can you hear me through the white noise, friend?

requests: closed

[fluentmoviequoter]

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Hanna (or H or fmq). 22. she/her. Christian †

— current request status: closed

— masterlist directory — coming soon

— request rules — character list

— taglist — ko-fi

— spotify (character + series playlists)

please read my rules before requesting!

©️ Do not copy, repost, translate, or duplicate my works, or feed my works through AI. If you see my writing anywhere besides this blog, it has been posted without my permission.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Zuko, Sokka, Aang, + platonic pairings

platonic!gaang x fem!reader

The First Hair Bender

2.2k+ words | fluff | Team Avatar has enough to worry about without taking time to fix their hair before and after every fight. That's where you come in, but it's not quite the same as it used to be.

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[fluentmoviequoter]

Marvel Comics

Peter Parker, more coming soon!

Peter Parker x fem!reader

shut up, peter, just get in the car.

3.3k+ words | light angst to fluff | Peter Parker has been watching you from a distance, wondering where you are. After a night out with his friends, he wakes in your apartment and confesses that he craves the darkness because he knows there, he would never leave you. — inspired by dracula, tame impala

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[fluentmoviequoter]

i fear that there's this unperceivable amount of love that i have for peter parker that will inevitably take over me (as if it hasn't already lol) and i just cannot voice it 😭 ugh how are you supposed explain to people that peter parker is just him and that you used to pray that he were a real person so that you could love him the way he deserved to be loved ohmygodddddd they just don't get it, they just don't get it at all.

(crashing out don't mind me)

He's just so... so ugh in the best way possible, you know? There are simply no words to properly describe what he means to us😭

sigh... ig imma go write some fics to help us with this

edit to add: have I never posted for Peter before yesterday?? i have failed.

[fluentmoviequoter]

You're back! I'm hope you're doing well!

I'm very slowly coming back! That Peter Parker idea was just clawing at me and I had to get it out haha. I'm doing better, thank you. Hope you're doing well too!

[fluentmoviequoter]

shut up, peter, just get in the car.

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader (both in college)

Summary: Peter Parker has been watching you from a distance, wondering where you are. After a night out with his friends, he wakes in your apartment and confesses that he craves the darkness because he knows there, he would never leave you. — inspired by dracula, tame impala

Warnings/Word Count: light angst (insecurity/doubt), fluff, banter, alcohol consumption and depiction of drunk characters (Peter and his friends), confession, no specific characterization though Peter's friend is Ned bc it's an easy name idk. no spoilers for any spider-man media. 3.3k+ words

Directory | Marvel Comics Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist

“New York has a massive bug problem,” J. Jonah Jameson reports from his desk at the Daily Bugle. “And its name is Spider-Man!”

“Does he ever sleep?” Peter murmurs to himself, swinging past a bright television display as a truck horn sounds in the distance.

Because of recent occurrences — including but not limited to the continued slanderous accusations of Jameson — Spider-Man has disappeared from the New York spotlights. Peter hasn’t donned the suit while the sun was still up in weeks. Working nights isn’t supposed to be a permanent change, and, tonight, Peter hopes he can go back to his usual schedule soon. But too many people are scanning the skyline for Spider-Man through the day, so he has to take the night shift or hang up the mask for an indeterminate amount of time.

It seemed like an easy decision at the time. But now Peter is forced to face everything he thought had been hidden by the dark.

Peter lands silently on a gargoyle in Queens, his gaze drawn to a darkened apartment. The horizon past the city is brightening, a familiar shade of blue painting the sky as the hairs on Peter’s arms stand on end. It was once a bizarre feeling, the amalgamation of his arachnid senses often at odds with his human instinct. Now, Peter senses the vibrations of the person inside the apartment waking, fighting the desire to roll over and stay in bed, opting to stand and stretch their arms over their head.

Straightening, Peter continues watching the curtained window as he prepares to return home. The night is almost over, Spider-Man won’t be welcome in his own city soon, but Peter still doesn’t know where you are. He’s been searching all night — between dodging punches and muttering puns — but has yet again come up empty.

Peter knows where you are. You’re in your apartment, yawning as you enter your kitchen. Knowing where you are physically is no substitute for what he really wants to know. He wants to know where you are compared to where he is, wants to know if you think the same about him as he does about you.

“Good morning, New York,” Peter greets as he shoves his window open. Inside, he pulls his mask off with a sigh and looks at his bed. “Hi, bed. Someday you and I will be acquainted again.”

While jumping on one foot to get out of his suit and navigating to his closet simultaneously, Peter gets a call. Whoever decided that New York should be dubbed the city that never sleeps was far too accurate.

“What are you wearing?” Ned asks.

“Whoa, buy me dinner first,” Peter mumbles.

“Dude, you can’t send me midnight texts about the girl and then not think about what you’re going to wear on one of the few days a week you get to see her!”

“Right. Because wearing a nice outfit today will be the thing that makes her finally notice me.”

“You’re killing me, Peter,” Ned groans. “What’s your most expensive outfit?”

“Cloak of invisibility.”

“Peter,” Ned warns.

“Look, I will dress nicely today,” Peter offers. “Is that all?”

“Are you ever going to actually, you know, talk to her?” Ned wonders.

Peter squints at the picture from his last birthday party pinned above his desk. He’d been too nervous to give you the invitation himself, so Ned handed it off to one of your friends who then got it to you. Peter nearly passed out when you walked in. He didn’t speak more than a few words to you, but you’d hugged him and kissed his cheek before whispering, “Happy birthday” on your way out. Ned had been convinced that was the start of your romance, but you haven’t done anything more than wave or smile in passing since then.

“Hello? Earth to Peter?” Ned calls.

“It’s different,” Peter offers weakly.

“If you give me the she’s so pretty and unreachable and I like clinging to the shadows because having spider DNA is basically like being Dracula spiel again, I’ll puke.”

“My voice isn’t that squeaky,” Peter defends. Then, he looks away from your picture and checks, “It isn’t, is it?”

“Oh, you’re hopeless,” Ned sighs. “Wear the brown pants and any shoes besides those busted Converse, okay?”

Ned hangs up before he gets an answer. Peter reaches for the aforementioned brown pants and muses, “That’s what Deadpool said, too.”

“Do you have a date for the thing on Saturday?” one of your friends asks, sitting opposite you at one of the picnic tables in the courtyard.

“I’m not going,” you reply with an apologetic frown. “I’ve got a few projects to work on.”

She nods, saying something else about her weekend plans, but your attention is stolen by someone standing in the shadow of a sugar maple tree. Peter Parker looks like a movie star, standing with a hand in his pocket as he talks to who you think is his friend Ned. The light filtering through the leaves above him accentuate his jawline. While you watch him, he turns toward you, like he could feel your eyes on him. You smile and lift a hand to wave, wondering if he ever thinks about you.

“I need to go,” Peter tells Ned after he returns your wave.

“You’re pathetic,” Ned replies.

Peter immediately agrees, thankful for the shadow he’s standing in as his cheeks heat at your attention. With too many people watching Spider-Man and you smiling at Peter, he feels like daylight itself has become dangerous. He’s too visible, too open like this.

“You’ve been wearing the mask too long,” Ned muses lightly.

“Maybe,” Peter hums. Or maybe I only care about being perceived by one person, and I’m scared she won’t like what she sees.

“You have plans Saturday?” Ned asks. “A couple of the guys from my apartment building and I are going out. You should come, get your mind off everything.”

“I have…” Spider-Man duties, Peter thinks.

“I said get your mind off everything.”

“Is Ebbs going?” Peter wonders.

Ned barks a laugh, then offers, “I’ll make sure he’s there with the good stuff.”

In the end I hope it’s you and me, Peter finds himself thinking as he paces on a rooftop down the street from your apartment. The city lights overpower the stars, but he knows they’re still up there. He finds himself half-tempted to make a wish on one.

Deep down, Peter knows you’re easy to talk to, that you’d be patient and understanding and, at the very least, hear him out. If all of his friends are wrong and you don’t feel the same, you’d let him down easy.

I can’t ask, he reminds himself. If you become part of this world — part of my world — you’d be at risk for the rest of your life.

Another voice, the small one at the back of his mind that sounds more like Uncle Ben than Peter, remembers, The same darkness you hide in exists in her life, too.

If you allowed Peter into your life, let him bring the darkness he feels so safe in, he knows he would never leave your side. Maybe he’d be drawn out into the light again.

Without thinking about what he’s doing, Peter pulls his phone from a hidden pocket in his suit and calls you.

“Hi, Peter,” you greet softly after just a few rings.

