#he's very opinionated and demands his right to comment all things

[caeloservare]

💝💞💖 [From Lila ] / 💝 [From Neon Katt and Velvet] / 💔 [From Tyrian, Neopolitan and May]

Some hearties meme

💝: Looks up to them as a role model. 💞: Feels attracted to them, but can’t work out if it’s platonic, sexual, or romantic attraction they’re feeling. 💖: Finds them aesthetically attractive. 💔: Hates their guts.

Lila:

He's not sure how to react to that. There should be short and simple manuals to social situations like this.

"Well, I'm hoping to not turn into a disappointment." He chuckled, a bit too uneasy and too aware how poorly it have sounded. He appreciates it. He just don't know how to express it properly.

Neon and Veltet:

"I hope it's not out of place for me to say that you both are remarkable students. It is quite impressive progress you have made since I got to know you. You both already are the huntresses you strive to be and you surely make the world a better place and... Well, let me tell you at risk of sounding too sentimental, I am proud of you."

He means it.

Tyrian, Neo, May:

"The feeling's mutual."

[evergone]

Hypocrite

Theodore Nott x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (sex), swearing

Description: The reader is embarrassed by the hickies Theo left on her, but she's not one to speak.

Merlin, you were pissed. Or, maybe — maybe you were embarrassed. Afterall, there were purple and yellow bruises all over your breasts and along your collarbone and up the sides and back of your neck. Despite your best efforts, your makeup hadn’t covered them all, and the collar of your blouse kept smearing the foundation and exposing more of them to the entire student body. A student body who couldn’t stop talking about you.

“Trip down the stairs did you, Y/n?” Pansy teased.

“Our very own Slytherin slut,” Daphne laughed fondly.

“By the name of Salazar,” Blaise breathed heavily at the sight of them.

You could only sigh in frustration, your head in your palms, “Guys, stop, please. Everyone and their mothers are giving me shit about it, you don’t need to join in.”

You weren’t lying. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape had practically burnt a hole through your neck, and then, in Transfiguration, McGonagall had quietly asked if you needed to step out to touch up your makeup. The worst, however, was Potions with Slughorn. His opinion of you since the beginning of the year had been purely positive since your family were fairly wealthy and you achieved some of the highest grades in his class. When he saw the hickeys all over you, though, his bulbous nose had turned up in disgust and he made a most unpleasant grunt of disproval. You were sure you had made his blacklist.

“This warrants murder,” said Pansy.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You asked, “I am so fucking mad at him for this.”

Oh, but you could hardly speak.

You and Theo (your boyfriend and hickey-giver) both received invitations to a party that was held the night before, and despite knowing you had school the next day, you went. Once you were about ten drinks in, you were completed sloshed, and when you were completely sloshed, you got horny.

Though the crowd of party-goers stood between yourself and Theo, you could still see every part of him. He was just standing there, chatting with Blaise and Draco, a can of cheap beer held lazily in his right hand while his left was barely touching his hip. He was so, so hot. You bit your lip sexily then made your way over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing the back of his white shirt, and leaving stains of red lipstick all over it.

“Hey, Y/n, baby,” he hummed, happy from all the drinks he’d downed in the three hours prior, “What’s up?”

“Teddyyy,” you mused and stared up at him as he looked over his shoulder at you, “I want sex.”

Blaise and Draco snickered and Theo shot them a glare. After that, you can imagine what happened. Lots of moaning, groaning, grunting, panting. Enough snogging to last you both a lifetime, but not really because there was no such thing as “enough snogging,” and love making that lasted well past the rise of the sun that peeked through the window to Theo’s dorm room and illuminated every gorgeous curve of your body.

While Theo was the kind of sexual partner to want to leave marks all over you — not because he was the jealous type, just the prideful type, he liked everyone to see that he’d won you — you were the kind of sexual partner who liked it rough. You liked to feel his dick more or less pounding against your womb, so close that it almost warranted a trip to Madame Pomfrey. You liked when he thrusted into you fast, but not sloppy, always obeying your comments of ‘faster, Theo’ and ‘honey, please, I need it faster.’ But he couldn’t obey too much, you were very particular about that. He had to make you feel good, but he still had to be in control. It was always best if he gave in to every third or fourth demand, so that you had to beg for it. But the best part about rough sex with Theo? Well, it was what made you such a hypocrite.

“Mate,” Draco gaped at Theo’s back in the locker rooms before quidditch practice, “Did you get into a fight with a werewolf or something?”

Theo frowned in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Draco motioned for Theo to move into view of the mirror and when he got a good look at his reflection he joined in the gaping. Long, red lines ran down his back like the British army at the Battle of Balaclava. He had become a canvas and you had painted him with your claws. He ought to have them clipped, Merlin’s beard.

The scratches were mostly up and down (go figure), but there were are couple that ran horizontally which Theo couldn’t place the origin of. You had torn him apart, you freak.

And that’s when you stormed into the locker room. Pucey had squealed, that was the first sign that you had entered. The second was the smart-ass warning that escaped Draco’s mouth ( “Look what the cat dragged in… or maybe she herself is the cat,” he said.

“She is the cat’s mother,” you responded, annoyed, and kicked him in the shin.

“My point still stands,” he laughed painfully).

Your hands were covering your eyes so as to not expose yourself to the privates of the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, and Theo thought you looked like a total dork in the cutest way. A pout had settled on your lips to make up for the fact that your frown was also hidden behind your hands.

“Theodore Nott!” You huffed and the locker room broke out into a chorus of ‘ooh’s, “Shut up, all of you — Theodore, look at what you’ve done to my neck.”

“I can’t really see behind your hands, lovey,” said Theo and you swore you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Use your imagination then, I’m sure you remember what you did to me last night — Oh, aren’t you all so mature,” you hissed as the boys erupted into laughter like little children.

You felt Theo’s hands settle on your hipbones as if they were arm rests. He pulled you in until your nose hit his chest and removed your hands from your face. So safe you were in his presence that you couldn’t see any of the other boys around you. With his big eyes that were more ocean-coloured than sky, he stared down at you, and flashed his brilliantly white grin.

“You aren’t much better, you know?” He said with a tone of question in his voice and continued to talk when he realised you didn’t know what he was talking about, “My back?”

He turned for you and upon seeing the mess you had evidently made on his back, you shut your mouth.

“Even?” Asked Theo.

“Even,” you nodded.

[pastryfication]

Hi, so I'm a one:one teacher and I have heavy anxiety (among other things) especially this year and I use colouring as a de stressing method? So I was wondering if maybe you could write something about going to a GP with boyfriend!Oscar and you're caught colouring in the garage (you only do it during red flags or delays or whatever; you're glued to the race at all other times) and you get widely criticised for that and Oscar (and Logan and Estie and Lewis -- bc I love them and want to be their friends) all defend you? Grazie!

thank u so much for this request!! i’ve tried to write it as well as possible, but i know everyone deals with their anxiety differently. i’ve based this slightly on the way my sister deals with hers (though she has adhd and ocd as well so it might be a bit different) to make it as realistic as possible 🫶🫶

colouring books | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x anxious!reader

warnings: mentions of anxiety and toxic fans

your anxiety had always been something you had to manage carefully. you loved your job, and you found immense joy in successfully handling the challenges it faced you with, but the pressure could be stressful and at times very overwhelming. to deal with it, you discovered a love for colouring. the simple act of filling pages with bright, intricate patterns helped mollify your mind and ease your stress. letting your brain focus on something else, something so simple yet calming, became your sanctuary.

your boyfriend had always been supportive of this method. he knew how much colouring helped you stay calm, and he admired the way you balanced your demanding job with your personal struggles and always found peace amidst your daily chaos.

today, you found yourself in the bustling paddock in the city of monaco. the excitement and energy were palpable, even more so than normal, and while you were thrilled to support oscar, the sheer intensity of the environment began to weigh on you.

you stuck close to oscar for as long as possible, your hand holding firmly onto his. it didn’t take long for him to notice your tension, and he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “remember, if it gets too much, you can always find a quiet corner in the garage,” he reminded you. “you don’t have to watch the entire race.”

“i want to watch the race. i’ll be fine.” you assured him, giving him a warm smile as he left you.

as the action began, you watched nervously from the team’s garage. the roar of engines and the frenetic activity around you was both exhilarating and overwhelming. you tried your very best to focus on the race, but your mind started to spiral. when a red flag halted the race due to a crash, the sudden surge of activity and concern as the garage filled with engineers, mechanics and media personnel—all buzzing with tension and uncertainty—pushed your anxiety to its peak.

needing a moment to yourself, you found a quiet corner of the garage and pulled out your colouring book and pencils. the familiar motions soothed your nerves, gradually calming your mind.

lost in your activity, you didn’t notice the curious glances from some of the team members and fans who had found their way into the garage.

“is she seriously colouring right now?” one fan muttered.

“does she not care about what’s happening?” another scoffed.

“some support she offers . . . oscar deserves a better wag.” came a third opinion.

their criticism stung, each word amplifying your anxiety, but you forced yourself to shrug it off. they didn’t know you. they had no right to comment.

it didn’t take long before oscar entered the garage, the red flag lasting longer than expected.

he immediately noticed you huddled in the corner, trying to hide your distress. without hesitation, he walked over and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, thump moving back and forth on your skin to comfort you.

“hey, what’s going on?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes.

you explained in a hushed voice, looking down at your lap. “some people are upset that i’m colouring. they think it’s unfair to you.”

oscar’s expression hardened. “i’m gonna go talk to them.” he decided.

“no, osc, it doesn’t matter.” you tried to calm him. “i’m used to it.”

your words didn’t help in the slightest, only working to make his frown deeper. he stood up, moving to address the group of fans standing outside with a firm voice. “excuse me, everyone. i would appreciate you not talking badly about my girlfriend. she’s not being a bad support; she’s taking care of her mental health. if anyone has a problem with that, they can come talk to me.”

the room fell silent, a few people looking away sheepishly as they halfheartedly apologised.

you looked down at your lap, slightly embarrassed, but you also couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling your heart swell at the actions of your boyfriend. looking pleased with himself, oscar turned back to you, giving you a sweet kiss that made your heart flutter.

later that day, when you where laying next to oscar in the hotel bed, both scrolling through your phone before going to sleep, oscar turned to you with a smile on his face.

“have you seen the way the other drivers stood up for you as well?” he asked. “some fan apparently filmed the whole thing and it was shown to some of them.”

“really?” you asked, excited at the prospect of the other drivers standing up for you.

oscar only handed you his phone in answer, the screen open on a twitter thread.

[neptuneiris]

could you pretend to be in love? (09/10)

The Consequences

pairing: modern!aemond × fem!reader (fake dating)

summary: things get complicated, you and Aemond's relationship ends and despite finding solutions, nothing can repair the damage to your ruined future.

word count: 8.3k

previous part • series masterlist

fortunately it didn't take me as long as last time and finally here it is hehe🙏😚

I really hope you like it a lot and remember that we're not far from the end, so I'm looking forward to your comments with your opinions. thank you very much for reading beautiful people!❤

You want to believe it's all a misunderstanding.

You couldn't sleep all night. Anxiety and worry consumed you like never before, waiting and checking your mail every moment hoping to see if anything would arrive, but nothing.

Your whole night was summed up in thinking about possible catastrophic scenarios, although they were not possible after all, since that is what is really going to happen because at this point there is nothing you can do because the college applications have already passed.

That's why you checked your email every moment, almost on the verge of tears, thinking about what the fuck you're going to do, how you're going to go to college and why Aemond didn't keep his end of the deal.

There was the urge to text him and even call him in all your desperation and confusion, ask him what happened, but you decided to wait until the next morning to ask him in person to get clear answers.

And that's what you're going to do now.

You don't even know if you are right but there is no other explanation when things are too clear. And you can't help but feel the pain of betrayal burning in your chest, with the anxiety consuming you and the need.

You finally arrive at the school, where without thinking of absolutely nothing, you start searching for Aemond through all the hallways, with determination and rage mixed inside you.

Your eyes frantically search through all the students as you walk quickly and make your way through them all, ignoring their stares at you as you don't care at the moment, you have a goal in mind.

And along with that goal and what you have to do now, still your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more painful and confusing than the last.

After all the moments you both spent together, both real and pretend, every laugh, every gesture, every kiss, it all seemed so real and so genuine.

But now… it all felt like a cruel illusion.

And to have to accompany it all with this, it's just unbelievable.

You finally see him in the distance, it's not hard to make out his distinctive silver hair, with his figure walking towards the doors leading to the huge backyard of the school, talking to some friends.

Anger and sadness intensify as you see him looking so calm, as if nothing is going on, made worse by the fact that he won't try to contact you either to let you know anything about the university, or even give you the news himself, anything.

You clench your fists and muster up all your courage before reaching for him, feeling completely hopeless.

“Aemond,” you call out to him, your voice tense and cutting.

He turns to you at the call of your voice, his expression changing from surprise to slight concern in an instant. His friends continue walking and he remains standing, as you walk towards him.

And you don't even give him time to speak, as you immediately raise your phone, showing him the college's Facebook ad on the screen.

“What is this?” you ask him, demanding explanations, confusion and pain reflecting in your eyes.

You feel your voice tremble, but you stand your ground, holding his gaze with a determination that belies your vulnerability.

He watches the screen and you see the worry spread further across his face, followed by a nervousness that runs through him from head to toe. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words seem caught in his throat.

“I'm sorry,” he says in a barely audible whisper, leaning toward you and with sorrow in his gaze, ”I-I didn't want you to find out like this.”

The knot in your stomach tightens even tighter as the worry and anxiety intensifies, watching him without understanding.

“And what does that mean?”

He looks to all sides, noticing the number of students surrounding you who begin to watch you both curiously, whispering amongst themselves.

“Come,” he says softly as he places a firm but careful hand on your shoulder and guides you into one of the empty classrooms, away from the stares.

You don't argue with him because you don't want to draw attention to yourself either, but as soon as he closes the door behind you, you feel the pressure in your chest intensify and you immediately turn to him, the need for answers burning inside you.

“You didn't talk to your grandsire or your sister?” you ask, your voice trembling between anger and the anxiety you're trying to contain.

He looks down for a moment, swallowing hard. His silence hangs heavy in the air before he looks up at you, his eyes showing a mixture of weariness and regret.

“Yes, with my grandsire,” he states to you, "But I'm still working on it," he confesses with his tone infused with a sincerity that hurts you more than you expected.

You feel your breath catch and you watch him in shock, with your lips parted and hopelessness all over your gaze, trying to process what he just said. The hopelessness is reflected in your gaze, and your eyes fill with tears of frustration that you struggle to hold back.

“What?” you manage to say, your voice cracking in disbelief.

He takes a step toward you, his eye fixed on yours as he tries to remain calm, though you can see the tension in the way his hands move, as if he's searching the air for the right words.

“Listen,” he begins, your tone softer and almost pleading, ”It's not entirely true that the whole admissions process is over. There are still… possibilities,” he says nervous, ”And I promise you that I've already sent all your documents to my grandsire. I just need a little more time to be able to convince him, and I will, I swear.”

He tries to convince you, observing you completely honest and sincere in what he is saying, but you no longer believe in him.

His words are like a desperate attempt to calm you down, to reassure you that everything will be okay. But distrust grows inside you with a sharp pain that spreads throughout your chest.

You watch him, looking for some sign to give you hope, some spark of certainty you can cling to. But all you see is uncertainty and nervousness, insecurity, because even he doesn't know if he will get you in.

