’s gonna start blushing.” 

As if. You turn back to the table, unwrapping the paper from your sandwich with a happy sigh. Spencer looks so cute when he blushes, his cheeks turn pink and he smiles like he’s being tickled, it’s adorable. If that pretty secretary wants to do the hard work for you, it’s her prerogative. He’s your boyfriend. 

“I don’t need to do anything, he’s fine,” you say. 

You’re cutting your sandwich in half when you feel a presence behind your back. A familiar hand closes around your shoulder, a voice in your ear, “Thanks for nothing.” 

You giggle at his embarrassed tone, turning your face up to his, immediately delighted by his pink-tinged cheeks and neck. “You looked like you were having fun!” 

“You’re not gonna pretend to be mad?” he asks, leaning over you to open your sandwich. He pulls out a sad looking tomato and a similarly wilted slice of lettuce and closes it again. “Did you want a drink? I can’t believe you.” 

“Spencer, did you want me to come and get you?” you tease. 

“It would’ve been nice of you. Drink?” 

You laugh again, tugging him down by the wrist. “No, Spencer, I don’t want a drink, just sit down. What was I supposed to do? I’m not gonna pull her off of you.” 

“But why?” he asks, nearly not quite pouting. “She asked me if it was too hot in here for me.” He sits in the chair beside you, his hand dropping to the soft inside of your thigh as he leans in imploringly. “If you cared about me at all–”

Everybody laughs, including yourself. He’s clearly joking, and for once nobody on the team mistakes it for ineptitude, which seems to cheer him up. He gives your leg a rather bold squeeze considering who he is and where you are, and again when you gesture for him to lift his face to plant a kiss on the ridge of his jaw. “I do care about you, Spencer. Sorry I wasn’t jealous. Should we try again?” 

He turns your face away from your coworkers, eye to eye. “You’re making fun of me.” 

His hand trails to your elbow. “No,” you say, your skin tingling under his touch. 

“I don’t believe you. And I know you need a drink, they didn’t send your bottle of water. I didn’t manage to find those forks, either.” 

He gets up again. He hasn’t so much as glanced at his own food, patting your back in a promise that he’ll return before he edges out of the office and into the station’s bullpen. You take a smug bite of your sandwich. You can’t hide it.

“Told you,” you say once you’ve swallowed. You hadn’t needed to do anything, and you really aren’t worried about other women. “He likes me a lot.” 

“Understatement of the year.” 

You send Morgan a loving smile. When you glance over your shoulder, Spencer’s taking the long way through the office to the water cooler.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[jaxon-exe]

Fighting for Friendship

So Danny ends up in Gotham, how is up to u, but he is put in the same class as Damian.

Now Gotham is weird. Amity Park is weird to. But they r two different kinds of weird. Like Amity park is the “oh ur a bit weird, cool, so is everyone” kinda weird where Gotham is the “wait ur weird?? Fuck ur gonna be a rogue ain’t u?? Get tf away from me. Go have ur villain origin story over there” kinda weird.

So Danny can’t really make any friends bc he’s weird weird. Tho he’s not the only one in his class with this problem. The other guy, Damian Wayne, mainly sticks to himself and seems to be the only sane person in this school. Well, to Danny at least. This made Danny want to befriend him. Even if only to not be alone in his suffering. More than that Danny can feel the traces of ectoplasm on him! Even more reason for him to be friend shaped.

The problem is Damian seems to be in denial about his friend shapeness. Well to bad for him if Danny is one thing it’s stubborn. But dammit Damian seems to be a new level of stubborn. Nothing Danny does works!! It’s almost like this kid is from a different world or at least a different time!! Before he gives up however he has one last attempt. All or nothing!!

So he spends an inter week annoying the fuck outta Damian!! Looks it’s not a smart plan but it is a desperate one. It is also a plan that works a bit better than expected!!

He started his plan on Monday and it took til Friday for Damian to crack. After a full day of maximum annoyance Danny started following Damian home. They made it several blocks before Damian dragged him into a nearby alley and started swinging.

Now this Danny understood!!!

The universal language of ghost, Violence!!!

So the two beat the shit out of each other and r pretty evenly matched. Both of them r on even levels when it comes to speed and battle awareness and while Damian is definitely the better trained Danny is stronger and more durable. Needless to say the fight goes on for awhile.

A few hours later Damian and Danny shuffle into Wayne manor looking like they lost a fight with a wood chipper and when Bruce goes to ask what happen Danny just smiles and goes- We’re friends now 

With Damian nodding in agreement

#dp x dc #danny fenton #damian wayne #batfam #danny phantom

[spicyspiders]

something that never existed

Francis Mosses x male reader smut

1.4k words

This is really dark. Francis gives the reader a bottle of milk that makes him feel funny, follows him home, and then takes care of him.

It hits you during the middle of your shift. You aren’t sure of what, but the feeling of it has grown more intense each hour since it began. Pushing through the double doors is harder than when you did it this morning, your arms feeling heavy. 

The cool evening air against your skin nearly has you moaning. Your skin burns, and the refreshing air makes you want to tear off your clothes. Each step against the pavement feels heavy as you slug your way to your home. If you were a passerby, you would probably be annoyed hearing the loud sound of your shoes against the sidewalk, but even though the noise filled your ears again and again, you could also hear the quieter steps of someone behind you. 

Someone fucking drugged you. Or maybe something made it through the slot in your workstation. Or maybe–

You didn’t fucking know. All you knew was that because of it, you were half-hard by the time you made it to your front door. 

“Are you following me?” You asked loudly as you leaned your sweaty forehead against your door. You panted against the door as you waited for a response. You laughed to yourself as you stuck your hand into your pocket to get your keys. Great, alongside the lust, you were also going crazy. 

“You looked like you needed help. So yes, I followed you,” a voice said from behind you. 

Your eyebrows drew together, trying to recognize the voice. It only took a few moments to pinpoint where you knew it from. You heard nearly a hundred voices a day at your job, but there was something about the man’s voice that was different and made it memorable. 

You just couldn’t remember his name though. Frank? Fraser? Frederick? You didn’t really care to try and remember his name. You had more pressing matters, like picking up the keys you had finally pulled from your pocket and then dropped on the fucking ground. 

“Let me,” Frank, Fraser, or Frederick says, his voice much closer behind you. “Here,” he says, now beside you. 

