[almightyellie]

i'm not in love

in which angus always preferred being alone. at least, he used to.

pairing is angus tully x fem!reader

word count is 3.4k

author says don't look at me <3 not proofread bc it's me

you should watch out for college-aged angus, mostly just two besties who are so in love it makes them stupid

title song is i'm not in love // 10cc

angus tully answers his mother’s biweekly calls diligently. not because either of them truly want to speak to each other—it’s more perfunctory than anything. she calls and asks about school, and he tells her it’s good. then he asks about stanley, and she tells him about stanley’s job, and then she’ll ask angus about his job. he tells her it’s fine, and she offers him money that he’ll accept only if he’s in a particularly foul mood. after three years, they almost have it down to a perfect script. 

at least, he thought they did. 

“how’s y/n?”

the question catches him so off-guard that his sharp intake of breath makes him choke, but judy waits patiently for an answer. he mentioned you every once in a while. mostly, he likes that you’re an entirely separate part of his life from his mother and stanley. he’ll bring you up if she asks why he isn’t coming home on a holiday, or on the off-chance she asks about his weekend plans. yours is one of the only names he’s ever given her when he talks about school, and one of the only ones that seems to stick around longer than a few months at a time. “she’s…good,” he responds tentatively.

“what are you guys doing tonight?”

he stares at his phone in bemusement. “what is this?”

she sighs, and he can almost see that displeased look on her face. he had it memorized. “when are we going to meet her?”

“why do you want to meet her?” he asks. if he really thinks about it, it makes sense. you two had lived across from one another for three years, and you had fallen together in a way that almost felt predetermined. you are the longest standing person in his life post-high school, and his mother knows this.

he had always preferred being alone. even as a child, he had no interest in playing with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street. he liked doing things by himself. he liked doing what he wanted without having to inform anyone else. when he had gone to college and found a semi-affordable apartment that he wouldn’t have to share, he had been elated. the cute girl across the hall had just been a plus. 

you two had always just worked. he holds everyone at arm's length, but it had never even occurred to him to shut you out. you two end up together most nights, watching movies or doing homework. it happens so easily that he hardly recognizes how strange it is. perpetual wallflower angus tully is attached.

“well, you two have been together for a while. if things are serious, i think it’s best that we meet her.”

angus blinks, shocked, before a nervous laugh bubbles up in his chest. it starts low, but the longer she waits in her own confused silence, the louder and more unruly his laughter becomes. he’s laughing—not because the idea is ridiculous, but because it’s so plausible that it takes him by surprise. he had spent the last two years trying to bury his feelings for you, and he had been so unsuccessful that even his mother had picked up on it.

“angus,” she snaps, and he giggles, even though it isn’t funny, even though his stomach twists and rolls in a way that makes him feel sick.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps, covering his eyes. “just…we—y/n and i aren’t together.”

there’s a long moment of silence where he catches his breath before his mom says, “angus, that’s not funny.”

“well, it is, if you think about it really hard,” he offers. she sighs, exasperated, and angus rubs his eyes. he can’t possibly explain to his mother what about this situation is truly amusing, because really, it isn’t funny. it’s not funny that he’s desperately in love with his best friend, and it’s not funny that she oscillates between entirely oblivious and seemingly aware. 

“you’re telling me you’ve been missing family holidays for a girl you aren’t dating?” 

he can tell she doesn’t believe him, and he doesn’t bother reminding her that they haven’t had a real family holiday in years. long before he started university, and long before he met you. besides, answering that question honestly is dangerous, and should he not handle this delicately, he’ll find himself on the wrong side of his mother’s wrath.

“uh…”

he’s fumbling, panicking, and it only gets worse when he hears his front door open. “angus?” you call, and his whole body cringes, his head falling to rest on the wall.

“angus,” judy warns.

“yeah,” he blurts, watching you round the corner. you smile, offering only a small wave as you drop your bag onto his kitchen table. “no, mom, obviously not. that would be ridiculous.”

as he feels her anxiety cease, his own skyrockets. he’s focused entirely on you; your back is turned toward him as you open his fridge, searching through the shelves for something to eat. if it were anyone else, he’d be irritated, but he almost loves it when you do it. loves that you feel comfortable enough in his home to make yourself feel at home, that he can take care of you in the smallest way. most nights, when he lies in bed and thinks of you, he finds himself thinking of the ways he could take care of you. the ways he could give you what he never had, the things that had been ripped from him. security. unconditional affection. peace. he’s barely listening when his mother sighs again. “you know, i don’t understand your humor sometimes.”

“i know,” he says. you kick the fridge closed, enough food in your hands to feed both of you. “hey, she actually just got here. can i let you go?”

“not until you answer my question.” her voice is clipped now, and angus winces. some nights she’s a little more forgiving with his distraction, a little more responsive to the things he says that she doesn’t necessarily understand. tonight, he’s more distracted than usual and less decipherable than ever. “when can we meet her?”

angus groans, and you smile over your shoulder. you know better than anyone how much he struggles with his mother. you’ve listened in on many of their phone calls, and patiently listened to him complain about them later. “i don’t know, mom.”

“how about easter?” she asks. angus turns to lean against the wall and watch you, and you lean against the counter, waiting for him to be done. he rolls his eyes, a silent cue that things are taking longer than he’d like. “stanley and i can drive up that saturday and take you guys out for a nice dinner. on us.”

reluctantly, only because he knows that she’ll blow a gasket if they don’t nail down plans on this phone call, and because he wants this to be over, he huffs. he pulls the receiver away slightly and asks, “you want to have dinner with my mom and stanley easter weekend?”

you blink owlishly. “what? why?”

