takeyrregrets

[takeyrregrets]

I loved the platonic one, is there anyway you could do something similar but instead of foster dad it’s a police officer that’s always there for the delinquent kid because he’s noticed things that hint at his bad home life and eventually takes him in after being sent to the teens house for a domestic call? Only if your comfortable!

'𝗕𝗮𝗱' 𝗞𝗶𝗱 𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲𝗿 & 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗧𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 I love writing platonic stuff...does that say something abt my family life? Most likely

He always seemed to be around, didn’t he?

Every time the cuffs went on—whether it was for something you did or something they just assumed you did—he was there. Calm. Steady. Different. Not like the others who looked at you like a lost cause, like trash that needed to be cleaned off the streets. No, he looked at you like he saw something more. Like he was trying to see something more.

He never said much. But he always asked the right questions.

“Did you eat today?” “Where’s that bruise from?” “You sure you’re okay walking home alone?”

You hated how your voice always cracked when you answered. How your hands itched with shame when you lied. How you wanted to tell him everything, even when you didn’t have the words for it. You didn’t ask for him to care. You didn’t need him to.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But then the call came in.

He didn’t even know it was your address until dispatch said your name over the radio. Something in him just snapped. He was the first one through the door, before backup even had their boots on. And he saw it—the broken lamp, the overturned table, the way you flinched when someone raised their voice.

He saw you, curled up small in the corner, hands shaking and eyes wide, like you were bracing for another hit that hadn’t come yet.

And he broke. Not loudly. Not violently. But something inside him cracked, permanent and quiet. A decision. A promise.

That night, you didn't go back home.

Not to the blood-stained carpet or the smell of beer on breath. Not to the shouting and the doors slammed too hard. No, that night, you sat in the passenger seat of his cruiser, a borrowed hoodie draped over your shoulders. His.

“You’re not going back there,” he said. Firm. Like a vow. “Not again.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just stared out the window, waiting for the catch. Waiting for him to change his mind. But he didn’t.

He brought you to a small apartment—modest, but warm. He made you tea, handed you a blanket, and didn’t ask you to explain a single thing. You slept on his couch that night, eyes still red, mind still racing.

And when you woke up the next morning, he was there. Making breakfast.

“You like eggs?” he asked, like this was normal. Like this was just life now.

You didn’t know what to say. You just stared, before he smiled and turned his head back towards the pan. As if he read your mind. And when he placed the plate down in front of you, two yellow yolk stared right at you.

[takeyrregrets]

The newest one is another one of my requests that I accidentally misclicked the emoji on in anon😭

- 🦭

haha no worries 🦭 I saw that in ur other req :)

[takeyrregrets]

Another idea!! Okay so, delinquent reader x a childhood friend who made a mistake.

Oc and reader were completely inseparable since childhood after their parents introduced them to each other. Oc was an energetic kid, always begging his parents to meet up with reader, while the reader was more shy. But him being shy didn't mean that he hated the company, actually he absolutely adored the other, looking up to him in a way. Everytime they would play oc would effortlessly make temporary friends on the playground, and everytime his playground friends tried pushing Reader away since he was quiet oc wouldn't allow it.

Until they started highschool, oc made friends with the “popular” kids. He started hanging out with them more and more, slowly pulling away from reader. Until one day he got an ultimatum, either to stay with them or reader, and he chose the popular kids. What oc didn't know was that his new friend group would start bullying reader, at first he's shocked, trying to stop it, but after a while.. he just starts silently watching.

This causes the reader to disappear from school for months after it got severe (bullying was for a few years). But when he came back, he was different. Snappy, temperamental, a delinquent. Oc seeing this realizes how much he's changed, that he's no longer the cute shy kid that looked up to him. Oc starts trying to fix things, but you choose if it works in this fic or not.

I'm so fucking sorry this is so goddamn long 💀

-💀

𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀? 𝗖𝗮𝗻 𝘄𝗲 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀? 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝘅 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 just realized I never made a title for this oh my god anyways heres the updated version

You weren’t supposed to come back.

