Its Baffling Seeing People On Here Being All Shocked About How Other Ppl Didnt Have Sex Or Do Drugs Or

Favorite Customer: Edward Nashton x Gn!reader

description: (based off of this concept and this concept) Eddie's picking up shifts at the diner where he's quickly gained a favorite customer who comes in without fail, every saturday. when eddie though, is the one who fails to show up one saturday, his favorite customer realizes how much they enjoy his company, so they make an effort to make sure they'll never miss eddie again.

content: crushing!!! so much crushing!! eddie has a huge crush. no real established timeline (can be pre- riddler or riddler era eddie, whatever your heart desires!), lovesirck, nervous, stuttery eddie <33 (he's too cute) this fic is pretty much pure fluff! no real warnings to be given :)

word count: 4775

a/n: i have had THE biggest diner!eddie brainrot since i started discussing the concept a few days ago... him as a shy waitier with a favorite customer who he just adores :(( TOO CUTE... so here's a short little drabble while i work on some bigger fics.

-

Edward felt his chest tighten as he looked across the crowded diner, an increased foreboding feeling filled the space between his ribs. His stomach churned with a certain disquietude while laying his eyes on the sea of people surrounding him. Chattering customers sat about, making more noise than Eddie knew how to deal with, their incessant ranting and raving filling his brain to a capacity that he could not stand. He let out a shaky exhale, desperately preparing himself for the Saturday dinner rush that had already begun.

"Nashton!" An unnecessarily loud call came from directly behind him. He tried his best not to cringe at the sound, Edward could spot the voice of his shift supervisor anywhere, he loathed the sound of her thick New Jersey accent, and shrill, scratchy tone that could only be found in a woman who's been smoking for far too long. Her rough voice alone made Edward contemplate quitting his own nicotine addiction, not wanting to end up barely over 60 and already sounding like he's decaying. But with the anxiety caused by shifts like these, he found himself desperate for a cigarette. His long fingers lightly grazed the front pocket of his work pants, making sure the half-empty package of cigarettes still remained where he left it.

Edward turned around to face the voice, looking at his supervisor with a big, lost look plastered all over his face. He did little to hide the nameless dread that swarmed every cavity of his being, his low-hanging head, and god-awful posture all alluding to his negative state of mind.

"Ya regula' is here sweetheart, table 8, go make ya-self useful it's too busy for ya to just be standin' around like that."

At the announcement of his regular being there, Edward's entire demeanor changed. Suddenly he's standing up straight, and his eyes are wide and attentive, he'd hardly even noticed his supervisor's condescending tone. An involuntary smile crept on his face and his stomach began to do loops.

"Y-yes," Edward nodded, an overwhelming excitement threatened his stuttering voice.

Edward began to make his way over to table 8, the anxieties of the crowded diner slowly drifting away as he caught a glimpse of you from across the room. You were sitting there, with a strained look on your face as you hunched over a beat-up notebook. Edward worried you'd be able to feel his eyes burning into you from how intensely he was looking in your direction, but he couldn't help himself, he was infatuated with you.

Ever since he started picking up shifts at the diner on weekends to help out with rent he'd notice you come in every Saturday. You'd always come in on your own, sometimes with textbooks, or notebooks, maybe even a computer. Over the course of weeks spent serving you, he'd come to find out that sometimes you would come to the diner to study and as the two of you grew closer he'd even on occasion helped you out with your coursework. Usually on nights where it was late, and the diner had gone nearly empty, but you and he still remained, you'd let out a frustrated sigh, and Edward would ask to take a look at your work. Edward wasn't always the greatest in school- he was smart but too miserable to ever put in enough effort to apply himself properly. But you, you gave him the boost he needed and he was more than happy to put in as much work as necessary to show you his capabilities. That being said most of the time he did understand the work you were doing, and he'd sheepishly look around the diner, making sure no one else needed his help, and once he was in the clear he'd sit next to you and try not to stutter too hard while explaining whatever concept it was to you.