You hold your hand out to accept the cold metal into your palm. You hope the man will just leave as you close your fingers around the keys and the sharp metal digs into your palm, but the man stays. 

“I’m fine,” you say to the man, sticking the key into the knob with your shaky hands. 

“Let me at least help you get inside,” the man responds, one of his hands moves to your shoulder, while the other goes to your waist to hold you upright.  

“Fuck,” you whisper. Where he touches you somehow feels warmer than the rest of your body feels, even over your clothes. His voice brings you back to earlier in the day when he showed up to the window to be let in. You thought it was pretty weird for a milkman to deliver to his own apartment building, but it definitely wasn’t the weirdest thing you saw during your shift. 

“Let me in?” He had asked you earlier that day. Through the window, you could see his carrier full of milk bottles, but you could also see an extra bottle in his other hand. 

“Making an extra delivery for today?” You asked as you looked over the papers he gave you. 

The man didn’t answer. He must not have heard you, you thought. He nodded in appreciation when you gave his papers back and pressed the button to unlock the door. You thought that was going to be that, but the man got your attention again after you had started going through other papers on your desk. 

“This is for you, actually,” he said as he held the bottle up. One corner of his mouth twitched up, making it look like for once, he wasn’t miserable. 

“Oh,” you said in surprise. You weren’t sure if you were allowed to accept gifts, but took the bottle anyway through the slot under the window. 

“You must get thirsty back there.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled lightly, “my mouth can get dry with all of the talking I do.”

He left after that, but you swore his eyes had flicked down to your lips before he walked through the door. 

“Did you put something in that milk?” You asked, pulling the key from the knob. 

Francis. You remembered as his hand went over yours on the knob. You could see the document in your head, as you tried to remember if the man with you now was the same from earlier in the day. 

“Did you like it?” He asked, “I made it just for you,” he said into your ear, his warm breath puffing across your ear. 

With strength you didn’t know you still had, you sent your elbow backward into the man’s chest. You thought that would be enough, but found yourself on the other side of the door with Francis on your back. 

“What’d you do to me?” You moaned against the door. His weight on your back was heavy as he held you against the door. This close, you could feel the length of his cock digging into your lower back. 

You let out another moan, but this time, Francis lets out one that matches yours when he grinds his hard cock into your back. His hands go to your hips to maneuver you around so he can grind his cock into the meat of your ass. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Francis says, laying his body along the length of your back so he can say the words directly into your ear. 

Enough to drug you, you guessed. Whatever he gave you was enough to turn your brain to mush, and the only control you had was dedicated to pushing your ass back into his cock. 

“Please,” you whined, “it hurts.” Francis lets you fall slowly to the floor and makes his way to hold himself tightly against your back. What hurts is your hard cock, but of course, Francis knows that the relief you need comes in the form of his hands between your legs. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Francis whispers. His fingers skillfully get your pants open, and then his fingers– the same ones you saw earlier today hand you his papers, wrap around your cock. 

You immediately fuck your hips into his fist, much closer than you expected. You hoped that with your release, Francis would be leaving along with it. Maybe you had fallen asleep at your station and this was some fucked up dream you were having. Letting your head fall forward to thunk into your door didn’t wake you up, so it’s likely that this was real. 

“You’re so wet here,” Francis says in amazement as his fingers collect the precum from the head of your cock and what had already leaked down the shaft. He hooks his chin on your shoulder before he pulls his hand from your cock, and up to his mouth. 

He groans into your neck when he gets the taste on your tongue, “Francis,” you whisper, hoping that saying his name would be enough. You didn’t want to beg, after all, your hard cock should be evidence enough of what you needed. 

“I’m sorry,” Francis says, kissing his apology into the soft skin of your neck. Though it wasn’t on your lips, the press felt electric. “I just needed a taste.”

His words go straight to your cock and you feel another bead of precum drip from the head, just in time for Francis’ fingers as they wrap around the base. 

You cum to Francis’ long fingers around your cock and to the feel of his cock digging into your back. With his chest pressed to your back, the groan he lets out as you come undone under his hands travels through your body. It almost feels as if he’s so close that he’s a part of you and the noise comes from your mouth. It makes you feel crazy. What makes you feel even crazier though is how much you moan for the man as your orgasm courses through your body.    

Francis holds your body up with an arm wrapped around your stomach as you pant against the door and come down from the orgasm that just shot through your body. “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” Francis says, his voice full of promise, “it’s been a long day.”

It must be the drugs, you thought as you let him pull you up from the floor. Your soft cock gives a twitch from where it hangs between your legs. You weren’t even sure if it was worth buttoning your pants back up. 

Francis was right, it had been a long day, but you had a feeling that you also had a long night ahead of you. 

#x male reader #x male reader smut #milkman x reader #milkman x male reader #francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x male reader #francis mosses x male reader smut

[appocalipse]

MAKE IT EASY : ̗̀➛ STEVE HARRINGTON

・❥・part 1・part 2 ❥・3.8k words

Summary: steve asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family dinner. the problem is: after all is said and done, he gives you the cold shoulder. have you done something wrong?

requested by my beloved @stevebabey 🥺

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble, and now, oh well...I had to split it into two parts. here we go.

・❥・

It was the epitome of a terrible idea.

And it had started that day. 

The very moment Steve walked into the diner your family owned, you knew something was wrong. Not that it was uncommon for Steve to visit you at work — not at all. In fact, it was almost a weekly occurrence, the highlight of it, in fact, for you; the odd part was that Steve never showed up alone, without at least a few of the kids. On that Wednesday night, he was not only alone but also strangely nervous.

You rarely saw Steve get nervous. His confidence was as much a part of him as his signature perfect hair. But tonight, his hands fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, eyes darting around the diner as if searching for an escape route. He looked like he was trying to convince himself to leave.

Weird.

"Steve," you greeted him with a warm smile, hoping to ease his obvious tension a little bit as he approached the counter. "You look like you've seen a Demogorgon."

It was supposed to be a joke. You only felt comfortable saying that now because — luckily — things had been quiet at Hawkins. It had been a long time since you and your friends had to deal with one. But something about Steve's demeanor really made you wonder if there was more to this visit than just a friendly catch-up.

He tried for a convincing chuckle, but it came out tinged with a hint of sadness instead. "I wish," he said, and then quickly shook his head, "Actually no, of course not. I kinda…There's something I wanted to-"

You furrowed your brows, concern knitting your features together. At this point, Steve's tension seemed to be rubbing off on you.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, just…can we talk?"