That was the unspoken rule, wasn't it? Once you vanished—after the bruises, after the rumors, after the final time someone shoved you down the stairs and Elian just stood there—you were gone.

No one expected to see you again. Not the teachers. Not the kids. Certainly not him.

But here you are, pushing open the gates of West Ridge High like you own the damn place, teeth bared in a half-lazy, half-daring grin. It’s not real, of course. Just something you wear now, like your beat-up leather jacket and scuffed boots and that permanent slouch in your shoulders that says just screams problem starter.

And yeah, maybe you do start problems

Your hair’s longer. You’ve got a lip ring and bandages across your knuckles from a fight you didn’t win, but refused to lose. The office staff barely recognize you when you sign in.

Elian definitely doesn’t.

You catch him staring during first period.

It���s almost funny, the way he freezes when you walk in. Like a ghost just entered the room instead of a guy who used to braid clover chains for him during recess.

You take the seat furthest from him, ignoring the way he keeps glancing over like you might evaporate if he blinks too long.

Too late for that.

You’ve already disappeared once.

By third day back, everyone knows not to mess with you.

Not because you’re loud. Not because you fight much, though you have made a name for yourself in backlot scraps behind the gym. It’s just the way you are now—quiet like thunder in the distance. People hear it, and they don’t wait to see the storm.

Except him.

He corners you behind the vending machines after school, his hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets like he’s scared you’ll break his fingers if he tries to reach out.

"Can I—" he starts, but you already know.

You don’t look at him. "No."

He flinches. "You don’t even know what I was gonna say."

"Doesn’t matter."

There’s a pause. You hear him shift, like he’s about to walk away. But then—

"I didn’t choose them over you. I—" He exhales, and it’s shaky. “I thought I had time. I thought you’d always be there.”

That stops you. Just a beat.

You turn, finally meeting his eyes. They're the same ones that used to sparkle when you brought him wildflowers. Now they're red-rimmed. Guilty.

"You watched me get torn apart," you say, voice low. “For years. Not once. Not twice. Every damn day.”

He swallows hard. “I was scared.”

"So was I."

Another pause.

He looks at you then—not like you're some broken thing he wants to fix, but like someone he misses. Truly, achingly. Like he’s been walking around half-alive and only just found the part of him he lost.

“I never stopped—” His voice cracks. “You were my best friend. My only real one. I just... I got so caught up trying to be liked. Trying to be safe.”

You’re quiet for a long time.

Then, without thinking, you say it.

“You could’ve been safe with me.”

After that, he doesn’t push.

Not for a while.

But you notice things.

An extra juice box left beside your locker. A sticky note on your desk that says “math test Friday” in familiar chicken-scratch. Someone tripping in the hallway only for Elian to be at your side a second later, ready to fight whoever touched you—until he realizes you handled it first.

You don’t say anything.

But when you sit down at lunch one day and find him already at your usual spot, tray untouched, hands clenched in his lap, waiting—you pause.

He looks up.

Just once, he smiles. A little lopsided. A little broken.

“Hey.”

You sit across from him.

You don’t say anything.

But your leg brushes his under the table, and this time, you don’t pull away.

Healing isn't clean.

You still snap at him some days. Still storm out when something hits too close. You still hate the way he flinches sometimes—like he's expecting the worst from you.

And he still cries sometimes. Not in front of you, but you hear it in the way he says “I’m sorry” like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

But he shows up.

He listens.

He doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He just stays.

And maybe… maybe that’s enough for now.

Because there’s a quiet night—late spring, air smelling like rain—where you’re sitting on the hood of his mom’s car, both of you staring at the stars like you used to, and he whispers—

“Are we still friends?”

You don’t answer right away.

But you lean your head on his shoulder.

And it’s the first time he doesn’t cry when you touch him.

