#my huzz

[hrts4keithh]

till - alien stage

“until these falling stars are buried in the blur of time on your icy lips.”

[boopiemadz]

okay this literally came to me in a dream but like lowkey pre crash travis and (fem) reader r like best friends and go to one of lotties houseparties and trav ends up getting way too drunk and emotional so reader has to drive him to her house and take care of him (and maybe tells reader he has feelings for her 🫢🫢) because i just know this man YAPS when he’s drunk

TS IS SO CUTE OML. I might combust reading this back bro, I love a good drunk confession 🤭🤭🤭. I cant put effort into adding warnings anymore so, just dont read if sensitive ig... anyways here u go bae!

[Drunk words are sober thoughts]

You and Travis weren't the kind of best friends who told each other everything. You were the kind that didn’t talk about feelings, because if you did, the whole thing might shatter.

You’d met in middle school during a group project. Ever since, there was this weird, stubborn loyalty between you. You were one of the only people who saw the soft, quietly funny, sometimes-stupid version of Travis that lived underneath all the brooding.

Now, in senior year, nothing had changed, except that everything had. Every brush of his hand against yours stuck in your head for days. Every time you made him laugh, it lit you up like a light switch.

But you didn’t talk about that. That would ruin everything.

“Lottie’s throwing one of her weird mansion parties tonight.”

You glance up from your locker. He’s leaning against the one next to yours, arms crossed, doing that thing where he looks anywhere but at you when he’s trying to sound casual.

“So?”

“So,” he shrugs, “you’re going, right?”

“Do I look like I want to get wine drunk next to Jackie and her cocky boyfriend?”

Travis snorts. “Kinda. Yeah.”

You squint at him. “Wait, do you want to go?”

“I mean... if you go.”

And there it is, one of those sentences that hovers in the air, daring you to make it mean more than it does.

You lean your shoulder into your locker and smirk. “Wow. You’re inviting yourself to hang out with me?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. Barely. “I’m just saying. Could be fun.”

You pretend not to notice how his voice goes soft when he says that. How he never uses that tone with anyone else.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

By the time the sun starts to set, you’re regretting your outfit and the fact that you even agreed. Lottie’s house is the kind of place where even the people who hate each other pose for pictures together.

You pull into Travis’s driveway and honk once. He jogs out a second later, unzipped carhartt jacket over a worn tee, hair still wet from a rushed shower.

“Hey,” he says, climbing in. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you say, a little too quickly. “You look like... you.”

“Wow. That’s flattering.”

You grin as you pull back onto the street. “You’re welcome.”

The ride is quiet after that, but not uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that’s normal for you two, like pressing pause on the world before walking into the chaos together.

When you get to Lottie’s house, the party is already alive, music pulsing, kids swarming the porch, smoke curling out from the side yard.

Travis hangs back a step as you approach the door. “If I end up getting alcohol poisoning,” he mutters, “you better not leave me for dead.”

You nudge his arm. “I’d drag your half-conscious body to safety. Maybe.”

“You’re such a good friend.”

But he says it in a weird voice. Half-teasing, half-sincere.

---

After a while, Travis disappears, something about needing another drink, or maybe just needing a breather. Either way, he slips off into the crowd, and you don’t follow.

You find the girls again, this time in the living room where someone’s pushed the coffee table against the wall and turned the place into a dance floor. Music blasts through the speakers. Van grabs your hand before you can second guess it. “Get over here, party girl!”

You laugh, already pulled into the middle of the room, where Jackie and Taissa are dancing like they don’t care who’s watching. Natalie’s nearby too, drink in hand, swaying lazily with a detached kind of rhythm.

“Where’s your brooding boyfriend?” Van shouts over the music, still holding onto your wrist.

“He’s not my…” You try to yell back, but Jackie cuts you off by spinning into you, hands on your hips, eyes gleaming.

“Oh my god, shut up. Just dance!”

You do.