"Of course."

He glanced around the diner, gaze briefly flitting over the empty tables and the neon glow of the jukebox. "Not here," he murmured, voice barely audible above the din of conversation and clinking dishes. It was a busy night, despite being Wednesday. "Can you, like, take a break?"

For Steve, of course you could.

Curiosity mingled with concern, and you followed his lead, stepping out into the cool night air. The streets were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the pavement. You leaned against the side of the building, your eyes fixed on Steve, awaiting an explanation for his beyond unusual behavior.

He raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit that seemed magnified in this moment. "Look," he began, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you hadn't heard before, "I need a favor- a big one."

Oh, Jesus. "Steve," you placed a hand over your chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "For a moment there I thought you were going to say something terrible. A favor? C'mon, sure. What do you want me to do?"

Steve's eyes met yours, his gaze earnest and…vulnerable?

"I... I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend... Just for one night!" he quickly added, like he was afraid you might misinterpret his request, say no even before he could finish… but no, of course you wouldn't. Far from it. 

Who wouldn't want to date Steve Harrington?

"But why would you-"

"My parents," Steve interjected, tone deeply tinged with unease, "they're in town."

"Oh." Steve rarely ever spoke about his parents, and their mere presence seemed to have stirred a sense of apprehension within him. "Are they still... difficult?" 

You knew you were touching scars, deep scars. You made sure to be gentle.

Steve sighed, gaze fixed on the ground. 

"Yeah, you could say that," a hint of frustration colored his voice, as if he were carrying on his shoulders the weight of every little judgemental glare they had ever sent his way. "Nothing I do is ever enough for them. They've always been focused on money and success. To them, that's the measure of worth. And because I don't fit their mold of the perfect, ambitious son, they treat me like…well, you know how they treat me."

Indeed, you knew.

Steve looked like he didn't know you were unable to say no to him.

And that's how you put yourself into one hell of a mess.

+

It's Saturday night and you're standing in front of the mirror, desperately trying to zip up your stupid dress. Why anyone would put a zipper in the back of a dress, in the most difficult possible place for a person to reach on their own, is something you are unable to fathom.

But then again, maybe you're the stupid one in this story, you think bitterly, since it was you who chose the dress with the zipper in the back in the first place.   

Why are you trying so hard, though?

"I'm not," you tell yourself out loud, stubbornly.

There is a big pile of discarded clothes on your bed that says otherwise.  

With a feeling akin to fear bubbling in your stomach, you glance at the clock. It's almost seven. For fuck's sake. 

You're late. 

Steve will arrive soon, and you are apparently unable to close the damn zipper of your own dress, no matter in which awkward positions you try twisting yourself into…you just can't reach it.

The doorbell rings.

The world is truly a dark place, isn't it?      

You freeze. It can only be Steve. Shit, shit, shit! For a moment, you consider the idea of simply not opening the door, turning off the lights and pretending you never agreed to take part in this madness that is dining with the Harringtons.

HA! As if you'd really be able to turn your back on Steve. 

You take a deep breath, accepting the battle you just lost, and decide that your only and best option is to simply open the door and ask Steve for help — mortified or not. With no choice but to leave the dress with the zipper still open and your back somewhat exposed, you quickly walk to the door to open it.

"Sorry, I'm late," you say, a little out of breath. "I had a little problem with the dress and I... flowers?"   

Flowers, for sure. Steve holds a beautiful bouquet of red roses. He looks at you for a moment, then his eyes run over the partly open dress and your exposed skin for a couple of seconds too long to be accidental. You swallow thickly.

"Yeah I..." he shakes his head, a little uncomfortable standing there, and then his eyes meet yours. "The flowers are for you. Do you want me to...?" he mimics the motion of closing a zipper.

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but there is no choice but to accept. You look at him, a mix of gratitude and nervousness in your eyes.  

"Yeah, that would be great," you reply, stumbling over the words. 

If he notices, he doesn't say anything.  

Steve comes closer and hands you the bouquet, your fingers briefly touching his. You catch a whiff of his cologne — citrusy fruit and wood notes — as you turn around, brushing your hair away from your neck.    

For a moment, Steve does nothing, and you wonder if he is just figuring out the best way to close the zipper…or something else entirely. 

His touch ghosts down your bare back before his hand finally, finally finds the zipper. Slowly, he pulls it up, inch by inch, and you hold your breath for a moment, lost in a feeling your best friend is definitely not supposed to evoke in you. You feel the dress tighten, fabric adjusting to your body, his fingers inevitably brushing your skin and sending unexpected tingles up your spine. You try to ignore the trail of electricity left by the tip of his fingers as you turn to face him, eyes finding his.

"There you go", he murmurs, taking his hands off you and taking a small step back. "You look very... girlfriend."  

You laugh.   

"Thank you", you say softly, your heart beating faster. "You also look very boyfriend."

A small smile plays on Steve's lips, a flush creeping up his cheeks. Or maybe it's just the cold night breeze coming through the open door...   

Steve's gaze drifts to your lips and lingers there for way too long to be accidental. He is so close that he starts crushing the bouquet between the two of you…

Something clicks inside of you. Common sense, perhaps.

"Thank you... for the flowers."

The spell breaks; he moves away so fast that you almost drop the flowers on the floor.   

"Yeah, uh, no problem," he says quickly, regaining his composure. "Ready to go?"

Disappointment stabs at you, but you try to hide it. Maybe you imagined too much, read signs where there were none.  

"Sure. I'll just put the flowers in a vase."

It's an excuse to catch your breath. You walk to the kitchen, put water in the first clean container you find and put the flowers in it. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Your heart is racing and yet nothing has happened. It's just dinner, you tell yourself, I've had dinner with Steve and the others before. It's just dinner.   

So why did you try so hard to look beautiful? insists the other voice in your mind. You decide it's best not to answer.

"You okay?"  

Steve is at the kitchen door, all concern and soft brown eyes.  You must have taken too long.

"Yes, I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile to calm your own anxiety. "I was just taking care of the flowers. Ready to go?"

Steve nods. A gentleman, he opens the car door for you to get in. It's a short drive to the Harrington house, and you take the opportunity to try to calm your nerves. Looking out the window, you watch the city lights blinking as you approach your destination.

You look at him. You have the impression that Steve is driving slightly slower than necessary.