[takeyrregrets]

Reqs are closed so I can catch up on them all!! Sorry yall :)

[takeyrregrets]

Reqs are closed so I can catch up on them all!! Sorry yall :)

[takeyrregrets]

Oh my god, I just woke up to the new gym buddy one and I am resisting the urge to giggle and kick my feet. Hilariously, I am awake early to GO TO THE GYM LMAO. Thank you so much for filling that extremely self-indulgent request of mine aaaaa

Im glad you liked anon!!! Just as I was reading this I actually was getting ready for the gym so that is ironic

[takeyrregrets]

Could we have a fic where two guys are workout buddies, with one of them being completely oblivious about his own charm (the reader) and the other being a guy struggling to keep a strong and silent front as he struggles with constant gay panic?

𝗦𝗽𝗼𝘁 𝗠𝗲 𝗚𝘆𝗺 𝗕𝘂𝗱𝗱𝘆 𝘅 𝗢𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 Sorry I've been gone for a bit! Sickness really hit me hard so I've been using my time gone to get better!! Enjoy this anon!

"Dude, you’re gonna pop a vein," you say with a grin, wiping sweat off your brow as you lean against the squat rack, "Seriously, relax. It’s just me."

It was just you. Shirt riding up slightly, hair sticking to your forehead, arms pumping from curls you insisted were “just for tone,” and an easy grin that somehow made his stomach curl like he’d just deadlifted 500 pounds.

He grunts, turning away before you can see his ears going red again.

You’re his gym buddy. His very chatty, very affectionate, very touchy gym buddy who doesn’t seem to notice that every high five leaves Micah staring at his hand like it just betrayed national secrets.

You’d been doing this for months now. Morning workouts, protein shakes, friendly jabs, and occasional man-hugs that lasted two seconds too long. To you, it was nothing. To Micah, it was everything. Every laugh, every lean, every “you’re strong, dude” made his brain overheat like a treadmill left on max.

Today’s just worse than usual. You’d shown up in a cut-off tee with your hair tied back, bouncing slightly on your feet as you waited for him in front of the bench press.

Micah had taken one look at you, nodded coolly, and then promptly dropped his water bottle, missed the cap, and tried to play it off with a cough.

You hadn’t even noticed. You’d just smiled and clapped him on the back so hard it sent a shiver down his spine.

Now, you're doing tricep dips on the bench, and Micah's pretending not to watch your arms flex while he pretends to care about stretching. Which he never does. But today? He is suddenly very interested in his hamstrings.

"You good, man?" you ask, hopping up and walking over, towel around your neck.

"Fine," he says. One word. He always sticks to one word. It’s safer.

You laugh. "You're always so intense. You know that, right?"

Micah shrugs, face impassive. But inside?

God, I’m gonna die. He smells like citrus. Why does he smell like citrus. Why is he always smiling. Why does he say my name like it means something.

You reach out suddenly and tug the hem of his shirt. "Your tag’s sticking out."

Micah flinches like you just proposed.

You blink. "You okay?"

He nods stiffly. "Yeah. Just sore." From carrying the weight of this crush and the entire gym, probably.

You grin. "Well, you do go hard." A pause. "Want to get smoothies after?"

He stares at you like you just offered him the world.

Then nods.

"Sure." Cool. Collected. Dead inside.

[takeyrregrets]

I hope your getting well!!

-🦭

Hi 🦭!! Ive been getting better hopefully in the next few days I will catch up on requests :)

[takeyrregrets]

I got an idea because of my friend, popular guy x forgettable reader. The reader is always in the background and people don't really notice him then sometimes people says "oh yeah, I forgot about you" or "oh I didn't see you there" but the popular guy always see him and watching reader. I got that from my friend because him and his boyfriend is like that. Btw your story is always amazing and I love them.

-🌂

𝗨𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗣𝗼𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗚𝘂𝘆 𝘅 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 Cute prompt--sorry this is so short I actually have been super sick all week Enjoy Ren:)

You’re easy to miss.

People walk right past you without looking. Sometimes they bump into you and only say “sorry” out of habit, not because they noticed. When working in group projects, they ask, “Wait, when did you join this class?” And when you speak, it takes everyone a second too long to register your voice.