At first it’s just goofy, half-dancing, half-laughing, letting go of whatever weird weight’s been hanging around your neck all night. Suddenly, you’re pressed between Tai and Van, all hips and hair and the kind of reckless freedom that only happens at house parties hosted by girls with no limits.

Taissa’s behind you in a second, grinning against your shoulder. “Look at you! Who is she?”

You laugh so hard it burns, head tipped back, hands in the air. Someone’s grinding against you, one of the girls, and for a second you stop thinking about Travis entirely.

You feel electric. Unstoppable.

“Holy shit,” Natalie says from the couch, watching the chaos unfold. “You’re like... five seconds away from making that boy combust.”

You slow a little, breath catching. “What boy?”

She just raises an eyebrow. “You know exactly which one.”

But before you can reply, someone stumbles past, and your heart lurches a little.

Because it’s Travis.

He’s across the room now, red Solo cup in hand, hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes scan the crowd like he’s trying to find something, or someone. But he doesn’t see you yet.

When he does, he stops dead.

You freeze, too.

And for a second, the noise fades.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something.

But then someone calls his name, probably one of the guys, and he vanishes again, swallowed back into the crowd like he was never there.

You stay rooted in place, pulse loud in your ears, warmth still buzzing from the dancing, but now with a different kind of burn.

Mari leans in, hair stuck to her cheek. “You should probably go find your boy.”

You pretend not to hear her.

But your feet are already moving.

---

The air upstairs feels hotter, heavier, like the party's heat and sweat followed you up. You weave through the crowd, past couples pressed against walls and kids laughing too loudly, until you finally spot him, slumped sideways in an armchair in what looks like some weirdly formal sitting room.

Travis has his legs sprawled out in front of him, drink in hand, jacket missing, hair a mess. He’s flushed and a little glassy-eyed, talking to someone who’s not even listening anymore, some JV soccer girl already halfway out the door.

“Hey,” you say, stepping inside. “Are you alive?”

He blinks like it takes him a second to recognize you. Then he grins. “There she is.” You fold your arms. “I turn my back for five minutes and you vanish.”

He holds up his cup like it explains everything. “Hydration.”

“Right. Is that what we’re calling vodka now?”

“Could be,” he says with a crooked smile. “Also could be tequila. I genuinely don’t know.” You step closer, studying him. “You look like you’re losing a very polite fight with gravity.”

“I’m winning, actually. This chair loves me.” You raise an eyebrow. “That why you’re trying to flirt with underclassmen now?”

He snorts. “She started it.”

You smirk. “So what, you rebounding from something?”

Travis shrugs, a little too dramatically. “Maybe I’m just putting myself out there. Y’know, seeing what happens. Might hook up with someone. Who’s to say?”

You stare at him, and for a second you’re not sure if you want to laugh or drag him out by the collar of his T-shirt. “Really?”

He shrugs again, all fake casualness. “It’s a party. People do stuff.”

“You’re so bad at pretending not to care.”

That gets him. His grin falters just slightly, and he looks down at his cup. “I’m great at not caring, actually.” You sigh. “Okay, come on.”

He glances up. “What?”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“What? No, I’m thriving.”

“You’re slurring your words, and I think that chair is the only thing keeping you vertical.”

You offer him your hand. “Come on. You’re not hooking up with anyone tonight. I’m taking you home.”

“Home-home or like... your house home?” You snort. “You think your parents would be okay with this?”

He pauses. “Okay. Yeah. Fair.”

Travis grabs your hand, warm and heavier than usual, and lets you pull him up, wobbly on his feet. “This is, like, deeply embarrassing,” he mumbles.

You grin. “Nah. This is just very on-brand for you.”

As you guide him through the hallway, you hear him mutter under his breath: “At least it’s you.”

You don’t ask what he means.

---

The drive home is quiet at first, aside from the low hum of your car’s old speakers. His window is cracked, letting in the cool night air, and he’s slouched low in the seat with one leg bent up awkwardly, head leaning against the door.