“Hi- hey,” Peter stutters, turning on his heel. “Sorry to bother you, I just, uh, I just have a question.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you promise.

Peter hears you shift and knows that you’re on the plush chair tucked in your living room corner, likely either watching a nostalgic tv show or reading a book. He wonders what it would be like to be there with you.

“Peter?” you ask.

“Right, sorry,” he murmurs. “Could you remind me what equation to use for time and temperature?”

You hum, then check, “Newton’s Law of Cooling?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Temperature at time t equals ambient temperature plus initial temperature, minus ambient temperature times Euler’s rule to the power of negative positive constant times elapsed time. I can text it to you, if you want.”

“No, no, that’s what I needed,” he lies. He knows the formula. Doesn’t even need it for the homework he has to finish in the morning. But he got to hear your voice, which is what he really needed. And now he knows it’s true — you exist in the same darkness he hides in. Uncle Ben would be proud.

“Are you okay, Peter?” you check.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I’ll see you around?”

“I hope so.”

You wait until Peter hangs up, then smile at your phone. Peter Parker is a difficult guy to read. Still, you wonder if he’ll ever truly see you. You cross paths at school and around the city, and he calls to ask ridiculous questions he knows the answer to. Yet, when you have opportunities to be together, one of you smiles or waves then continues living in the circles you’ve grown used to. It’s like the old ships passing in the night analogy, but you’d really like to jump off of your ship and swim to Peter’s.

It seems that it’s too late for that to do any good. Perhaps you missed your chance by not making a move at his birthday party. He’s a friend now, you hope, and that can be good enough. If you try really hard.

Down the street, Peter spares one more glance toward your window, sure that the time has come. He either has to do something now or give up on it all.

Saturday night traffic in Queens is abysmal. That is a large part of why Peter decides to walk. Unfortunately, it can’t be blamed for him going to wrong direction. Peter is moving on pure instinct, feeling the air shift around him as he walks toward your apartment. He’s only a couple blocks away when he stops and asks himself what he’s doing.

I’m on the verge of caving in, he realizes. If he had made it to your apartment, he has no idea what would have happened. Checking his watch, Peter turns around and walks to the other way. He’s running back to the dark, though he tells himself he just doesn’t want to be late to meet his friends.

“Peter!” Ned exclaims when he enters the dim bar in a random New York basement.

“Buddy!” Ebbs adds, tossing an arm over Peter’s shoulders. “C’mon, I brought you something!”

“Yes!” Ned hisses, bouncing in place.

“I don’t think this is why your dad is paying for you to get a science degree,” Peter points out as he accepts a repurposed half-gallon milk jug.

“Who cares?!” Ebbs yells, smiling. “We gotta get you loosened up and I can do that.”

“So, drink!” Ned finishes for him.

Peter ignores the acidic smell of the drink, forcing himself to focus only on this moment, on the people around him, and on the guarantee of getting drunk off of… whatever Ebbs made.

Within minutes of finishing the drink, Peter feels ready to take on the world.

“Dude,” one of Ned’s neighbors slurs, moving to Peter’s side. “That girl you like, how’s that going?”

“How do you think?” Peter asks. His cheeks and the tip of his nose have gone pink, his eyes unfocused and his senses dulled enough to lose his inhibitions. “I’m Mr. Charisma,” he continues, “like- like Pablo Escobar.”

“But you won’t call her,” Ned reminds him. “You’re chicken.”

“’M not chicken,” Peter defends. “I could totally get her to fall for me even without…” He trails of and extends his hand as if he’s shooting webs.

“How?” Ebbs asks as he pushes another glass toward Peter.

“I- I don’t drink,” Peter replies. He hiccups, then adds, “I drink milk, like a good role model with strong bones.”

“A good role model would go get the girl,” Ned scoffs under his breath.

“I’ve got moves,” Peter assures, jutting his thumb toward his chest. “I could- I could, like, get her a pretty bouquet and knock on her door like a gentleman. And I could take her out to dinner and then to Serendipity or Junior’s for dessert.”

“So could I,” Ebbs adds with a laugh. “What’s your signature move?”

“I know what she wants.”

“We all think we know what they want, but women aren’t like us, bro,” someone offers.

“No, I know,” Peter insists. “I can feel the changes.”

“Must be nice.”

“I’d show her I love her,” he continues, leaning heavily on the bar. “If she wanted, I could totally bench press her, too.”

You’re starting the last chapter of your current read when your phone buzzes. Despite the suspense building in you and the desire to see how the story ends, you put your bookmark in and retrieve your phone from the table beside your reading chair. The text is from Peter’s friend Ned. Based on the typos and the fact it takes him four individual messages to create a sentence, you assume you know what they’re doing tonight.

“Peter… talking about you,” you piece together. “Peter’s talking about me?”

He must be wasted, you think as you turn your phone off and return to your book. I’ll call him in the morning and check on him.

“… and her perfume smells like-”

“Shut up, Peter, just get in the car,” Ned groans, pushing one of Peter’s arms toward the Uber Ebbs got for them to share.

“I love her,” Peter adds, pouting at Ned. “I want to see her. I just want to be right where she is.”

Ned nods along with his pleading, helping Ebbs turn Peter so he’s sitting in the seat properly.

“Let’s get you home,” Ebbs announces as he climbs over Peter’s legs to get in beside him.

Peter’s pout deepens, his eyes glassy as he argues, “I want to be with her.”

“You can do that tomorrow,” Ned says before he assures the driver that they’re ready to go.

Peter gasps excitedly, nearly slapping Ned when he lifts his arms. “You should call her!” he exclaims. “She’ll answer if you call and then I can talk to her and tell her that I love her and that she smells good and that I’d like to—”

“Fine,” Ned interrupts, shifting to pull his phone from his pocket.

None of them know that you don’t answer because you left your phone on the kitchen to go get a snack and don’t hear it ring. Peter starts hyperventilating the moment your voicemail recording starts, and Ebbs has a genius idea borne out of his eagerness for Peter to stop talking about you.

The Uber driver agrees partly because he understands what it’s like to be as in love as Peter is and partly because he doesn’t know if or when the three boys behind him are going to get sick in his car.

When Peter wakes, his internal body clock knows it’s close to sunrise. He opens one eye enough to confirm that the light above the curtain is a familiar blue pink that means it’s morning. Closing his eyes against the light so he doesn’t get a migraine from the rapid return of his spider senses and the intense change of the bar lights to direct sunlight, Peter tries to remember last night. He remembers Ebbs giving him the drink and he might have talked about you, but he doesn’t remember getting home. It’s a good thing he has good friends.

Peter takes a deep breath, stretching his fingers as he feels his senses returning. His eyes snap open when he feels it. You’re closer than usual, even closer than when he lingers across the street just to feel close to you.

“Oh,” Peter says when he sees you standing in an unfamiliar kitchen. Your kitchen, he realizes then. Spectacular view, that voice deep inside muses.

You have the curtains closed and the lights off as you carry a glass of water and a plate of breakfast to Peter’s side. “How are you feeling?” you ask quietly.

“Better than usual,” he answers. It’s the first time he’s had Ebbs’ creation without waking to a migraine. And your presence certainly isn’t hurting.

Smiling, you rub your hand against his arm and mutter an encouragement to sit up and eat. As he moves, you lower to the chair across from him.

“Your friends dropped you off here last night,” you explain as he gulps the water like he’ll never get more. “Uh, Ned said you were asking for me, and you were close by… If you want me to get you a taxi or Uber or something, I will.”

“Did you think about what it might mean?” Peter blurts out.

“Think about what it might mean?” you repeat, tipping your head.

That when I was stripped to my barest, realest desires, all I wanted was to be close to you, orienting myself to you like a spider uses light? Peter thinks but doesn’t find the courage to say.

“I’m glad you were thinking of me,” you answer. “And—”

“I dream about you,” Peter adds suddenly, watching your hands in your lap rather than your face. “Even- even when I can’t sleep and I’m lying awake in the darkness, I’m thinking about you and you’re there. I can feel you, but it’s not the same, you know?”

Your brows furrow, but you decide not to interrupt him. Despite not knowing what exactly he means, you have an answer to his first question. He continues rambling, so you elect to wait until he takes a breath.

“… and I think of you because, well, who wouldn’t?” Peter continues. “Even though I wonder if you would ever love someone like me?”

“I already do,” you interrupt, your gaze soft as you watch him lift his head to meet your eyes. “Peter, I don’t answer the phone at midnight to answer questions you don’t need to ask for fun. I do it because I get excited that you’re calling and because I want to hear your voice. I think… I think the real question is, why do you only seem to remember me at night?”