You laugh it off. Like it’s funny. Like it doesn’t dig under your skin. Maybe you’re used to it. Maybe you think you deserve it.

But he notices you.

He always does.

He sees the way you sit quietly in the corner of every room. The way your fingers twitch when you're anxious. The way your eyes flit across people’s faces, trying to figure out where to stand, where to be, where you won’t be in the way.

You never are, by the way. In the way, he means. Not to him.

He watches you when you don’t know it. He memorizes the way you fidget with the strap of your bag, the way you chew the inside of your cheek when you’re reading. You always pick the seat near the back of the room, near the window if you can. You like looking outside, like maybe the world out there is quieter, kinder.

You bring the same snack every day. Half the time you forget to eat it. You write little notes to yourself on the corners of your worksheets. Sometimes they're reminders, sometimes just doodles. He’s read them when he passes by. You always look surprised when people speak to you. Like it doesn’t happen often.

It should happen more.

He thinks about talking to you every day. He thinks about it so much it makes his chest ache. But he doesn’t want to scare you off. You don’t seem used to being noticed. He wonders if it would feel like too much. Like a spotlight. Like a fire alarm going off in a library.

To him, you’re the loudest thing in the room. You’re the only thing that feels real when everything else is noise and lights and people wanting things from him. You're soft in a way the world forgets to be.

Someday, when you look up, he hopes you see him already looking.

And he hopes you stay.

[takeyrregrets]

thanks for doing the buff nerd x himbo request, I loved the story

Glad u enjoyed Anon :)

[takeyrregrets]

okay hear me out...

A himbo reader , absolute idiot, but buff and hot

X

Buff nerd

𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗱 𝗨𝗽 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗔 𝗝𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗚𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗨𝗽 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗔 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱 𝘅 𝗕𝗶𝗺𝗯𝗼 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 Thought this was really funny but cute 😭 Enjoy this short drabble anon with this guy I've deemed Zander

You’re standing in front of the vending machine, squinting at the glowing rows of snacks like you’re trying to decipher ancient runes. Your massive arms are crossed, muscles bulging under the sleeves of your T-shirt. Your face is twisted in pure, undiluted concentration.

"Okay... so if the Cheetos are in B3... but I press C3... would that give me like, bonus chips?" you mumble to yourself, voice low and serious, like you’re solving a complex equation.

Behind you, there’s a quiet clearing of a throat. You turn around and nearly bump chest-first into him.

Thick black glasses perched on his nose, notebook clutched in one hand, sleeves rolled up to reveal surprisingly ripped forearms. He looks like he walked straight out of a lab and a powerlifting competition at the same time. It's unfair, honestly. He’s got that kind of smart-and-dangerous vibe, like he could solve a physics problem while bench pressing you.

"You'll get Funyuns if you press C3," he says flatly, peering over his glasses at you. "And no. You don't get bonus chips. That’s... not how vending machines work."

You blink down at him, then break into a wide, blinding grin. "Whoa, you’re like, really smart, dude!" you say, clapping a hand on his shoulder a little too hard. He stumbles slightly from the impact. "Thanks, man! You just saved me from making a huge mistake."

He adjusts his glasses with a faint blush. "It’s not... it’s basic logic. I mean, it’s labeled."

You nod sagely, as if he just spoke the most profound wisdom known to mankind. "Dang. You must be, like, the smartest dude on campus." You pause, then grin even bigger. "And you're super jacked too! That's crazy! Are you like... a brainiac and a bodybuilder??"

He coughs awkwardly, looking down at his notebook. "...I... I do some lifting. After classes." (He doesn't mention he started lifting mostly because he read somewhere that getting stronger could help with anxiety. He also doesn't mention he definitely noticed you at the gym months ago.)

You’re still beaming at him like he just invented fire. "You’re like... the full package, bro," you say with awe, clenching your fists dramatically. "Brains and biceps."

You don't notice the way he fumbles his notebook a little. You also don’t notice the way his ears turn pink.

"...You should pick B3," he mutters quickly. "That’s Cheetos. You said you wanted Cheetos."