After a few minutes, he speaks.

“You’re, like... such a good driver.”

You glance at him. “Thanks?”

“Like, I feel very safe right now,” he adds, dramatically patting the dashboard. “This car? Sanctuary.”

He turns his head toward you slowly, like it takes effort. “Did you know you’re my best friend?”

You blink. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“Yeah, but like...” He pauses, squinting out the windshield. “I mean it. You’re, like, my actual best friend. Not a fake one. Like... the real-deal, ride-or-die, would-hide-a-body kind.”

You smirk. “I’d bury a body for you, but only if you stop talking like you’re in a soap opera.”

“I’m being serious.”

You glance over. He’s staring at you with his cheeks pink from the alcohol and honesty, head still tilted, curls falling into his eyes. “If I was gonna kiss anyone,” he says suddenly, “like, tonight? At that party? It’d be you.”

You nearly swerve.

“I didn’t,” he adds quickly, hands up like you’re about to arrest him. “I’m not. I just... thought about it.”

You grip the wheel tighter. “Okay. Time to shut your mouth, Romeo.”

He snorts, slumping back again, grinning. “Whatever. You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists, half-asleep now. “It’s cute.”

You roll your eyes and flick the turn signal. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Aw, come on…”

“Nope.”

“But I said something sweet…”

“Exactly.”

---

Inside, you flick on the dim kitchen light so the house doesn’t feel too silent, then walk back and sit down in the middle of the couch with a sigh, expecting him to collapse beside you.

Travis follows like a puppy, blinking at you as if trying to calculate something complicated with his very alcohol-slowed brain… and then promptly drops down sideways, head landing in your lap with a muffled, content groan.

“Seriously?” you ask, freezing.

“Mmhm.” His eyes flutter shut. “This is good. You’re warm. Don’t move.”

You glance down at the mop of dark curls now sprawled over your legs. “You’re literally using me as a human pillow.”

“You’re the softest thing in this house.”

“That is not true. We have like a million blankets.” He grins, eyes still shut. “They don’t smell like you.”

Your heart does something dumb and weird.

You huff a breath, trying to ignore the way he’s curling in slightly, knees bent over the armrest like he lives here, like this happens all the time. One of your hands hovers awkwardly in the air before giving up and settling on his shoulder.

���You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re drunk,” you mutter.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

There’s a beat of quiet. His breathing slows a little, not asleep, but closer to peaceful. He shifts just enough to glance up at you through heavy lids.

“You were dancing with Jackie.”

“Yeah?”

“Grinding,” he says, a little accusatory.

You smirk. “A little.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hot.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe I got jealous,” he mumbles.

“Oh yeah?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Was that before or after you tried to flirt with that sophomore?”

“I wasn’t flirting. She offered me a Capri Sun.”

You snort. “Right. Seduction by juice pouch.”

You sit there, fingers gently brushing through his dark hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sound in the room. The silence stretches, stretching tighter as the alcohol slowly fades from his system, leaving something raw in its wake. Travis shifts again, his hand grazing your leg as he adjusts himself in your lap.

You glance down at him, his eyes still hazy but now more focused, an intensity in them that makes your pulse quicken.

"Hang on," you mutter, breaking the silence. "I’ll grab you some water."

You slide off the couch, careful not to disturb him, but he lets out a soft groan of protest, his arm reaching out to catch your wrist.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, eyes barely open.

“I’m just getting you some water,” you reassure him, offering a small smile as you tug gently out of his grasp. “I’ll be right back.”

You leave the couch and walk to the kitchen, the soft sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness of the house. You open the cabinet, fill a glass with water, and take a deep breath. Something about this night, about the way things have shifted between you two, is weighing heavily on your mind. You can't shake the feeling that something is about to change.

You return to the living room, the cool glass of water in your hand. Travis is sitting up now, his gaze fixed on the floor, but you can see the way his hands twitch with restlessness.