"Can I ask you something?" you say, unsure.

Steve briefly glances at you before returning his attention to the road, looking so stiff you're under the impression he might break his back at any moment.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Why did you ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend? I mean, I understand the part about your parents…but why didn't you bring someone you're actually dating or something?"

There's a brief moment of silence before Steve responds, his voice a bit softer.

"Actually, I'm not really dating anyone at the moment," he admits. "And when my parents mentioned the dinner, I kind of panicked. I didn't want to show up alone and face more questions about my life, you know?"

"I know," you respond, understandingly. "And why did you choose me specifically?"

He looks away for a moment before answering.

"Because you're perfect," he says, finally looking back at you. Then quickly, as if he only just realized the words slipped out on their own, he adds, nervously staring back at the road, "I mean, my parents, they... you're perfect for them. They're going to love you."

You feel a mix of surprise, satisfaction, and confusion with Steve's response. You try not to read any deeper meaning behind the words, telling yourself not to notice how he quickly tries to disguise them.

"I see," you reply, although you don't really understand anything. Steve seems to say one thing when he means another. "Well, I hope I can do well. I mean, I'm not very convincing when I lie."

Steve smiles briefly and nods.

"I'm sure you'll be great. Just... be yourself."

You appreciate Steve's vote of confidence and focus on staying calm as the car approaches the Harringtons' house. Although there's still a lingering questioning in your mind about Steve's earlier response, you decide to set it aside for now and focus on the immediate task.

Steve parks the car, and you both step out together. Nervousness returns as you approach the front door. You exchange a quick glance with Steve, seeking mutual encouragement.

As you walk toward the house's entrance, Steve's hand finds yours. He gently squeezes it, and you're not sure if he's trying to convey or seek comfort himself. You don't mind anyway.

The door opens, revealing Steve's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. As you prepare to enter their house, they cast evaluative glances your way, as you had expected. Mrs. Harrington's smile seems a bit forced, while Mr. Harrington maintains a serious expression you can't even begin to try to read.

It's not like you expected anything different.

"Mom," says Steve in lieu of a greeting. "Dad."

"Steve, you finally made it," says Mrs. Harrington, her tone somehow a mix of relief and disapproval. "And this must be your... girlfriend."

Steve maintains his composure as he introduces you, although you can sense a slight tension in his shoulders. It's only when he says your last name that Steve's parents' gazes turn into something completely different, almost a scientific interest.

Hawkins is a small place. Your parents' business is respected enough in town.

All eyes turn to you, and you try not to show the insecurity you feel inside. Mr. Harrington studies you for a moment, his penetrating gaze seeming to assess your suitability for his son.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Mr. Harrington," he finally says, extending an unusually large hand for a formal greeting.

You shake his hand firmly, trying to convey a confidence you're not quite sure you feel. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Harrington. Thank you for the invitation."

Mrs. Harrington still seems a bit unsettled but composes herself as she invites you inside. You're making your way toward the dining room when you feel Steve's hand intertwine with yours again, and when your gaze meets his, he's smiling.

Thank you, he mouths.

You smile back.

During dinner, you make an effort to be as pleasant and interesting as you can possibly be in the eyes of Steve's parents, responding politely and trying to find points of common interest. In turn, Steve makes an effort to showcase his worth, defending his accomplishments, however small and sharing his plans for the future, painting an image of maturity that, you can tell by the look in his parents' eyes, they were not expecting.

Throughout the evening, you realize that although Steve's parents are demanding and neglectful in many aspects, they also seem to have their own insecurities and concerns. They want the best for Steve, even if their way of expressing it is at least…unusual.

As the night progresses, you find yourself navigating this strange family dynamic better and better, to the point where Steve's parents' attention is fully on you, and it doesn't even feel that uncomfortable anymore. You even laugh at one point.

By the end of the dinner, as you two prepare to leave, you notice a very similar expression of relief on the faces of Steve's parents. They seem to have found some kind of approval in the way you both behaved together during the evening.

As you say goodbye, Mr. Harrington extends his hand again, but this time, his handshake is warmer, less formal, and Mrs. Harrington's smile almost seems genuine. Almost.

"It was a pleasure having you here," she says. "You should bring her more often, Steve."

You and Steve exchange a look of surprise. Had you somehow managed to create a connection with his parents?

As you walk away from the Harringtons' house, Steve's hand finds yours for the third time that night, and an optimistic part of you registers the fact that there's no one else here to see. He gently squeezes it, his brown eyes filled with gratitude when they meet yours.

"You were amazing," he says, genuinely smiling.

In the car, during the ride back, you both talk animatedly about the night and his parents' reactions. The tension from dinner seems to have diminished, leaving you both more relaxed and confident.

When you arrive in front of your house, Steve turns off the car and gets out to accompany you to the front door, even after you— out of politeness, mind you — said it's really not necessary. 

"You know, I didn't expect everything to go so well tonight," says Steve, with a playful smile. "I can't believe I'm saying this about a dinner with my parents, but thanks to you, it was even fun."

You laugh. "I kinda had fun too. I think we did better than we thought possible."

"You're amazing," he says again, and this time his voice carries a softer, more intimate tone. His eyes meet yours, shining, and you see admiration there…maybe, you dare to think, something even deeper.

The silence grows tense. Your heart races. There's something special happening between you, you know there is; this goes beyond mere friendship or pretending to be a couple for one night…doesn't it?

Are you imagining this?

"Steve..."

You can't finish before he's leaning in slowly, and you're almost certain his eyes are fixed on your lips. For a feverish moment, you think Steve is going to kiss you.

He tilts his head last second. You feel the softness of his lips brushing against your cheek a moment later, a light and brief kiss, mouth almost uncertain against your warm skin….and then it's over.

Steve pulls back slowly. 

"Goodnight," he says, eyes soft, smile softer. "Thank you…for today."

"You're welcome."

It's only when you enter the house that the dress dilemma comes to mind. 

Well…shit.

The zipper at the back is still unreachable for you, and you can't undo it yourself unless you use scissors — which, considering the price you paid for it, you really don't want to do.

With few options and too much embarrassment, you decide to call Steve back while you still can.

"Steve?" you practically shout, your embarrassment immediately doubling. He's about to open the door of his trusted BMW when he turns to you, confused and unfairly handsome under the street light.

Suddenly using the scissors on the dress doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Well, too late.