You gasp. "You remembered what snack I wanted?!" You clutch your chest like you've been mortally wounded. "Dude. That’s so... so nice."

He opens his mouth to say something — probably something very smart and logical — but you’re already shoving the vending machine code in with all the enthusiasm of a golden retriever finding a new stick.

As the Cheetos drop with a satisfying clunk, you grab the bag and hold it out to him like a precious offering.

"You want the first handful?" you ask, still grinning ear to ear. "Since you’re, like, the hero of this story."

He stares at you, notebook limp at his side, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to figure out an equation that just doesn't compute.

Finally, he clears his throat again — quieter this time — and pushes up his glasses.

"...Sure," he says, a little too quickly..

[takeyrregrets]

I'm glad you liked the request!! Also I really enjoyed what you ended up writing.

Also I have a really long request just resting in my notes, but it's like really fucking long (mostly OC's and reader's background since it's important) so idk if it's okay it get's sent

- 🦭

U can go ahead and send it! Depending on how long it is it might sit in my inbox for a bit just cause I would want to figure out how to properly write it in a way that fits my writing style but still incorporates everything you have put into the request :)

[takeyrregrets]

Idea! So I was thinking, how about a always cheerful popular reader, like nothing can dampen his mood and no one has seen him upset + a delinquent.

So, the reader is from a poor family and lives in a run down apartment where the doors are squeaky and the elevator always shuts down. He only has his mother left after his father disappeared when he was young. And ever since young he always has been able to make friends easily, except for the fact that they never stick around, always disappearing for odd reasons, their parents getting a new job somewhere else, getting a new friend group, the same thing went for his things like for fucks sake his favorite ball got stolen by a bird. So after a while he starts to accept that nothing will stick around, enjoying his time with people and going out of his way to hang out with them. But, when he meets the delinquent he immediately falls in love never leaving him alone, before realizing that he probably shouldn't try getting into a relationship with him. So he starts trying to ship the delinquent with someone else, not knowing that the delinquent fell in love too and wasn't about to let him go.

Holy shit this was long

-🦭

𝗜 𝗪𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘅 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 this was a really cute!--And really sad prompt, also I love the amount of detail you put in omg

The elevator was broken again. Of course it was. You huffed a laugh under your breath, sneakers scuffing against the cracked tiles as you started up the stairs. Twelve flights wasn't so bad. You'd done worse. Your backpack swung side to side, stuffed with the leftovers Mrs. Langston had handed you from the bakery — she'd caught you eyeing the cupcakes again for what must be the hundredth time. People are nice, you thought, humming. Even if they don't stick around forever, even if jobs moved them or life swept them away — they stayed, for a little while at least. And that was enough.

You reached your floor, stepping over the spot where the carpet had worn down to nothing. Your apartment door squeaked when you pushed it open. Inside, the lights flickered once, twice, before settling into a dim yellow. Your mom's voice floated from the living room where she sat on the couch, counting out every dollar bill--figuring out how much could be spent for the following month

You smiled. You were lucky. It wasn’t much, but it was home. You liked the creaky floors and the peeling paint. They reminded you that some things could survive even if they weren't perfect.

You first met the schools so called "delinquent" when you were sitting on the curb after school, waiting for a bus that was already an hour late.

He was leaning against the bust stop sign, cigarette dangling from his lips, hoodie pulled up like he was daring someone to bother him.

You waved at him. Big grin, wide and open, like he wasn’t the scariest guy on campus. "You waiting for the bus too?" you asked.

He just stared at you like you’d spoken another language. Then shrugged, unsure, and suspicion all over his face.

You laughed, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Cool. Guess we’re both screwed, huh?"

He didn’t smile. But he didn’t walk away either.

That was enough. After that, you started showing up wherever he was. Park benches. Behind the school dumpsters. At the corner store where he loitered like he had nowhere better to be. You didn't ask permission. You just sat down next to him and started talking.

At first, he barely acknowledged you. But slowly — so slowly you almost missed it — he started listening. Then answering. One-word answers. Shrugs. Then eventually, full sentences.