“they want to meet you.”

“why?” you insist. he glares at you impatiently; knowing angus—more, knowing what you know about his mother—an answer is needed now, and explanation must come later. the idea of meeting his mom makes your stomach turn uncomfortably, but there he stands. even with a hard glare, you feel safe with him. you feel the need to do what he asks of you, and you know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t ask if he thought it would be something you couldn’t handle. “uh…i guess, yeah.”

he offers a grateful smile. “easter weekend sounds great, mom.”

they quickly finalize plans before hanging up, and the second the receiver is back on hook, he groans loudly, rubbing his eyes. you wait for him to speak, but he stands with his hands over his eyes, hiding from you. “angus.”

“she thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he blurts.

you really don’t mean to start laughing. “what?”

his lips turn up in a sheepish smile. “i guess they’ve thought we were together this entire time,” he chuckles. “and i panicked! she accused me missing holidays to spend time with you and i didn’t want to get in trouble—”

you clutch your stomach, doubled over in laughter. he doesn’t want to laugh—frankly, he’s a little hurt that you find the idea so laughable, but he had laughed, too. “you caved,” you gasp. “you caved and told a lie because you didn’t want to get in trouble with your mommy.”

“okay.” he rolls his eyes. “whatever. you’re part of this now, too.”

your giggles die down and you turn to take the food out of the microwave. “hey, i could back out. i could break up with you at any time.”

he scoffs, but doesn’t respond. often enough, when you’re doing exactly what you’re doing now, angus’ feelings become overwhelming. watching you move around his kitchen with the kind of natural domesticity makes him feel choked, buried under his overflowing affection.

the harder he fights his feelings, the worse they get. you’re his best friend—it’s not on purpose, either; you aren’t at all the kind of person he ever thought he would fall for. you were bitingly funny, of course, but you fought him constantly. he wouldn’t even say you were particularly nice for the first few months you two knew one another. you’re entirely out of left field, and he can’t even get a read on you half the time—not that he even really wants to. part of him thinks that knowing exactly what you think about him would be truly crushing.

“i guess a free meal could be nice,” you tease, stirring your dinner with a knowing smile.

“yeah, you’re so unused to those,” he bites, pushing himself off the wall. you beam.

it’s surprising, in a way, that you hadn’t met angus’ mom and stepfather already. he’s met your family a thousand times over; they take you both out to dinner every single time they visit you. they had sent him a birthday gift this year, for christ’s sake. but you could probably count the amount of time angus had seen his mother in the last three years on both hands. you were surprised enough that she even remembered your name.

you had spent your entire friendship with angus thinking about his mother. being angry with her. your best friend is caring, in his own stilted, modest way. he’s witty and so smart that it intimidates you, and he’s loyal. it tells you all you need to know that his relationship with his mother isn’t strong. 

he bumps you out of the way, and you let him. you watch him open the cupboard for plates to evenly split the leftover pasta, and your chest nearly heaves with confused affection. you see the way he looks at you when he’s not careful. with an unrestrained reverence, with a tenderness that can’t be forced. it had made you uncomfortable, at first. made you feel like you couldn’t be around him anymore. you had tried to pull away—for a day or two. 

the reality of the entire situation is that angus tully belongs in your life. you adore him too much to cut him out, and even if you didn’t, it kills you to think of him alone. he’s a lone wolf; it’s amazing enough that you two have connected the way that you have. if angus didn’t have you, he had a few friends from class. maybe two or three guys from work. but nothing as deep, nothing as serendipitous as your friendship. 

discomfort with his feelings had grown into a tentative acceptance once you realized he had no plans on acting on them, and after a few months, tentative acceptance had grown into…something else entirely. you aren’t sure exactly what it is. it isn’t like those juvenile, giddy crushes you had harbored in high school. angus doesn’t keep you up at night, nor does he make you lovesick. he puts you at ease. he makes you feel safe. he makes you feel like yourself.

you don’t want to confront the strange sense of peace that angus has offered you without even knowing. without even trying. you don’t want to change your friendship, or misattribute your feelings, so you ignore them. and you ignore the way he looks at you, and how he insists on making your favorite dinners, even though he complains about you eating his leftovers, and how he uses your spare key to lock your door every single time he leaves your apartment without fail. 

your knees bump together under the tiny table in his kitchen as you two eat dinner. you listen to him talk about his coworkers, lulled into relaxation by his deep voice; you always loved your dinnertime conversations. mostly, one of you just talked. you would talk about school and work and your classmates and your days; they aren’t even really conversations. it’s just an excuse to talk and an opportunity to listen. he doesn’t mind when you don’t respond, and neither of you care if the other person talks the entire time. it’s time spent together more than anything else. you think about how effortless it feels. how you could do this every night with intention, not under the guise of getting out of your apartment. you think about the dinner with his mom, and how you’ll both put on nice outfits to go out, and how you’ll come home together, and how you’ll dissect every detail of the dinner and the conversations for the entire night, if not for days afterwards.

you notice only a moment too late that you’ve zoned out, and angus kicks your shin gently. “you good?”

with a reassuring smile, you nod. “yeah. i’m just thinking about dinner with your mom.”

he’s bashful when he laughs quietly. “yeah…sorry. i know i kind of screwed you over.” you can tell that he truly does feel bad, but the longer you think about it, the less you dread it. you think you might actually like an excuse to acknowledge the way angus looks at you, for him to not have to hide it. 