"Could you, you know... " you ask, gesturing to the back of your dress, "help me with the zipper?"

His initial surprise quickly gives way to a nervous smile.

"Sure. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn't help?"

"I'm sure that's one of the many job duties."

"Definitely. And I strive to be a top-notch fake boyfriend."

He steps in. With the door closed behind the two of you, the atmosphere takes on a sense of intimacy and anticipation.

"I really can't reach the zipper," you feel the need to explain, even more flustered by his silence.

"No problem," Steve says with that gentle tone that makes your heart do funny things inside your chest. "Turn around."

You turn so that he can reach the dress' zipper, and now you're facing the large oval mirror in the hallway, with Steve standing right behind you.

He reaches out gently, his fingers lightly brushing the back of your dress.

Breathe in. 

The temperature around you seems to rise a few degrees.

Breath out. 

You feel the gentle pressure of his fingers as he starts to slide the zipper down. He touches your skin and you tell yourself that this is inevitable, that he didn't mean to…but he lingers. Lingers just enough for you to tense up and let out a breathless sigh you certainly didn't intend to.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks, his voice soft, filled with concern. You know he's looking at you through the mirror and that's precisely why you keep your gaze on the floor. "Are my fingers cold?"

"No, your fingers..." your voice sounds hoarse. You clear your throat. "...it's fine, I'm okay."

I'm great. I'm more than okay. Nothing out of the ordinary happening here.

However, when the zipper seems to momentarily get stuck — because of course  it had to — the two of you exchange equally panicked looks through the mirror, though perhaps for different reasons. An uncomfortable silence fills the air as Steve tries to fix the issue.

"I'm... it's just... sorry, it seems to be stuck."

There's a moment of awkward silence as he tries to figure out a way to open the zipper. You can feel the tension in the air as he struggles to handle the situation.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" you joke, desperately trying to ease the tension.

Steve lets out a low laugh, his warm breath gently caressing your neck.

"Absolutely," he replies, his voice slightly husky. Then, probably without so much as noticing, he adds, "I've taken off many dresses before."

Oh.

"Steve-"

Steve doesn't give up. With skilled fingers, he adjusts the position of the zipper and makes another attempt. It moves.

"We're almost there," he murmurs softly, his voice close to your ear.

Finally, with a smooth motion, the zipper gives way, sliding all the way down. A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you turn around to face Steve, finding his eyes filled with excitement.

"I did it!"

His enthusiastic smile soon gives way to something else as he realizes how close — and technically partly undressed — you are.

And close you are, so very close. Close enough that you and Steve are somehow breathing the same air now.

Close enough, you realize, that a slight tilt of the head and...you'd be kissing.

Kissing.

Did he notice that too?

You hold your dress up over your chest to make sure it doesn't fall because, well…no matter how distracted you are, it's not enough that you'd risk a wardrobe malfunction that'll leave you standing there naked in front of Steve Harrington.

"...thanks," you manage a whisper, lips a hair's breadth away from his. You do know that Steve has no reason not to go now that dinner is over and everything went (surprisingly) well, but a part of you wonders if maybe…

Steve's hands hover around your waist as if unsure of what to do next. 

So close...

You hold still.

In that breathless silence, you're under the impression that Steve leans closer, even if just the slightest bit, maybe without even noticing. 

"Steve…" you slowly tilt your head to the side.

Steve's heart is pounding in his chest as he feels the warmth of your breath against his lips. Stop, he thinks. His eyes flutter closed, and Steve can't help but lean in just a little bit more. 

He raises his arm as if to touch you, wanting to touch you, to hold your face, to bring you closer…but he stops with one of his hands hovering near your cheek.

He pulls away with a gasp, his hands flying up to his face in shock. "I should-" he stammers. "I need to go."

Bam.

Door closed.

And just like that, he's out of the house before you can even open your eyes properly.

He just…pulled away. 

What the hell was that?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

[mattitties]

Boyfriend - matt sturniolo

creepy guy at a bar, matt pretends to be your boyfriend and flirting ensues

“Vodka cran for me and a whiskey sour for my friend,” I tell the bartender, looking around for said friend. My best friend and roommate was invited to this event tonight through her work, so of course I came along with her, but now she’s nowhere to be found. I pull out my phone not only to text her, but also so I can look occupied so nobody comes up to me.

wya

bathroom brb

I put my phone in my pocket as the bartender slides me the drinks and a check. I shoot him a quick smile, pay the tab, and pass it back to him. I grabbed the drinks and turned around, wanting to find a table where I can wait for her to return to me, but instead I’m met with a tall blonde guy smirking right down at me. He’s muscular, has piercing green eyes, and has to be at least 6’3. He towers over me, and I’m immediately intimated and slightly annoyed as I really had no intentions of talking to men tonight. 

“Hey,” he smiles. “I’m Ben. I saw you from over there and wanted to introduce myself.”

“Uh huh…” I nod. I’m usually a very friendly person, but this has not been my week and I wanted nothing more than to not be talking to this man. “Well, nice to meet you Ben, but I really gotta get back to my friend.” I begin to shift to the left so I can make my way around him, but he moves to block me. I stare up at him, silently begging him to move.

“What, you can’t even give me a minute? Come on, just tell me your name,” he insists.

I sigh. “I’m good, thanks for asking though!” I soon realize that playing the sarcastic card was a mistake, as he starts to lean in, his arm blocking me from moving anywhere. 

He’s about to open his mouth when I feel someone come up behind me and put his hand on my arm. I turn my head and am met with another guy who is basically the polar opposite of the man in front of me: brunette, blue eyes, fairly skinny, and probably about 5’8. Despite me saying I didn’t want to talk to men tonight, whoever this mystery man is is exactly my type. I couldn’t help but stare not only because he’s hot as fuck, but because I definitely recognize him from somewhere. 

“Hey baby, sorry the line for the bathroom was crazy,” he says. “Who’s this?”

I pause for a moment, not realizing at first what was happening. “Um… sorry, what was your name again?” I ask the blonde.

“Ben,” he says, clearly pissed off that I didn’t remember. “And who’s this?” He gestures toward the brunette.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he gives him a big smile. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her but I got it from here.”

“You didn’t mention you had a boyfriend,” Ben says pointedly. 

“Well when you’re busy trying to corner her it gets a little caught in your throat,” the brunette shoots back. “You’re done, thank you, bye bye now!”