You think about the announcement, how the university has already sent out all the emails, both acceptance and rejection. Then reality hits you like a slap in the face, and suddenly you understand.

“You… you got in?” you ask in a breathy whisper, though deep down you already know the answer.

He doesn't answer you right away, as instead of words, all you get is his look, a mixture of pity and embarrassment that only confirms it.

“Yes but you'll get in Y/N too,” he quickly insists, his voice desperate to convince you, ” You don't need to worry about anything.”

How easy it is to talk when he is the one who certainly should not worry about his future.

And finally the tears find their way, unable to control them any longer. You press your lips together tightly, trying to keep your composure, but the pain and frustration are too intense.

Aemond stirs restlessly, hating to see you cry. His hands tense, wanting to reach out and be able to hug you, but he restrains himself and watches you with concern.

“Y/N—

“ You don't even know if you'll be able to get me in too,” you interrupt him in a cold and distant voice, laden with bitterness with the feeling of betrayal and disappointment in your chest, “I trusted you, that's why I didn't apply to other colleges,” you look at him hurt and annoyed, “Now what am I supposed to do? The time for applications has already passed. I can't apply anywhere else because this, your promise, should have been settled long ago.”

Your words echo in the air, and the reality of the situation settles between the two of you like a barrier. He is affected by your words and falls silent, not knowing how to respond.

Worst of all, you know that he really wanted to help you, that his intentions were sincere, that's what you really want to think in the midst of all this.

But did he really want to help you in the first place?

If that was really his intention, then you wouldn't be in this position right now, in this situation that should never have been allowed. And you also remember Floris.

The tension is palpable and you feel the lump in your throat tighten even more and you look at him with pain.

“You used me,” you say with your voice cracking and barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head, his gaze full of despair.

“No, it wasn't like that,” he tries to correct with his pleading tone as he takes a step closer to you, “That was never my intention Y/N, you know that.”

You pull away from him, increasing the distance between the two of you, tears gathering more in your eyes and this time you make no effort to hold them back.

“I know because of what happened with Floris,” you say bitterly, ”And the worst thing is that I did like you.”

Your words leave him speechless for a moment, his expression marked by a mixture of regret and pain. He reaches out a hand toward you, as if to touch you, to comfort you, but you abruptly pull away.

“Y/N, please let me explain—

“There's nothing to explain,” you cut him off, unable to bear to listen to him any longer.

You feel something inside you crack and he seems to notice your change, to which he doesn't know what to do.

He tells you something else but you no longer listen. The broken promises, the destroyed trust, it all piles up on your shoulders, making you feel smaller and lonelier than you ever felt before.

The pain on his face is evident and when you finally decide to walk away, Aemond tries to stop you, tries to remedy the situation, but you don't even hear him anymore, you don't even see him, it's as if he is suddenly invisible and you leave him behind with pain and bitterness branded on your chest.

All because you realize that he, his promises, his words, were never worth it. And now you're paying the consequences of your future ruined by an absurd contract you should never have accepted in the first place.

You feel as if the world has fallen on top of you.

All the way home, you feel a mixture of intense emotions overflowing and the only way you can get them off your chest is to cry.

You are thankful that your father is still at work or else you would have had no idea how to explain your visibly pitiful state to him. Besides you don't even have the courage to really tell him what's going on.

But all is probably not lost.

Anxiety, despair and frustration wash over you as you sit in front of your laptop. But it also invades you and you cling to hope. You want, desire and yearn to find a solution, one last chance to not lose an academic year, so you open the browser.

Your fingers move quickly over the keyboard, as you search the admissions pages of other universities.

You visit one after another, hoping to find one that is still accepting applications, one that might have a deadline extension. But as you read and watch, that hope fades.

The words ‘admission perido has ended’ are repeated over and over again on every page you visit.

You try a small college in another city, then the only two available in your own city, but in all the answers are the same. Time has run out. The deadline has passed and there is no way to reverse it.

Frustrated, you hold your hands to your head, feeling the despair and anxiety growing inside you. And unable to help it, tears well up in your eyes and finally the situation crushes you.

With a loud sob escaping your lips, you collapse in your chair, feeling completely helpless, hopeless and like a fool.

You don't understand how you couldn't take precautions, have a backup plan B in case Aemond's plan failed, apply to even the city's public university, but none of that crossed your mind at all.

How are you going to explain this to your father? That you didn't apply to other colleges because you trusted a guy's word to get into Citadel in exchange for making his ex-girlfriend jealous?

Even the situation, thinking about what you were doing all that time instead of applying to other colleges makes you frustrated and angry at yourself for being such a fool.

And yet, you still hold on.

The next morning, your spirits still low, you head to the office of the school's coordinator, Mrs. Turner, with this last spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to resolve this with her help.

Mrs. Turner greets you with a friendly smile, though her face reflects some concern when she sees the expression on your face clearly tired from lack of sleep and swollen from all the crying you've done.

“Miss Y/N, what's wrong? Is everything all right?” he asks you, inviting you to sit down.

You waste no time and explain the situation to her. You decide to omit certain details, especially everything to do with Aemond and his promise. Instead, you opt to say that, due to a family problem, you missed the date for applying to colleges.

“Well, I understand that some universities do a second round of application, but you're mostly private universities in the city.”

“Only private here in the city?” you ask nervously and with a slight illusion.

“Yes,” he nods at you, “Maybe you could make an application for a scholarship.”

You bite your lip, feeling the frustration begin to take hold of you again and the illusion disappears.

You know that, while a scholarship might help you cover some of the costs, it won't be enough. You will only be offered a partial scholarship, and even then, the costs of a private university would be unaffordable for you and your father.

With the scholarship you had applied for at Citadel, you would have had most of your expenses covered, as long as you maintained a good grade point average. But you were rejected.

“No, I-I… I can't afford private college,” you admit as you look at her in desperation, ”Are you sure there's nothing you can do at the public university? Maybe send in a special request or something?”

She looks at you with some pity and disappointment.

“I'm sorry Y/N, but I'm afraid that's not the way things work,” she tells you in a soft voice, “Unfortunately, at most universities, once the admissions deadlines have closed, there's nothing we can do.”

You're not even surprised because you were definitely expecting something like this. Nor do you feel anything, just…emptiness and bitterness.

Mrs. Turner maintains her compassionate look as she continues to speak, trying to soften the impact of the situation on you.

“Y/N, I know this may seem discouraging, but I want you to know that all is not lost. Losing a year before entering college is not the end of the world,” she says in a reassuring tone, ”You can use this time to get a job, gain experience, and prepare an even stronger application for the next cycle. There's no rush, and many people find that taking a year off allows them to better focus on what they really want.”

But you know what you really want.

You want to study law, have a professional career, graduate and work at something you really like where you earn enough money to help your dad, give him a better life. That's what you want.

But you ruined it all by agreeing to a dumb contract, by believing his words and by not backing yourself.

You know her words are meant to calm you down, to offer you a positive outlook in the midst of the storm of emotions flooding through you. But, at this moment, these words offer you no comfort.

All you can think about is how your plan, your future, has crumbled in front of you.

You nod slowly, not wanting to seem rude or ungrateful for his attempt to help you. But inside, you feel misunderstood. You know Mrs. Turner only wants to help you, but the despair and fear of the future you now face keep you from seeing the bright side.

“Thank you, Mrs. Turner,” you say with an effort to keep your voice steady, ”I appreciate your advice.”

She gives you a warm, though still concerned, smile as you rise from your chair.

“If you need to talk more, or if there's anything I can help you with, feel free to come see me, okay?”

You nod once more, thanking her for her kindness and time before leaving the office.

Once outside, the hustle and bustle of students filling the halls of the school envelop you and you quickly make your way to your locker.

You open the door with automatic movements, barely aware of what you are doing as your thoughts invade you. With trembling hands, you put away the books and notebooks you won't need for the next few classes.

As you go through the motions, the pain and frustration begin to build. And when you least expect it, tears begin to slide down your cheeks silently.

You try to control yourself, pursing your lips and wiping your cheeks, but your emotions are too intense to be repressed. When suddenly, laughter reaches your ears.

You watch out of the corner of your eye and see Alys and her friends walking almost in front of you with mocking voices and laughter, full of undisguised contempt.

You have an idea what specifically amuses them about you, you know they must have sent you that picture of Aemond and Floris, but you also feel their laughter as a cruel mockery of your already desperate situation.

Still you can't help but feel embarrassed and angrily wipe away your tears with a sharp gesture.

Rage runs through your whole body, for everything. And your tears, though stopped for the moment, still threaten to return. You hurry to put everything away and slam the door shut to finally walk away.

You walk quickly down the hallway, wanting to get away from all the people, when as you turn down a corridor, you come face to face with Aemond, Aegon and his friends.

The impact is almost physical, but both you and they stop abruptly to avoid the blow. And as soon as you realize who you have in front of you, you freeze for an instant.

Just when your day couldn't get any worse.

Aemond, with his silver hair and imposing figure, is the first to notice you. His expression instantly changes from surprise to concern as he sees the traces of tears on your face.

And although he doesn't say anything right away, his gaze is intense, full of worry and guilt.

The tension in the air becomes palpable, because both you and he have no idea what to do, what to say or how to react. But you, feeling the pressure of the stares, feel trapped and instantly have the urge to walk away.

But first, Aemond takes a step towards you, trying to close the distance between the two of you and your eyes meet his, charged with a mixture of desperation and hope.

“Y/N,” he calls your name.

And before he can say anything else, you don't let him and quickly move away.

Desperation drives you to dodge him, also the fact that you can't stand to be in his presence, which you do but Aemond reacts immediately and follows you.

He calls your name with an urgency that makes his voice echo down the hallway, leaving his brother and his friends behind.

“Y/N, please stop, he needed to talk to you,” he urges you.

His hand reaches out to yours in an attempt to stop you but you continue walking quickly.

Maybe it's the look you both have or it's the unusual attitude you're both having around each other that starts to get people's attention. But you don't care since all you want at that precise moment is to get away from him.

“Please, Y/N.”

And then his hand takes yours, stopping you and you turn to him, your face flushed with tears and anger inside you.

“Let go of me,” you tell him in warning in a cold, cutting voice, ”I won't tell you again.”

The scene definitely draws more attention and some students begin to murmur and watch you both very intently, but the whole whirlwind of emotions makes you lose sight of the awkwardness of the situation.

You really don't want to deal with Aemond right now. In fact you don't even want to have anything to do with him anymore.

And Aemond seeing that, your attitude and coldness, the fact that you can't even stand to see him and the fact that you are being terribly honest, hurts him, really hurts him with a sharp pain in his chest, but he insists.

“Please, just for a few minutes. I need to explain—

Completely losing patience, showing the intensity of your pain and frustration, you release yourself from his grip in a sudden movement that draws more attention from the students and the situation becomes an unwanted show.

“Leave me alone,” you warn him through your teeth before turning and walking away with quick steps.

And thankfully he doesn't try to stop you again.

Everyone is looking at you and everyone is looking at Aemond as well, but you quickly find refuge away from all the stares, taking no notice.

However, you should have expected that little show to go around like plague throughout the school accompanied with the new rumor that Aemond Targaryen and his previously invisible girlfriend have broken up.

And honestly… you didn't even care.

To this point, technically he and you have ended whatever the two of you had, so you don't care to either affirm or deny it, you just don't make a big deal out of it and let people believe what they want.

Besides, how could you care when there are certainly more important things like thinking about your now ruined future?

News you have the confidence to share with Alysanne after all the drama involving you and Aemond, since you two are all anyone talks about in the entire school.

“That fucking idiot,” Alysanne mutters in disbelief, "Just when I thought what he did with Floris was so low but this… I mean, are you kidding me?" she stares at Cregan, incredulous, ”This is so much worse.”

You let out a long breath and bring a hand to your forehead as you close your eyes and simply let your body try to relax. It's uncomfortable because of the hard metal beneath you as you lie on the bleachers but you still try.

“But he said he would try to fix it, didn't he?” asks Cregan in a cautious tone.

“And you believe him?” reproaches Alysanne incredulously, "I wouldn't and Y/N shouldn't either," she observes you, ”He had all this time to do something about it, even to be honest with you and tell you ahead of time that he wasn't going to succeed in helping you. Then you would have had a chance to apply to other colleges but no, he preferred to stay silent and enjoy the acting and all that it provoked in his stupid ex-girlfriends.”

And put like that… everything that happened sounds so much worse.

But you know she's right.

While the whole school is whispering about your ‘breakup’ with him, you can't help but feel that there are much more important things at stake, things that Aemond never understood or tried to understand.

And Alysanne seeing your expression and you basically not reacting because you're thinking about the future and how incredibly fucked up you must feel, lets out a long breath and moves a little closer towards you.

“I know it's a stupid question but are you okay?” she asks you in a warm and concerned tone.

You let out a sigh and take a moment before answering, not watching them and not taking your hand off your forehead.

“I don't know what to do,” you say in a low, emotionless tone.

Alysanne grimaces and looks at Cregan who also returns the same expression; they don't know what to do to make you feel better and relieve that huge weight you're carrying.

College is a big deal, both of them would also feel the same way if they were in your place, that's a fact. But by the same token they are not in your situation, they don't know what to do to cheer you up because, what could they possibly do to even help you? Nothing.

“I'm just thinking about how I'm going to tell my dad.”

You confess finally, withdrawing your hand from your forehead and fixing your eyes on the gray sky above you.

“I'll have to lie to him, tell him I applied but all the colleges rejected me,” you say regretfully, “Now I'm just left to look for a job and do that until I can apply next year.”

Alysanne and Cregan exchange a look.

“It's not a bad plan,” she tells you, trying to cheer you up, “In fact, a lot of people of our age don't go to college after graduation and do exactly that, get a job and apply until the next year or until they're sure of what they want to study.”

“Yeah,” Cregan agrees, "Besides, my family has several businesses in town, I could help you get a job at one of them.”

You can't help but place a small smile on your lips, seeing the willingness of both of them in wanting to support you, however, they can see the sadness all over your face and the discouragement you feel.

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate it,” you say genuinely, "And I know it's not a bad plan but…" you sigh, feeling the frustration and sadness swirl in your chest, ”I know my dad, and I know that, when I tell him that I wasn't accepted, he'll be supportive… but I also know that he'll be very disappointed.”

That's what weighs on you the most, far more than anything else, going over the whole Aemond thing and also over you, your dad.

He has sacrificed so much for you, working long hours at a job that doesn't give him what he truly deserves. He earns enough to support you and the house, he has always made sure you both have what you need; food on the table, clothes and basic comforts.

But he never buys anything for himself and his own dreams have always taken a back seat. All so he can give you a chance to do something else, have a better life and now…you feel like you've failed him.

Cregan and Alysanne watch you silently, their faces reflecting the gravity of your words. They know there is nothing they can say that will truly ease your pain, but you know they are both here, offering you their support.

“Well, I don't know your dad but still, he's your dad and he loves you,” Alysanne tells you in a warm tone, ”He knows you better than anyone and I'm sure all he'll want is for you to be okay.”

“And I'm sure he's seen how you've tried your best and you can't take the blame for something that was out of your hands.”

You understand what they both mean and you also ponder your dad's attitude in your mind briefly, but still, you can't help but place a small bitter smile.