“i don’t know…i’m kind of excited,” you admit, pushing food around your plate. angus looks at you from under his lashes, taking pause at your tone. you refuse to look at him, and it sends his heart into overdrive; he’s panicked, certainly, and so in love with you that it makes him nauseous. he isn’t entirely sure that he’ll survive a night of you pretending. of it all feeling so real.

he can feel a confession coming, bubbling up in his chest, and he swallows in panic. “she’s—she’ll like you, i think.”

with a slight smile, you push your plate away from you. “i’m not sure i’ll like her.”

which he loves about you, naturally. 

he clears his throat to bury the confession and stands; angus grabs both plates and turns his back to you to hide his flushed cheeks. shamelessly, since he can’t see you, you watch him, soothed simply by the way he moves. by how familiar he is. by how you can almost predict every move he makes. the words fall out before you’re even cognizant of them

“just so you know, i don’t mind your mom thinking i’m your girlfriend.”

the way he freezes makes your shoulders tense. you hadn’t meant to say that. it was true, but he didn’t need to know that. angus’ mind screeches to a full stop before it starts running ten times faster than before. what did that mean?

slowly—so slowly that you almost don’t notice—he sets the plates in the sink. you won’t get out of this. you know you won’t, because you know angus. once the door is open, he’ll take the opportunity to push it every single time. “why?” he asks, his voice a carefully constructed tone of ease. he plays it well; his nonchalance is almost perfectly natural. it nearly tricks you.

still kicking yourself, you shrug even though he can’t see you. instead, you start emptying your bag to distract yourself. textbooks and notebooks and pencils clatter against the table. “just…we could sell it, don’t you think?” it’s not even close to what he wants to hear, and you buckle down even though you know you won’t win this one. “we know everything about each other.”

he snorts, and it puts you at ease. not because you’re going to get out of this. you know something dangerous is going to come out of this conversation, but because it’s angus. it’s your best friend. and you know him, and you know the way he treats you is symptomatic of something much larger. it used to scare you, but it doesn’t now. not now that he washes your dishes, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. you trust him. you know that any vulnerability you share will be returned to you tenfold.

“yeah, right. that just makes it convenient,” he says knowingly, head tilting. he watches you sort through your textbooks, hiding your anxiety while you busy yourself.

part of you hopes that he’ll just drop it. not because you don’t think things will work out, but because you love how things are between the two of you. the almosts, the what-ifs, the wondering is something you so love to savor. it’s still so easy between you two; all of those what-ifs still exist only in your minds, only in the silent space between you that neither of you are willing to acknowledge. there’s plausible deniability. there’s safety.

you smile shakily, glancing up at him. “i guess i mean…that we…work?”

he smiles back, comforting but still audacious. “and by that, you mean…”

with a groan, you fold your arms and bury your face in them. you know this leap can only be beneficial, but you’re struggling to let yourself admit anything. it’s more frustrating than the denial. 

angus stares at you, suddenly the emotionally constipated one, and his heart is pounding in his ears. he can feel it beating against his chest; he’s not brave enough to hope. it’s too scary for him to wonder if this is finally it, if you had been as keenly aware as he had assumed you to be. 

“just…i think there’s a reason my mom thinks we’re together. just so you know.” you groan louder, unmoved by his words, and he continues, “beyond the fact that we’re constantly together.”

you peek up at him, your chin still pressed against your forearms. he watches you, big brown eyes wide open with vulnerability. he’s waiting. you figure it’s as good of a segue as he’s going to give you. with a deep breath, ignoring the turning and rolling of your stomach, you say, “i feel like…things could be like that between us.”

he breaks into a smile so wide that you have to look away from him. “oh, is that what this is about?” he asks facetiously. 

you grunt, irritated. “don’t tease me.”

he laughs, uncrossing his arms. you don’t even want to look at him, humiliated. he hasn’t rejected you—in fact, you know he’s just keeping you on the line to tease you. it irritates you, but he seems giddy, even if he tries to act like he’s unaffected. he can’t keep that goofy smile off his face. it entirely gives him away. “hey,” he says, voice bright. “c’mere.”

“no,” you spit, annoyed. you know that the second you give in, everything will change. for the better, you think, but it will change. you hold on to the wondering for just a moment longer, but you can’t help yourself. he waits patiently at the counter, holding on to the ledge. you like the wondering, but you think you’re ready to find out if it’s as good as it seems it would be.

self-conscious, you cross the room to him. you stand only centimeters apart, and he grins at you, fingers gently stroking the hem of your collar. “you know, right?”

you don’t have to ask what he means. you know. maybe not the depths, but you know. the way he looks at you is enough to let you know. the way he takes care of you tells you what his words haven’t yet. they will. “you can’t hide from me, angus tully.”

he loves that about you, too. he’ll tell you all the specifics later. for now, he kisses you, a long arm around your waist, and you think that this is much better than the what-ifs.

[pearlescentswirls]

These photos single handedly changed the trajectory of my life when I was 15😩

[freakytikigifs]

Jack O'Connell as Jude Williams LITTLE FISH

[mariasont]

shawn hatosy

[angelbabymikaa]

“potentially mature content” yeah that’s my pervert friend i hope it’s mature content that’s what i followed them for

[dilflovingmisandrist]

i need him to come home from work and take my phone out of my hand and tell me to go to bed idk

[cassmore]

HAMISH LINKLATER as FATHER PAUL HILL/MONSIGNOR JOHN PRUITT in the horror series MIDNIGHT MASS directed by Mike Flanagan, EPISODE IV: LAMENTATIONS (2021)

[lesspopped]

affirmation: I am capable of finishing the works of pornographic fanfiction I start writing

[bucksbeagle]

Naming a crater after your late wife. Talk about love you to the moon and back.