Those nights were Edward's favorite. You always looked so cute with that exasperated look on your face, asking Edward for help. Edward sort of liked the feeling of someone needing his help. Even if it was just for some schoolwork.

But, regardless of whether you were studying or not, every Saturday night without fail, you'd come in completely on your own. Edward always wondered what someone like you would be doing all on your own at a cheap diner on a Saturday evening, after all, Saturdays were for having fun, right? He'd wonder if you were lonely like he was, or if you just liked to take time to yourself. Maybe spending your night surrounded by rude, rowdy strangers was your idea of a fun Saturday night.

He wondered a lot about you actually, even outside of his Saturday shifts. He thought about you often, he couldn't help himself. Your weekly appearances made the job worthwhile, your pretty smile and sweet demeanor were Edward's escape from the usual verbal abuse and beratement he suffered at the hands of most of the customers while on the job. You treated Edward like he was real, like he was a person, your quick waiter-to-patron exchanges were warmer than any of the treatment he'd ever gotten in his life thus far.

So, when Edward had fallen ill last weekend after a co-worker at his day job had come into work with a nasty cold he was absolutely devastated he'd miss his weekly encounter with you. While Edward sat home, sick, fever overcoming his body, he continued to wonder. He wondered if you even noticed that he was missing, or if you were maybe even glad he wouldn't be bothering you tonight. He worried maybe you'd like your server tonight more than you liked him, maybe you'd gotten one of his more confident, more "conventionally attractive" co-workers as your server and maybe the two of you really hit it off.

The worries plagued his aching head until a calmer, more appealing part of his consciousness took over, one that dreamed up a fantasy of you sitting alone at a booth by the window, completely on your own, unhappy with tonight's waiter, missing him. The thought of you even just recognizing Edward's absence put a smile on his face. Of course, it also made him feel a little guilty, he didn't want you to be unhappy, only, unhappy regarding the fact you weren't with him.

But now, Edward was back, and in good health once again. He wiped his clammy palms against the thick fabric of his pants. His thighs tremble under the firm touch of his hands. Something catches your attention and you suddenly drop the pencil in your hand and look up from your notebook. Your head turns to the side and all of a sudden you and Edward are making eye contact, Edward feels his body go stiff as a large smile spreads across your face.

"Eddie!" You exclaim the moment he gets within a few feet of your table. Edward feels his heart begin to beat faster as the sound of your voice. He can't help but melt every time you call him Eddie, you were the only person who'd ever called him that.

"H-hi y/n," He smiles, approaching the small table.

"I missed you last week Eddie," You lean forward against the table, resting your chin in your hand. You noticed. Edward felt his breath get caught in his throat and he had to try to think really hard for a moment about how to remember to breathe. The way you looked up at him had him in a daze, the way the soft diner light's reflected off your eyes, and how this lighting perfectly flattered your skin. Edward had never in his life gazed at something so beautiful.

"Oh-oh yeah, someone at my other job got me sick so I couldn't come in."

"Aww, my poor Eddie." You whine, giving Edward an overexaggerated pout, looking up at him with big, sad, puppy-dog eyes. Edward's head begins to go a little fuzzy, who's Eddie? YOUR poor Eddie? Edward worries he may pass out, but the thought of how embarrassing it would be to faint right there in front of you is enough to keep his consciousness half-working. "You're feeling better now though, right?"

"Yeah, yeah- i-it was just a cold."

"Good," You smile, "I'm glad, it kind of sucked without you here, I was looking forward to seeing you and all- I even brought this really hard crossword puzzle I found in the newspaper for us to do together." A crossword puzzle? Together? Edward can't believe his ears. He's sure he looks absolutely insane right now, eyes blown wide, and his usually pale cheeks a deep, rosy pink.

"Did you um- finish it yourself?"

"No," You shake your head, "It's still on my coffee table." You let out a small, soft chuckle at the end of your sentence, and Edward swears he's fallen in love the instant the sound of your stifled laugh hits his ears. It's only been two weeks since he last saw you but god did he miss your voice.