“Here,” you hand him the glass, your voice a little more unsure than you’d like. “Drink.”

He takes the water from you, fingers brushing yours for a split second. He’s quiet for a moment, drinking deeply, before he sets the glass down and meets your eyes again. There’s something different in his gaze now, something more vulnerable.

"You know," Travis says, his voice low, hesitant, "I don't really... know how to say this."

You frown, stepping a little closer. "Say what?"

He shifts slightly, his eyes flickering to your face and then away, almost like he’s battling with himself to find the right words. The tension is thick, the air between you both charged with something unspoken.

He exhales, a sharp breath, and finally says, “I don’t know how to act around you sometimes. I try to keep it cool, but… I can’t. You’re my best friend, and I think about you all the time. More than I should. More than I want to, really.”

Your heart skips, but you stay quiet, your chest tight as you try to make sense of his words. There’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that tugs at you. It’s not like him to be this open, this raw.

“I don’t wanna mess things up, but I can’t help it,” he continues, his voice soft, almost like he’s confessing something he’s been carrying for too long. “If I were gonna kiss anyone tonight, it would be you, I meant that when I said it. I’ve wanted to for a while now.”

The words hit you like a wave, catching you off guard. Your breath catches in your throat, your hands suddenly cold as they hang limply by your sides. The air feels thick, suffocating, and for a moment, you wonder if you heard him right. You try to step back, your heart racing.

“Travis, I…” You stammer, the room spinning slightly as your thoughts scramble to catch up with his confession.

He quickly notices the hesitation in your face and his expression falters, turning slightly panicked. “Look, I know this sounds crazy, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I needed to tell you. I don’t want to just hide it anymore. You deserve to know.”

You take a deep breath, your mind racing. “But you’re drunk. This isn’t…”

“I’m not just drunk,” he interrupts, his voice steadier now, more intense. “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I’m not just saying this because of tonight. I’ve been trying to ignore it, pretend like it’s not there. But it is. And I can’t just go on like everything’s normal when it’s not. Not anymore.”

His eyes are searching yours, so deep, so desperate for an answer, and in that moment, everything feels too much. You take a step back, unsure of what to do with the knot in your stomach, the confusion swirling inside you.

He lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with the way this is going. “I’m not expecting anything from you,” he says, his voice quieter now, a little sadder. “I just needed to tell you.”

The silence stretches between you both, heavy and thick. You feel the weight of his words sitting in your chest, and despite the way your mind is spinning, you can’t ignore the pull in your stomach, the way your heart aches with something you can’t quite name.

You finally move toward him again, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You sit beside him. He looks up at you, eyes soft, his vulnerability almost unbearable to witness.

“I don’t want you to regret this,” you whisper, your voice shaking slightly. “I don’t want to be a mistake.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not a mistake,” he says firmly, his voice low and full of certainty. The words hang in the air, thick and charged with tension, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then, slowly, carefully, you close the distance between you both, your lips meeting his in a tentative kiss.

At first, it’s soft, careful, like both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what this will mean. But then, as the tension breaks, the kiss deepens, and suddenly it feels like everything falls into place. His hands move to your back, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your hands threading through his hair as you kiss him with everything you’ve been holding back.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, hearts pounding in your chests.

“I’ve wanted this too,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling as the weight of your own confession settles in.

He smiles, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

You close your eyes and let yourself relax into his arms, knowing that this isn’t just a drunken mistake. This is real, this is happening, and for the first time, you both feel like you can finally be honest.

As you both slowly pull back and settle down on the couch, your heads finding a comfortable position against the cushions, you slip your hand into his, your fingers entwining naturally. You close your eyes, your heart still racing from everything that just happened, but it’s not scary anymore. It feels right.

Travis’s voice breaks the silence, soft and full of contentment. “I’m glad I finally told you.”

“Me too,” you reply, letting out a sigh of relief as you snuggle closer to him.

With his arm around you, you both finally drift off to sleep, your hearts beating in sync, leaving nothing left unsaid.