Ben rolls his eyes and finally walks away in defeat. The brunette turns to me, his hand still on my arm. Now that I’m actually looking at him, I see that he is one of the most attractive people I think I’ve ever seen in my life.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, thank you,” I nod.

“Sorry if that was weird, you just looked really uncomfortable,” he says. “I was hoping that wasn’t actually a boyfriend because that would have made things worse…”

“No, no, I don’t. Um, I really appreciate that.”

He does a quick scan of the bar to make sure Ben wasn’t looking, then puts his hand out. “I’m Matt.”

I tell him my name and we begin to make small talk. When there’s a lull in the conversation, my curiosity gets the best of me.

“You know, I recognize you from somewhere, I feel like TikTok or something…”

“Oh yeah, my brothers and I are YouTubers.”

It all clicks in my head. “Oh right! Yeah, I think one of my friends showed me a video one time. And I definitely remember thinking, that guy in the driver’s seat is hot,” I smirk at him. 

His cheeks get bright red, but he tries to play it cool. “Ohhh really? Or are you just saying that to flatter me?”

“No, no, definitely not, but if it’s working then…”

“Oh, it’s working.”

I smile. “I’ll have to check out some more of your videos so I can see more of you.”

“You could… or we could just hang out and you could see more of me in person.”

My heart nearly falls into my ass at that. I have never been great at flirting, but the conversation is just coming so easy with this guy that I can’t help myself. “Hmmm… I think I like that idea.” 

“Good,” he smiles while pulling out his phone. “Give me your number and I’ll text you later.”

Once I give it to him and he slides his phone back into his pocket, he leans against the pillar behind him and crosses his arms. “It’s crazy how I was just telling my brother how lame this event is. Not so much anymore.”

“I was just telling my roommate the exact same thing. I’m glad I stayed.”

He pushes off the pillar and stands up straight again, closer towards me. “The attendees usually aren’t this pretty.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. “Ohhhh you think I’m prettyyyy?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t already know.” He pauses for a second, then opens his mouth. “Let me buy you dinner tomorrow.” Before I get a chance to respond, his eyes get wide. “Uh oh, your boyfriend’s looking. How do we make it believable that I’m with you?”

I don’t know where all my confidence is coming from right now. Something about him is making me a completely different person. I sit in one of the bar stools so I reach his height more then wrap my arms around his neck. “Like this?” I ask innocently.

He’s clearly at a loss for words for a moment, then he regains his composure. “Yeah, no, uh… yeah, this works.” I start to play with his hair on the back of his neck to try to fluster him even more. “So,” he says, trying to play off the fact that he is staring straight at my cleavage, “where do you live? So I know where to pick you up tomorrow night?” 

“We’re by The Grove, not too far from here. I’ll text you the full address,” I tell him.

“Oh perfect. We live right by here too, how convenient. Then I can see my girlfriend whenever,” he teases.

I nod in agreement. “Is he still looking?” I ask, referring to Ben.

He shrugs. “Don’t care. If I bothered looking at him then I wouldn’t get to look at you, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

I tilt my head and smile. “No, we definitely wouldn’t want that.”

He leans even closer, putting both his hands on the bar behind me. “So as my girlfriend,” he says, “I would assume you have a favorite tattoo of mine, right?” He put his arm out and rolled up his sleeve. “Which one would that be?”

I try to keep my composure as I look at the tattoos covering his arm. His forearms and hands are ridiculously veiny and I’m trying to keep the disgusting – but hot – thoughts running through my head at bay. “I like this one,” I say, tracing an anchor he has near his wrist. “Orrrr… this one.” My fingers run over one on his bicep, an owl with his wing covering a skull. He’s already insanely attractive, but his tattoos are making me legitimately sick to my stomach. 

“Do you have any?” he asks.

“Yeah, I got a few.” I show him the ones on my arm. “I have one on my rib too, but you’ll have to see that one another time.” I look up at him through my eyelashes and smile sweetly.

He smirks. “Oh will I?” 

“Mhm.”

“I have one on my chest,” he says, taking my hand and placing it on the left side of his chest. 

“Am I gonna see that one too?” I ask.

“Yeah, I don’t have one there,” he says dryly. “Just wanted an excuse to have your hands on me.”

My jaw drops a little as I slide my hand up his chest slowly until it’s back on his neck. Our faces are inches apart. “Do you think it looks believable that we’re together?” he asks.

“I think so,” I shrug. “It could always look more believable, but I don’t know your thoughts on PDA, so…”

His face is moving closer. “Where are you going with that?”

“Where do you think I’m going with it?”

He responds by giving me a soft kiss on my cheek. “That’s all you get for now.”

I pout in response, then move back and place my elbows on the bar behind me. My chest is a straight shot from his face, and I can tell he’s having a hard time focusing. “So where should we get dinner?” I ask.

“Um… we can go to… um…”

“I’ve never been to um, what do they have there?” I mock.

“Shut up,” he lets out a little laugh. “Let’s go somewhere higher end so I can treat you.”

“Ohhh, you got the big YouTube bucks, huh?”

He shrugs. “Gotta stay humble. I’ll treat you on a few different dates and we can find out just how much YouTube can pay for.”

“That sounds good,” I run my hand lightly through the curls on his neck as I give him the world’s nastiest fuck me eyes. 

He steps between my legs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why? I can’t look at my boyfriend like this?”

“Not with this many people around, no. Alone, though… well, we’re gonna be doing a lot more when we’re alone.”

I’m melting into a puddle in my seat. There’s no way this is happening. “I’m looking forward to it,” I reply, not breaking eye contact.

“I’ve gotta get back to my brothers,” he says in a near whisper. “I’ll text you, okay?”

I nod as he kisses my cheek one last time before he winks at me and walks away. 

---------------------------------------------

pt 2 coming soon (probably)

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo

[dizscreams]

Hobie x fem reader where he gets a little jealous that’s shes been hanging out with another guy and she reassures him

NO NEED TO BE JEALOUS

— Hobie Brown ★

PAIRING: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

A/N: The Hobie brainrot is crazy

You crawled out of bed in a rush since you were already late to your hangout with Miles, accidentally waking up your boyfriend in the process. “Where you off to?” He asked groggily watching as you quickly grabbed a shirt and shimmied into your pants. “Hanging out with Miles!”

“Miles Morales?”

“Yeah, I told you this last night.”

You smirked at his muttered “Of course its Miles” but carried on getting ready like you didn’t hear it.