“Actually it was my fault because it was my decision to trust Aemond, instead of making sure I had other options to prevent exactly this,” you say without emotion, “And I also feel that… not only it hurts me to have to tell my dad, but also to feel this disappointment,” you explain, “I really believed that I would go to Citadel and that my life was going to follow that path I had planned for a long time. But now… I feel like that dream has been taken away from me again.”

Alysanne looks at you sadly, understanding the weight of your words and she along with Cregan, no longer have any idea what to say to you. And you notice this, so you watch both of them trying to keep a genuine smile on your lips.

“You know? I really appreciate you both being here for me… I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have you guys to talk to,” you tell them sincerely, ”But I think it needed some time alone.”

Alysanne looks at you uncertainly.

“Are you sure? You know I don't mind, I can skip the next class to stay with you.”

“No, no, don't worry,” you hasten to say.

“I can stay too,” Cregan adds, shrugging.

“No guys, I don't want you to miss class for me, really,” you look at them sincerely, "I'll be fine, I just…" you let out a sigh, ”I need time alone.”

They both exchange a look and Cregan is the one who stands up first, stretching his arms out before looking at you with a mixture of understanding and concern.

“Fine but if you need anything, tell us,” he tells you with a soft voice and a warm gaze.

You nod in his direction.

“Yes, thank you,” you reply as you return a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

Alysanne lingers a little longer, watching you with the same intensity as always, as if she wants to make sure you really will be okay before she leaves.

“I'll keep an eye out on you, okay?”

“Okay,” you tell her, feeling that simple gesture of support fill you with a strange mixture of relief and sadness.

She nods, smiling a little before walking away along with Cregan, leaving you alone on the bleachers.

And you stand there, thinking about everything and yet nothing, where you allow yourself to let out a long, heavy sigh. You look up at the sky, allowing thoughts to flow unrestricted.

The faint sounds around you envelop you, such as the soccer team boys training on the field and the entire cheerleading squad, as well as the faint, comforting sound of the leaves moving from the big trees along with the birds singing.

And even though you don't want to feel bad, the pain, the disappointment and the uncertainty about what will come next, it all hits you again in an unavoidable way.

And it all blends together in an emotional whirlwind that leaves you exhausted.

Time seems to stand still as you stand there, lost in thought. And you barely notice when someone approaches, as the sound of approaching footsteps barely registers in your consciousness.

And because you are absorbed in your thoughts, you only come out of your trance the moment a soft voice right next to you breaks the silence in your space.

“Hi Y/N.”

You raise your head almost immediately, definitely not expecting that and suddenly you see Floris standing next to you, watching you with a mixture of insecurity and regret.

You frown and look at her confused, not bothering to hide it, truly not understanding what she's doing here, talking to you.

And receiving no response from you, she looks down uncomfortably for a moment, fiddling with her hands as if searching for the right words before speaking.

And this is the first time you see her like this. You don't spend your time watching and analyzing her either but normally she always comes across as confident and sure of her whole persona, but now… you've never seen her so nervous.

“I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now…” she admits with her voice barely a whisper, sitting down next to you on the bleacher, though she keeps an appropriate distance, ”But I really want to talk to you.”

'Talk?'

You repeat in your mind, still watching her without understanding and unable to help but feel a pang of bitterness at the memory of all that has happened.

The truth is you don't want to talk, you already feel frustrated and tired enough without now having to deal with this and especially with her.

But for some strange reason, you don't say anything, you just watch her, waiting, keeping calm, waiting for her to continue. She seems to hesitate for a moment, but then takes a deep breath, focusing her gaze on the horizon.

“I-I… after what happened in Dragonstone…” she begins to speak cautiously, ”Aemond decided to cut off all communication with me.”

That nonconformity and that little ache in your chest comes up as you hear her name and you too look straight ahead, avoiding her gaze.

“He told me that what happened between us was a mistake and that you never deserved that,” she continues in a soft tone, ”I don't know if that gives you any kind of comfort, but I thought you should know.”

'Comfort?'

You don't know whether to laugh or cry but it's clear that none of this brings you comfort.

And she seems to be struggling with her own emotions, as you see out of the corner of your eye how her hands clench in her lap as if she's trying to control the trembling in them.

“And I'm not telling you this to justify myself, I know what happened at that party was a mistake,” she says emphatically, ”I shouldn't have gotten involved, let alone knowing that you were his girlfriend. That was…” she pauses and lets out a frustrated sigh, ”That was a big mistake on my part. I should have walked away from him the moment I met you, given you your place and respected you, but… I didn't.”

Her words fall heavy in the air and although part of you wants to lash out at her, another part of you feels so drained that you can't even find the energy to argue. Besides it's not just her… it's also Aemond.

“I was the one who was all the time looking for his attention at that party, you know? I was the one who had the intention of kissing him all that time, “she confesses, visibly embarrassed, ”I-I… I don't know, I felt so jealous when I came back and saw him with you. I-I guess I… still had feelings for him.”

You let out a long breath and finally speak bitterly.

“If he was the one who sent you to tell me all this to justify what he did and expect me to forgive him, it's not going to work Floris,” you warn her.

She shakes her head instantly, her eyes full of urgency.

“No, no,” she tells you immediately, ”He didn't send me to tell you anything, he doesn't even talk to me and barely notices me when we're in the same place. There's nothing really between us anymore Y/N,” she insists, ”It all ended when I left.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, not knowing what to say or what to really think, also not having the slightest idea what to do.

Even if all of this were true, everything she's telling you, you don't care anymore. All of this just comes with the part where Aemond didn't deliver what he promised you. All of this is just more accompanying pain, but what does it really matter?

“I'm really sorry about what happened,” she murmurs in your direction after you say nothing, “I know my words won't change anything and I'm not expecting you to forgive me… but I wanted you to know that I'm truly sorry.”

You remain silent, jaw clenched and gaze lowered, with the silence still heavy, dense.

Her words echo in your mind, mingling with everything else you've been carrying. But what are you supposed to feel? Relief? More pain? Or both? You don't know.

And resigned to the fact that she won't find some kind of reaction from you nor will you say anything to her, she lets out a last sigh, accepting your indifference without a problem.

“And I also wanted to tell you that…I know that Alys and her friends were the ones who sent you that picture,” she confesses to you and you feel that sharp pain in your chest again, ”And you don't have to worry about them spreading it all over school. I made sure that doesn't happen.”

The lump in your throat tightens. Though his words seek to offer you some sort of comfort, they do not soothe the wound that has already been inflicted. It doesn't change what happened, nor does it erase the humiliation you felt.

But even so, there is something in her tone, in the sincerity with which she speaks to you, that disarms you a little, if only for an instant.

Finally she stands up, feeling that there is nothing more to say. She throws you one last look, full of regret, before turning and starting to walk away.

And you don't stop her, as you have nothing to say, when suddenly, she stops after only a few steps and this catches your attention, so you look at her in confusion.

Floris, still with her back to you, seems to hesitate for a moment, as if considering whether or not to say what has been on her mind. When finally, he turns to you again, his eyes searching yours with an intensity you didn't expect.

“He really loves you, you know? Aemond.”

For the first time in the entire conversation you hold her gaze.

The sincerity in her eyes strikes you, but it's hard to believe those words after everything that's happened.

“When I came back from the exchange, something changed in him towards me. I don't know, he didn't see me the same way anymore,” she explains, "At first I didn't understand why, but when I met you, I knew," she confesses.

She pauses and seems to hesitate, as if choosing her next words carefully.

“The kiss…that kiss meant nothing to him, I know,” she finally confesses. “I saw him at Dragonstone, I saw how he looked at you… completely in love with you.”

You press your lips together and stare at a specific point, remembering those moments.

“And I also saw you completely in love with him too,” she admits in a soft voice, “I saw how you looked at him, with the same intensity with which he looked at you. And honestly… the two of you looked very happy together.”

This makes you feel exposed in a way you didn't expect, stirring a little in your seat, not knowing how to react.

The images of you and Aemond at Dragonstone, the times you spent together on the yacht, the hot tub, on the beach, in the castle and at the aquarium, when everything was fine and neither of you were faking it and it looked like everything was going to be just fine, all flashes through your mind.

“I saw all that, Y/N,” Floris continues, looking down in shame. “And that's why I accepted his decision to walk away from me. Because even though I didn't want to accept it at the time, I knew that what he felt for you was real. And what you felt for him was too.”

For a moment, you stare at her, not knowing how to respond or what to do, since you didn't expect to hear this either.

And you honestly can't deny the honesty in her words and in that it's probably true what she's saying, but you also can't ignore the pain that still burns inside you.

And so you simply nod slightly, as if you are accepting her confession even though you don't know what to do with it.

Floris looks at you one last time before turning completely around and continuing on her way, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the emotions you've been trying to contain.

You feel a surge of sadness mixed with a strange calm, as if there is nothing left to give. Everything that has happened between you, Aemond and Floris is still a complicated knot to untangle.

Now the silence that follows is heavy, but somehow, it also seems liberating.

Aemond POV.

With a folder in hand containing all the documents he needs and a determination all over his mind and posture, he barely observes all the people around him as he walks quickly through the hallways of the building, heading towards a specific office.

When he reaches the corresponding hallway, he slows his pace, cautiously observing his surroundings, making sure his grandsire is not nearby.

After so long keeping him waiting in the hope that he would do him the favor despite having already told him it would not be possible, he must have known that he will never really help him after all the favors he has done for him.

And that is precisely why Aemond has resorted to such measures.

But if his grandsire sees him here, he will immediately know what he wants to do and will not hesitate to kick him out of the building. That's why he has to be quick as the guards have seen him come in and so have all the people who work here.

And it's hard to go unnoticed when you have silver hair, which implies either that you work here or that you are the son, brother or nephew of the people who run the company.

So he quickly makes his way to the office, where he doesn't even knock on the door before entering, just walks in quickly to avoid being seen.

“Aemond?”

He looks at his sister and lets out a long breath watching her wearily, to walk over and take a seat in front of her.

“I'm sorry, my grandsire can't know I'm here or he'll kick me out,” he explains.

“Why? What happened?” she asks genuinely concerned, stopping what she was doing on her computer.

“Nothing, it's just…” he pauses as she brings a hand to his hair, ruffling it in frustration, ”I need you to do me a favor, Nyra. A big one.”

This gets her full attention and she nods slowly in his direction.

“What do you need?” she says to him with all disposition, watching him intently.

Your face, your words, all the moments that happened, whether good or bad, but most of all your hurt and broken face, the disappointment and how terribly sad you must have felt.

All of that is Aemond's drive to finally make things right and the things he should have done in the first place.

But it is not only that, it is also the fact that you no longer want to have anything to do with him, that you no longer want to be in the same place with him, that you can't stand his presence and that you don't answer any of his messages or calls, wanting to stop having any kind of contact with him.

All of that lets him know exactly how you felt about Floris and also about the fact that he didn't keep his promise.

And now he is willing to do anything, absolutely anything to be able to keep what he promised you. It doesn't matter if you still don't want to have anything to do with him, all he wants is for you to go to the college of your dreams.

But Rhaenyra's face after explaining and asking him for the favor, is exactly what he expected but he will still keep trying.

“You know I can't do something like that, Aemond.”

“You just don't have to say anything to him Rhae, please.”

She shakes her head.

“That's only worse. You know how hard it was for me to get him to agree to let me work here since dad died and I still have to put up with his bad treatment—

“Oh please, we all know it's only a matter of time before you and Daemon also get to run this company in addition to Driftmark and Harrenhal,” he interrupts her seriously, “You'll take my grandsire's job and send him to run only the Oldtown company.”

Rhaenyra remains serious for a moment, pursing her lips.

“It's the right thing to do and you know it. My father left this to me, to us,” she clarifies truthfully, ”And your grandfather took advantage to take it all and leave almost nothing to me.”

He lets out a long breath, bringing a hand to his chin.

“When you've finished your degree, you'll run Oldtown and if you want, we can spread out more locations,” she tells him in a soft tone, “Helaena can also run Highgarden and Aegon and Daeron can also help us if that's what they really want. That's what father wanted and I never once intended to take that away from you, your legacy, as your grandsire told you I would.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he tells her in a soft, sincere tone, understanding what she means.

The fight over the inheritance was always in the family ever since their father became ill. He never showed them love or even that he cared even a little for them, but at least he intended to leave them a large part of his legacy.

Neither he nor his siblings fought with Rhaenyra and Daemon for it, it was only their grandsire, who from the time they were all children put hatred towards them to her.

But eventually, both he and his siblings realized that Rhaenyra had other intentions and everything grandsire said was a lie. Rhaenyra didn't want to steal their legacy, she never did.

And now… they have all developed a strange but pleasant relationship with her. He more than anything has developed a respect, even an affection, for his older sister, because she wasn't the villain they had always been led to believe.

“Our arrangement with Citadel University was made precisely from the company in Oldtown, a company he will run until you have graduated,” she continues, “And if he already refused once to help you with that and finds out that I did, this strange peace I have managed to keep will be over.”

And the worst part is that she's right.

He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of those words.

If his grandsire finds out that she helped him behind his back, all the progress they've made to maintain family stability will shatter, destroying any chance of avoiding another conflict. And all because of a girl only he knows.

If it were a nephew, cousin or someone closer to the family nucleus, everything would be different. Nepotism is a common currency among wealthy and powerful families, like his, but in your case, you are a complete stranger.

That is precisely the reason why his grandsire refused to offer help him.

And now, Aemond is caught between the desire to repair the damage he caused in you and the fear that his insistence will cause an even greater rift in the family.

“Then I'll do it,” he says with conviction, sure of his words and Rhae looks at him surprised and confused, “Just tell me how I can get her into college. You don't have to get involved, I'll take it all on myself. I'll say I asked you for help and you refused. If anything goes wrong, it will be my responsibility.”

Rhaenyra lets out a long, deep sigh.

“Aemond—

She begins softly, but he interrupts her before she can say more.

“She deserves this,” he says, his voice lower but laden with sincerity. “It wasn't her fault. She did a favor for me on the condition that I would do this one for her. Besides, I've done a lot of things for my grandfather and the company, especially this company, so please Rhae, I really want to do this.”

Rhaenyra watches him for a long moment, her eyes searching for something in his.

The intensity in Aemond's gaze does not waver, for he is willing to take the consequences, to stand up to even his grandsire, if it means giving you a chance to repair the damage he himself caused.

“Even if I have to give up my own place to give it to her, I don't care, I'll do it.”

Rhaenyra blinks slowly, her mind struggling between logic and the desire to help him. Aemond rarely shows regret, and seeing him so willing to sacrifice himself for someone surprises her and reaches her deeply.

And finally, after what seems like an eternity, she sighs.

“What you're asking is a huge risk,” she admits, looking at him with a mixture of seriousness and empathy.

He holds his breath, his body rigid, as she seems to debate internally and he waits for a decision. And then, she turns to her computer, beginning to type, letting out a long breath.

“But don't be silly, I want you to study at Citadel too.”

The relief Aemond feels is almost palpable. A mixture of gratitude and hope takes hold of him, and his shoulders seem to relax for the first time since he entered the office.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “Truly.”

“Just let me make a phone call and I also need her docu—

She doesn't finish saying the word as he, with a quickness that reflects his urgency, drops the folder with all the necessary papers in front of her on her desk.

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, looking at the folder with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Sure,” she murmurs and opens the folder, letting out a small laugh, beginning to flip through the documents, making sure everything is in order "Well, this folder is quite complete and the grades are excellent,” she says in acknowledgement, "That's good because it will help us speed up the process."