[insufferablewhore]

15: Favorite movie

19: A fact about your personality

33: What words make me feel the best about myself

39: My favorite ice cream flavor

scream 1996, black christmas, silence of the lambs!!

UHHH UHH FUCK UHHH I LOVE GOSSIP??? 😭😭

i like when people call me funny or sweet <3

cookie dough 😼

[tinyy-tea-cup]

What you think

Blud making me choose 😭🙏 GRR 😡

[raenaetbh]

my heart flutters and does a spin when my bff who just gets it refers to me as he whenever he can

[casca-lovelyz]

hey sexy butt😈

HEY LOVE OF MY LIFE😼

[leavemebeimcolorsad]

Finland

[stilessflannel]

one hand keeping your thighs from crushing his skull, one on your lower stomach keeping you from grinding into his face. he’s completely in control and you have no choice other than to just take it.

<3

[blorbosorbet]

A quick little Danny

[muse4bloom]

he was yelled at by his huzz and now he’s sulking in bed.

[luigisleftshoe]

Dating Luigi Headcanons

How it starts:

Yall probably meet at like one of three places; some activity like surfing (you get a sneak peek of him shirtless in board shorts), at a bar and your trying to play pool and he’s like “ actually 🤓 you need to hold the stick like this” (man was actually just trying to flirt with you and he didn’t know how to), or HEAR ME out like a random niche gym class you both signed up for and your both just there like 🧍‍♀️🧍

First date I feel like is like slightly unhinged actually?? Like this man wouldn’t go straight for like “let’s get dinner together” the man wants to do an escape room to see how compatible you guys are at solving puzzles together ? Yall will progress to dinner tho

Also like I look at his Virgo moon and Aries Venus and I’m just like I feel like Luigi would lowkey play hard to get. Not in like the he likes to be chased way but more of a he’s like very anxious in commitment. Like it takes a lot for this man to be like yes ! Were bf and gf! Ya know like he really has to be warmed up to the idea

Anyways!

He takes a stupidly long time to actually confess that he likes you too! Like you’ll be there 3 “friend dates deep” and haven’t even held hands. But once he does it’s very heartfelt and dramatic and you know he’s using his hands a lot to try and convey how he feels. Definitely would prefer a friends to lovers type beat

That’s also not to say he hasn’t had his fair share of hookups bc look at that man who wouldn’t want him. But like he’s not just gonna bring anyone home to his mom ya know. Also italian-Americans boys are massive mamas boys imo so if he’s bringing someone home HES BRINGING HIS PERSON HOME. Like Look, Luigi would treat introducing you to his family as basically a marriage proposal ok. Not everyone gets to be brought home to his family and he will be stressing about it for weeks beforehand like it’s a final boss battle.

Being together:

The man loves being domesticated??? Legitimately it’s his favorite thing. Grocery shopping? A date! Washing dishes together? A date! Fixing a leaky sink together? Basically foreplay.

Bro he would love it if you hopped in the cart while grocery shopping and just directed him around and what to get. he’ll love pushing you around, but after like 5 minutes he’s dramatically like,“Okay my turn, get out. It’s my turn” And man would be a sassy king about it too.

Like you’ll reach for a random olive oil and he’s already behind you like,“No. We get the good one. That one’s disrespectful. Put it back.”

He’s surprisingly (not at all) very bossy but not in a jerk way, more of a him putting his hand on the small of your back and steering you left in the grocery aisle because “Babe, trust me, the good bakery section’s this way.”

Also he would be constantly glued to you when your at home together. Like everything is a group activity. You’re trying to wash dishes? He’s behind you, arms around your waist, doing absolutely nothing helpful but insisting, “No I’m helping, moral support.” You’re folding laundry? He’s throwing socks at you and laughing when you miss.