[hungwy]

people born in 2000 should be like 12-14 now. but they’re not. that’s how fucked up our world is now

[how-not-to-human]

The older this post gets the funnier it becomes

[duchesspeggy]

My cousin born in 2000 is a licensed psychologist.

[shepardoftheearth]

that’s how fucked up our world is now

[emmaharwoods]

look at my doctors dawg i'm gonna die

[aphantimes]

🫵 YOU. STOP WHERE YOU ARE

say something nice about prev!!! find something cool about them!! give their blog a skim!!

compliments are FREE TO GIVE so GIVE THEM OUT. pls. thamnk. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

[almightyellie]

baby, i'm yours

in which you and bradley are in the same major and you're completely unaware of how much he adores you.

pairing is frat!bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

word count is 5.5k

author says stem major rooster supremacy <3

you should watch out for drinking, college au, language, party settings, mention of puking

title song is baby i'm yours // arctic monkey

bradley has never been the type to pine.

he had never been one for coveting from a distance, and why would he? bradley had grown up fighting for what he wanted. he had grown with an admirable, if not appalling, amount of confidence. bradley bradshaw had walked with a swagger that simply couldn’t be learned, and for the most part, it had gotten him what he wanted. sure, every once in a while he had to fight a little harder to get the girl, but he always got them in the end. until you.

you aren’t his type, that’s for sure, but something about you is impossible to shake. he’s spent at least three semesters staring at you from opposite ends of lecture halls, and maybe he likes you because you’re not his type. you seem conscientious, dedicated, and entirely uninterested.

it hurts the ego, sure, but bradley isn’t one to give up so easily. after all, you’ve only spoken once and he really hadn’t put his best foot forward. he should have known better, really, because you might be the only one in a nine am lecture who seems genuinely eager to understand enzyme kinetics. the idea of a frat party wouldn’t have interested you, and the offhanded invitation in the campus bookstore was met with a predictably tight smile and a, “yeah, maybe. thanks for the invite.” it’s the most polite blow-off he’s ever received.

that was august. now, spinning into the end of october, he’s been so embarrassed by his complete failure to accurately gauge your interests that he hasn’t even bothered to try again. he’s losing his nerve; more importantly, jake is convinced that bradley’s losing his masculinity. not that bradley has ever given a second thought to what jake thinks; he’s pretty sure that he could count all of jake’s iq points on his fingers, so he rarely gives weight to his opinion. 

and yet, he can’t let it go. he can’t stop watching you from across the room, wondering what you would do if he sat next to you. wondering if you ever watched him, too. wondering if you realized how, with one measly conversation under your belt, you’ve entirely captivated bradley bradshaw.

the virtue of having such a large student group in your major is that group projects aren’t a concern. it was one of the things you had so looked forward to when you were working through your generals, the idea of doing your own work on your own time, without the opinions of anyone else. and it’s a little isolating, somehow, that you can sit in two lectures a day, five days a week, with a hundred people each, and not say a word to anyone but callie. 

next to you, she pays little attention to the lecture, doodling in her notebook and scrolling through her phone. where you had been tirelessly devoted to your academics, callie had found a way to succeed without even trying. you take notes out of necessity, but it seemed like she picked up the information just as well by only half-listening to the lecture. as you scribble notes down in your notebook, your best friend nudges your elbow and tilts her phone toward you to show you a text. 

nat: halloween party @ pike on friday

nat: bob said the door’s open to everyone

you frown, spinning your pencil between your fingers and shaking your head. callie groans quietly, leaning in to whisper. “come on, it won’t be that bad.”

and no, it probably wouldn’t be. you had never been to the parties they were always pushing, but they couldn’t be terrible if nat and callie were there; further, anywhere nat was, so was bob, who you entirely adored. it wasn’t that you had no interest in the parties; you, more than any of your friends, needed to let loose. but even after three years, you couldn’t stand the idea of having to market yourself to your peers; why would you meet new people when you had already found your family?

“pike is full of dorks and nerds,” callie continues. “it probably won’t even be that busy.”

you shrug, and callie grins. the text that she sends into the group chat rings in on your laptop.

cal: we’re there!

your heart leaps into your throat when nat pushes you forward gently. both callie and natasha had assured you that the party likely wouldn’t have been too crowded. bob is just as surprised as you, whispering to nat, “have you ever seen it this packed?”

the four of you can barely move through the living room and you look over bob’s shoulder, ignoring the unhappy way your stomach churns. from the way callie had talked about it, you hadn’t thought it would be like this. heat hits you like a wall every time you walk into a new room and you’re already overwhelmed, between the endless stream of conversations and the pounding music pumping through the walls. 

bob spots reuben in the kitchen, and, already drunk, he greets all of you eagerly. it’s overfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. you’ll take any little bit of comfort you can get right now, and though you’ve only met reuben a few times, the hug he pulls you into is enough to calm you, even if just barely. 

“where is everyone?” bob asks over the music, clapping his friend on the back, and reuben blinks hard. 

“i think seresin and mickey are in the basement.”

a cheer rises through the crowd as someone pushes through the doorway into the kitchen and reuben’s attention is entirely lost. he’s vaguely familiar, somehow, with the kind of honey brunet hair that makes you wonder if it’s entirely natural and a smile that’s contagious. he drops two cases of beer, stacked on top of one another, onto the already crowded island, and callie leans into you and nat. 