Peter nods, leaning forward as if you’re drawing him in. He feels your breathing shift, the internal tension you’re feeling moving into something closer to anxiety. You’re worried about what he’s going to say. Peter offers his hand, palm up, and his entire body relaxes when you place your hand in his. It’s the first time in too long that his senses haven’t controlled his entire being.

“I remember you all the time,” Peter says. “But I do something about it at night because that’s when I feel the most like me.”

Your wipe your tongue over your bottom lip as you think, unaware of how enraptured Peter is. He’s been listening to you breathe and move for an amount of time he’s suddenly scared to admit. Holding your hand is like seeing the world in color for the first time.

“Why?” you wonder.

“I- I’ll tell you soon, I promise,” he replies.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you reply. You move to the edge of the chair and lean over the table to kiss Peter’s cheek. “I’ll be here.”

“Sorry my friends dumped me here,” he says, dropping his chin so you don’t see the smile that spreads across his face.

You laugh, then reply, “Ned said Peter wouldn’t even shut up about you long enough to get in the car.”

Peter groans, tipping toward you as he decides, “I’m never drinking with Ebbs again.”

Peter shivers when you brush your fingers through his hair, then blinks slowly when you direct his face toward yours.

“Last night wasn’t all bad, was it?” you whisper.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, unintentionally ignoring your question.

“You are too,” you reply, leaning toward him. Just before your lips meet, you add, “Especially for someone who likes to run from me in the sunlight, Dracula.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

check-in post for when you return! (in due time ofc x)

just making sure that you know that you're a spectacular human being, and that no matter what life throws at you, i fully believe that you'll get through it. i hope you're taking the time to recharge and reset because you deserve to be peaceful and with a clear mind too!! please don't be too hard on yourself and make sure that you get some fresh air every now and then!!

im very grateful to interact with you girly, and i hope you know that you always make my day better xx here's to a good soul reset because everyone needs that once in a while!!

my wishes and luck and love and SLEEP to you Han, can't wait to yap with you again xxx

lots and lots and lots and LOTS of hugs and love to you my girl 💗💗

😭😭😭you’re so sweet and kind and ilysm😭😭😭

YOU are the spectacular human in this conversation!! I genuinely cannot thank you enough for this message, for being such a great friend, and just being you. I’ve looked at this several times since you sent it and still don’t have the words to describe how much it means and how it has helped me through some really tough moments🥹

I’m so incredibly thankful for our interactions and always look forward to yapping with you; you make every day so much better!! Thank you so so so much!! Sending lots of hugs and love back to you🫂💗🫶🏼 (and hopefully I can get to some more of your amazing ideas soon!)

[fluentmoviequoter]

guys I swear I’m going to post fics soon but shōgun has me in a chokehold and I can’t stop reading yet

ps. I’m making some pretty major changes to my character list so please take a look at that when reqs reopen <3

[fluentmoviequoter]

slight change of plans. I’m not sure when I’ll have anything new worth posting. I’m dealing with one of the most emotionally taxing changes of my life and I’m just not in the place to think about or worry myself with finishing reqs.

I know that’s not fair to those of you who have been waiting for months at this point but I can’t imagine writing something I’d feel good sharing now. I’m sorry.

I probably won’t be as active on tumblr in general for a while but I’m still around and I’ll be back when I’m ready. Thank all of you for understanding and being amazing💗

[fluentmoviequoter]

guys I swear I’m going to post fics soon but shōgun has me in a chokehold and I can’t stop reading yet

ps. I’m making some pretty major changes to my character list so please take a look at that when reqs reopen <3

[fluentmoviequoter]

The First Hair Bender

Pairing: platonic!gaang x fem!water tribe!reader (+ implies future Zuko x fem!r)

Summary: Team Avatar has enough to worry about without taking time to fix their hair before and after every fight. That's where you come in, but it's not quite the same as it used to be.

Warnings/Word Count: r is a nonbender from the southern water tribe, banter, fluff, r braids everybody's hair (Aang gets left out :( ). takes place between the comics and the movie, no spoilers. pic credit. 2.2k+ words

Directory | ATLA Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist

The first time you reached for Zuko's hair, you didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about how he might react or what assumptions he’d make about your intentions. Growing up in the southern water tribe, you had never been in a position to hesitate to touch another person.

Even when you reached for Zuko that night, Sokka’s arm had been tossed lazily over your shoulder. He was rambling about a new invention he was working on when you noticed a dried leaf in Zuko’s hair, just out of his reach. Without thought, you stepped forward and extended your arm to remove it. Zuko turned before you could and wrapped his warm fingers around your wrist.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“There’s a leaf in your hair,” you replied easily. “Hold still.”

Zuko hadn’t released you. But he did hold still, watching with tensed muscles as you used your other hand to brush the debris from his hair.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “But don’t think this means you can braid my hair now. I’m not Katara.”

Katara muttered something while you smiled at Zuko. Sokka never brought the occurrence up again, though he began to carry two spare hair ties. It was like he knew something you didn’t.

10 Years Later

“Wow,” you muse, squinting in the bright Republic City sunlight. “Trying something new with your hair?”

Toph spins on the ball of her foot and drops in front of you. With her back to you, she blocks the light and presents her tangled hair to you. 

“Yes?” you press, wondering if she’ll ever say please or thank you again. Not that you care if she deserts her manners — you grew up with Sokka. And she’s the world’s greatest earth bender. 

“Aang made me reinforce the foundation of the new air temple,” she sighs. “My power isn’t for free labor!”

Humming, you gather her hair in one hand as you reach into the bag beside you in search of a comb. 

“Me next?” Sokka asks from behind you. 

“Toph can’t see where the tangles start, Katara’s arms get tired from bending… What’s your excuse for having someone else do your ponytail?” you question. 

“My arms get tired too!”

“Well, if Sokka isn’t next… does that mean I am?” someone else interjects. 

You laugh, Toph snorts, and Sokka sighs. Aang crosses his ankles and sinks easily to the ground. He smiles at you, then taps a scar on your arm. 

“You okay?” he checks. 

You detangle a section of Toph’s hair before answering, “Great. How’s the temple and the exploring going?”

“He’s doing too much of the exploring,” Katara murmurs, standing behind Aang with her hand cupped over her brows against the sun. “Why are you sitting outside?”

“I found her here, not my idea,” Toph defends. She raises her hands to show her innocence. 

“I’m next,” Sokka tells Katara. 

“Do your own hair,” she responds. “But do it quickly. The Order of the White Lotus invited us to dinner.”

“Tell Piandao hi for me,” you request. Toph holds her hair in place atop her head while you pin it in place, then earth bends to push herself up. 

“She said we’re going to dinner,” Sokka repeats. He reaches down, takes your hand, and pulls you to your feet. “Team Avatar.”

“Since when does that include me?” you wonder.

“You were supposed to be with us when we found Aang!” Sokka reminds you. “And you made him his first homemade meal after he came out of the ice!”

“Which he hated!” you point out. “And it’s your fault I wasn’t with you! Your snow shovel contraption buried me in the snow and Gran Gran told me I had to stay warm!”

“I didn’t hate it,” Aang offers quietly, ever aware of your feelings. “It was just… different.”

“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” someone else interjects.

You, Sokka, and Aang turn toward Zuko the moment he begins speaking. He looks tired, his royal robe exchanged for a simpler red and gold tunic and his hair tied back out of his face. 

“She won’t come with!” Sokka exclaims, gesturing toward you with both arms. 

Zuko’s brow lifts as he looks at you. “Why not?” 

You shrug, suddenly unable to think of an excuse. You were in the air temple with the others when Zuko joined the team, so arguing that you aren’t part of this team seems unlikely to work. 

“My uncle would like to see you,” he adds. 

“Iroh!” Aang yells at Sokka. “Why didn’t we think of using him?”

Within minutes, you’re all seated in Appa’s saddle and leaving Republic City for Ba Sing Se.  Toph has Sokka’s arm in her grasp, Katara and Aang are whispering, and you and Zuko are sitting beside one another with your eyes closed against the setting sun. 

“Is he still talking?” Zuko checks softly. 

Cracking an eye open, you confirm that Sokka is still telling a story with much enthusiasm and animation. Zuko sighs and links his hands against his stomach. 

“Hey, hold still,” you murmur, shifting closer to him.

“Right. I was planning to jump.”

You tap your knuckles against his arm, then pull a loose strand of hair away from his face. Sitting up, you twist his hair gently until you find the fraying red thread you noticed before. Only when you stop touching him does he turn his face toward you and open his eyes. 

“What?” you check. 