OHMYGOD he would be so serious about home improvement projects. Full engineer mode. It doesn’t matter that his engineering is not at all close to the project you're doing. He's got out his protractor and man is hard at work. And he would fully try and reenact like a porno trope of OHMYGOD the sexy maintaince man has come to service you 😏😏 while waggling his eyebrows.

Busts out unnecessary tools just for the aesthetic. You’re hanging one (1) picture frame and he’s got a full toolbox laid out like a weapons montage scene in a spy movie. Leveler? Check. Protractor? Check. Stud finder? Beeping it against his own chest like “guess I found one.”

OH and he will INSIST on doing it shirtless “because he’s sweating.” And it’s like sir you unscrewed two screws why are you shirtless. No ones complaining ab it tho.

He has absolutely zero chill once you praise him. You say one thing like “Wow you’re so handy,” and he short circuits. Immediately ten times cockier. “You know I could totally redo the whole kitchen. Build you a greenhouse. Knock down a wall. Babe we could have an open floor plan in like two weekends.” Man would be threads deep in Reddit that night trying to figure out how to rebuild your entire house just the way you want.

I feel like once this man is in he’s in and he’s absolutely whipped. Man is so obviously down bad for you and he doesn’t even care he’ll own every time his friends give him shit for it. Like “stay pressed you can barely get a tinder date”

Would insist on you stealing his clothes. Would purposely leave a hoodie draped over your couch like “Oh nooo I guess you have to wear it now, crazy how that happens.” But also the man like rotates the same closet from 8th grade so lowkey he starts running out of clothes v quickly if you steal them.

Gets quietly obsessed with your hobbies.You start painting? He’s randomly showing up with watercolor sets. You like baking? He’s researching recipes to try with you. Literally acts like whatever you love is now his life’s purpose too. He would absolutely die on the spot if you expressed interest in his too he’d be so happy.

Will never, ever, EVER forget anniversaries, milestones, or inside jokes.

Also just wanna say the man likes to argue for the sake of arguing. Like to be fair he probably is right but when he isn’t he doesn’t stop bc he just loves the debate. Lowkey gets turned on by it if it’s a good debate

Also idk why I have this feeling but I just know this man loves to get high and fuck up overcooked with you.

“Babe, trust me, I’m cracked at this game. I’m basically Gordon Ramsay.” 20 minutes later he’s screaming because he’s accidentally thrown a pot of soup into a trash can.

He gets high and turns into a full-blown Overcooked tyrant. Barking fake orders like “YOU’RE ON TOMATO DUTY, MOVE MOVE MOVE!!” Running around in circles on the screen shouting “WHERE’S THE PAN?! WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?! WHO BURNED THE ONIONS?!” (It was him. He burned the onions.)

He absolutely BLAMES YOU for everything that goes wrong. “Babe you’re supposed to be dicing! Why are you just standing there?!” Meanwhile he’s throwing chopped lettuce at a plate that’s already on fire.

He’s losing every level but he’s like “One more time. We’ll get three stars this time. I have a new strategy.”(His strategy is yelling louder.)(I’ve never met a quiet Italian man in my life)

Afterwards he cuddles you and swears you’re a terrible teammate but he wouldn’t want anyone else. He’s laying on you like a weighted blanket, mumbling into your shoulder, “You’re the worst line cook but the best girlfriend. You can’t teach that kind of loyalty.”

Hes way more protective than he possessive

Like Walks on the street side of the sidewalk without thinking about it. Steps between you and a guy being weird at a bar. Double-checks your locks without even saying anything. Notices when you’re tired or uncomfortable before you even say anything and adjusts.

If a guy flirts with you? His vibe would be less “blow up and make a scene” and more “laughs coldly, stares daggers, and tightens his grip on your hand.”

Below the belt:

He’s way more dominant than he acts day-to-day. He’s playful and flirty outside the bedroom. But once the tension tips over? He’s heavy, needy, in charge, and a little mean (in a sexy way). “You’re not getting away from me tonight.”