“who is that?”

bob laughs and nat raises a brow. you’re glad that she asked because you know him, you think. a little more selfishly, something about him naturally draws you in; he has the same undeniable charisma that you think all frat boys must possess to a certain extent. it rarely works on you, and maybe it wouldn’t work if he turned it on you, but watching him greet everyone around him, passing out beers with compliments and laughter makes you a little giddy the same way all blooming attractions do, with a turn of the stomach at the end of the realization.

“that’s brad,” bob answers. you snort, because of course, his name was brad. “bradshaw!” 

brad spins his head in your direction with a wide grin, a smile that only grows when he catches sight of bob, brows raising at the sight of him surrounded by the three of you. “hey, bobby!”

bob’s cheeks flush and for a moment, you watch him for any sign of discomfort, but he only laughs and pushes all of you toward the island. 

“y’all want a drink?” brad asks, eyes lingering on yours, and without a second thought, you nod along with your friends. 

you listen as well as you can to the conversation between the two men as brad hands bob a beer and asks callie whether she’d prefer a beer or a seltzer. she preens, asking for a beer, and he hands her one back with a polite smile. you watch him ask nat the same question, wracking your brain to figure out where you had seen him. maybe you had served him at work. it wasn’t out of the question that you might have been in a gen ed class together in your first year, but you don’t think it’s either of those. when he trains his eyes on you, you're more confused than ever because you’re sure you would have remembered someone like this.

“and for you?” he asks, voice soft despite the oppressive noise around you.

“seltzer, please,” you respond quickly. he grins at you and you hate the nervous flip of your stomach, thrilled and terrified to have his attention, to be on the receiving end of that smile. 

news of the fresh cases has spread around the house and guests are crushing into the kitchen to get their hands on a new drink before they’re gone. at first, you hadn’t minded the crowd as much as you thought you would, but now you’re overwhelmed, so you pat callie’s hand and lean in close. “i think m’gonna step outside, okay?”

she pulls back, brow creased in worry, and says, “are you okay? do you want me to come?”

and you know she will, which you appreciate, but you also know that she just caught sight of the blond that has sauntered into the kitchen—exactly her type—and you don’t want her to miss her shot. “i’m okay! i’ll be right back.”

as you force your way through the crowd, cold can in hand, you wonder why you showed up in the first place. it’s not your scene, not even a little, and you had spent the last three years avoiding places exactly like this. foolishly, you hope that maybe the crowd will thin out the later it gets, but you know that’s not really how these kinds of things work. 

the door from the kitchen to the backyard opens inward, which is a struggle when the couple behind the door only glares at you for attempting to open it. frustrated, you open your mouth to ask them to move, but a large hand from behind you reaches for the doorknob, and the man’s face softens at the sight of whoever’s behind you. 

you glance over your shoulder and there’s brad, his chest brushing against your shoulder. he smiles genially at the couple, nodding at them. “hey, man, how are you?”

you don’t listen to the response because brad twists the doorknob for you, opening the door just enough for you to slip out. you aren’t sure he does it for you, exactly, but you’re grateful either way. the october night, especially compared to the sweaty, booming house, is a welcome and refreshing change, one that nearly forces you to take a deep breath. it’s considerably less crowded outside, and you lean against the vibrating siding of the house, glancing sideways when brad slips out of the door and closes it behind him.

for a moment, he looks across the backyard like he’s looking for something, but you interrupt him when you breathe out sharply, tugging your jacket closer. finally, he turns to look at you, and his face melts into the easiest smile you’ve ever seen. you’re not conscious of the way you smile back, pleased to see him pleased, and he leans against the wall beside you.

“hi.”

you look at him, half appalled and half intrigued, because brad is handsome. even if he wasn’t, he has the kind of inherent charm that makes up for physical deficiency, and you would think that someone so handsome might have a better way to flirt than saying ‘hi.’

it occurs to you suddenly that he’s flirting. he’s flirting with you. you feel a sudden warmth creeping from the pit of your stomach, rising to your skin and making you feel a little flushed. “hi.”

he holds out a hand in a formal handshake and you can’t help yourself. you chuckle a little, allowing him to take your hand. “i’m brad.”

you purse your lips and shake his hand. “...brad.”

he tilts his head knowingly, eyes mirthful. “yes?”

with a grin at him, you pull your hand back, rocking on your heels. “that’s just such a frat boy name.”

and he laughs, so loud and warm that suddenly it feels like august, pressing his hand to his abdomen. you watch him appreciatively, endeared to the way his cheeks flush, the way his shoulders shake. his eyes are still crinkled with delight when his laughter slows and he says, “then you can call me bradley.”

your grin shines stronger. “i like bradley.” you offer your name, and he sticks a hand into his pocket. he’s cute, undeniably, and every once in a while, someone will pass by and clap him on the shoulder, greeting him with a ‘hey, man!’ or an excited call of his name. for some reason, seeing how liked he is makes you like him even more. he greets everyone back—remembers their names and everything—and the smile on his face is so genuine that it takes you back.

bradley is easier to talk to than you had expected, not that you had expected much. he briefly talks about his mother when you ask, answers a couple of questions about what he does outside of academics, but he seems more invested in asking you any questions than offering information. you’re right in the middle of a tangent about one of your classes when you ask, “what’s your major, again?”

he thumbs the tab of his can. “biochem,” he nods, and you grin.

“me, too!” you respond eagerly, and he laughs, seeming a little bashful.