He even walked you home once, shoving his hands deep into his pockets like he was mad at himself for it.

You thought he was just being nice. It felt better to ignore the fact he only acted this way with you. It hit you one afternoon. You were sitting on the curb again, eating cheap gas station sandwiches, and you looked over at him, and your heart just... ached.

You liked him. A lot.

And because you liked him..., you couldn’t be selfish.

You knew better than anyone that nothing good stayed. You weren’t going to drag him into that. You weren’t going to let him end up another thing you broke just by touching.

So you started trying to set him up with other people. Though he was quick to set you straight...

"You and Mari would be cute together," you said one day, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk.

He didn't even look up from his phone. "No."

You laughed, playing it off. "What about AJ? He’s cool. He’s into the same music as you."

"No."

You frowned. "You can’t just say no to everyone, dummy."

"I can when they're not you," he muttered.

You froze. Your breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

He realized what he said a second too late. His jaw tightened. His eyes darted away, like he wanted to shove the words back into his mouth.

You forced out a laugh — too loud, too fake — and shoved his shoulder playfully. "Don't joke like that!" you teased, heart cracking wide open.

He just stared at you for a long, heavy moment. Like he wanted to say something else. Something dangerous. But then he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and muttered, "Forget it."

You wanted to ask what he meant. You wanted to reach for him.

But you didn’t. Because you were a coward. Because you knew how this story ended.

Instead, you smiled your biggest, brightest smile — the one you used to hold yourself together when you were breaking apart inside.

"Let's go get slushies," you said, yanking at his sleeve. "Race ya!"

He let you drag him along, grumbling under his breath.

But you didn't miss the way his fingers brushed yours when he thought you wouldn't notice. You didn't miss the way he stayed close, always just half a step behind, like if he let you get too far, you'd disappear.

And maybe you would have, once.

But not this time. You were sitting on the curb again. Same spot as the first day you met him. The bus was late. (Of course.) The sky was smudged gray, the air heavy with that feeling right before rain.

He sat next to you, hoodie up, legs stretched out like he didn’t care about anything.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to tell him that maybe you were tired of letting things slip away. That maybe you were ready — terrified, but ready — to hold onto something for once.

But you didn't know how. So you muttered, softly, quietly, almost afraid he would actually hear "Hey Kaz?..What if...things actually stayed you know...constant..?" You looked up into the sky, eyeing the grey clouds with suspicion, avoiding his gaze "I mean, it’s kinda dumb, right? Stuff never stays. It's just better to enjoy it while it lasts." He was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, voice low, rough, like he was dragging it up from somewhere deep, "I'm not going anywhere."

You froze.

You stared at him.

He stared back, something almost desperate burning in his gaze.

Your heart hammered so loud you could barely hear yourself breathe.

"I—" He started, sitting up straighter, fists clenched on his knees. "I don't care if you think it's stupid. I'm not leaving. I don't care if you try to push me away. I lo—"

SCREEEEEECH.

The bus lurched around the corner, brakes screaming as it pulled up in front of you.

He flinched like he'd been slapped. You flinched too, the moment snapping like a rubber band stretched too tight.

He stood up fast, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, scowling at the ground.

You stood too, awkward and breathless, still half turned toward him, wanting to stay in that almost-place just a little longer.

But the bus doors hissed open. The driver leaned out, impatient.

"You getting on or what?" he barked.

You hesitated. He didn't look at you. He just muttered, "Text me when you get home."

You opened your mouth — to say what, you didn’t even know — but the driver honked the horn, and you stumbled onto the bus, half dizzy.

As the bus pulled away, you twisted in your seat to look back.

He was still there, hands stuffed in his pockets, hoodie slouched over his head.

Watching you.

Like he was afraid you’d vanish the second he blinked.

You pressed your forehead against the bus window and closed your eyes. Your heart was still racing.

He wasn’t leaving.

He had almost said it.

And you — You almost said it back.

Maybe next time.