Man is a golden retriever by day but night is a different story

Grips your hips, manhandles you easily, but with that slow patience — dragging it out because he likes hearing you beg a little

Slow build king. As he should be tho. Foreplay lasts forever if he has his way.

Kisses down your chest like he’s savoring a wine tasting flight. Hands everywhere — mapping you out like he’s learning you on purpose. Whispering stupid cocky things between kisses like “you’re not even ready for me yet, babe.”

Really into control( we’ve all seen how big his hands are you know he likes to put them around your throat)lowkey would love to sleep spooning with his hand around your neck. Loves when you tug at his shirt, moan for him, grab at his arms.The second you show him you want him to take it further, it’s over.He switches into that possessive slow dominance mode instantly.“Good girl. That’s all you had to say.”

He’s a growler, not a moaner. When he gets frustrated (aka you’re teasing him too much)? You’re gonna hear him low-growl “quit playin’ with me.” It’s half warning, half promise, and it always ends with you absolutely wrecked.

HES A MUNCH. I KNOW A MUNCH WHEN I SEE ONE

Will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him. Turns it into a game — how long can he keep you trembling, gasping, falling apart on his mouth? Spoiler: longer than you can handle

[goyardgoyangi]

𐙚 :¨ ·.· ¨: `· . ꔫ busy woman

You don’t believe in the power of fate, but you do trust in the power of probability. And the probability of running into a stupidly attractive guy at a highly competitive internship interview? Low. The probability of said guy rejecting you? A little higher. But the probability of ending up in the same program—and the same project group—as him after that rejection? Practically zero. And yet, here you are.

eren yeager x reader

wc: 1.2k

The first time you see him, he’s sitting across from you in Amazon’s sleek, modern lobby, scrolling through his phone with an air of boredom. His long hair falls effortlessly over his shoulders, framing sharp green eyes, and the all-black outfit he’s wearing only adds to the effortlessly cool aura he exudes. It’s infuriating.

The other candidates in the lobby are visibly tense—eyes darting across their laptop screens, reviewing LeetCode problems like their lives depend on it. Meanwhile, he looks like he just rolled out of bed and showed up for fun. He’s probably the type to start coding projects the night they’re due and still get a perfect score. The type who never second-guesses himself in a technical interview. The type who coasts through life on sheer talent.

It’s hard not to be at least a little resentful—especially in this job market. You sent out over 200 applications, grinded through a grueling technical screening, and sacrificed weeks of sleep just for this shot. And here he is, looking like he has nothing to worry about.

You fidget with your fingers, trying to shake off your pre-interview nerves. Maybe he’s a nepo baby. Maybe his dad is a senior dev here, and this interview is just a formality. That scenario isn’t unheard of. There’s no way a normal college student would be that calm right now.

You sigh, letting your mind wander to all the K-dramas you’ve watched about office romances. Out of the sea of awkward, smelly, socially inept CS major guys, he’s like a rare exception—the kind of guy who actually looks good while coding. Gosh, imagine if someone like him was your coworker. Debugging wouldn’t be so miserable if you were pulling all-nighters next to a guy like that. If only.

You’re still lost in your little fantasy when a voice snaps you back to reality.

“The next interview group, please come forward.”

Your name is called first.

And then—

“Eren Yeager.”

Oh.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye as he stands, stretching lazily before trailing after the recruiter. As he walks past, you catch the faintest whiff of something clean and expensive—unfairly good.

Life really isn’t fair. Not only is he ridiculously good-looking, but he’s also tall. And he smells good.

You force yourself to refocus, but as you follow the recruiter inside, the awareness of him lingers, making your heart rate spike even more. You shouldn’t care—he’s just another candidate, really, just another competitor. You should be silently praying for his downfall. But something about the way he carries himself—so effortlessly confident—only makes you hyper-aware of your own unease.

By the time you’re seated, you push all unnecessary thoughts aside.