Zuko’s lips quirk up, and then Sokka announces that you’ve arrived in Ba Sing Se.

“So,” Katara hums as you comb her windblown hair in Iroh's tea shop. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It?” you repeat, setting the comb aside to brush your fingers through her hair and part it.

“You’re playing dumb? Really?”

“I don’t know what we’re talking about either,” Aang interrupts. He’s resting his chin on crossed arms, watching Katara as you twist a section of her hair.

“Me next!” Sokka yells. “I’d like to try a braided ponytail.”

“Get in line, Sokka,” Zuko calls from the back of the Jasmine Dragon.

“I miss when I was the only one getting my hair braided,” Toph sighs.

“You guys focus on saving the world,” you hum. “I’ll make sure your hair looks good while you do it.”

“What?” Zuko asks over his cup of tea.

“You tell me,” Iroh hums.

“Nothing.”

“She doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Zuko huffs a laugh as he sets his cup down. “We’re on the same team, Uncle.”

“Which seems to be the entirety of the problem. You and the Avatar are friends, no?”

Without thinking, Zuko’s gaze strays to you. You’re nodding along to a conversation between Sokka and Piandao, sharing a look with the master when Sokka lifts an arm to demonstrate something.

Suddenly, a shadow crosses over the sky. You lift your chin to view it, then turn toward Zuko. He doesn’t have to ask. He’s by your side before you manage to draw Sokka’s attention away from his story.

“Go get Katara,” Zuko tells him.

“For what?” Sokka wonders.

“A fight,” you murmur. “One that I don’t think Aang is anticipating.”

“Perhaps the Avatar should anticipate fights everywhere he goes,” Piandao deadpans. “Seeing as they find him so easily.”

“Uh oh,” you whisper before Zuko circles his right leg behind his left and raises an arm to block an errant flame.

“Aang!” he yells. “I think it’s for you!”

When the fight ends, Zuko is lowered to one knee, panting for breath. Katara and Aang are balancing on the edge of a cracking roof, and Sokka is straightening a wheel on his new moving platform.

“Are you alright?” Zuko checks when you step out of a nearby alley.

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “You?”

“One time,” he sighs. “I’m waiting for Aang to visit somewhere one time that doesn’t end in a fight.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it!” Aang calls from above you.

Zuko rolls his eyes and gathers his hair in one hand to lift it off his neck.

“Want some help?” you offer.

He drops his hair and nods, straightening so you can reach him. Since your first visit to the palace after he became fire lord, you’ve begun asking Zuko before you touch him. You straightened his headpiece in the courtyard once, then overheard people talking about your so-called carelessness and overstepping for the remainder of your stay. It seemed that being careful was no substitute for being mindful.

“Sorry,” you whisper when your fingertips brush the edge of his scar.

“I have a present for you!” Sokka singsongs. He slides to a stop beside you and elbows you lightly in the ribs.

“For me or to me?” you question suspiciously.

Sokka ignores your question and gestures for you to finish fixing Zuko’s hair. In all his years of fighting, he’s yet to find a way to secure it so that it stays in place. Perhaps that has been your place in Team Avatar all along — pre- and post-fight hairstylist.

Katara and Aang join you, Sokka, and Zuko in the street. Katara narrows her eyes at Sokka, then shrugs. Aang taps your shoulder twice before asking if you’re safe.

You look at Zuko’s hair as you slide the pin into his headpiece. For years now, you’ve lingered around Zuko when the team is all together. He’s the only one who doesn’t act like you need to be protected, like you can’t take care of yourself when things get hard. He’s saved your life more than once but never brings it up. He simply does it because he’s good.

“Presenting…” Sokka begins. He pulls a thin plastic tube from his pocket and announces, “The Air Clip! Get it? Like hair clip but air because of air bending. Oh, and the construction of this clip has an extra piece that squeezes the hair, like pushing the air out—”

“Let me see it,” Katara interrupts, extending her hand toward her brother.

“Why is it blue?” Zuko wonders. He stands then, his shoulder pressed to your side.

“Have something against blue?” Aang asks. “You liked it before.”

“No, let me guess,” Toph interjects. She has a cookie in her hand as she posits, “It clashes with the red?”

“No,” you and Zuko answer together. Only you add, “He looks good in anything.”

“Oh,” Toph utters. She waves toward you and asks, “Is that new?”

“No,” Sokka and Katara reply.

“Is what new?” Aang checks, tipping his head.

“Who wants to be the lucky first user of the Air Clip?” Sokka asks after he snatches it back from Katara.

“Any new inventions I can try?” Aang asks hopefully.

Sokka thinks for a moment, then nods. “South Pole. Next week?”

“Sure!”

“Give me the clip, Sokka,” Zuko mutters.

Sokka hisses excitedly, then passes it. Zuko hands it directly to you, then lowers to one knee.

“Oh,” Aang sighs. He nods at Katara and asks, “Toph meant the—”

“Yes,” she interrupts, rubbing his back. “That’s what she meant.”

“Oh, Twinkle Toes,” Toph sighs. “It’s a good thing Katara puts up with you, and you didn’t have to try to get a date.”

Aang doesn’t really listen past Katara’s name, and you’re too focused on twisting Zuko’s hair in the clip to come to his defense.

The sky above Ba Sing Se is black, stars sparkling far above the walls of the city. You’re lying on a plush bed, staring out the window to see the city and the night above. Until someone knocks quietly on your door, at least.

“Yes?” you call.

“It’s me,” Zuko says.

“Come in,” you invite, shifting to sit up.

Zuko enters, closes the door behind him, and lowers to sit beside you.

“It’s stuck,” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“The clip Sokka made. I can’t get it out.”

“Oh. Hold still.”

Covering your mouth, you stifle a laugh at his predicament. Then you shift onto your knees and tap your fingers along the clip in his hair.

“Does it bother you?” you wonder.

“The clip being stuck?” Zuko clarifies.

“No. Uh, I mean me touching your hair.”

“Why would it bother me?”

Your only response is a shrug. You can understand that Zuko might not want to be touched after all he’s endured. Maybe that’s what the women in the fire nation meant. Or maybe they were jealous Zuko allowed you close enough.

“It’ doesn’t,” Zuko adds.

“Good,” you hum, struggling to unclasp the bottom of the clip. “Bad news… this is really stuck.”

Zuko leans backward, pressing some of his weight against you. “Figure it out.”

“Why is everyone so quiet?” Toph asks, holding yet another cookie when she enters the Jasmine Dragon.

“We are admiring Zuko’s hair,” Iroh admits.

“Please stop,” Zuko groans, his voice muffled.

“Why are you talking like that?” Toph wonders. She focuses on the floor, then smirks. “Oh.”

“Hey, where’s the clip?” Sokka whines.

Zuko presses his chin harder against your shoulder, hiding his smile.

“It broke,” you admit. “Sorry, Sokka.”

“I’ll get started on version two,” he decides. “Uh, Katara, you want try this one?”

Katara pinches one of her ‘hair loopies’ worriedly and suggests, “Maybe you try it?”

“You’d betray your own brother’s invention to have her braid your hair too?” Sokka exclaims, pointing at you with both hands.

Zuko pinches the end of the braid you did last night. He’d fallen asleep with your hands in his hair. Perhaps the fire lord is the one member of Team Avatar who asks you to do his hair for more than convenience. If you’d asked Iroh, he could have told you that years ago.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hii

So I'm new here and saw your 'their reactions to finding out you don't like fireworks' and was wondering do you write for Price? Because I didn't find anything else and was wondering. He just sounded insanely sweet as you wrote him.

Also just read stood too close to a devil and that was insane, really had me hooked.

Hope you have a good day and thank you for your time

Hello!

I have not written anything for else for Price but I am absolutely willing to!! I would love to write something more substantial for him soon. Thank you so much; I'm glad you think so!!🤍 If you have any ideas you'd be willing to share, I would love to hear them (my reqs should reopen in a week or two)!

Ahh thank you! That's one that I'm pretty proud of so it means a lot to hear that. I hope you have an amazing day too and thank you for the kind words!!