Aemond allows himself to let out a sigh of relief, watching as Rhaenyra steps in to help him with this favor. And as she begins to make calls and coordinate the necessary details, he remains attentive throughout, beginning to feel more relieved than ever.

He knows this won't exactly make you forgive him, but at the very least, he's fixing the damage he's done to you so he can give you the opportunity you deserve.

general taglist:

@melsunshine @at-a-rax-ia @jxdegodfrey @ttkttt @yentroucnagol @kate-to-the-ki @iamavailablesstuff @bluerskiees @urmomsgirlfriend1 @toodlesxcuddles @rosie-posie08 @iloveallmyboys @bellaisasleep @deliaseastar @cupcakesminicakescupcakes @dixie-elocin @lilostif16 @wickedfrsgrl @a-beaverhausen @a-beaverhausen @saturnssrings @ladythornofrivia @iloveallmyboys @vhwyrm @strangersunghoon @urmomsgirlfriend1 @saturnssrings @queen-of-elves

[imagine-silk]

Hello! May I request fallout 4 companions (Nick especially) with Sole who shares the bare minimum of information about themselves? Not because Sole doesn’t trust them, they really enjoy theirs companions company. Perhaps they busy themselves so they don’t have to think about all the little and big things they miss. (I bet Codsworth would find pristine things that Sole would miss (like a favorite movie, vinyl, or comic?))

Sorry if its not something you’re interested in doing right now. The ask kinda came out as a ramble, I’m lacking sleep haha. Thanks again for considering my request!

》Honestly one of my favorite kinds of characters.

【Cait】 She doesn't appreciate it. Her contract was traded to some random weirdo who barely says anything. It took three days before the topic of your name came up. And two weeks to know what you were looking for, who. But in return you don't ask what she does on her own time or what she's done. It feels like you don't mind rather than you don't care and that makes her feel seen. It stays between you unsaid in her eyes.

♡If romanced she doesn't push for any information. You'll tell her if it's important. People think it's weird the two of you to not share about yourselves like normal people but you're happy, that's all that matters.

【Codsworth】 It's just like it was before. He, unlike the others, already knows you. He knows you very well. Not only did you do an intake for daily preferences but he also served you for a few years. While you're out and about you'll do something or say something that sounds like no information to others or out of context and he'll answer, "Just as I was thinking as well." While you camp with some of the other companions he does chores the way you like without needing to ask, making comment on recent events, which makes them jealous for sure. He digs up things from the house he preserved or found and fixes them up brand new before presenting it to you. Songs you liked or wanted to hear. Movies and shows and comics. Clothes pressed for you and the furniture is redone the way it used to be. He knows you and wants to keep it that way.

【Curie】 Low-key doesn't care. She has one thing on her mind and that's her own goal to better medicine. Finding things to do that is all she needs of you. When she goes to be a synth her feelings overwhelm her and you guide her through that. She's never ever asked about you. She'll tell you about what she's feeling but never thinks to ask what you feel. In her defense, is doesn't understand the nuance of social interactions. And to her credit, it works for the both of you.

♡If she's romanced she realizes she wants to know what you feel and if it's the same as her. She's mostly interested in what you feel now rather than what your opinion is in the past or isn't currently relevant.

【Danse】 Right away he doesn't care for it. A mercenary who talks very little can be dangerous. But you followed orders well and are a damn good shot. The way he asks is more like demanding. It was all for a vetting process but still rude. After the intake he didn't care about your lack of openness. Didn't matter to him personally. After BB he suddenly regrets not knowing you. He was so rude and dismissed you as another faceless soldier and you saved him, from the Brotherhood and himself. Now he wants to know you.

♡If romanced he makes effort to know you, like really know you. For a long time he refused individuality so his own sense of self is not great. But you know yourself and make no attempt to hide it. You are so sure of yourself you don't need to explain. That's one of the things he loves about you.

【Deacon】 He thinks you're like him, that you want to hide in plain sight. As much as he gives that to you he's nosy as fuck and takes every chance to learn about you, mostly from afar. It doesn't take any time at all for him to realize you'll just tell him. Most of them are one word answers. It takes him even less time after that to realize you'll comment on things from before the war especially.

♡If romanced he goes out of his way to show you stuff. Old posters and toys. If you follow my headcanon that he's pre-war, he makes old references and generally adds comments on things to bait your answers.

【Hancock】 He thinks it's pretty cool. "Oh, tall, dark, and handsome/beautiful." He does play twenty questions with you 24/7 and is very happy with your half-answers because an answer is still an answer. Plus he knows at least two other people like you. He is the one who figures out that you just don't have the time or think about talking about yourself rather than purposely keeping secrets the fastest. He knows people so he knows better.

♡If romanced he plays with it. You want a kiss? Tell him what's your favorite color. He'll get on his knees if you tell him what you like about your new home. But honestly he'll do it anyways. All he needs to know is that you want him like he wants you.

【MacCready】 He was more concerned about you putting a bullet in his head while his back was turned. Everyone in the Commonwealth was looking out for number one. So imagine his surprise when you were looking out for your number one and it wasn't you. Not only were you looking for your son but you stopped to help every person who asked for help. Your actions spoke to him in a way your words, he figured, couldn't. You didn't need to help him but you did. You didn't take the caps back. And you killed the gunners the second they turned their guns on him even when they said their beef wasn't with you. It was what you did, not what you told him.

♡If romanced he will ask things. Basic ones are like, "How was your day?" Normal questions that are the peak of domestic life. Then the more personal things. Some sound silly, "What's your favorite color?" But most build off of a quick thing you said in passing, "Wait, you've been to California? What was it like?" He trusts you'll tell him the truth.

【Nick】 As a private detective this simply won't do. He gets it at first, you just need him to find your son, it's business. However, you want him to stay with you after that. It confuses him because you made no indication you like him in the slightest way. He's the second fastest to realize you're not keeping to yourself on purpose. As one of the only ones who are pre-war he's able to get things the others can't. He'll talk about things and give his options and bait you into answering it. That was a common way to get people to talk back then when you were trying to be polite and keep up the conversation, even if the conversation stays a bit thin.

♡If he's romanced he makes fun of the fact you forget to say things about yourself. Don't get it wrong, he makes it clear you don't need to share. He's just poking fun.

【Piper】 This simply won't do. She asks as many question as they come up but she gets depressing short answers. You either give one word answers or say you're not really in the mood, on some occasions you admit you don't know, you never thought about it. It takes a long time for her to stop and that's only because the questions start getting old. And you still feel like a mystery even though you've told her everything.

♡If she's romanced she realizes how much you've told her and pushes it. What is your type? How do your lips feel? Why do you look so good? It becomes playful and light, never serious.

【Preston】 In the beginning he didn't realize he didn't know much about you. He took your help selfishly to get him and his people back on stable ground but you told him you were happy to help. So he takes time to learn about you and give you everything he could possibly help you with. In hopes you would share by yourself he gives things to you without any prompt. It doesn't really work most of the time.

♡If romanced he asks things with hearts in his eyes. He is so lovesick he takes all of your half-answers and files it away in his mind. It hardly matters at that point.

【X6】 It wasn't his mission so he didn't care. You owed him no explanation or justification. Doesn't mean he doesn't question you. He asks why you helped someone, why you stopped for a distraction. And of course you give short answers like, "They needed help." or "I wanted to." Later, after the Institute is gone, he sees how you carry yourself and tries to copy it. Obviously he can't so you help him too. You showed him he can figure himself out by himself and he didn't need you. So he held the same opinion; he doesn't need to know you like that.

♡If romanced he's still comfortable with you keeping things to yourself. It's only after months of being together do you realize he's never asked you a personal question, that you've never shared anything that personal. When you bring that to him he tells you that hardly matters. But seeing you make the effort after that gives him a feeling he can't describe. It's a good feeling he thinks.

[hsyki]

The Storm Between Us – L.HS

SYNOPSIS: heeseung was on the table getting wasted in front of you, drinking shots after shots. you were starting to wonder whether he was getting drunk to avoid you or just wanted to get drunk so he doesn’t have to be with you sober. you’ve sweethearts for years but you never thought the relationship could get this dry. this has been going on for over a month and you’re starting to overthink…does he still love you?…

PAIRINGS: fem!reader x boyfriend!heeseung

GENRE: romance, drama, collage, angst au

WARNING(s): swearing, alcohol, shouting and maybe a bit violent or upfront

WC: 1,1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my very first au and it is not proof read nor planned beforehand, it was just a quick scenario I wanted to write because of an edit I saw of heeseung and got inspired to write this. I was also inspired to write because of @jaylver (their writing is so amazing). I hope you enjoy and please let me know if there’s anything I can improve. please leave your opinions, comments or recommendations as well (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

thank you for reading and please enjoyy~~~

Heeseung had been distant for weeks, and you could feel the space between you growing wider by the day. Late-night texts that once flowed freely had dwindled to short, clipped responses. The warmth in his voice during your calls had chilled, replaced by a coldness that made your heart ache. He was pulling away, and no matter how hard you tried to reach him, he was slipping through your fingers like sand.

The arguments had started small—disagreements over trivial things that escalated into something much bigger. The frustration in his eyes whenever you tried to talk about your relationship had become a familiar sight, and his patience with you seemed to run thinner each day. You could feel him putting up walls, closing off parts of himself that you once had access to.

It all came to a head one night when you finally gathered the courage to confront him. You needed to know where you stood, whether he still wanted to be with you or if he was already halfway out the door.

The tension in the air was thick as you sat across from him. He’s drunk a few shots of alcohol already, making him a but tipsy, but still conscious enough to stay somewhat sober. The weather was already stormy and heavy out, let alone being so dark and late at night. Your hands trembling slightly as you spoke.

“Heeseung, I can’t keep pretending everything is okay. I need to know if you still want this… if you still want us.”

Heeseung avoided your gaze, his eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of him. The silence between you stretched on, heavy and oppressive. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost distant.

“I don’t know, okay? I just… I don’t know.”

The uncertainty in his words stung more than you expected. You’d prepared yourself for the possibility that he didn’t love you anymore, but hearing it—hearing the doubt in his voice—felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

“After everything we’ve been through, how can you not know?” you demanded, your voice wavering with emotion. “I’ve given you everything, Heeseung. I’ve loved you with everything I have. How can you stand there and tell me you don’t know if you want this anymore?”

Heeseung finally looked up at you, and the pain in his eyes mirrored your own. But instead of reaching out, instead of closing the gap between you, he shook his head.

“Maybe… maybe that’s the problem,” he said softly. “Maybe we’re just not right for each other. Maybe we’ve been forcing something that was never meant to be.”

His words felt like a punch to the gut. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, as if everything you thought was solid was crumbling away. You wanted to scream, to cry, to make him see how much he meant to you, but the exhaustion in his expression held you back. He looked like he’d already given up, like he’d already made his decision, and that realization shattered something inside you.

For a moment, you sat there in stunned silence, the weight of his words pressing down on you. When you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

“So, what now? Are we just… done?”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched, and he looked away again, unable to meet your eyes. “Maybe we should take some time apart. Maybe we need to figure out who we are without each other.”

You felt your heart drop at his suggestion, the finality of it hitting you like a ton of bricks. But before you could respond, he stood up abruptly, knocking over the glass on the table. The alcohol spilled out, spreading across the surface like the mess your relationship had become.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. Heeseung slams his hands on the table, sending the shots of alcohol spilling over the edge. He stands up abruptly, trying to regain his composure. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness.

“We’re not for each other, and you know it.”His voice is rough with anger, but beneath it, you can hear the pain. You’ve known him long enough to catch the tremor in his words, the way his hurt bleeds through his fury.

He storms toward the door, yanking it open. You knew in this moment that you both were too vulnerable to fix this, neither were you both in the place to think clearly. You took no chance but to chase after him. Whether there was a solution or not, you didn’t want to give up on him, knowing deep down he’s bad for you and it would be better to let go.

You stormed off with him, watching as the rain soaks through his clothes, drenching his figure in the downpour.

“Heeseung, stop!”

“Stay inside!” he shouts back, not bothering to turn around. His fists are clenched, his jaw tight.

“Why can’t you love me the way I love you, even if it’s just for one second?”

Your voice cracks, your heart heavy as the storm above.

Heeseung slows to a stop, turning on his heels to face you. The dim streetlight casts a glow over him, illuminating the rain-soaked fabric of his white shirt, clinging to his body.

“How am I supposed to give you something I don’t feel?”

His face twists with grief, but you can’t believe it. You refuse to believe it.

“You’ve felt it before—you can feel it again. Just this once… please…”

“Maybe you’re numb. Maybe you just imagined it. I never loved you,”

he says, his tone cutting like a blade. The coldness in his voice slices through you, making you ache for him even more.

“You have…”

The two of you stand in silence, the rain and thunder filling the void between you. You watch as droplets slide down his lips, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“That couldn’t have been me,” he says, his voice icy. “I never loved you… and I never will.” He turns away again, heading back into the storm.

Desperation drives you forward. You can’t let it end like this—not when your love for him is so strong, even if it feels like you’re falling apart inside. You grab his wrist and pull him back, crashing your lips into his before he can react. Your hands tangle in his wet hair as you kiss him, tasting the rain and the salt of your tears. Heeseung hesitates for just a moment before he’s kissing you back, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight. He’s breathless, as hungry for you as you are for him. The kiss is long and fierce, a battle of need and desperation. In this moment, you both need each other more than anything else.

© hsyki 2024 reserved post.

[multifandom-nerds-blog]

I'm rewatching Trollhunters in the background right now, and the disfunctional mother son relationship between Jim and his mom is making me crazy.

Like, he's taking care of the household and his mother for years as a teenager and before probably. She is sometimes giving half hearted comments about him not having to do so much, but very obviously she's not gonna make him stop do all the cooking and cleaning. Y'know. Both because they've been living like this for years, and because it's obviously also very comfortable to have someone do all the house work.

Then Strickler comes into the picture, and if we ignore the whole Troll and changeling side of the story, Barabara gets very offended cause Jim doesn't want her to meet him privately. Again, ignoring the whole magic and trolls stuff, STRICKLER IS JIMS TEACHER. If Jim hadn't figured out that Strickler was a changeling he probably wouldn't have a problem with it, but the fact that he does, no matter the reason, should be enough for Barbara to put a stop to the relationship. Her child is clearly uncomfortable with her seeing/dating that guy, for whatever reason, and even clearly vocalized it. But she doesn't care about, or rather, she tells Jim that she "wouldn't expect something like that" from him. Obviously not, cause she may see him like her child/teenager he is, BUT DOESN'T TREAT HIM LIKE ONE.

And then Jim, unknowingly to Barbara, becomes the Trollhunter, and his behavior changes. He's suddenly doing reckless stuff, sneaking out, getting bruises, landing in detention and even at the police station, barely avoiding a police report. What does she do? Asking him what's going on? If everything's alright at school? If he has any other problems? Maybe trying to lower his workload around the house, which again, he's doing most of that as a teenager and longer probably.

Nah. She doesn't do anything until he lands in the hospital. Except for again, dismissing him rather negatively at the one topic he's openly expressing any negative opinions about (Strickler). And after he lands in the hospital she now starts not asking questions, but demanding answers. Demanding answers from a teenager in a difficult situation who is also now acting much more like a teenager than he ever did before, from her point of view at least. Except she obviously doesn't know how to deal with a teenager, cause she has never had to raise or live with a teenager. She instead lived with a child pretending to be an adult for years, that was partly much more of an adult than she was, who did way to much work even before Jim became the Trollhunter. So she throws punishments at him and grounds him, but does he listen?