[takeyrregrets]

𝗚𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗚𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘆 𝗠𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝘅 𝗤𝘂𝗶𝗲𝘁 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 Just a drabble but I really liked this so I might do more with him:)

You're the quiet type. Always have been. You sit in the back of the class, read during lunch, and keep your earbuds in even when they’re dead just so people think you’re unavailable. You’re a ghost with a pulse. That’s how you like it.

Then there’s Alex,

He’s all sharp glares, bruised knuckles, and a voice like gravel—grumpy, mean-looking, and perpetually irritated. Everyone’s mostly afraid of him, but you? You just wish he’d stop sitting next to you.

You don’t know how it started—maybe it was the one time you let him copy your notes. Or the day he saw you cough too hard and silently handed you a water bottle without looking your way. But now, he’s like some grumpy stray cat who’s decided you’re his person.

And the worst part?

He’s only like this with you. -He glares at anyone who talks to you, but when you tell him to knock it off, he just grunts and hands you a granola bar like some weird apology.

-When you’re reading, he sits quietly next to you with that annoyed look like “I don’t even like this book” but he stays.

-One day, you trip and scrape your palm—he goes feral. You’ve never seen someone look so murderous over a skinned knee. Then, like a total contradiction, he kneels down and wordlessly bandages your hand with surprising gentleness, eyes averted and ears red.

You keep telling him, “Go away.” And he just shrugs, sits down beside you, and mutters, “Make me.”

You're quiet. You like being alone. You should hate how he shadows you like a bodyguard with trust issues.

But every time he scowls at someone for looking at you wrong—or pushes his hoodie over your head when it rains—or walks you home in complete silence except for when he mutters, “Text me when you get inside, idiot,”…

You think maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind the noise he brings with him.

Not all of it, anyway.

[takeyrregrets]

Oh my god!!! You actually wrote it ahhhhhh. I'm so so thankful rn and it is now my favorite one. I thought of another, top 1 student x top 2 student and they are rivals but they have feelings for each other. Again thank you so much for writing my request.

-🌂

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀 𝗜𝘁 𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗔𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗰 𝗥𝗶𝘃𝗮𝗹 𝘅 𝗠𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 No notes on this--Sorry for the delay in posting!:) (His name is Dean btw)

Always the front. Always early. Always perfect posture, pen poised before the professor even starts speaking. You hate the way he never slouches. The way he never stumbles over words. The way teachers look at him like he hung the stars.

And the worst part?

He never gloats. Never even looks at the rankings. He just… stays on top. Effortless.

You’re always second. Always behind. Always watching the back of his head from two rows down, you tell yourself it's motivation, fuel. But when he glances at you over his shoulder—quiet, unreadable, eyes heavy with something unspoken—you burn hotter than any competition could explain.

You chased him like a storm for three years. Always one mark behind. One second slower. One half-point less. And the worst part?

He never acted like you existed.

You’d throw barbs during class debates, challenge his points, even accidentally bump into him in the hallway—just for a reaction.

Nothing. Until now

“You’ve got something on your mind,” he says suddenly, catching you completely off guard after class.

You freeze, halfway through packing your bag. “Huh?”

“I can tell. You get sloppy when you're distracted.” His gaze is sharp. “Your rebuttal today was weak. Uncharacteristic.” "I—I didn’t think you were really listening..." You blink, like the moment might vanish if you look too hard. It’s not anger—just shock, gentle and disarming.

He blinks, slow and indifferent. “Of course. I always listen to you.”

Something twists in your chest like a knot pulling tighter. "Then why do you act like I'm not even there?" You don’t mean for it to sound so small, so unsure—but it does.

His lips twitch, barely, like a secret slipping. “Because if I acknowledged you more, I’d start to like you. And if I liked you... I might stop needing to win.”

You stared at him, stunned. The silence between you was electric, toxic really.

“…You’re kidding.” He simply smirks before quietly walking away—as if he hadn't just completely blew your mind with this fucking news.