[fluentmoviequoter]

BABY IM SO SORRY IM LATE I WAS WORKING

*sucks in a deep breath*

*screams into the pillow*

thank you dear. Though I fear my addiction has not been fully sated, this is beautiful and I thank you

(And seriously, what ‘creative liberties’ did you take with making ‘changes’ because I didn’t notice anything)

-💎💎💎

I'm so glad you liked it!! Thanks for trusting me with your idea and being so kind!🤍

I think the only real change I made was that r didn't actually tell Gates about what Javi was doing, just stopped Ryan from joining him! And maybe the order certain things happened? They were pretty minor changes but I mentioned it in case it was an element you really wanted to see. :)

[pierrotdoesnteat]

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

[normanscupcake]

Thxx, @gingermatchalatte 🫶💕💕

@bubblepeep @strawberrycherrycola @l0ngdog @wintersldier @coconutprincesspassion @xoxycodonex @kwatzaya @fawnzquee @ilegalyungjaws @pinkcottonberry @angeldel-rey

There are so many more moots to this list, just know I love ya all 😭🙏💕🫶

[strawberrycherrycola]

Thank you sm! @normanscupcake 💋💗

@popecodysgirl @sleepingbeautiiies @cuti3-81 @andrewpuppycody @jackabbotsarms @sabrinajamesluvbot @princessofphiladelphia @babystrwberry

There’s more to this list but these blogs come to mind!! 🪽💘

[popecodysgirl]

tysm for the tag @strawberrycherrycola ily mwah 😘🫶

@shoniebalognie @robinavitchslut @ceriseangels @mariasont @whatif-ialreadydid @lostalioth @mast3rbait3r @mahoganybimbo @romantic-insomniac @atlaslapis @mysatnin @lanadelreyylover @baransdollie @neverendingdreamers @tanely @80sfilmclub @lavenderchaise @iheartshawn @wistfulyears @in-ky

i'm probably missing some moots but i love you all so much!!! you're the best 🫶

[mast3rbait3r]

thank you for the tag, baby <3 @popecodysgirl

my loves :3

@whitakersbabymama @in-ky @romantic-insomniac @nightpitt @yuyuch3rry @neverendingdreamers @m4mm4ls @theariespov @baransdollie @mariasont @di1fluvr @honimoon @froggyzworld @dirtygir1 @wistfulyears @grimgasm @groovyangelkisses @sunbonesss

[groovyangelkisses]

thank you for the tag angel, mwah!💋 — @mast3rbait3r

a few cuties that i looveee seeing on my dash—

@romantic-insomniac @in-ky @nightpitt @mochapuppy @ceriseangels @j4ckr4bbits @lovaeir @moodyabbott @lipsliketangerines @dollsonlyhurt @cherrywineisawaltz @sugartalkingwrites @lostalioth @missmanlykink @misspossexxive 😽

[missmanlykink]

awww thanks for the tag <33 — @groovyangelkisses

some of my fav writers and moots 💕 love u guyss:

@mayhemi @s4ngel @str4wbsstuff @deansdeer @j4ckr4bbits @ccandlehead @murdrdocs @hanasnx @midniqhtt @wistfulyears @pittsick @pinksplace @avashifts06 @kill3ill @kryptidfiles @kissophile @dirtygir1

[deansdeer]

aww ty aydellaa <3 smooches

I love seeing yall on my feed

@beausling @inbred-eater @slashedgutz @d3ad-aliv3 @filthgf @honeyroots @scariffs @basicasfusername @bleachedduck @yyvnille @bitemysin @bunnyyrot @bruisedfig

[beausling]

AHHH EHEHEHEHEHE THANK YOUUU SMM MY BELOVEDDDSS @deansdeer & @lostalioth for the tags🫂🫂

some more of my beloveds n fave ppl to see on my feed/in my notifs 😽💟

꩜ meow meows : @abbotsbunnygf @arkhamknightmares @badbish-suki @beecomingnothing @bleachedduck @bluestrd @bruisedfig @catmg @chevroletdean @cosmicbucky @cowboycastles @crystalcider @cryptic-doe @diner-girl @faiszt @floralscented @funkycoloured @g0thamgirl @honeyryewhiskey @honeyroots @inbred-eater @irisgrrl @jasvtsc @jackcody @kill3ill @mystic-writings @notaviolentdog @pittsick @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @psychsworld @rh1nestcned @rockerbarnes @rottndeer @sacr1ficialang3l @soldiersgirl @thefourhorsies @thesevnthseal @tortureddarkstar @voidsuites @wildwestdean @xoabbot @6milesdeep

nearly maxed out tags cus i’m crazy and just have so much love in my heart i wanted to tag everyone but i had to condense so i’m sorry if i missed anyone also but just know i love you all so bad

also a lot of you i haven’t interacted with in a long time and i feel bad abt that🙁 and some ppl that i tagged haven’t even been active since last year or longer like omg pls come back soon i miss you guys 😣😣

[irisgrrl]

OMG THANK YOU SM BABY I MISS INTERACTING WITH YOU TOO<\3

my most favourite people here🙂‍↕️: @cherryvvave @moviecritc @bloomcissa @cryptic-doe @rh1nestcned @lechelovestoyap @luviery @vianawaits @scissorhvnds @dreamersentity @kamislop @batwngs @sakunai @mystiquevoid @1nsignia @patientofarkhamasylum @arfemiz @froggibus @tinafication @bitemysin @torupng @brinawing @biovomit @evilmanhater @gr0und-zer00 (i'm sorry if i didn't tag someone, but know that you're very dear to me too<3)

i feel like i don't say it enough, but i love you all, and y'all are very very dear to me. here on tumblr i found the community i feel sort of belonging to and with who i have experienced peak girlhood♥️

[torupng]

@irisgrrl and @toruii and @sugurusbeloved @llovelygood thank you for the tags mls i lobe you guys <3

my favorite writers and people on here !! : @1nsignia @bloomcissa @neotoru @vianawaits @mystiquevoid @sakunai @arfemiz @brinawing @batwngs @luviery @kamislop @rengoatku @sugurusbeloved @satoriee @waltzingphantoms @ryomenlettuce @indiewritesxoxo @gyarujo @oncasette @mayhemi @liahcharms @fukiouh @moviecritc @toruii @choivae @chososprettygirl @kireampie @kooriandr @vanillakirstein @honeysucklewatr @infinictus @froggibus @gothamorphosis @rottndeer @pillsatoru @purrtoru @pixelbfs @patientofarkhamasylum @6x-x9 @scissorhvnds @gr0und-zer00 @tokkushin @llovelygood (i most likely missed some but if i follow u i love ur work)

[oncasette]

ahh tysm @torupng + @dontyouworrydaddy !! right back at you :))

some more mutuals/favs!! @mayhemi @aphrahdite @mattsundaes @nashusglasses @froggibus @bradleybeachbabe @cocoaxia @always-just-red @l13 @luviery @kooriandr @kitkatscabinet @gretagerwigsmuse @ghostlyfleur @fluentmoviequoter @dissociativewriter @srenique @sapphireplums @aeyumicore @prettyglad @oldtowrs @ohcaptains @of-apollo @webslingingslasher @caskethrill + some others I'm sure I missed !!

[of-apollo]

thanking you and the lovely @voidreynolds ! sending heaps of love!

@starburstbarnes @aures-nook @keeryspullman @lovesflourmorethananything @thought-you-knew @nomajdetective @r6ven @quickdeathwritessometimes @cozyvanillacashmere @finco99 @jackys-stuff-blog @kryptidfiles @weird-is-life and many others i am sure i missed! you’re all super duper lovely and add so much joy to this silly little app <3

[finco99]

Wait, this is SO cute and makes me so emo that I'm tagged here 😭😭😭😭 thank you so so much for tagging me @of-apollo ! You're a true treasure 🩷 Now, here's me doubling and passing on this love! Here are some folks who I cherish in the fandoms I'm in, fandoms that are made better with them in it, and above all, just gold-standard folks:

@satellite-evans @kryptidfiles @devisedplan @hellilovedit @amnatreal @justagalwhowrites @3pirouette @docrobinavitch @inkdippedquills @paigepie213 @damneddamsy @penvisions @pellucid-constellations @sweetestcowboy @almostfoxglove @onlyasteelmancanbealover @purplespiritimagines @millermouth @skyesdelight @butyoudidthis4what @redd-blushing-roses @fangirl-dot-com @bluetimeombre @redsakura101 @snoopysupe @fluentmoviequoter @w1nter-fairy @berryispunk @theworstwolvie @softly-potter @familyvideostevie @rr-after-dark @raccooninthemachine @mcybank @thatcorporategirlie @honeysucklewatr @afterdarkbydel @lovebugism @thegingerjameson

[fluentmoviequoter]

thank you so much @finco99 @oncasette @toomanyfanficsbruh 🤍💗 sending my love + many hugs!! pls ignore anything that sounds like me sobbing

@chiefdirector @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses @bradleybeachbabe @sleepymissy @ttulipwritezz @boozy-the-ghost @person-005 + everyone who interacts with my posts/shares with me!!