“yeah, i know,” he responds easily. “we’re in a lot of classes together, i think.” he doesn’t think, he knows, but the last thing bradley wants to do now that you’re warming up to him is come off as some weirdo who spends all his time watching you instead of his lectures. your face brightens with recognition, and he smiles softly. “i also tried—and failed—to flirt with you in the bookstore at the beginning of the semester, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. that was supposed to be the silent part, but part of him hopes that you might remember him, no matter how poorly he had done then. he thinks he’s doing pretty well now.

you blanch, covering your mouth with your hand, and bradley could kick himself. “oh, my god. bradley, i’m so sorry! i can’t believe i forgot about that,” you lament, and he laughs with a tinge of self-deprecation.

“i really think it’s better that you did,” he soothes, and then you giggle and all is restored. he’s back in good standing, his washout from the bookstore entirely balanced. he’s all too aware of the tiny step you take in his direction, one that he’s not sure you’ve even noticed yourself. it comforts him, lets him know that right now, you’re closer to the same page than you’ve ever been, and that alone makes his heart begin to pound.

“well, i still feel bad,” you admit, and he shrugs. 

“rejection is healthy for the ego,” he excuses.

it seems like it’s something he actually believes, which makes your chest sticky with unbridled affection. “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who experiences a lot of rejection.”

he flushes and you know you’re right, but it doesn’t annoy you. he’s nothing you would have assumed him to be; he isn’t arrogant or lewd, doesn’t push you to drink and hasn’t asked you to his room. the surprise is almost sweeter than the realization that bradley is the kind of guy you could like, silly name aside.

bradley can’t believe his luck; he hadn’t gotten you here, but someone had, and he’s thrilled. he’s grateful. he reaches for you, fingers hesitating, but he folds down the collar of your jean jacket, and he can’t contain himself when you smile at him. you’re vulnerable, open with him, and bradley can read the signs. he’s giddy, because you’re finally looking at him, laughing with him, and bradley thinks that this—you are better than any way he had ever imagined you. 

“bradley bradshaw,” you murmur, rolling your eyes playfully. “you aren’t entirely insufferable.”

he guffaws, fingers tightening around his empty beer can. he’s been out of his drink for nearly half an hour, but he can’t pull himself from you. “wow, i’m honored.”

you play it up, turning away from him to look out across the backyard. the two of you are so close that your shoulder brushes his chest, and warmth races through his body at the contant. a large hand settles in the dip of the small of your back, and you pretend that it doesn’t make you want to shiver. “you should be. i’m very hard to please.”

and bradley’s stomach flips, fingers tightening around his empty can once again. “i’m sure i could figure it out.”

a surprised laugh forces its way out of you and he snorts. “dude.”

he grins, tapping his empty can against yours. this is going well, better than he thought it would. “you want another drink?”

you look at him, a pleased smile pushing at your cheeks. “yes, please.”

he’ll give you a moment alone, in part because he really does need another drink, but mostly because if there ever were a time to work up the courage to ask you out, it would be right now. he grabs your can, flashing you a sweet smile before he slips inside. 

the second his back is turned, you can’t tamp down your smile, your ears burning. at this point, you don’t even care if he’s stringing you along. you like him. he makes you laugh, and he had been willing to admit that he had his foot in his mouth when he had approached you at the beginning of the semester. then, you had assumed the same of him that you had when you’d met again: that he was cocky, that he was a stereotypical frat boy. but now, he’s laughing at himself the same way you are, humbled and sweet.

the kitchen door opens, and you turn to greet him, but it’s nat. you smile warmly, leaning against the wall. “hey.”

“hey,” she breathes. “you’ve been out here the whole time?”

you shrug, sticking your hands in the pockets of your jacket. “yeah. you guys having fun?”

nat rolls her eyes with a huff. “yeah, about that. we gotta get callie home.”

worry washes over you, forcing out the lovesick warmth that had overtaken you and leaving you with a bitter chill. “what happened?”

she shakes her head, the toe of her boot rubbing out a cigarette butt someone has thrown on the back porch. “she got into a pissing contest with that guy she was flirting with,” nat grunts. “you know how she is. anyway, she’s in the backseat.”

and you shouldn’t be surprised, because yeah, you know callie. she can’t let a challenge go, and you’re amazed it hasn’t given her alcohol poisoning yet. taking care of her while drunk is like second nature after so many years of friendship, and you had figured that the night would end like this, anyway. but you hadn’t anticipated bradley. you want to take care of your best friend, but you don’t want to leave behind the lovely flush that bradley has given you.

nat notices your pause and frowns. “you okay?” you step to the side and peek into the window. bradley stands, pretty and flushed in the kitchen, his beer in one hand and a different flavor of your seltzer in another. god, you don’t want to leave him behind. you want to stay, soaking up his warmth, his attention, and you want to kiss him, and maybe you want to spend the night with him. you watch him laugh in the kitchen, goading one of the other party guests, his charisma radiating even through the window. everyone around him laughs, smiles up at him, falls into his encouragement to keep drinking, keep having fun, and you recognize the look on their faces. it’s the look that you’ve been wearing for the last hour talking to him.

you sigh and turn back to nat. “yeah, m’good. let’s get her home.”

your friend hesitates, but you smile and nod. bradley charms everyone around him; you’re sure that you’re no different. he has everyone falling at his feet. he makes people feel special; it’s the kind of guy he is, and you like that about him, but that’s all it is. 

you let nat drag you through the side yard and around the front to bob’s car, and you try not to let yourself think about bradley on the ride home.

bradley, still laughing at javy’s insistence on body shots, slips out the backdoor, can in each hand. the crowd pushes the door closed behind him, and his belly is still flipping when he turns to where you should be. where you were. he frowns, confused, and he hates the way his stomach swoops when he looks across the yard and can’t see you. tucking his beer in the crook of his elbow, he shoves his way back into the kitchen.