You put on mascara quickly and checked the time again. “What do you do when you’re with him?” He asked curiously. You looked at him as he propped his elbow on the bed and looked at you tiredly. “Not much,” you chuckled, “He’s been helping me with my drawings recently, giving me tips and all of that boring stuff.”

He nodded and opened his mouth to say something before you cut him off, “Shit I gotta go. I’ll see you later, I love you!” You kissed his head and grabbed one of Hobie’s jackets before running off. He groaned and rolled over to put his head into his pillow. He trusted you, he really did, but he didn’t know Miles too well.

He was a good kid it seemed but you had been spending a lot more time with Miles than you were with Hobie. But Hobie wasn’t jealous, of course not! He didn’t get jealous. He just wished you spent more time with your actual boyfriend than with a kid you just met.

That was it.

That night Hobie waited in your room for you to come home. You ended up coming home at 9 o’clock at night. You stepped through the portal and immediately greeted your boyfriend. “Oh hey, you’re still here?” You asked as you sat on the bed next to him. “Yeah, you were out late.” You looked at the clock and grimaced, “Were you waiting this whole time?”

Hobie nodded in reply and you kissed his cheek, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Miles and I were spray painting all the spider people we’re friends with and it’s super cool. You should come see it sometime!” You ranted as you got up from your position on the bed and changed into more comfy clothes, that being an oversized t-shirt of Hobies and some sweatpants.

“You spent the whole day with him?”

“Yeah,” you replied nonchalantly as you laid down on the bed, sighing as your back his the comfy mattress.

You patted the spot next to you and Hobie moved to sit upright against the headboard. “Are you okay?” You asked looking up at him. “Fine, just fine,” he responded in a way that told you he was definitely not just fine. You put a hand on his arm and moved to prop yourself up so that you were now sitting upright against the headboard as well.

“What’s wrong?”

You would be lying if you said his crossed arms and slight pout didn’t amuse you. You knew exactly what was wrong, you just wanted to mess with him a bit. This was about Miles. Everytime you mentioned his name you saw Hobie roll his eyes or you heard a small annoyed groan. It was funny to you, but you couldn’t tell him that.

“You’re spending a lot of time with this Miles fella, don’t you think?”

You hid your smile and shrugged, “Guess so. He’s just a good friend is all.”

“A good friend?” He repeated, “You’ve known him three days tops.”

“Hobie?”

“What?”

“Do you think you might be jealous of Miles?”

He made a weird face and you laughed. “It’s okay to admit it you know,” you gave him a teasing smile and put your chin on his shoulder. “You’re kinda hot when you’re jealous.”

He rolled his eyes and gently pushed your head off his shoulder, “Shut up. Ain’t jealous.” Your smile turned into a grin, “Right, is that why you can’t even look at me when you say it?” He turned his head to look at you and gave you a glare. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you aren’t jealous,” you said with a small laugh.

“You serious?”

“Extremely.”

He hated how much fun you were getting out of this but couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips. "M' not jealous of some 15 year old.” You hummed, “Thought you hated labels.” He shook his head and out of no where grabbed your waist and put you on his lap. He laughed at the yelp you let out and you hit his shoulder. “You could’ve given me a warning!”

“You didn’t deserve it.”

You scoffed, “You are unbelievable, Hobie.”

“What? You don’t like me teasing you, after all you’ve said to me?” You stayed silent with a pout on your lips and he kissed your forehead, “Cmon now, ’s just fun and games, love.” “Jus fun and games, love.” You mimicked with your familiar smile returning back to your face. You laughed at his reaction before leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder and put your arms around him.

“Back to the main point, you are jealous.”

He let out a breath and nodded, “Suppose so.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Ay! Just a bit. Lets not forget that you were jealous of Gwen one time.”

“Okay, shut up.”

He laughed and you smiled, “I just want you to know you’re the only guy I want. You’re cooler than Miles, but don’t tell him I said that,” you warned as you observed the dumb smirk on his face. “I wont.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He put his arms around your torso and you both stayed like that until you fell asleep.

Maybe he was stupid to be jealous of Miles but the outcome was completely worth it.

#dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫 #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk #spider man across the spider verse

[81folklore]

heaven - OP81

pairings: oscar piastri x private!secret!reader (fc: gracie abrams)

summary: you are oscar’s long term secret girlfriend and you start hinting on your instagrams

authors note: okay so honestly this was just supposed to be one part but i think might do a part two maybe, i started writing this as a filler before i started writing the two in my poll but i was writing on my phone so its not as long as i wanted

part 2 part 3 masterlist

yourusername

liked by yourfriend1, yourfriend2 and 153 others

cool cherry😋

view comments

yourfriend1: sooo sexyy

yourfriend2: leave your bf for me please🙏🙏

yourusername: id love to see you say that to his face

yourfriend5: wait a minute…is that who i think it is

yourusername: maybee🫣

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 330,307 others

little mid season recharge 🇵🇹

view comments

mclaren: things we love to see! 🇵🇹

user15: hes so boyfriend

user6: OSCAR??

user8: IF I SPEAK…

yourusername: weird way to propose but yes

yourfriend1: OH MY😭

yourusername

liked by yourfriend7, yourfriend3 and 262 others

im weenies favorite

view comments

yourfriend2: see i just dont think thats true🤨

yourusername: ur right he loves yourfriend3 more

yourfriend2: i cant even argue with that

yourfriend7: i luv ur face🤭

user6: everyone loves weenie!!

yourusername: so true and real!

oscarpiastri

liked by maxfewtrell, yourfriend5, yourusername and 452,527 others

how i feel whenever i see weenie

view comments

user83: YOU HAVE A DOG?

yourfriend5: cute dog..

yourusername: woww look at that handsom fella

*liked by oscarpiastri*

yourfriend1: girl i cant with you😭

user6: wait im sure i know that dog

user7: wait really?

user6: yeah im sure someone i follow has a dog called weenie but im not sure their account is yourusername

yourusername added to their story

replies

yourfriend2: not you playing with fire😭

oscarpiastri: weenie🫶

yourusername: we miss you☹️

user6: omg what

user75: is that oscars dog?

user91: are you and oscar dating?