No. Cause why should he? Not only is he dealing with things much more important than being grounded, yknow, saving the world, he's trying to protect her from the sheer knowledge of the supernatural and physically protecting her from getting harmed. And again, for the majority of the time since his dad left he pretended to be an adult. He was and is the main adult in the household, dealing with important things she doesn't even know about.

The only one's treating Jim like a teenager are teachers, other children and Blinky and Aaargh sort of when they're not in the middle of Troll business. Strickler, in the first episodes where Jim doesn't know about his true identity, is much more of a parental figure to Jim (also after his redemption later on tbh) than his mother.

In summary: Barbara is treating her son like an adult, almost like a partner, instead of a child/teenager. And when that isn't possible anymore she doesn't know how to properly treat him. She also doesn't really care that her son is uncomfortable with her being around Strickler, or Strickler in general. And it takes Blinky telling her (when Jim is 16) that Jim might be affected by his father leaving when he was five years old.

Jim meanwhile is treating his mother more like a child/teenager instead of the adult and MOTHER that she is. Seeing her as his responsibility. Cooking for her. Cleaning for her. Telling her to rest and take breaks.

They obviously love each other other. And their relationship might not be toxic, but it's very much disfunctional. In a way that is mostly negative for Jim.

[cupidcures]

When Tulips Kiss | Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

CHAPTERS: 𝜗𝜚 TWENTY-EIGHT | TWENTY-NINE | 𝜗𝜚 THIRTY

WORD COUNT: 3k (not proofread)

CONTAINS: profanity, mentions of insecurities, mentions of cheating, soft boy hyunjin finally appears!

the second time?

“Wow… And here I thought you guys were actually getting somewhere.” Changbin sighed disappointedly while shaking his head at the same time. “I gotta give it to you though, you’ve got some fucking balls. I think the guy deserved the beating for instigating shit like that, to be honest. He was provoking you and he simply got what he was asking for, it was clear he wanted a reaction out of you.”

After Jeongin had left, the rest of the guys went inside Hyunjin’s room, demanding an explanation. So here they were, giving him their commentary and opinions on what happened.

“I was on your side up until the part you said you called Y/N a bitch and lashed out at her as well. You can’t blame her for checking up on the guy, he took a lot of hits, and MAYBEEEEE you went a little overboard. But like Changbin said, he was asking for it. Though, she could’ve done something to defend you.” Felix butted in as Hyunjin sat there quietly, nodding with each comment his friends add on.

“I wish I could take everything back. Well actually, I could live with knowing I beat Heeseung up twice, but hurting Y/N? Holy shit I’m literally setting myself up for failure.” Hyunjin covered his face with his hands and dragged his cheeks down, groaning.

“You should apologize as soon as possible. Even if you think she won’t forgive you, it’s better to apologize as soon as you can, rather than wait it off.” Chan patted Hyunjin’s back in comfort before smacking the back of his head.

“Hey!”

“Don’t start complaining now, that was barely anything compared to what you did to the poor dude.”

“Yeah yeah.. What do I even tell Y/N? She probably doesn’t even wanna talk to me.” Resting his chin on his hand, Hyunjin’s mind flashed with outcomes one after the other of what could end up happening when he apologized.

“If you really want to make things right, you need to tell her everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. Stop pussying out of telling her your side of what happened in high school. If you told her from the very start and if you weren’t stalling, this all could have been avoided. In fact, I’m almost positive that she would have stood up for you when Heeseung started talking all that shit.“ Minho rolled his eyes as Chan nodded at him in agreement.

“Tell her everything that you felt too. Not just what you think happened. You need to be clear with your feelings and how your mind processed everything. Be vulnerable with her, and she’ll open up to you.” Chan offered additional advice. “And for fucks sake, do NOT do this over text. This is something that is meant to be talked about IN PERSON.”

“She would probably slam the door in my face if I showed up. She definitely hates me now,” Hyunjin mumbled and pinched his nose bridge in annoyance, but he wasn’t annoyed at you. He was annoyed at himself.

How could he have been so reckless to break down all the progress the two of you had built up together?

“So what? Face it. At least you could tell yourself that you tried, and at least you could let her know that you’re trying to make things right.” Felix put his hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder with a determined look. “And don’t give up so easily either! I believe you can make things right!”

“Yah! You’re Hwang Hyunjin and you could get any and every girl you want, remember?! You got this! You can get your girl back, even if it takes longer than usual!! You just need to put in more effort!” Changbin joined in with Felix on the encouragement whilst wearing a smile on his face.

“She’s not just any other girl though. She’s everything to me and I can’t bear to think of the fact that I even hurt her. I fucked up really badly. I’ve already lost her once, I don’t think I can handle losing her again.” Hyunjin wallowed in his sadness as Minho let out a rather loud groan.

“Oh shut up and get your ass off the bed. YOU. ARE. GOING. Right now. You don’t wanna lose Y/N? The longer you wait to see her and apologize to her the more time you give her to slip through your fingers. Get your sorry ass up and show her just how sorry you are.” Minho grabbed Hyunjin’s car keys and shoved them into his hand before dragging him out of his room, through the hallway and the living room, and practically throwing him outside of the house.

“GO. APOLOGIZE.” Minho shouted sternly for the last time before slamming the door in his face.

Hyunjin blinked in surprise, not expecting this to happen at all. Despite that, he composes himself together and gets inside his car to rush on campus—to your dorm room—praying to anyone, anything up above who would listen to his hopes of you letting him explain everything.

~

Chuu was in the kitchen talking to her girlfriend on Facetime when she heard the knocking on the door entrance. Glancing at the top of her phone screen to check the time, it read that it was 11:23 PM.

“What the fuck? Who could be knocking at this hour?” Chuu whispered over the phone, her grip on it tightening subconsciously.

“Huh? Is everyone in the dorm already there?” Sooyoung, her girlfriend, asked in concern.

“Well, no. But they said they’ll be gone for the weekend. Should I open it?” Chuu looked at the door nervously, a small shiver running up her spine.

“Check through the peephole just in case. Be careful.” Sooyoung warned as Chuu nodded and slowly crept to the door, peeking out through the hole in the door.

Standing there was Hyunjin who was checking the watch on his wrist. Chuu watched him intently, confused as to why he was there.

“It’s just Hyunjin, Y/N’s… friend? I guess you could say that?” Chuu was still unaware of what happened that day, and so she still thought you and Hyunjin were friends. She watched Hyunjin look down at the floor and turn away. It wasn’t until he started walking away that Chuu finally opened the door.

“Hey, you here for Y/N?” She called out as Hyunjin’s head perked up, turning back around towards the dorm.

“Yes, actually. It is okay if I could come in and talk with her?” He asked awkwardly and fidgeted with his fingers, nervous that he’d get rejected without even having the chance to see you face to face. To his relief, Chuu nodded at his request and opened the door wider.

“Yeah, sure. She’s in the room, by the way. Don’t do anything inappropriate.” Chuu pointed her finger at his in an accusatory way but laughed right after, indicating that she was just joking around.

Hyunjin laughed along with Chuu a little bit before giving her his thanks and making his way toward the door of your room.

“Okay sorry Honey, I let him in but I’m back now~” Chuu hummed contently and went back to talking with Sooyoung.

Meanwhile, with Hyunjin, he knocked on your door softly so as to not startle you. “Y/N? It’s me, Hyunjin. Can we talk? Please?” He spoke in a gentle tone and waited for a reply. He was met with silence instead, so he considered just walking away and giving up. That was until he remembered his friends’ words to him.

“And don’t give up so easily either! I believe you can make things right!” Felix’s voice echoed in his mind.

“The longer you wait to see her and apologize to her the more time you give her to slip through your fingers. Get your sorry ass up and show her just how sorry you are.” Then Minho’s voice echoed.

They were right, he couldn’t back away now and risk losing you. Not again. Not ever.

“Y/N, I’m coming in, okay? Tell me now if you don’t want to see me tonight and I won’t. But I’ll be back tomorrow.” Hyunjin speaks out and still, no response. So he does what he said he would do, and he opens the door to the bedroom, only to find it empty.

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he looked around the room—which wasn’t even big, to begin with—for you, but you were nowhere to be found.

He sighed in disappointment and started to walk out to leave until he heard the door to the bathroom open, and there you were.

You stood there, frozen in shock as you made eye contact with the boy. If you had known that Hyunjin would be there waiting for you, you would have brought spare clothes to the bathroom and changed there instead. But you didn’t know, so you were standing there in a damp towel, water droplets pittering on the floor from your hair.

“I… wow.” Hyunjin’s mouth was agape and blood rushed to his cheeks seeing you. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you like this before. He has literally seen you naked before, but you still had the same effects on him, as if it was his first time seeing you like this. His mind went blank. Or maybe into a frenzy? Either way, he wasn’t thinking straight as he gawked at the sight of you. He was telling himself to look away, but his body wasn’t obeying him.

You stood there with a red face that matched his before grabbing the closest plushie to you and throwing it at his face, smacking him. “Turn around!!” You squealed and tried covering up as much as you could, but there wasn’t much you could do with a towel.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he snapped out of it, quickly turning his body around and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Shit… I’m so sorry holy fuck shit damn oh my god.” He cursed as embarrassment overcame him. ‘How long was I staring??? She probably thinks I’m a pervert now. Great!’ Hyunjin thought in his head, mentally losing it.

He heard rustling and shuffling of things behind him before you cleared your throat.

“Ahem.. You can turn around now.” You crossed your arms as Hyunjin turned to look at you with an embarrassed expression on his face.

“What did you need to say?” You got straight to the point and Hyunjin gulped nervously, mentally preparing himself for any possible outcome that may happen from this conversation.

“I’m… Sorry.”

“Is that seriously all you have to say?” You raised an eyebrow and scoffed in irritation.

“No! I mean, no. Sorry for raising my voice.” He licked his lips and took a deep breath in before exhaling.

“I’m so sorry for what happened today. I know I’ve already said it, but I truly am.” He started off apologetically. “I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know what possessed me to say those awful things to you. No words can describe the extent of my regret, I’ve never wished for anything more than to take back the words I said to you. They don’t reflect on what I feel about you at all, not even close.”

Your face softened a bit and you walked towards him, sitting down on the bed as you patted next to you, and he, almost instantly, sat down.

“I believe you. But It still hurt to hear those things, you know?”

“I know. I wish I didn’t hurt you. But fuck, it hurt so much to see you choose Heeseung over me for the second time. I cou—“

“Stop right there. The second time?” You looked at him in confusion, and he looked back.

“The first time was in high school?” He stated, or questioned. He stated it more so to ask if you were aware, but you stared at him, lost.

“…Huh?”

So you didn’t know. He was wrong all along. He doesn’t think this a lot, but this is one of the few times he was glad that he was wrong.

“Back in high school when we were together. I came in a little late for our daily meet up, and I saw you in the library with Heeseung.” Hyunjin clenched his fists at the memory, looking away so you wouldn’t be able to see his face.

“You two were whispering in each other’s ears, laughing. I wasn’t able to hear what you guys were talking about except for one thing. He asked you out on a date, and told you to keep it a secret from me and to make an excuse as to why you couldn’t hang out with me that day. Then he asked for your number, and you gave it to him. I left, because I didn’t want to hear any more. That’s when I started ignoring you. I started pushing you away because I was hurt. I didn’t want to talk to you because I knew that if we talked, I would have automatically forgiven you and I would've let you keep hurting me. I would've let you continue to cheat and I would've pretended to be oblivious to it because at least I got to have you in some way. So I ignored you to spare myself. I lacked the self-respect to confront you about it.” You heard Hyunjin sniff, so you gently grabbed his chin to make him face you, a singular tear running down his face.

He was crying.

You gave him a small, but sad smile. “I wish you would’ve told me, I would have explained everything. Hyunjin, we were talking about you. In a good way, of course. He was asking you what presents to get you for your surprise birthday party the following day. The “date” he asked me on was so we could look for gifts to give to you together. It was nothing like that, I promise you. I loved you too much back then to ever cheat. I wish you trusted me.” Your small smile slowly turned into a small frown instead and you cupped his cheek as he nodded.

“I was stupid. I still am. But fuck, Y/N. You were so perfect. You still are. It scared me. I didn’t deserve you, and I was so scared that you were finally realizing that you deserved more than what I could give you. You deserved better than me, and my insecurities got the best of me. Heeseung is just… so much better than me in so many aspects and I couldn’t help but assume the worst. Taller, smarter, more athletic, and fuck, I’m not even gay and I could tell that the motherfucker is beautiful.” He chuckled a little bit and you giggled at his last statement.

You opened your mouth to say something in disagreement, but Hyunjin beat you to it and held the hand, YOUR hand, that cupped his cheek. “I’m so sorry Y/N, I’m sorry for everything. Please forgive me, I’ll be better I promise. I’ll make it all up to you if you would give me another chance.” He cried as more and more tears bubbled out of his eyes and streamed down his perfect face, and your heart ached at the scene in front of you.

“Hyunjin…” You mumbled softly, but he didn’t seem to hear you through all his crying.

“I’m…in love with you Y/N. After all these years I’m still in love with you. I was.. I was in denial at first. I didn’t want to believe that after all this time, after all the effort I took to forget about you and move on, that it was all useless. But there's no denying it anymore. I love you. I want— no. I NEED you. I don’t want to lose you again.” Hyunjin got up from beside you, only to drop down to his knees in front of you, bringing your hands to his forehead.

“You don’t even have to love me back. I know you don’t. Just please…” He sobbed, “Please don’t leave me. I can handle us just being friends. I’m fine with that just please don’t leave me. I don’t want to live a life that you’re not in.” Hyunjin begged brokenly, looking up at you with pleading eyes, tears flowing endlessly.

You could feel yourself tearing up and your lips quivered as you knelt down to his level and hugged him.

“You fucking idiot. You’ll always be better than Heeseung in my eyes. You’re perfect to me. I’m not leaving you, not ever. I may not love you anymore, but you’re my friend. You have me, okay? Please stop crying, I hate seeing you like this. Honestly, I’ll still need time to fully accept your apology and forgive you, you were a real asshole today. But just know, I’ll forgive you eventually, and I’m not leaving.” You sniffled as he buried his face into your neck, attempting to stop.

“Thank you so much. I don’t deserve you, you’re an angel.” He whimpered and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You guys sat there for a while in each other’s embrace, and you waited until the cries died down to pull away and caress his cheek.

You stared into his bloodshot eyes, and he stared into yours. Even after crying his eyes out, you still thought he was the most beautiful man to exist. You offered Hyunjin a smile as he weakly smiled back.

“I’m getting sleepy, can I sleep now?” You giggled as his face turned red, immediately getting up.

“Shit, I'm sorry. I’ll get going now. Thank you for keeping me as a friend, I won’t ever hurt you ever again.” He took your hand and helped you get up before giving you one last hug.

“You don’t need to thank me for that, I want to keep you in my life too, silly. Now get going.”

You walked him out of the dorm room and waved goodbye, watching the silhouette of his figure grow smaller and smaller, until he was out of site.