[fluentmoviequoter]

I have a deep desire to braid Zuko and Katara's hair... I might have written a oneshot about it... Anyone want to read it?

I posted it! The First Hair Bender

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hey hey hey! How are you??

I just saw your spidey!reader x tim drake fic. Honestly that is one of my favourite things I’ve read all year. Another bestie masterpiece xxx

Hi bestie!!! I’m pretty good! How are you?? Up to anything fun? 🤍

Ahh I’m honoured you read it and very happy to hear you enjoyed it!! I had a lot of fun with that req. You’re the sweetest, thank you!😭🫶🏼

[fluentmoviequoter]

Not the overused white boy names 🤣. But as a black woman, thank you for including all hair textures in your recent Tim ramblings. It’s very much appreciated

There’s too many of them😂

I’m glad it was inclusive!! I always try to be cognizant of that but am never sure it works, so I really appreciate the kind feedback!🤍

[fluentmoviequoter]

Shattered Comfort

Part 8 of fmq Tim Bradford x Smitty!reader

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Smitty!reader

Summary: In a single moment, because of an unwanted interaction, both you and Tim think your relationship has been shattered. While you try to determine how to talk to him, Tim buries his sadness with anger. After midnight, you knock on his door and hope he'll listen.

Warnings: angst, harassment/assault (unwanted kissing), heartbroken Tim, panic attack effects described, fear of abandonment?, Smitty, Kojo misses r, brief comfort at the end

Word Count: 5.1k+ words

Directory | T.B. Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist

Tim added a few songs to the playlist this morning, and they fill your classroom during your free period. You smile, tapping your foot to the beat as you send an email to the choir competition director. Finally, your team decided to spend a day at Universal before finals. You think you and Lucy might be even more excited than they are.

Switching tabs to view your lesson plans for the rest of the week, you focus on what you need to get done. But you can’t help that your mind wanders to thoughts of Tim and Lucy and how good everything is right now. It seems like after years of thinking you were missing something and trying to keep everything perfect and separated with your never-ending rules, you’re building the life you always wanted. Somehow, you muse, it’s even better than you dreamed of.

Your phone buzzes, the screen displaying a text from Lucy. It’s an image of the dash in the shop showing that Tim is playing one of your favourite movie scores while they patrol.

“Softie,” you scoff as you like the message.

Before you can reply, someone knocks on the open door of your classroom. You can’t remember the last time you closed the door all the way, wanting to make it clear to your students that you’re never too busy for them. Looking up, you expect to see Derek or Peter, maybe Liv coming to tell you how she did on her history essay. Instead, your fellow teacher Trevor is lingering at the threshold.

“Hi, Trevor,” you greet, waving him in as you stand. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” he replies. “I, uh…” He raises a hand, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he looks past you. “It’s the anniversary of our final exams.”

“Oh, really?” you reply. “That’s crazy. College seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago.”

“Right, right,” he agrees. “So, I… Well, I kinda got you something.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. It’s right here in the hall if you- if you have a second.”

Nodding, you walk toward him. There’s a small bouquet in a glass vase sitting beside your door. The vase is honey-colored, the flowers a random assortment that is meaningless to you, though it remains a kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you tell Trevor. “I feel bad I didn’t get you anything. Honestly, I didn’t even remember when the exams were.”

He smiles when you chuckle, inching toward you. “Well, I was always better at planning outings,” he murmurs. “Do you like the flowers?”

“They’re very nice.”

Trevor inhales deeply, holding his hands in front of him. He watches you for a second, then reaches for your arm and says, “I tried to find something similar to that bouquet your dad sent you before.”

You don’t have time to respond before Trevor’s hand lands on your waist. He presses his thumb beneath your ribcage and pulls you toward his chest, his face angled toward yours. You panic when you realize he’s trying to kiss you, pulling away from him and lifting your arms between your chests before he can get you close enough.

“Whoa, no!” you exclaim, pushing your hand against his chest as you step back. His hand follows you, trying to keep his hold on your waist as you stagger backward into your classroom. “That bouquet wasn’t from my dad, it was from my boyfriend,” you add, watching Trevor’s face shift.

“Your boyfriend?” he questions. “When did you start seeing someone?”

“That doesn’t matter, Trevor,” you respond. “You can’t just grab me and try to kiss me!”

“You have been dropping hints for years!” he yells, tossing his hands up. “You’re seriously mad because you were leading me on?”

“Get out of my classroom,” you demand, willing your voice to stay even as your chest tightens. “Now.”

“This boyfriend of yours know you’re going to try to control his life with those stupid rules your wrote down in college?” he sneers.

“Out!” you demand. “Or I will call security.”

Trevor blows out an obnoxious breath, then turns and kicks the vase. It shatters against the wall beside his classroom door, causing you to flinch before you rush forward to close and lock your own door. Pressing your back to the cool wall, you try to take a deep breath, but it feels like it catches in your throat. You slide down the wall to sit on the floor and wish you had responded to Lucy instead of inviting Trevor inside. It seems maybe your intuition isn’t always wrong — outgrowing him was wiser than all of your rules combined.

Every song Tim hears that reminds him of you feels like you’re singing directly to him. You told him you love him more than you could ever say, or sing. After everything you’ve been through together, he believed you. All the late nights, the panic attacks, the nightmares, the desire to be held and comforted, dancing in the kitchen, it all felt right — like something he didn’t deserve but never wanted to let go.

So, when Lucy encourages him to expand their patrol route just enough to take their meal break by your school, he doesn’t argue with her. (She put it in a list in her phone titled the times TO Tim did not try to break my spirit. Not to be confused with the list of occurrences in which Tim talks about you or takes a break to do something for you.)

Tim navigates the school easily, having been here to pick you up or drop something off on several occasions. When he nears the hallway where your classroom is, he hears someone talking. Your voice chimes in, and he slows at the corner.

You’re in the doorway of your room talking to the guy who teaches in the room across the hall. Tim remembers his name also starts with a T and you went to college together, but nothing past that. He pauses to wait for you to finish the conversation, but then the man standing before you gestures to a bouquet on the floor. Tim thinks it’s a pathetic excuse for flowers, and he wouldn’t have gotten you that arrangement if it was the only one left in Los Angeles County.

Smiling at the idea of you getting excited the last time he sent you a bouquet, Tim makes a mental note to pick up some fresh flowers on the way home tonight. The idea disappears in a breath when the other teacher reaches out and grabs your waist. It’s nothing like how Tim touches you, yet the man moves in like he has any right to be kissing you.

Tim steps backward, breathing heavily as he stares at the empty hall ahead of him. His ears go staticky, only the pounding of his heart and his uneven breathing audible. Tim hasn’t allowed himself to have his heart broken since he was a boy, but he doesn’t remember it hurting like this. The first tear pricks Tim’s eyes as he pushes the door open too roughly, sending it flying back against the brick wall behind it.

No, Tim thinks. I’m not going to get sad about this.

It’s an impossible decision, but he forces it upon himself anyway. Tim rubs his face harshly, electing to think about how angry he is with the man inside kissing you rather than how devastated he is that he’s losing you — the piece of himself he’d grown convinced he’d never find.

Maybe he didn’t show you he loved you enough. Maybe he relied too heavily on your comfort and didn’t return the favour how he should have. Maybe life is cruelly just, and Tim has done too much bad to deserve anything more than this.

“Whoa, you good?” Lucy asks when he gets back in the car. “That was fast. Cafeteria out of dino nuggets?”

“Stop talking,” Tim demands. “Find us a call.”

“We’re supposed to be on meal break,” she argues.

“Find us a call,” Tim repeats, the tires squealing as he speeds away from the school.

Lucy glances at her phone as she turns the console computer toward her, but you haven’t answered her text. Not a good sign, she knows.

One of the rules you implemented for yourself when you were young and supposed to be living rather than fixating on surviving with your heart intact was Protect your peace, no matter the sacrifice. It was rule 8 or 9 on the list you wrote out in college, always adding to it and never wondering what you were missing out on by treating it as gospel.

Protecting your peace feels impossible as you sit in the corner of your classroom and try not to hyperventilate. Your phone is beside your feet, comfort and understanding just a phone call away. But how are you supposed to call the love of your life and tell him that another man tried to kiss you, claiming that you’d been dropping hints since college?

“What does that even mean?” you whisper to yourself.

You never saw Trevor as anything more than a friend. In high school, you had a friend or two you developed a crush on. Never with him. You wouldn’t have even considered him to be a good fit for any of your friends back them. Pushing your fingers into your hair, you pull at your roots until your scalp starts to sting.