#f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 instagram au #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #oscar piastri x reader #social media au #oscar piastri #private!yn!oscar

[augustinewrites]

“i sent a text,” you mutter to yourself as you push and hold the door open with your foot. “and yet nobody came down to help me with the groceries.” 

you push the door shut with your elbow, turning around to see why exactly no one had answered your text. the three of them are sat at the dining table. megumi’s staring at the table, tsumiki’s staring at a painting on the wall, and satoru's glaring at the pile of phones in front of him.

“what is going on?” you ask, setting your bags on the countertop. 

“family meeting,” satoru answers, still glaring at the phones.

“really?” you ask, pulling out your chair to join them. “last time you called a family meeting, you wanted to discuss whether or not you could pull off an earring.” 

“that was a short conversation,” megumi quips.

“hey, i’m still confident that you’re all wrong and i’d totally rock an earring,” he tells you. “but that’s not what this is about. this is about tsumiki.” 

“oh,” you say, surprised by this turn of events. “i thought megumi got in trouble at school again.”

“he did.” 

“i did.” 

figures. you’d address that later. 

“and that’s why i was at their school, where i saw tsumiki about to skip class with - get this - with her boyfriend, who none of us knew existed.”

you exhale a heavy breath. “oh…” 

but your reaction must be too mild for your fiancé, who sends you a funny look. “‘oh?’ that’s a little light. she has a boyfriend that none of us knew about!”

an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. satoru looks at megumi, who looks at tsumiki, who looks at you. 

you actively work to avoid his gaze, further incriminating yourself.

“wait…do you know something?”

“can i talk to you for a second?” you ask, nodding your head toward the kitchen. he follows you over, but not before telling the kids not to touch their phones. 

“how are we handling this?” he asks, pacing back and forth with a deeply conflicted look on his face. you don’t think you’ve even seen him look this serious about something before. “‘cause i know i’m usually the fun parent and you usually bring the heat when it comes to punishments, but i’m already there, babe! she’s grounded. phone, gone! food, maybe! and she is forbidden from seeing this boy for–  till– till she’s in college.”

“satoru–”

“i can’t believe she didn’t tell us she had a boyfriend,” he mutters, not finished yet. “who is this kid, anyway? her boyfriend?” you roll your eyes when he even gags on the word.

“okay, okay,” you laugh nervously, rubbing your hands up and down his arms. “do you promise that you’re not going to freak out if i tell you something?”

“no.”

“fair enough,” you agree. “uh…i met her boyfriend.” his eyes widen, but you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything. “hold on! she only told me a couple of days ago because they just started dating two weeks ago. she was going to tell you, i promise.”

“but she’s too young to have—”

“satoru, keeping apart kids that are in love never works out for the people keeping them apart.” you loop your arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “imagine if someone had told you that you couldn’t date me.”

“yeah, i know,” he grumbles. “i guess i’m just hurt that she didn’t tell me right away. we have a connection, you know. like you and megumi. last week when we went out for our weekly ice cream gossip session, she didn’t say a thing!” 

“you guys have weekly gossip sessions?”

“uh, yeah. as if you and megumi don’t talk shit about us illiterates whenever you go to the bookstore.” 

“i think we’re getting off track,” you deflect with a huff. “what are we going to do about the situation at hand?”

_____

at the sound of a knock on the door, tsumiki bursts out of her room. “i’ll get it!”

“be cool,” you tell satoru, who scoffs as he fixes his hair.

“i’m cool. the coolest. i’m like ice.” 

“i’m serious,” you grit as tsumiki pulls the door open. “do not be weird right now.”

you smile as tsumiki introduces you both, taking the bouquet of flowers that her boyfriend offers you.

“dinner’s almost ready, so make yourself at home in the meantime,” you tell him, filling a vase with water. 

“in the living room, preferably,” gojo adds stiffly. where tsumiki shoots him a look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “we’ll be in the kitchen, you’ll have plenty of privacy.”

“the kitchen and the living room are the same room,” she mutters.

“then you can pretend that we’re not even here,” he says, tone light. then, after a moment. “but remember that we will be here. the whole time.”

“okay, you need to take all of that and put it away,” you tell him sternly, handing him a stack of plates to put on the table. “welcome to the real world, babe. this is what raising teenagers is all about.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #keeping up with the fushigojos

[miraclewoozi]

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.  or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it. 

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader.  content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.  content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song. 

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong. 

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.” 

He was right. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all. 

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say. 

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position. 

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air. 

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done. 

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal. 

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present. 

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort. 

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you. 

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember. 

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.  

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter. 

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again. 

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary. 

The urge to just… lean in to you. 

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees. 

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again. 

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly. 

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop. 

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday. 

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare. 

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once. 

He swears. 

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I’ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure. 

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting. 

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway. 

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t. 

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances. 

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise. 

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that. 

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come. 

Eight seconds later… still nothing. 

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light. 

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug. 

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again. 

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?” 

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue. 

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before. 

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip. 

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter. 

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh. 

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair. 

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop. 

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders. 

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help. 

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place. 

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head. 

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in. 

I love them. Thank you, you said. 

It’s perfect. 

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double. 

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead. 

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue. 

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose. 

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late. 

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to. 

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are. 

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob. 

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum. 

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him. 

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen. 

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door. 

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important. 

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair. 

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath. 

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright. 

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened. 

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head. 

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop. 

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together. 

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said. 

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love. 

With someone who wasn’t him. 

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt.  And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before. 

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder. 

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it. 

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush. 

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth. 

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you. 

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too. 

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure. 

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together. 

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try. 

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could. 

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down. 

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better. 

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same. 

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved. 

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person. 

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say. 

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here. 

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no. 

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline. 

Not enough, but some. 

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin. 

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky. 

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour. 

2.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough. 

1.

Happy New Year. 

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes. 

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you. 

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow… 

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there. 

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you. 

You could do it, his brain tells him. 

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter? 

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside. 

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said. 

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in. 

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule. 

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all. 

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday. 

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you. 

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change. 

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant. 

The pouting continued. 

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table. 

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right? 

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling. 

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together. 

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features. 

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road. 

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess, 

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks. 

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer. 

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks. 

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick. 

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone. 

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own. 

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block. 

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths. 

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

One. 

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too. 

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again. 

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon chwe fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #hansol x reader #hansol fluff #kpop fluff #j writes. #* #so nervous ab posting this. anyway. i wrote this for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and my deluded ass is gonna go jump in a hole now GOODBYE <3 #vernon fanfic