What a day.

a/n: hi!!!! sorry for the slow update, i’ve been busier lately and i’ll be starting my senior year in college soon so i hope you guys understand 🥲 anyways.. i hope you guys liked this chapter! hyune got friendzoned lololol

𝜗𝜚 WTK series masterlist

TAGLIST (OPEN)! @jeonginplsholdmyhand @jeonginsgirl @mlrroh @mafiulaputaama @seungzsmin @hannie-bees @skz1lov @porang-poranglinos @sillyhal @mitchii @soulphoenix1618 @gnab-nahc @hyunjins-dimples @nappynapnaps @15092000volcano @livixcore @linocvp1d @yaorzu-blog @scallywag1299 @boo-ven9eance @lys4lix @kirbrary @4ln-stay8 @sellomaybe @aznstoner @saintcosette @starseungs @syedazarintasnim @elqivxstxr @ivydoesit23 @weirdowithaphone @hyuneee3 @nhyunn @velvetmoonlght @amarecerasus @skzstan12345 @ravengxbss @sweetbokji

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

10 epiphany. where ushijima has a sudden realization

<< 09 disconnect. | >> 11 epiphany.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: we only go up from here, my loves - ave word count: 3.7k 💀 warnings: violence, threats, vile, misogynistic comments (by a rando), cursing tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers -- (inbox me if you want to be added to the tag list)

april, third year

ushijima wakatoshi is by no means a people person. he is a highly motivated individual, mind always focused on the task at hand. he does not mind people interacting with him, although he can survive without it. 

he enjoys playing volleyball and listening to his teammates, occasionally adding to the conversation, but he has never been a particularly talkative person like tendo. it’s not that he dislikes human interaction, he just finds that sometimes, some things are better left unspoken, or perhaps unnecessary altogether. 

he never goes out of his way to befriend someone – he was already busy with volleyball as it is, and to add to it, staying on top of his school’s demanding curriculum. people has commented on his stoicism and general unapproachability behind his back, not that he cares enough about it. so naturally, he did not have a lot of friends to begin with. 

wakatoshi thinks that he is satisfied with his way of life and intends on keeping it simple with just school and volleyball, and none of the drama that he’s heard going around his year all the time. or rather, he intended to. 

and so, he finds himself confused, and irritated as well, when this guy from his year, apparently the captain of the basketball or baseball or whatever, he could care less, tries to start some kind of shit with him. 

ushijima was on his way to lunch with tendo when this idiot came and started badmouthing him and the volleyball team, calling him a useless piece of shit and some other names that he stopped listening to. he wondered what the point of this confrontation is when he doesn’t even know who this person is. 

with a blank stare and a twitching eyebrow, ushijima cuts him off, “i’m sorry, who are you again?” 

it only made him angrier and humiliated, with the crowd that is starting to form around the commotion. “my name is yamasaki takeo.”

“i don’t recall asking for your opinion, yamasaki-san,” ushijima retorts irritably, eliciting a gasp from tendo who is next to him. 

yamasaki gapes at him, as the whispers from the students around them grow audibly. 

that ought to be the end of it, ushijima thinks, as he makes to leave the scene that yamasaki caused. he has better things to worry about, like the fact that you are still not on speaking terms with him, rather than this pointless confrontation that is clearly wasting his time.

“that’s right, because you’re too busy trying to get into miyamura’s pants than focusing on volleyball, aren’t you?” 

tendo reckons that the idiot is relentless in picking a fight with him, and apparently has a death wish. for he had the balls to bring your name up when it is currently occupying the top spot in ushijima’s list of touchy subjects, which is very, very short. in fact, it only has one entry right now.

ushijima clenches his fists. now he is truly irritated, and his short patience is reaching its end. 

yamasaki, noticing that he is finally getting a reaction out of the indifferent volleyball captain, delightedly goes on to drag your name through the mud. 

“is it really that difficult to get your little girlfriend to sleep with you, captain, if you are so high and mighty? or is it just you that she is not interested in?” he mocks ushijima, a shit eating grin on his face now that he has ushijima’s full attention, discovering his weakness. “maybe she’s actually sleeping around with your friends. in fact, i wouldn’t be so surprised if she is, considering how close she is to semi eita as of late.”

if looks could kill, yamasaki would be long dead by now. his only saving grace being the thin fraying thread of patience that ushijima is holding on to. a very, very thin thread. 

“if you know what’s good for you, keep her name out of your filthy mouth.” ushijima grits his teeth. 

ushijima hates that he has you dragged into this spectacle. you’re not his girlfriend, much less his friend at this very moment. he hates that too, that you are so far away from his reach. he dislikes the hole your absence left in his meticulous schedule, and he misses the warmth your presence brings him. 

for your sake, he has been keeping his temper in check. convincing himself that getting into a brawl with yamasaki would only serve to fan the flames of the situation when word spreads around school, and the one who would suffer the most would be you. 

but it appears that yamasaki is asking, practically begging for it, as he continues his goading. “maybe i need to get a taste of her, considering how well she has you wrapped around her finger.”

the thread explodes. 

red. red is all ushijima could see as someone grabs a hold of yamasaki’s collar and throws a fist into his cocky face. he is so full of shit. a killing calm descends on ushijima as he watches the person pull his arm back and send another punch to yamasaki. again. and again. 

he vaguely registers his friend shouting his name and pulling on his arm with a few of other students. semi and ohira, he realizes. puzzled, he looks down to see his hand gripping tightly onto the front of yamasaki’s uniform, and his left hand is covered in blood. 

oh. oh. that was him who punched the asshole.

ushijima releases his hold on yamasaki, breathing heavily as the gravity of the situation settles in. it isn’t some inconsequent drama to circulate around school anymore. 

yamasaki struggles to stand, coughing out blood. his nose sits crookedly on his face, most possibly broken. but he has the nerve to smirk, as much as he could, at ushijima. “not so strong now, are you?”

“says the one with a sorry state for a face,” semi retorts, tense from the whole situation.

he merely wipes at his bloodied face, waving semi off. “i am not the one you need to worry about. i am also not the one who is risking his spot on the under 19 team for the youth world championship with a scandal.”

ushijima recoils, blood running cold. was that his goal all along? 

“maybe, i will forgive your actions, if you get on your knees and beg,” yamasaki pauses, a dark glint in his eyes, “and give y/n to me.”

his words have ushijima struggling to break free from his teammates, caution thrown to the winds, ready to beat him to a pulp. 

“let go of me!” ushijima growls. fuck the consequences, there is no way in hell he will let this asshole lay a finger on you.

he does not notice the crowd parting as the students recognize you and allow you space to get to the front of the commotion. the frown on your face from witnessing the latter half of the events unfolding after you yielded to chika’s curiosity of the commotion that sent students running in the hallways and getting their friends to join them. the sigh that escapes your lips from being the center of the drama. 

“is that all it really takes?” your voice stops him in his attempts to break free, his head snapping towards you in shock.

ushijima has not felt fear in years, certainly not on the volleyball court, not since his parents had a messy divorce, but your words send his heart dropping to the floor. “y/n–”

“stay out of it.” you breathe sharply at him, needing your wits about you if you were to get him out of this situation unscathed. turned away from yamasaki, you let out a trembling breath and steel your nerves. 

you’ve worn a mask in your own home for years, this is nothing, you remind yourself. sure, the whispers would spread, but for him, you would wreck yourself. to hell with this asshole if he dares to try to bring ushijima down. ironic, considering you distanced yourself to save your own heart. when it is all said and done, it still belongs to him.  

“unfortunately, i am not an object that ushijima can simply give away, yamasaki-san, but am i worth the lengths you went to?” 

you observe as his eyes dart behind you at ushijima. so that’s how it is. you are not what he wants. what he wants is to get to ushijima, for reasons you can surmise from the gossip that had been floating around the last week. 

if you play your cards right, you could twist his arm behind his back, figuratively speaking. he would have no choice but to back down, you hope. if not… you don’t want to even think about it. this has to be enough.

“why don’t i propose you a better trade?” you bat your lashes at the scum in front of you, playing the role of the ever helpless girl using her body to get away with things. praying to the gods above that he will take the bait. just come a little closer and i will show you my teeth, bastard.

surely, you can’t be thinking of actually going out with yamasaki, ushijima tries to convince himself as he watches you smile at the asshole coyly. you are smarter than that, and he is not worth your sacrifice. 

or is he? he averts his eyes as you lean in towards yamasaki. shoves the prickling sense of unfamiliar discomfort down. shushes the pealing bells in his mind. the urge to pummel his face to nothing. 

he tries to put his mind elsewhere, but a sense of inevitability creeps in. dread, he realizes, crawls up his spine and makes its home there.

he wants to shout at you. something. anything. anything but this. he doesn’t need to be in the youth 19 team. he would rather risk it all. he doesn’t need anything, doesn’t want anything but you by his side. and the thought of it terrifies him.

“wakatoshi-kun,” tendo nudges him and grabs his attention away from his thoughts. he follows tendo’s gaze towards you and takashima, whose cocky smirk was completely wiped off his bloodied and bruised face and replaced by a paleness that looked like fear. “that’s your girl.”

“i’m so glad we were able to come to an understanding, takashima-san. i would hate for such a nasty argument to get even more out of hand, don’t you agree? now that we are on the same page, i’m sure this won’t happen again. right, takashima-san?” ushijima shudders at the underlying hostility in your fake cheery voice that is directed towards takashima. he never wants to be on the receiving end of it, he thinks. 

you lay a hand on his arm, an eerily innocent smile on your face. and takashima winces, nodding quickly and too eagerly compared to his earlier behavior. 

“i guess we will see you around?” ushijima catches on to the hidden demand under your nice words. you better stay away from us. “oh, do you need a hand to the nurse’s office?”

what exactly did he miss? but he is too awestruck by the way you turned the situation around that he forgot to correct tendo’s earlier statement. 

he tunes out takashima’s stuttering response as you turn around, a frown finding its way onto your beautiful features as your cold eyes land on him. barely registers tendo calling “show’s over” and gesturing at the crowd to disperse and mind their own business.

he hates the mask you are wearing, pushing everyone, and him, away as a defense mechanism. he hates that he is the reason you had to don it today to protect him from his own actions.   

ushijima finds himself reaching out to you to smooth out the furrow in your brows, only to be met by resistance. your slender fingers hook onto his wrist, halting his movement for a split second before dropping his hand like a hot potato. 

“people are watching,” you remind him. your eyes catch on his left hand, where the skin on his knuckles was split, hesitating on your next words. “you should get that treated.”

he frowns, already missing the feeling of your skin on his. why would he care that people are watching?

the four of them end up walking to the nurse’s office with ohira dismissing himself from the group for some errand he had to run for his class. tendo being tendo, starts pestering you about what you did and how you did it despite your clipped answers. 

ushijima finds himself staring at the back of your head, unsure if you are just a figment of his imagination from how long he went without interacting with you. next to him, semi nods his head at you, “she doesn’t hate you, you know.”

he stays quiet. if that’s true, then why are you so intent on avoiding him?

“you are both impossible,” semi huffs in disbelief. 

finding the nurse’s office empty, semi lets your little group into the dark room. tendo beelines for the cabinet, rummaging for supplies. you didn’t have the energy to tell them that they should probably wait for the nurse to come back.

you keep to the door, fidgeting as if you could not decide to stay or go. “see you guys” you blurt, feet moving quickly out the door.

“y/n–” ushijima panics. is this it? is this all he has left of you?

“i’ll go talk to her.” semi promises, running after you, leaving ushijima in tendo’s hands.

they sit in silence as tendo cleans up ushjima’s bloodied knuckles, the latter unphased by the sting of disinfectant on raw skin with his entire focus on the doorway. wishing. 

sure enough, semi returns with an uneasy y/n in tow, looking like you would rather be anywhere but there. 

he makes you sit on the bed across from ushijima, an indecipherable look in his eyes. “stay, you two need to talk. tendo and i will be right outside.” translation: don’t think about leaving until you talk to him. to which you return an unamused look, crossing your arms in a defensive manner.

you wait until the door clicks closed behind them before stealing a glance at ushijima. his stare displaces you, as if there is nothing more important than you. unbelievable, you think. 

you open your mouth to say something – something mean and hurtful so that he would stop looking at you like he cared, but decide against it, knowing full well your anger, the serpent that rarely rears its head is nasty when it does. 

“why are you avoiding me?” he breaks the silence. the first words you’ve heard from him in a long while, not counting the short exchange earlier and during orchestra practice. you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss his voice. that it didn’t calm the wary hissing wild animal in you on some subconscious level.

“why do you care, ushijima?” the name still leaves a bitter taste on your tongue even though you have tried to get over it. you don’t actually love him, right? it’s just a schoolgirl infatuation. or at least, that is what you keep telling yourself, hoping that it will be true when you repeat it enough times. 

“you are my friend, y/n.” his eyes snap to yours, begging you to understand. 

the feeling of drowning creeps in, bringing you back to the first sleepless nights after you cut him off. how pathetic you were running after someone who did not even treat you as their friend. how worthless. how you went from wishing that he saw you as you are to wishing that he never walked into your life.

“no, if i am your friend, then why didn’t you tell me about the nationals? fuck, i had to find out from semi, and it was only because they needed me to stop you from hurting yourself. what the fuck am i to you, ushijima wakatoshi?” you snap at him. 

he starts to say something, but you are not done, not yet. 

“why bother? why save me from myself, tell me you’re my friend, when you certainly don’t act like it when it comes to yourself? do you think so little of me? or am i just some basket case to you?” your fists curl at your sides, angry tears threatening to escape your eyes, as you will them back. 

why did you start the fight? why? 

and then he is at your feet, kneeling and taking your hands into his, looking at you as if you are his salvation. “it was easy, caring for you. felt right, like second nature. you matter to me, but i–” he glances away for a second, almost too much, he thinks “–i don’t know how to let others do the same to me, even if it’s you, that didn’t come naturally. i’m sorry, y/n.” his knuckles are gentle against your skin, brushing away the tears that you didn’t realize started sliding down your cheeks.

the silence stretches, interrupted by your sniffles here and there. 

“talk to me.” he tucks the hair that is covering your face behind your ear. 

your voice is a pained quiet. “i was running away from you, afraid of what your answer could be. i was scared that you found me unworthy. i felt pathetic, yearning for your friendship if you didn’t feel the same way. but–” your throat tightens at your cowardice, realizing your own mistake.

“it could have been avoided if you just talked to me.” wakatoshi finishes your sentence for you.

“you’re a fucking hypocrite.” you retort, kicking his knee in pettiness. “don’t think you’re so easily forgiven.” and just like that he is forgiven. your heart once again safely tucked away in his hands, returned to its owner after weeks of being torn away bleeding and broken by yours. 

it’s unfair, really. the effortlessness it takes on his part to make you whole unknowingly. maybe you were born without a heart, given away to ushijima by fate. maybe he is meant to come into your life and give it back, to remind you that you are alive, and to live. 

you keep telling yourself that he is meant for more than you. which is the truth. but it is also because you are afraid of losing him forever.  

but he recognizes the way you deflect away from your own vulnerability. “make me beg for it, i’ll do anything to redeem myself.” you mean too much to me.

“anything?” you tap your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “how about going to the tanabata festival in your kuromontsuki haori hakama?” 

you are trying to see how far he would go to satisfy your demands. usually people wear yukatas to summer festivals, the most casual traditional option, and the most comfortable one in the sweltering heat of summer. a kuromontsuki haori hakama is the highest rank of kimono for men and only worn for formal occasions like weddings and funerals. 

but you would kill to see him in one, and it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“that would be a little difficult… how about a haori hakama?” which is less formal than what you suggested, though enough that he will still stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd, but– “fine.” you wanted to see him in a full formal kimono. 