“reub!” he calls over the noise, and his friend beams at him. “where’s bob?”

reuben, drunk and thrilled, responds, “man, he just left!”

a sinking realization makes bradley wilt, his shoulders dropping, and bradley knows that you’re gone, too.

callie glares unhappily at the glass bob has set before her. “i’m literally going to puke.”

he gives her a look, unimpressed with her dramatics. “it goes down smoother than you’d think.”

“does it come up smooth, too?”

you don’t blame her, really. you had never tasted bob’s hangover cure, but it looks exactly like what you cleaned out of his backseat last night. no, you wouldn’t want any part of it, either, but he swore by it. nat drops a straw in the thick mixture, and callie groans but begins drinking it obediently.

“so,” nat starts, sitting across from you at the table. “how was your night?”

you feel your cheeks warm but you shrug casually, resting your chin on your water bottle. “fine. how was yours?”

“you disappeared,” she responds, ignoring your question, and you roll your eyes goodnaturedly.

“i did not ‘disappear.’ i was exactly where i said i was all night.”

nat narrows her eyes at you, and when you look at bob, you see his lips quirked in the tiniest smile. “brad followed you out,” he notes, and you stare back at him, trying to keep your face blank.

you don’t want to feel giddy about bradley, not when you know he was just being nice. the last thing you want to do is give bob any indication that bradley has gotten under your skin; you know bob. you love bob, but he’s observant, and though he would never tell a secret on purpose, you know better than anyone that sometimes the truth just slips out of him. “he did.”

callie perks up a little, straw still in her mouth when she asks, “you and brad?”

“no,” you insist. “we just talked for a few minutes.”

nat smirks, leaning onto her elbows. “did you like him?”

“he was nice.”

“that’s not what i asked,” she pushes, and you huff.

you want to hold it close to your chest. it’s embarrassing to admit that you had allowed bradley to make you feel so special, that he had wooed you without even trying. but the idea of lying to your best friends makes you sweat a little. natasha would find out anyway, and then you’d be in for it. “i mean…yeah, i guess.”

“that’s a yes,” bob celebrates, and you frown. 

your best friends share a pleased look and you harrumph. “what does it matter, anyway? he’s just some…random frat guy. probably would end up being an asshole, anyway.”

bob shakes his head, filling one of your mugs with coffee for himself. “nah, brad’s cool. he’s nice.”

you level a glare at bob. “regardless. the last thing i need right now is to develop feelings for some guy that everyone else is already in love with.” and bob doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny the fact that bradley has everyone falling at his feet. you shrug, taking a sip of your water. “he’s cool, i guess. but i don’t have time for that.”

callie wrinkles her nose in your direction, clearly a little annoyed. “but you like him.”

you purse your lips. “so?”

she sighs, holding her cup of sludge with both hands as she leans back into her seat. “tell him.” it’s such a callie thing to say. she had never second-guessed herself. she had never needed to. but you weren’t callie. you weren’t perfect, reliable callie. such confidence had never come to you the way it has to her. if you were callie, the kind of person that people were drawn to—the same way they were drawn to bradley—you might tell him. but you weren’t. you were just you.

you lean back into your chair, avoiding your friends’ eyes, and for a minute, you pretend that you are like callie, and it’s a comforting thought.

similarly, bradley and mickey look at each other across the kitchen island. “so…you didn’t kiss her.”

“no,” bradley says, tired.

“and you didn’t ask her out?”

“no.”

mickey looks at him, head tilted curiously. “but why?”

“because she left, you idiot,” javy rolls his eyes. “you aren’t even listening.”

“i am!” he insists, glaring at javy. “i just don’t understand. brad, you’re the clincher.” 

bradley has been running over the events of the night before until he can’t hold it in anymore. he had hoped his roommates would be helpful, but javy is disinterested, mickey is entirely unhelpful, and jake had shuffled away five minutes into the conversation to fall asleep on the couch. “i don’t know, man, i thought it was going great. she seemed like she was interested, you know? 

mickey shrugs. “whatever, dude. you said you have some classes together? just catch her on campus and ask her out.”

“mickey, did it ever occur to you that she left because she didn’t like me?” bradley stresses, and his roommate rolls his eyes. 

“bradley, have you ever considered that you only like this girl because she's the first one who doesn’t like you?”

bradley sits with this for a moment. he had an ego, that was for sure, and he had chased a lot of girls who didn’t want him just to change their minds. the thrill was always in the chase. at least, it had been, because the longer bradley thinks about it, the more he thinks that he had found just as much thrill watching you across lecture halls as he ever had chasing other girls. he had been just as eager to get you a drink and make you laugh as he had to take other girls to bed. everything is heightened with you. no, the thrill wasn’t in chasing you. this had gone on so much longer than that. long before he ever found out that you had no interest in him.

“no,” bradley decides. “no, man, it’s not like that. i really like her.”

mickey shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “okay, then tell her. what’s the worst that can happen?”

you avoid looking at bradley throughout class. right as it had begun, you had made the mistake of searching for him, and the second that you laid eyes on him, it felt like a burn. over the weekend, you had come to terms with the fact that yeah, you did like bradley. that didn’t mean you had to like it. you would put your head down, get through the semester, and pray that you didn’t have any classes together next semester. and that’s fine. it’s fine. 

your notes, like your thoughts, are scrambled. they barely make sense to you, and when callie glances in your direction, her face twists at the sight of your notebook. “dude, what the fuck?”