And your mouth—your ever-helpful, defensive mouth—acted on pure instinct:

“Wow,” you scoffed, grabbing your bag and forcing a grin. “That was so dramatic. You rehearsing for a soap opera or something?”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t even pause.

Just lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug and walked away.

You laughed to yourself. A little too loud. A little too fake. It was nothing. It had to be.

You’re early to class—his class, unfortunately. He walks in a minute later and takes his usual seat at the front.

You don’t look at him.

He doesn’t look at you.

You definitely don’t glance at him when he passes back the graded essays.

So of course, when you flip yours over and see a red 96—just one point behind his—you don’t feel something burning in your chest again.

He catches your eye, just for a second.

Smirks. Then mouths, “Close.” This fucking dick!—

You’re at your locker, struggling to jam it open, when he appears at your side.

No warning. No hello.

“Just so you know,” he says lightly, “I would’ve still liked you even if you never beat me that one time in chemistry.”

You drop your notebook.

“Excuse me?” you say, voice shrill.

He picks it up for you. Hands it over. Shrugs. “Just something I thought about.”

Then he leaves. Like he hadn’t just dug up a test, the only one you gave a damn about, from sophomore year and weaponized it against your entire worldview!

You’re mid-sentence, fists clenched, trying to articulate your point without combusting—when he cuts in, cool as ever, like he hasn’t been watching you unravel with barely-contained glee.

“I disagree,” he says, voice low and infuriatingly smooth. “But don’t stop. I like the way your mind works when you’re pissed off.”

You freeze. Your breath catches somewhere in your throat, your face going up in flames—cheeks, ears, neck. You blink like a glitching computer. Words? Gone.

Your professor stares, visibly thrown. Part of the class snickers around him

You want to scream. Or throw something. Preferably him. Preferably you out the window.

He just leans back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes glittering with satisfaction like he didn’t just commit emotional vandalism in public. Smirking like he knows he’s inside your head now, rent-free, throwing popcorn at the back of your goddamn eyeballs.

It’s raining.

You’re stuck under the same overhang outside the lecture hall. Too close. You can smell him. He smells like clean laundry and god awful cologne, the smell of the rain not even covering it

You definitely don't notice. “You’re quiet today,” he says after you sigh, god why did you have to get stuck with him of all people. You don't respond to his question He repeats himself And you turn to glare at him, he has a small smile on his face—a quiet kind, not mocking this time. Not entirely, anyway. Something softer.

You hate that it makes your heart skip.

“It's because your fucking cologne stinks” you groan, arms crossed, eyes fixing back onto the rain.

He hums. “So you like it?”

You glance at him, and than away, not willing to respond

He tilts his head, watching the raindrops slide down the concrete steps. “You’re...intense. Loud, in the best... and worst ways.”

“You suck at compliments.”

He smiles again, wider this time. “And you suck at pretending you don’t like the attention.”

You go still.

He turns toward you, that damn calm in his voice again. “You hate losing to me, but you hate being ignored more.”

You can’t help the scoff that slips from your lips, dry and unimpressed.

“And you hate that I’m right.”

You don’t answer. The rain makes a steady hiss in the silence between you. You think maybe, just maybe, if you keep your gaze forward, your feelings won’t betray you.

But of course, he doesn’t let you have that.

“I like you.” His voice is so plain, so matter-of-fact, it sounds like a weather report. “I’ve liked you since second year.”

You whip toward him, but he doesn’t look at you. Just watches the rain.

“I didn’t say anything because you looked at me like I was a wall you had to break through. Like I was a goal. And I liked being your goal.”

“…That’s insane,” you whisper, heart thundering.

He finally looks at you, quiet and honest and terrifying. “Probably.”

The rain keeps falling. Your heartbeat is loud enough to drown it out. "...I'm still going to beat you on the History test coming up..." His smile reaches ear to ear as he subtly moves closer to you "You can try!"

[takeyrregrets]

There won't be any works this coming thursday! I'll be posting them on friday :) just letting you tiny people in my computer know!

[takeyrregrets]

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧― Updated every Sunday

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