“i get the crispy ends of your katsu.” nod. “give me a piggyback ride home.” an eyebrow raise, but nod. “i want the only bottle of grape squash that you guys buy every single time.” nod. 

“no more keeping secrets from me.” 

“done.”

“i will have to think of more later, you’re currently on probation.” you narrow your eyes at him, gesturing with your hand, i’m watching you. he catches it deftly, getting all up in your space. 

your breath hitches as he comes eye to eye with you, only inches to spare. “i’m sorry. i’ll do better, i promise.” 

you hear his words, sure, but the thunderous beating of your heart is coming from every direction, deafening. in that moment, you forgot how to speak, tongue twisted in a way that cannot be undone. so you panic, feet kicking out instinctively. 

several things happen in quick succession. wakatoshi grunts, curling backwards in pain. the door bursts open as semi and tendo comes running in to defuse the situation. you sit there in shock. tendo starts cackling at the scene in front of him, tears shining in his eyes. 

“damn, one after another, y/n, you’re putting these boys down real hard.” he wipes his eyes with laughter.

“it was an accident!” 

“sure, sure, if you say so.” he slowly backs out of the room, having a distinctive feeling that you may want to land one on him too. 

“get back here, tendo satori! oi, where do you think you are going? you still need to dress toshi’s wounds.” you dash at him. 

“back to toshi now, are we? why don’t you do it yourself?” he snickers, running away.

semi shakes his head at the two of you, glancing at his captain who is still recovering from your kick in the nuts. he winces at the thought of it. “you good?”

ushijima looks towards where tendo now has an arm thrown over your shoulders, affectionately ruffling your hair, utterly unfazed by the way you are snapping at him. 

“i told you, i am not telling you! it defeats the purpose of what i said to that scum if i told you! get your dirty hands off of me.” you frown at the redhead, and then as if sensing his eyes on you, you point at ushijima. “you, don’t ever pick fights again even if i get dragged into it, it’s not worth it.” 

“but he picked a fight with ushijima-kun first.” 

“why, you brat. do you want to find out what dirty secrets i know about you?”

“wah, scary, y/n-chan. remind me to never get on your bad side.” 

you make a face at tendo, which ushijima finds adorable. his lips quirk in a smile at the scene unfolding in front of them, finally responding to semi’s earlier question. 

“yeah. yeah, i think so.”

“ushijima-kun, you’re down bad.”

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[berenwrites]

The Giveaway - Stranger Things - Steddie - G

A/N:  I’m definitely supposed to be doing other things, but this popped into my head and would not leave, so I wrote it down 💖. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for any likes/reblogs/comments in advance – hope you are having a great week. Don’t forget to check out all the other fun entries for this month over at @steddiemicrofic.

Written for prompt: STUFF | wc: 483 | Rating G | cw: none

(Also on AO3)

The Giveaway

In the end, it wasn’t anything obviously romantic that gave them away. There was no accidental use of pet names, because Eddie did that all the time with everybody anyway. There were no lingering looks or linked hands or unfortunately timed kisses. Or if there were, no one said anything.

What outed them to their friends and extended-trauma-family was Eddie’s hair.

Contrary to popular belief, Eddie had had a hair care routine. Well, ‘care’ might have been going a bit far, but he had known how he wanted his hair to look and how to do it. He had stuff he washed it with, stuff he put in it, and a very abused comb he used to add volume when needed. However, Steve had tried to run his fingers through Eddie’s locks the previous day as they made out, become horribly stuck, and declared that would not do.

Eddie had thought his boyfriend was kidding, but not for long. As it turned out, Steve was very serious when it came to hair. When Eddie had protested, Steve had tried bitching at him, which admittedly Eddie found incredibly hot, but this was his hair, so he’d still held out. It had been the puppy eyes he hadn’t been able to resist. After that, he’d let Steve do what he liked.

“What did you do to your hair?” Dustin demanded the moment Eddie walked into the BBQ at the Byers new house.

“Um … washed it,” Eddie tried.

Even he had to admit Steve had worked magic. Not that he expected Mike to walk right up to him and grab a strand.

“It’s soft!” was the boy’s incredulous opinion, even as Eddie smacked the kid’s hand away.

Dustin stepped into his personal space and sniffed, eyes going wide.

“That’s Farrah Fawcett spray,” Dustin said very loudly. “You let Steve do your hair.”

As if on cue, Steve walked into the backyard. They’d come separately so as not to arouse suspicions yet. As it was, many eyes turned on him.

“Why did you let Steve do your hair?” Lucas asked.

“As if that isn’t obvious,” Erica commented as she walked past.

Eddie sent Steve a ‘help me’ stare. Like the knight in shining armour he was, Steve immediately walked over.

Since the spring break disaster, Eddie had become very good at speaking Steve, so when his boyfriend sighed and lifted an eyebrow at him, he knew exactly what it meant. They had talked about when and how to let everyone in on their secret after all. With his heart beating in his throat, he gave a small affirmative shrug back.

Ever a man of action, Steve leaned in, threaded his fingers through Eddie’s hair and kissed him, before pulling back with a smile. He then levelled his bitchiest ‘I dare you’ glare at the boys. Eddie was too busy melting inside to worry about anyone’s reaction.

[peppermintquartz]

Love your writing! Thank you for all you provide for the bucktommy fandom! For the prompts: spiderman kisses

You're welcome! My preferred method to engage with fandom is to write fics and I'm glad people are appreciating them ❤️

Ooh that is a hard one. I'm gonna try.

*

"How long ago was this movie?" Evan asks, settling in next to Tommy.

"It's from 2002," says Tommy.

"Wow, that's, like, vintage."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that."

Tommy figures the first Spider-Man movie (the best of the live-action adaptations, in his biased opinion) is a good blend of action and drama and romance to entertain Evan and himself. He found James Franco hot, back in the day, and this movie brought back his teen crush feelings.

Evan sniffles when Uncle Ben dies, and Tommy cuddles him close. But the rest of the movie makes up for it, particularly when Peter Parker saves Mary Jane in the pouring rain.

"Oh wow, Kirsten Dunst is so hot," Evan muses. They've shifted positions so that Tommy is leaning against the arm of his couch and Evan is lying on him, like a spoiled cat.

Tommy stifles a laugh by kissing the top of his boyfriend's head. "Almost all my friends thought so. Some of them were especially focused on the fact she wasn't wearing a bra in this scene. Then again, we were all horny teenagers, so I guess that's to be expected."

"Yeah, it is hard to miss that," Evan comments. Then he sighs. "It's such a romantic kiss though."

"It's an original idea too, not copied from the comics," Tommy says, because sometimes he knows things. "Got parodied to hell and back after that, but that's how you know it's iconic."

Pausing the movie, Evan shifts and turns around, nearly elbowing Tommy in the ribs. "You know, I wanna try that."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "An upside-down kiss? You do know neither of us are Spider-Man, right?"

Evan gets to his feet and drags Tommy out of the couch. "I have an idea. Come on come on come on come on, I wanna try something."

Putting up a token display of resistance, Tommy lets Evan lead him into the garage. Evan stares at the pull-up bar, his eyes narrowing, and then he grabs it, swings one long leg up and then the other, and hangs on to it with hands and knees.

Tommy is not amused but worried. "Baby, please get down," he says as he hurries in place to keep his arms under his boyfriend, ready to break his fall.

"Kiss me first," Evan demands. His face is already turning red from being upside down.

Tommy quickly pecks him on the mouth. "There are safer ways to have upside-down kisses, babe. I don't want you breaking your neck.

"That's not how the kiss went."

"Evan Buckley, I'm not playing. Get off the bar carefully." Tommy resorts to using his Serious Tone, which he hates to use on his boyfriend, but sometimes Evan does rush into things a little too impulsively and Tommy has to rein him in.

Pouting, Evan gets off the contraption, and Tommy pulls him into a hug and kisses the pout away. Evan keeps his eyes downcast. "Hey. That was just too unsafe. We can do the kiss lying down, okay?"

Evan peers through his lashes. "I want a proper Spider-Man kiss."

Tommy huffs through his nose and pulls Evan to the Muay Thai mat. They lie down, head to head but their feet angled in opposite directions. Tommy cups Evan's cheek. It's a different feeling, the way his hands are angled, and he leans in to kiss Evan.

It is very different. The top of his tongue slides over the top of Evan's tongue; his nose is bumping against Evan's stubbled chin. He changes the angle of his mouth and tries again.

After a moment, they both pull away. Evan is giggling. "I don't think that was as hot as the movie's version," he admits. Rubbing the tip of his nose, he adds, "I love your cleft, but I think I prefer if my nose isn't rubbed raw on it."

Tommy laughs and gets up, before he reaches for Evan. "Yeah, I think I'll stick to the regular way. Besides, I like seeing your eyes after we kiss."

"Really? Why?"

Tommy shrugs. He's not that good with words. "I just like it, that's all." He kisses his boyfriend again, right way round this time, and when he pulls away, he watches Evan blink, his wide blue eyes a little dazed and his lips curving into a smile. "Yeah, exactly like that. I like seeing that."

Evan tucks an arm around Tommy's waist. "You're so sweet." Biting his lower lip, he asks, "So, shall we finish the movie and make out on the couch like horny teenagers afterwards?"

"Sounds like a plan."

[monbons]

Six Sentence Sunday

Happy Sunday all!

It's super rainy here, which means I've been trying to entertain kids who've been trapped inside for two days. I've made very little progress on writing, but I tricked them into "arts and crafts" yesterday and used it as an excuse to draw up a few things for my new WIP. Here's a little preview...

(Disclaimer: I am not an artist, nor am I an architect. My sister IS an architect and she had lots of opinions about the practicality of my floorplan. I assured her that this is fiction and I can do whatever I want...)

As for The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch, this week's chapter is one of my top three favorites and also the second longest of the whole fic! If you haven't started reading yet, you should! I know I keep saying it, but really, you should.

Six sentences isn't enough to capture the deliciousness of Chapter 7. The theme? I believe @raenestee's comment on Chapter 6 captures it best: Baz is shooting so many shots, it’s a massacre. Have more flirty Simon and Baz as a treat, under the cut.

Simon studies Baz. He doesn’t look like an artist at all—starving or otherwise—with his white silk shirt covered in blue and purple flowers, unbuttoned practically to the navel. He’s paired it with jeans that appear similarly expensive and hug him in all the right places. It’s an outfit that demands to be seen, just like everything else Baz has worn since Simon met him. So Simon admires him from the register, and now—up close. Baz notices him noticing. “What kind of art?” Simon asks. “I blow glass.” Baz tucks the rag back into Simon’s pocket but doesn’t immediately move his hand, just hooks a finger in Simon’s pocket and smiles. Simon sighs. “Are you flirting again?” Baz grins. “Is it working?” “No.” Simon smiles back reluctantly. “I must be out of practice.” Simon laughs. “Sure, Mocha. That’s it.”

Looking forward to seeing what everyone else is working on if you feel inclined to share! No pressure though. I'm just trying to keep up my promised preview schedule for all the adoring fans 😜.

@thewholelemon, @roomwithanopenfire, @cutestkilla, @bookish-bogwitch

@drowninginships, @valeffelees, @beastmonstertitan, @fiend-for-culture, @larkral

@hushed-chorus, @best--dress, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @cattocavo

@shrekgogurt, @emeryhall, @ic3-que3n, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

@rbkzz, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @noblecorgi

@ic3-que3n, @rimeswithpurple, @skee3000, @comesitintheclover, @supercutedinosaurs

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

What if Special was the one who killed the Papas so that Omega wouldn’t have to do it ? Loosely inspired by @divine-misfortune headcanons about Special, though I took some liberties.

Special isn’t sure why Sister asked this of Omega. She can be cruel, in her indifference, in her cold pragmatism ; Special would know. But she never is cruel simply for the sake of being cruel. Sister’s first priority has always been the well being of the Church, and she has no time to spare for needless low blows.

So why, why hand Omega a syringe with an order to murder the Papas ?

She must know. Surely she must know what Omega and Terzo mean to each other. Sister must know that the quint is the last person who could possibly fulfill this grim, dishonorable task.

Perhaps she doesn’t know, Special muses, before discarding the idea. Impossible. Sister has keen ears, she makes a point of knowing every whispered rumors filling long hours of chores, and with Terzo’s evident partiality for his quintessence ghoul being the least well kept secret of the Church, there is no way Sister doesn’t know about them.

So why ?

Does she simply not care ? Unlikely. Oh, she sure doesn’t let herself be touched by their little doomed love story, but Sister is smart. She asks - no, demands efficiency, and asking a lovesick ghoul to end his lover’s life promises a very messy outcome.

Did Sister mistake Omega’s general obedience for blind loyalty ? Maybe. But Omega is not Special. He is older, powerful, wise and whole, a far cry from the poor excuse for a ghoul Special knows he himself is, chained at Sister’s feet, doomed to beg for any scrap of attention or approval.

No, Omega, though still bounded to the Church, only obeyed so far because it was convenient for him ; and when it wasn’t, the quint was smart enough to bypass rules without getting caught.

But maybe, in her haste of getting this over and done, Sister forgot that ghouls are all wildly different, that there is not one of them, except for Special, who wouldn’t have their own thoughts and opinion about this dreadful order she gave ?

Special doesn’t know, but one thing is sure : the Emeritus brothers, save for Copia, must die tonight, or there will be consequences.

Omega seems to reach the same conclusion, staring at the syringe with hollow eyes. Special can almost see him wonder who would reap the consequences of his disobedience.

Alpha, Omega’s oldest companion, brash and agressive but always, always by the quint’s side, no matter what ? Perhaps one of the younger ones, like Aether, Omega’s darling mentee ? Mist, with her sharp tongue but caring smiles ? Delta, after everything he went through ?

An impossible choice, for the bleeding heart that is Omega ; Special emerges from the shadows behind him, settles a hand on the quint’s arm. Static buzzes where they make contact, and unpleasant reminder of the quintessence Special knows he has and can never access despite his best efforts.

Omega startles, which is a bad sign ; nothing ever shakes him, let alone startles him, and yet. Special tilts his head, meets deep purple eyes swirling with a hurricane of emotions.

He doesn’t have it in himself to ressent Omega for being everything Special will never be, not right now, with the anguish clear as day in the quint’s posture, shoulders curled inward, fists clenching and unclenching.

« They know it’s coming, they have for months, » Special comments, « just like all of us. »

There is a lot of speculation about what, exactly, that white Emeritus eye can see. But one does not need premonitions to understand that Sister wants the previous Papas gone, that she has for a while, and that she will stop at nothing to get rid of them.

Omega let out a shuddering sigh.

« I thought we’d have more time. And I didn’t thought she’d ask me. »

I thought she’d ask you is left unsaid.

Is it bad that a small part of Special is jealous that Sister trusted Omega for this mission, instead of him ? Him, who was made for the dirty, dishonest tasks, for the blood and the dirt ?

Gently, Special takes the syringe from Omega. Is he doing this for the quint ? He’d like to think so, but it could very well just be his desperate need to please Sister pushing him to take the matter into his own hands.

« I will do it. Go. You have until sundown. Make the most of the time you have left. »

The line of Omega’s shoulders sags. He makes no move to grab the syringe back, doesn’t try to argue. However, he does slip his hand to the back of Special’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. For a moment, his perpetually cold chest warms the slightest bit, like a long-forgotten cave suddenly lit by a single candle.

« Thank you, » Omega whispers, and then he is gone, taking the warmth with him.