With half an hour left in your free period, you know you can’t sit here and stay in this condition. But if you hear Tim’s voice right now, you’ll break down entirely.

“Pick up,” you beg as you hold your phone to your ear with a shaking hand.

“Buenos nachos,” your dad greets when the line connects.

“Dad,” you say, choking down a cry.

“What happened?” Smitty asks, more serious than you’ve heard him in a long time. Tim and Lucy probably wouldn’t even believe he could act like this.

“I think I messed up,” you admit, using your free hand to wipe your face. “He- he—”

“Who? Bradford?” Smitty interjects.

“No, uh, you remember Trevor?”

“Kid had a crush on you from your first year of college,” Smitty scoffs. “Never liked him. ‘S why I tried to set you up with Bradford before.”

You sober enough to straighten against the wall, focused on what your dad is implying. “You thought I was dating Trevor when I told you I started seeing someone?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “He was the only guy you’d hung out with as an adult and he trailed you around like a lost puppy in college. I always thought he was a little creep.”

“You never told me that.”

“Eh, you seemed to tolerate him, and you didn’t have many friends because of the rules, so I figured as long as he wasn’t, like, skinning people to make furniture, it was probably fine.”

“I don’t like that,” you reply, shaking your head to clear the mental image of such furniture.

“Why are we talking about Trevor?” your dad inquires.

“Right. He… He bought me a bouquet because, apparently, it’s the anniversary of our final exams.”

“See?” Smitty interrupts. “Creepy.”

“I’m not arguing you on that,” you mutter. “He showed me the bouquet, and I was, like, oh, that’s nice, thank you. And then he told me he got it because it looked like the one you got me.”

“I didn’t get you a bouquet.”

“No. Tim did. It got delivered to the front office while Trevor was in there and he brought it to my room, assuming it was from you. He told me that, then… then he…”

“Then he what, sweetheart?” Smitty presses gently.

“He grabbed me and tried to kiss me,” you whisper, bringing your knees closer to your chest.

Your dad remains quiet for several breaths, then asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m not great,” you admit with a sad laugh. “I don’t know what to do. We see each other in the hall every day and I’m so happy with Tim.”

As you brush tears from your face, Smitty inquires, “What’s Trevor’s last name?”

You smile and reply, “You can’t arrest him for no reason.”

“Grey would let me forge a warrant if I told him why. He’s very — what’s that phrase — girl dad coded?”

“I’m revoking your internet access.”

“Can’t stop a playa.”

You laugh, feeling the pressure in your chest loosen. “Thank you, Dad.”

“Anytime. Seriously, what’s his last name?”

Ignoring his question, you ask, “What do I tell Tim?”

“If you don’t want to give me his last name, you might want to hold as much personal information from Bradford as possible,” your dad advises.

“He wouldn’t go find this guy for trying to kiss me,” you argue.

“You might be surprised what Bradford would do for the people he loves.”

The people he loves. Tim has never hesitated to tell you he loves you, even after all he’s been through. He deserves to know the truth. But, you wonder, do I know the truth?

“Can I ask you something else?” you request, hoping that your dad has time for this and doesn’t say he has to go.

“Anything,” Smitty answers. “I’m hiding in the bathroom right now, so I have at least another 45 minutes before anyone thinks something is wrong.”

“I… I don’t want to know how you know that for sure. After I pushed Trevor away and told him not to try to kiss me, he said something. He said I’d been dropping hints since college. Have I?”

“I visited you in college,” Smitty reminds you. “A lot. Because I was worried about you. I never once saw you do anything to suggest there could be anything more than a friendship between you two. You might not want to hear this, but the male population has this fun quality where we try to make excuses to keep ourselves from being held accountable. Blame the people around us, insist that someone else brought it upon themselves. This Trevor guy seems to be an expert.”

“That was surprisingly well-said,” you murmur. “So, you don’t think it’s my fault?”

“Unwanted touch is called battery, kid,” Smitty insists. “Regardless of whether or not you said or did something in the past, he is entirely in the wrong. Don’t second-guess what you did, don’t do that to yourself. It’ll drive you crazy and then people will start believing I’m really your dad.”

“I’ll try not to,” you agree. “And if I see Tim tonight, I’ll tell him the truth.”

“Call me if you need anything else.”

“I will. I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too. And remember what I said about the warrant.”

Someone knocks on your door after you end the call, and you use the side of the bleacher risers to pull yourself up. With your fingers crossed, hoping that Trevor isn’t standing outside, you pull the door open.

“I made a B on my essay!” Liv cheers as she steps inside.

You breathe a sigh of relief, then smile and congratulate her.

Tim slams fourteen doors in three hours. Not that Lucy was counting. She didn’t bother asking him what was wrong or what happened when he went in to see you, knowing that he wouldn’t tell her anyway. When he returns to the shop after a traffic stop, he drops his head back against the seat and sighs.

“Don’t,” he says before Lucy can even open her mouth.

“I was going to ask if the guy gave you a hard time,” she defends softly.

“No, he was fine. Apologized for speeding,” Tim murmurs. “Our shift’s almost over.”

“Yeah. Do you have plans tonight?”

I did, Tim thinks. But I’m not sure I have anything right now. “I don’t think so,” he says.

“I know you told me not to,” Lucy begins.

“But you’re going to anyway,” Tim already knows. She’s not as subtle as she tends to think, but if she could say anything to make him feel better, she’s going to try. “I don’t want to talk about it, Chen.”

“With me? Or with anyone?” she questions. “Running from your feelings, giving up when it seems hard… that’s a surefire way to lose everything you care about.”

“What if there isn’t anything I can do to save what I’m losing?” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” Lucy sighs, turning toward him. “What happened?”

“We’re going back to the station,” he decides. “Find out where Smitty is.”

“Why?” Lucy inquires as she pulls her radio up.

“Because I don’t trust myself to see him right now,” Tim admits as he hits his blinker to return to the road.

Lucy nods, does as he asked, then sends you a text asking if you’re busy tonight. If Tim doesn’t want to talk about it, maybe you will. She can’t help but feel like she’s losing both of you.

“Start talking,” Lucy demands, locking the break room door behind her.

“About what?” Smitty questions as he tears the wrapper of a candy bar. “I have this theory on why Lopez really married the lawyer.”

“No, I— actually, I do kind of want to hear that, but not right now,” Lucy murmurs. She pulls up a chair across from Smitty and drops her elbows onto the table when she sits. “Tim and I went by the school this afternoon and he’s been in a horrible mood since then. Any idea what happened?”

“She told him?” Smitty asks, speaking over Lucy’s question.

Lucy raises a hand and counters, “Told him what?”

“About Trevor.”

“The creepy math teacher?”

Smitty snaps. “I knew I liked you, Chen.”

“Focus please, Smitty,” Lucy pleads. “What would she have told him about Trevor?”

“Uh, the bouquet,” Smitty begins, raising a finger to count off the rest of the list. “Grabbing her, trying to kiss her, telling her it was her fault for dropping hints since college, and being what I believe the kids call a stupidhead.”

Lucy’s eyes widen as Smitty speaks. She doesn’t bother telling Smitty his ‘kid lingo’ is outdated, too busy trying to piece together how that conversation might have gone with you and Tim.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she whispers.

“I know. Dude’s mucho loco.”

“No, I mean, there’s no way she told Tim. There wasn’t enough time. He was in and out in like a minute.”

Smitty nods, inspecting his candy bar.

“Oh, no,” Lucy realizes. She pushes her chair back when she stands. “Smitty, I think Tim saw Trevor try to kiss her.”

Smitty hums, then shrugs and takes a bite of his candy. “Nothing to do,” he muses with his mouth full.

Lucy inhales, preparing to speak, then leaves without saying anything else. Tim is already gone by the time she returns to the bullpen. She can only hope that he’s on his way to you rather than staying angry and hurt because of something he thinks he saw.

“Bradford?” Wade asks.

“Thinks his girlfriend’s cheating,” Lucy answers.

He rubs his forehead and mutters, “Lord, give me strength.”

“Did he leave?”

“He did. I’m not gettin’ in the middle of that, but feel free to save him from himself.”

“Does that mean I have to talk to Smitty again?”

“Smitty?” Wade exclaims.

Lucy tips her head and realizes, “You don’t know? Tim’s dating his daughter.”

Wade’s jaw drops before he commands, “My office. Now.”

The PlayStation controller creaks in Tim’s hands. Since he got home, he’s poured all his concentration and effort into a game his nephews bought. Anything to keep his mind off you. But it doesn’t work.