The interview goes well—better than well. You answer the behavioral questions smoothly (after rehearsing them so many times you could probably recite the prompts in your sleep), showcase your problem-solving and people skills (shoutout to all those painfully competitive career workshops from uni), and even throw in a few well-placed jokes that make your interviewers smile (carefully crafted after an embarrassingly deep dive into their LinkedIn profiles).

By the time you walk out, you feel good—so good that, on a wild impulse that not even your obsessive need to be prepared could have accounted for, you find yourself stopping in front of Eren by the elevators. He’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone like he has nowhere to be.

“Hey,” you say.

He looks up, surprised. His sharp green eyes flick over you, taking you in for a moment before he responds. “Hey.”

You hesitate for half a second. Then, before you can overthink it, you say, “We were in the same interview group, and I think you’re really cute. Would you wanna go out sometime?”

Eren blinks. He wasn’t expecting that. Hell, even you weren’t expecting that. But when someone has a face card like his, sometimes you just have to shoot your shot.

Then—silence. A long, excruciating pause. The kind that stretches just long enough to make you wonder if you sounded creepy. Oh god. Maybe you came off weird. Or desperate. Or worse—maybe he thinks you’re completely out of his league, and not in the fun, delusional way.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales, his gaze flicking over you once more before taking out an airpod to bluntly say, “I don’t really date.”

Oh.

You try your best not to let the rejection sting for too long. After all, Eren’s gorgeous and probably gets asked out by girls all the time—enough to build immunity to it. What could you say? Beautiful people should date other beautiful people, and even with your fair share of self-confidence, you felt deep down that he was out of your league.

But your obsession with being prepared had its perks. It helped you be adaptable in situations like this. “No worries,” you say smoothly, flashing him a casual grin (one you practiced in front of the bathroom mirror, imagining hypothetical situations like this) like it’s no big deal—despite the fact that your heart feels like it’s been stomped on. “Good luck with the internship.”

And with that, you turn and leave down the stairs, pretending like it never happened.

A month later, you get the acceptance email.

You’re beyond thrilled—thrilled when you (finally) announce your highly coveted internship at frickin’ Amazon, thrilled when you go out to the club with your girlfriends to celebrate the end of internship application season, and thrilled when you hear about the sweet, sweet pay (which you’re already planning to save up for a winter break trip to go snowboarding) during the Zoom onboarding meeting.

You’re so thrilled, in fact, that you can’t imagine anything ruining your high. That is, until you walk into orientation and see a very familiar face sitting at one of the tables.

Eren Yeager.

His gaze flicks up as you enter, recognition flashing in his eyes. For a split second, neither of you says anything. You freeze, feeling your face flushing with heat. He holds your gaze for what feels like an eternity before you break it, quickly looking down at the floor, mortified beyond belief. The probability of this happening was practically zero.

And yet, here he is.

You tug at the hem of your newly bought shirt from Mango (a mini present to yourself to celebrate landing the internship of your dreams, the pinnacle of what your college experience had amounted to on your resume), trying to distract yourself, but nothing can shake the immense embarrassment you feel.

To make matters worse, the project manager steps to the front of the room and announces, “Alright, summer interns! You’ll be working in assigned dev groups for the summer. Let’s introduce you to your teams.”

You can already feel the impending doom, as if the universe and all its forces are conspiring against you. What were the chances? Your opps must’ve gotten together in a group chat and ordered the most expensive bootleg spell from Etsy to make sure this moment—your moment, the one you’ve worked your butt off for—was as awkward as humanly possible.

You knew life was getting too good to be true.

[insufferablewhore]

❤️💙❤️‍🔥💜🤎 love you

THANK YOU HUZZ I LOVE YOU TOO 🫶🫶🫶

[boopiemadz]

BICEPSSS 🗣🗣🗣

#yummy 😋

[sweetsourbelt]

[bunnydoobles]

*rises from the dead* OUGH.. hey guys

have ygor.

i've been drawing him nonstop and i'd post my other doobles but my phone sucks and hates me so it wont upload 💔🥀 soon, my friends... soon