Special finds a dark corner to huddle in, waiting. There is no foolish, desperate move to save their lives to expect from the old Papas, he knows it. They wouldn’t let others be hurt on their behalf, no matter what some would say.

So, Special waits while the Papas, surely warned now by Omega, live their last moments, surrounded by the people who matter to them. Omega is probably holding Terzo, Secondo is sure to be getting drunk one last time with Alpha, Primo likely to be walking his rose garden at Earth’s arm ; and there is no doubt the brothers will gather later, it is Sunday after all, game night is still on.

Alone, Special readjusts his shaking grip on the syringe.

[sercezgazety]

It’s going to start raining soon because of-fucking-course it is. Why not. It’s not like it’s going to change anything, Dan is already completely drenched, and maybe something that isn’t his own sweat would be a reprieve. Or, you know. Herbert could do something besides peering over the edge of the hole with a flashlight, commenting on Dan’s technique and imperiously demanding changes in the angle at which the shovel enters the soil.

Dan tells him as much. Backseat driving is one thing when it’s, well, driving — and even then it’s infuriating. When it’s grave robbing, it’s a whole nother thing. It wouldn’t kill Herbert to get back down here for a couple minutes. He’s pretty experienced with a shovel, Dan reminds him, and seems to have a lot of opinions. High time he starts pulling his weight around here.

“At this depth? In these shoes?” Herbert asks, and then makes an offended sniff to drive the point home. “I’d just keep slipping and losing my balance.”

“I mean,” Dan pants, “you could have worn different ones.”

“All my shoes are the same.”

Yeah, it figures.

“Well, they shouldn’t be. You ought to have at least one pair of sneakers.” The shovel finally thuds against the lid. Thank fuck. They really took the whole six feet thing into their hearts, huh. “Specifically for this kind of occasion.”

Dan can’t see him, but he just knows Herbert opened his mouth to start saying something, and then changed his mind and closed it. He can almost hear the asshole’s thought process anyway. I don’t need sneakers, you do this kind of work. Or something along these lines. 

“Somebody needs to hold the torch,” West decides to say instead.

It’s sad, actually, how Dan’s initial reaction is this absurd sense of pride. Herbert wouldn’t have kept the original words to himself, were he interacting with anyone else. 

Christ, what a low bar to clear.

Thankfully, they’re— no, Dan, Dan’s not digging a hole the size of an entire coffin. That would take days. But the opening still needs to be much wider and longer than just the bit that would give them access to the right part of the lid. Dan’s learned the hard way that getting rid of excess soil when you’re four feet deep is bloody exhausting. There are steps to take, first you make a hole that is wide and long and deep enough, with something like shelves, so that later on you can put the contents of the shovel next to you instead of throwing pounds of dirt over your head. He’s more experienced in digging than he’d like, though it’s not often that they’re trying to get something out of the ground. And it’s not that Herbert didn’t do anything tonight, oh no. He’s been very careful to do bare minimum and pant so pitifully, it was Dan who told him to take a break. It was more than an hour ago, by the way.

At least the coffin’s made out of wood. Last time, it was metal. Almost impossible to open, and no point in doing so anyway, given that the corpse boils inside it. Dan sometimes wonders whether people who buy those things actually know how physics work. Probably not. He’s not entirely sure he knows, though he’s definitely seen the results.

Now that the lid is partially visible and the goal seems so close, somehow everything drags on. It’s as if the time was made out of rubber, stretching instead of rushing the way it does whenever Dan actually needs a couple seconds to restart a heart or sew up a wound a tad too close to an artery. Now, he wants to be done, away from here, and not only do they have to get the cadaver out and bury the empty casket, but first they need to get to the goddamn casket in the first place, and it’s already been three hours, and someone’s bound to come and catch them, there’s no way they’re getting away with it, and the it —

“Herbert.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s ancient.”

How the hell did Dan not notice that before? Yes, his brain tends to turn into mush the moment he’s confronted with a stressful situation — a terrible trait in a doctor, really, he knows that — but to such an extent? At this point, he really should be able to tell a fresh grave from whatever the hell this is. Come to think about it, all the flowers were withered when they were getting them out of the way. 

“Not ancient,” Herbert responds serenely. “Just two days old, you’re short a couple millenia.” He probably thinks he’s funny; he usually does. “Well, it’s almost three days now.”

Dan stops digging. Not the best idea, given that this way he’s probably going to remain in the compromising situation for even longer. If he gives his muscles a moment to catch up with the exhaustion, it’s going to be very difficult to start moving again.

Still, it would be nice to know why is he supposed to be moving at all.

“Herbert,” he says very calmly because he’s a calm and rational guy. Also because he’s down here and Herbert’s all the way up there, so it’s impossible to just throttle the imp without some extra effort, and he doesn’t have any energy to spare. “It’s way too old, what the hell do you even want with it? The brain’s completely useless at this point.”

Looking up, Dan half-expects to see Herbert sitting over the ledge and kicking his legs, but that’s not happening. First, there’s been no foot colliding with Dan’s temple. He’s pretty sure he’d notice. And second, when it comes to keeping the slacks spotless, it doesn’t matter how appealing disrespecting the dead might be. Herbert’s always going to choose clean clothing. Unless it’s blood. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, and yes, it’s not that noticeable on black clothes, but the shirts, the sheer number of shirts that turn out to be single-use is impressive. Herbert’s propensity for the blue ones is absolutely fascinating. At least the white ones can be bleached. The blue ones go straight to the trash. “They’re more cheerful,” Herbert deadpanned once, and to this day, Dan doesn’t know whether that was supposed to be a joke. What an absolute waste of money, but then again, when one is used to having money, they don’t consider it an issue.

It is an issue to Dan, though. Just like the fact that he’s currently standing in the middle of a grave they’ve been attempting to desecrate, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Liver failure,” Herbert informs him as if that were supposed to explain anything.

“So?”

Dan feels ridiculously proud of himself — look at him being so assertive! — for not resuming the digging. He stares at Herbert, and yes, it’s hardly intimidating, given that he needs to keep looking up and squint at the torch, but Herbert still seems a bit surprised by Dan’s resolve. He falters, he actually falters, so that’s something.

“We don’t require a body, per se,” he admits. “At this stage of research, it would be prudent to do some further tests on individual parts. They don’t need to be that fresh. Actually, we need to see what happens when the decay has not only started but progressed. The neurons atrophy immediately, so we should look into reversing the process, not only stopping it. Muscle tissue would be a good start, I figured. Although, well. Bloating would be ideal, but—“ Herbert gives a long-suffering sigh, confronted with a world that simply refuses to respect his wishes. ”For the moment, this will have to do.”

Dan wipes at his brow, which is completely pointless. He smears the sweat around, and now it’s mixed with even more mud than before.

“Is it at least embalmed?”

“...yyyes.”

“You think so or you know so?”

“I know,” Herbert answers a bit too quickly. 

Perfect.

Dan drops the shovel, and winces immediately as it clatters against the lid.

“So all of that for… parts?” he asks. He wants to sound incredulous, he really does, but it’s not even the tenth most insane thing Herbert’s demanded this month. “Not a whole subject. I’m busting my ass here, we could get caught any moment, and all of that for parts?”

“A part,” Herbert says in that monotone he uses to offer a helpful piece of information.

“And you couldn’t have gotten it at Miskatonic?”

“Well, we’ve had no fatal liver failure in weeks.” Dan can’t see it, but he’s certain Herbert is shrugging. “This one comes from a different hospital, actually. They transported the body back to the place where she grew up.” He pauses to readjust his voice and make it into something more cheerful. “Isn’t that nice of them?”

Dan finds himself digging again, but that’s not because he’s a pushover. That’s because he just wants to be done with it, and the longer they stay here, the more likely they’re to get caught.

“Why liver failure, then?” he huffs.

“You’d better focus on digging.”

Dan makes a point to stop moving.

“Why liver failure, Herbert.”

As if it weren’t already obvious that West is avoiding the answer, he pauses for a tad too long.

To learn why liver failure, continue reading here. The answers might surprise you (unpleasantly). warnings in the notes opening the chapter on ao3

[areus-in-a-little-cave]

I wanna comment on something I'm seeing that is deeply annoying me again. I am glad to see several posts similar to this, though.

Firstly, please stop acting like this is an "us vs them" situation but making the "them" be people on your own side who aren't responding to things perfectly. The problem is the people defending Wilbur, attacking Shelby, and spreading hate.

Do not take your anger and upset out on other people, because people are going to feel and respond differently but most people are supporting Shelby. It can be hard to see but people are usually trying their best and not trying to hurt others with what they're saying. You can both support Shelby and want Wilbur gone without agreeing on every opinion. Stop harassing people for responding differently to you. If their opinion is harmful, maybe try explaining why instead of harassing.

Secondly, please stop acting like every CC is this deeply evil, deeply toxic, abusive, horrible person because they haven't made a public statement about Shelby's abuse.

[Image ID: A screenshot of Shelby's alt twitter account's liked tweets. The tweet shown is by imiziee, one of Shelby's mods, and is a quote tweet. It reads "pls dont be like this. its been 2 hours since he posted it. people take different times to process that theyve been manipulated and friends with an abuser, calm down. instead of hating on people why dont you show support for shelby?? #ShubbleSupportSquad". The tweet it is quoting reads "the silence from his closest is so damning. fuck philza, tommy, jack, niki, tubbo, charlie, lovejoy, quackity" before it cuts off.]

This is from Shelby's likes, it's written by her mod. Shelby herself then likely agrees that this is a reasonable standpoint.

CCs should be supporting Shelby, of course. They should regardless of how close they are to this. However, we know that Wilbur manipulated people, close friends according to replies we've seen. We don't know what the behind the scenes is right now. Imagine if it was you and your closest friends, who you have known for years, and literal millions were watching you. It might take a few days to come to a conclusion, to say something, and I'd personally rather a CC come in a little late than rush an empty response.

I'm not expecting everyone to be perfect in their response, but a response is a response. Again, we don't know what is happening behind the scenes. I understand that public support of Shelby from other CCs is very important, but private support can be very helpful for them. This isn't about the fandom.

There's a difference between supporting Shelby and deplatforming Wilbur. They're connected, obviously, but given that Shelby is another CC, there's more ways to support her compared to previous cases of mistreatment allegations against a CC where it's someone without a platform coming forward.

Stop supporting whoever you want, and do whatever makes you comfortable. But stop attacking people and demanding they stop watching CCs because "all men are horrible monsters" and "all CCs will disappoint you" and "you support abuse if you watch any CC who could possibly support an abuser or abuse". Which ignores the fact that anyone could be an abuser, and abuse isn't a CC issue, this isn't an MCYT issue, it's a society issue. Yes, some groups, especially white men in positions of power, are in positions where they can abuse people easier. But literally anyone could be an abuser. That's part of what Shelby talked about.

I doubt that it's healthy to assume everyone wants to hurt you, to harm others, to abuse and manipulate, and that you can never watch or enjoy someone because they might be bad or support harmful people. Obviously, it's understandable to think that obsessing over a CC is bad because it is. You shouldn't put people on a pedestal and say "they could never do that!". But I'm seeing blogs who have been devoted to a CC and/or their character(s) for 3+ years talking about why you can never find comfort in a CC, and should distrust all of them completely. Like dude. It's fine to like a CC who may not be related to this at all.

We know according to Lexie that some CCs knew about abuse she faced and didn't do anything, in fact they kept hanging out with these people. It's fine to be wary, to stop supporting people who it could be. Because I'm sure there are people behind the scenes who knew something.

But again, the random tumblr blogger who wants to grant a CC a chance to get their thoughts together instead of making a shitty statement is not your enemy! Guilt tripping and harassing people into never thinking about any CC who could be related is not an effective way to support Shelby, and it does not make this seem like something that is about abuse. It makes this seem like online discourse.

This is not drama. Stop treating it like drama where you need to throw around buzzwords. You cannot "win" supporting someone. The only "right" opinion is supporting victims of abuse. People can feel different ways about CCs who did or did not respond. Stop saying people are horrible because they didn't loudly, actively denounce a CC who hasn't responded in one day to possibly finding out for the first time that one of their closest friends is an abuser. That's not supporting Shelby.

[tikus-library]

"The Look"

Avengers AU - Quick Fic

Characters: Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Reader

Posted: Jan 20th

WARNINGS: none, idiots being idiots

A/N: I was at the laundromat yesterday when I saw the gif and needed to write something- so gave this.

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

Leave kudos on Ao3

“Here comes Y/N! Do the thing- do the thing!” Sam elbowed him, shit eating grin in place.

Bucky sighed with his entire soul, “Sam, it doesn't do anything, it's just a look, that's all, it doesn't matter”

“If it doesn't matter then do it.”

“Why would I?” He shot back as Sam stopped, shifted his hip out and crossed his arms.

Sam rolled his eyes to Steve, “he won't do the thing!”

“Steve get your friend”

“He's more your friend than mine these days pal,” Steve chuckled.

“Here she comes… you should see how she reacts to it, you'd understand me Steve, this one here is just an idiot.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes as Steve shrugged, shook his head and raised his hands in classic ‘I don't know’ fashion. “fine-” he bit out, stepping out between them and tipping his head down and looking up at you.

Today couldn't get worse. Today everything was wrong. Today every file that was sent to you was backwards or upside down, some were even corrupted and Tony thought it was the funniest shit, as if you could be any later now you had to do a quick debriefing of the three stooges that were currently coming back in from a mission and really as if you didn't get enough shoved on your plate– wonderful, you perked up realizing the three were right there, together, you could get it done in five minutes as long as you heckled them.

You could just stare at Steve or Sam. They were good, wholesome, wonderful guys that were not the sergeant. Not that Bucky wasn't wholesome or handsome– actually he was very handsome, distractingly so, especially when he smiled, or put his hand through his hair, or just breathed in your general vicinity.

Speaking of the Sergeant you saw him step forwards and meet your gaze, head dropping, hair shifting forwards to frame his face, lips pressed down and bright blue eyes focused on you.

Your brain flat lined.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her determined steps halting, Bucky cocked his head to the side and was surprised when she did an abrupt about face and practically RAN back in the direction she had come from. He shoved a hand into his face.

Great, now you were scared of him, as if he didn't have enough trouble figuring out what to say to you. Now you wouldn't show your face around him.

Steve guffawed, bringing Bucky back out of his depressed thoughts. “Good gawd Buck, I forgot the effect you had on a woman.”

“What?!” He demanded, “she ran out of here in fear for her life!” Sam cracked, a howl of laughter spilling forth, Bucky clenched his fists, “you think that's funny?”

Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, “that wasn't fear man! That girl wants you, she wants you real bad.”

Bucky jerked back, blinking hard. “No.”

Steve nodded as he looked over at him. “That wasn't fear pal, that was panic, I can tell you this much – Y/N is quiet because when she does speak she can't keep her mouth in check, which usually tends to land her in hot water.”

Bucky turned to Sam, who was wiping away a few tears, “she has literally called us both hot, but said there was no way she would date us.”

“But when I asked her for her opinion on you–” Steve laughed, but sobered and leveled a look at him, “buddy, ya need to talk to her.”

“It was pretty colorful,” Sam murmured

“What did she say?” Bucky asked.

Sam shook his head, looking over at Steve, “did you see the way she shivered at the look?”

Steve nodded laughing as he moved around Bucky, “makes you realize what she said had to be true.”

Sam gasped as the two continued to walk, “Y/N! She really is full of surprises! Scandalous!!!”

“WHAT DID SHE SAY?!” Bucky cried following the two.