He restarts a hard level and imagines you laughing beside him, notices the game score in the background and thinks you’d like it, and even pauses the game once to check if he has the ingredients to make your favourite dinner when he’s finished. Though it’s not as if you’re coming over tonight. He hasn’t heard from you since before he saw you in the hall at school.

Tim completes a fight level, then tosses the controller aside and runs his hands through his hair. Acting like he’s angry at it all — at Trevor, at the situation, at losing what he has — is already exhausting him. Because he isn’t angry. He never was. From the very first moment he saw someone else’s hand on your waist, Tim felt something deep within him shatter. Now the sharp edges of those broken pieces are digging into him.

“Kojo,” Tim calls when he sets his bowl down.

Kojo trots over to him, then stretches to look at the couch and the door. He knows you aren’t here.

“I know,” Tim murmurs, patting his back. “I’ll call her tomorrow, bud.”

Pacing behind your couch, you forget about the sheet music you’re supposed to be marking for your students. You haven’t heard from Tim in a while, but you don’t know how to start a conversation with him right now. If you tell him what happened, he might agree with Trevor that you were dropping hints and you could lose Tim. Even if Tim understood and you kept moving forward with him, you’ll have to see Trevor at work, both of you remembering what happened today. There doesn’t seem to be a way to win in this situation.

You slow and snatch your phone off the couch, chewing your bottom lip as you open your messages. Tim, Lucy, and your dad are pinned in the app, and your thumb hovers between their contact photos.

“This isn’t fair,” you whisper to your empty home. A familiar pressure builds behind your eyes, and you turn your phone off. After finding your keys, you leave your work and your house behind.

Tim knows he should get some sleep, but if he closes his eyes, he’ll see you, feel the memory of your hands on him, and then the sadness he’s been burying all evening will rush into him. So, he finds a cooking show and tries to ignore the clock as it grows late enough that his heartbreak was technically yesterday.

It’s nearly one a.m. when someone knocks. With furrowed brows, Tim sends Kojo to his kennel, then measures his steps to the door. He doesn’t truly think about what he’s doing as he pulls the handle.

“Hi,” you greet softly, your face tear-stained and irritated. “I- I’m sorry for showing up so late.”

“It’s okay,” Tim soothes, keeping distance between you. “Uh, come in.”

You step inside with your hands laced behind you, feeling like a visitor for the first time. Tim closes the door, then looks at your face.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. It comes out harsher than he intended. He sounds angry because it’s still easier than falling to his knees and admitting that you have his heart and it’s breaking in your grasp.

“I’m scared,” you whisper, tugging your fingers. “I- I don’t want to lose you.”

Tim swallows uncomfortably and nods. He tries to prepare himself for you to admit to something he already knows, but knows there is nothing he could tell himself and no mask he could wear to truly escape this.

“Are you okay?” you check when Tim drops his eyes.

“Mmhmm,” he hums. “Why are you scared?”

“Um, okay, so at school today, I was working during my free period and someone knocked on the door. I thought it was probably one of the kids dropping in for help with homework or something, but it was Trevor.”

“Trevor,” Tim repeats. The name he couldn’t recall before. The man treating you like his own.

“His classroom’s across the hall,” you add, mistaking Tim’s repetition for confusion. “He teaches math. We went to college together and stayed friends the first year we taught. I, uh, I outgrew him, I think.”

Not enough, Tim thinks desperately.

“He knocked, I invited him in assuming he needed to talk about work. He told me it was the anniversary of our final exams and he got me something — which I thought was super weird.” You pause and wipe your face with your knuckles, leading Tim to step forward. He wants to pull your hands down, be gentler with you than you are with yourself. It may not be his place for much longer. “Even though it was odd, I stepped out and looked at the bouquet he got me. Said thanks then was going to go back in. He, uh… he—”

“He got you a bouquet?” Tim interjects when your breaths shorten, hoping that focusing on the story will help calm you down.

“A really ugly one,” you affirm. For the first time in hours, Tim feels something more like what he’s used to experiencing around you. Elation, joy, love, whatever Lucy might call it, it sparks in his chest and Tim clutches that sliver of emotion with all his strength.

“Take your time,” Tim encourages, nodding despite knowing you aren’t looking at him.

“He told me he tried to find a bouquet like the one my dad got me, not knowing that the last bouquet I got was from you. Then-“ You hiccup on a cry before you blurt out, “He grabbed me and he tried to kiss me, and I shoved him away and told him that I have you. He insisted that it was all my fault for leading him on since college and, Tim, I swear I didn’t mean to. I love you and I don’t want to lose you and I- I’m pretty sure that he—”

“Honey,” Tim interrupts. He closes the distance between you, placing one hand in the dip of your waist and cupping your jaw with the other. “Breathe with me,” he whispers.

You try to match his over-emphasized exhales, looking at Tim’s face and relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. This is how you were made to be touched. Not like the forceful handling Trevor thought he was entitled to.

“You’re not losing me,” Tim promises softly.

“Yes, I am,” you argue. “You’re mad at me.”

“I was mad,” Tim agrees as he knocks your hand away from your face and gently swipes the tears from your cheeks. “I was at the school today.”

You sniff and meet his eyes. “You were? When?”

“Uh… When Trevor tried to kiss you. All I saw was his hands on you and him leaning in. I assumed the worst. But, hey, listen to me,” he redirects when you try to pull back. “You have never done anything to justify me coming to that conclusion. I know you love me. I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at him and mad that I thought I was losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Are you… do you want to break up?” you check quietly.

“No, honey,” Tim promises with a kiss to your forehead. “How about I order a pizza, and you stay here? Maybe for the whole weekend?”

“I’d like that,” you answer. You smile and that feeling returns to Tim with a force that would knock anyone else off their feet, but he’s familiar with the nature of loving you. An expert in it, even. “I talked to my dad earlier because I knew if I called you, I’d just start crying and not get anywhere. He told me that he thought Trevor was a creep in college.”

“Trevor’s a creep now,” Tim corrects, leading you to the couch, where Kojo is waiting to greet you. “And what he said about you leading him on was an excuse, so he didn’t have to hold himself accountable for assaulting you.”

You blink up at Tim and murmur, “That’s exactly what my dad said.”

“I won’t ever say this again, but you should listen to your dad.”

You laugh and greet Kojo as Tim orders a pizza and retrieves your favourite blanket from his bedroom. Protecting your peace doesn’t require the sacrifice you once thought it did; not when Tim is here.

“Did you talk to Lucy?” Tim asks when he returns to your side.

“No. Should I?”

Tim welcomes you against him, holding an arm around you to keep you close. “I thought she would have reached out when I started slamming doors this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry,” you offer.

“It’s not your fault. Remember that, okay?”

“I’ll try. What do you think I should do about work? Just pretend it didn’t happen and set some new boundaries?”

“Don’t ignore it,” Tim replies. “Tell someone — preferably someone with the power to fire him.”

“Right. And the fact we’re neighbors and I see him all the time?”

Tim taps his fingers along your side to the rhythm of the song playing from his phone. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. “I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”

“Because he thinks I’ll get him fired,” you muse.

“Right,” Tim lies. Not because I’m going to have a talk with him the next time I come by. First thing Monday morning, maybe.

“What song is this?” you wonder.

“Score from a video game I was playing earlier. I thought you’d like it.”

Straightening, you mutter, “You were right.”

Tim holds your cheek and nods once. “Can I kiss you?” he checks.

“Please.”

He moves slowly, carefully, reverently. Neither of you hear the doorbell the first time, only noticing your late dinner/early breakfast has arrived when Kojo barks at the second ring.

Tim’s phone chimes after he brings the pizza, a few paper plates, and your favourite drink to the coffee table. He reads what you assume is a text, then rolls his eyes and pauses the music to turn on a movie.

“Are you going to apologize to Lucy for slamming doors?” you ask, smiling brightly.

“I considered it,” he answers. “But then she told Wade we’re dating, so no.”

“Wade, your watch commander?” you check.

Tim narrows his eyes and wonders, “How do you know that?”

“My dad said he’d forge a warrant for Trevor because he is, and I quote, ‘girl dad coded.’”

Tim huffs a disbelieving breath, then passes you a plate. “He might not be entirely wrong about that.”

“My dad also implied that you’d find Trevor if I told you what happened.”

“Do you want me to?” Tim asks.

You purse your lips before deciding, “Not worth it.”

Tim plans to do it anyway, but maybe it will stay between him and Trevor.

“Did the kids decide?” he asks.

“Oh, yes! We’re going to Universal two weeks from today.”

“Sounds fun.” Tim waits several minutes before he offers, “Need another chaperone?”

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