“stop,” you insist, trying to hide the way your shoulders shake in a laugh. “it’s functional.”

“bro, it’s incomprehensible.”

“fuck off,” you laugh, elbowing her. 

she giggles, pressing a hand to her chest. you’re grateful when your professor releases class early, because callie’s jeering is getting a little too close to heckling for your taste. she can’t control her volume, this you know, and usually it’s fine, but more than usual, you’re trying to fly under the radar today.

you both shrug on your coats, pack your bags, and slip from the lecture hall. you think you’re in the clear, that you’ve successfully avoided bradley, who exited on the opposite side of the lecture hall, not that you were looking. but you hear your name from only a few feet behind just as you and callie reach the external doors. it’s far enough away, crowded enough in the rush of your classmates that you might be able to pretend you didn’t hear it, but he calls you again and you know that the guilt will haunt you if you don’t at least say hi.

your best friend grins when you turn and offer bradley a tight smile. “hey, bradley.”

“hey,” he breathes, and you hate him because he’s so much cuter in daylight than he ever was under the porch light of the frat house. it makes you sick. “i’m glad i caught up to you. can we talk?”

your inner monologue screeches to a halt and starts shrieking, but you nod and turn to callie. “i’ll catch up?”

she smirks at the two of you. “i won’t hold my breath.”

“callie,” you hiss, but bradley laughs and you feel, despite your embarrassment, that her comment is hopeful, not teasing. 

she waves goodbye and heads on her way. you and bradley, standing against the late autumn chill, stand in silence for only a beat before he says, “i lost you at the party.”

your lips twist in a way that’s unbearable endearing to him and you hook your thumb over your shoulder. “callie got sick, we had to take her home.”

bradley grins, looking after her. “oh, that callie.” you look at him, half-suspicious, but you have an almost knowing smile growing on your face. “my roommate hasn’t stopped talking about her since friday.”

“jake?” you hazard a guess, and bradley nods. a contemplative sigh fills the space between you before you say, “yeah, trust me. we’ve heard a lot about him, too.”

you expect some banter, at least, about his roommate. from what callie has told you, you’re certain that bradley has some stories to share about him, or at least a funny quip, but he’s got a one track mind. “um…right. well, i would have liked to…say bye.”

for a long moment, the two of you look at one another in silence. you get the sense that bradley doesn’t spend a great deal of time being vulnerable like this, even if he’s just giving you the barest hint of what happens underneath, and you have to wonder: why is he sharing this with you? what is he doing? 

“no, yeah. you just looked like you were having fun inside, i didn’t think you’d really notice.” and god, you hate how pathetic that sounds, and you hate the way his shoulders deflate, and you hate the way you’re butchering this right now. “i just didn’t want to bother you, was all.” 

“you wouldn’t have bothered me,” he responds immediately. 

he’s so cute that looking at him hurts, and you feel that pressure build up in your chest, packed so tightly that you have to say something. “bradley—”

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice sweet and a little scratchy. he holds eye contact so firmly that it almost makes you shiver, both of you ignoring the other students around you. “i’m sorry if i was too pushy, or if i made you uncomfortable.”

“you didn’t,” you assure, and he nods once.

bradley feels like the earth could swallow him right now and it could only help the situation. he’s embarrassed, but he tries not to show it. after mickey’s rare moment of mental clarity, bradley knows that now is the moment. he’d missed his chance before. fumbled his opportunity already. he didn’t want to do that again. “listen…i’ve been watching you across classrooms for like, four semesters. i think you’re really pretty,” he admits, voice steady despite the increasing flush on his cheeks. “and you’re funny and interesting and smart and i want to get to know you, because i really like you.” you blanch, mouth parted in the cutest little o he’s ever seen. “if you aren’t interested, i get it. we can just be friends.”

you pause, taking a moment to process his words when he cuts in again.

“or if you don’t want to be friends, you can totally tell me to fuck off and i will literally never bother you again,” he rambles, nodding decisively.

and it happens at the worst time, really. this is not the time to start giggling, but you can’t help yourself. you’re a little giddy and a little entertained, but mostly you’re caught up in him. caught up in the way this boy you haven’t stopped thinking about for the last three days has, apparently, spent the last two years admiring you. this sweet boy, who makes you laugh and makes you think, who makes you feel special and interesting and wanted. 

“bradley, you don’t get rejected a lot, do you?”

bradley’s lips pucker, trying to hide his nerves from you. whatever you had to say, he wanted to hear it. no matter what. “no, i don't.”

you take a step toward him, grateful for the heat that rolls off his body, and you smile at him softly. “well, best not to break your record, then.”

bradley bradshaw isn’t the type to pine. until he is. 

and it’s worth every second.

[loo-nuh-tik]

[kaelio]

my favorite thing about navigating fanfiction is finding a really good one and being all “oh boy this was good, I hope they have more!” and literally every other story they’ve ever written was for like Miami Vice 

[kaelio]

the tag game on this post is so strong

[mikkeneko]

#a lot of the time this happens because someone in their 40’s got into 1 new thing and threw a fic at it before resuming business as usual#like sorry gang they’re not a youth who’s weirdly into your mom’s shows they’re your mom who played genshin impact

[cesperanza]

Luke, I am your mom.

[chris-hargreeves]

[almightyellie]

yearly hi yellie <3

hi vee 🥹 adore u forever