"Well, if you bring it next time I'll do it with you." Edward nods before once again wiping his palms against his thighs. His hands tremble slightly as he tries to relieve them of some of the moisture they've accumulated from his nerves. It doesn't work. Edward's eyes quickly dart from you, to the notebook that's open in front of you, "What are you studying today?"

"I was really hoping you'd ask" You pick your head up from your hand, 'Remember how I was telling you how I was taking that forensics class?"

"Mhm." Edward rocks forward slightly.

"We're studying the Zodiac Killer right now, and as a challenge, my professor gave us the 408-cipher to try and solve for extra credit, and, god, this shit is hard." You let out an exasperated sigh.

Edward's face lights up upon hearing this news, excited that he now has the opportunity to help you out with something he knows he's good at.

"Do you want me to take a look at it when I get my break?" Edward asks, trying his best to not talk too loud or too forcefully out of pure eagerness.

"Would you please, Eddie?" And there you go again, looking up at Edward with those soft, sweet eyes, and he's weak in the knees now.

"Of course," He nods eagerly. Just then he's startled by the feeling of someone's hand on his shoulder. His body flinches slightly, caught off guard by the sudden sensation.

"Hey- hurry it up Nashton, you've got other customers waiting." Edward turns to see one of his fellow waiters standing behind him. Edward's jaw clenches tight in frustration at both being touched and being interrupted. Edward stares the man down, a long string of expletives brew in his vocal cords and he bites down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something that would get him fired or even worse make you upset. His teeth are puncturing his tongue so hard that a slight metallic taste seeps into his taste buds.

"Sorry." Edward barely mumbles out through gritted teeth. Who does he think he is, interrupting such a moment? Edward quickly turns back to face you, your brows furrowed slightly at the waiter who'd just reprimanded him. "Oh-uh I should probably take your order. The usual?"

"Yes please," Your expression quickly softens to a smile as the other waiter leaves your presence. You hand Edward back the menu the hostess had placed at your table, "You know me so well."

"I'll get that to you as fast as I can," Edward says, taking the menu back from you, rocking forward back and forth slightly on the balls of his feet.

"No rush Eddie." You assure.

-

It had been nearly two hours since Edward had cleared the dishes from your table, and you still sat there, in that booth, nose down in your notebook. Edward stared at you from across the diner, admiring your every move, he felt a little creepy but he just could not take his eyes off of you. A faint smile grazed upon his small pink lips as your brows knitted together and you let out what seemed to look like a sigh.

The diner had cleared out substantially as the late-night dinner rush faded into the early hours of the morning.

"You can take ya' 30 now Nashton," his supervisor said, pushing past his shoulder with a mostly empty coffee pot in hand. He nodded in response, despite no longer being within the woman's line of sight.

Edward makes his way over to the dessert case that sits right at the front of the diner. He slides open the case and takes out a slice of pumpkin pie that sits on one of the shelves, before heading to your table. Edward places the glass plate down and it rattles against the plastic tabletop, before taking his place on the seat opposite you with no warning. Your head popped up from your notebook immediately as you heard the sound of someone in front of you.

"Edward!" You said with a small gasp, "You startled me."

"Oh- I'm sorry." Edward frowns, his cheeks flush, hoping he hasn't upset you too greatly.

"It's no bother," You shake your head, "Come sit next to me," you scoot yourself over in the booth and pat the cheap pleather next to you.

Edward is quick to get up from his spot- anxiously taking the opportunity to get at least a little bit closer to you.

"Is this for me?" You smile, pointing at the slice of pumpkin pie that sits in front of you.

"Yeah, it's on me."

"You're too sweet to me Eddie," You say grabbing the plate and bringing it towards you. "You want to share?"

"No, it's okay, only if you don't finish it." He shakes his head and puts up his hands, motioning that you can keep the pie to yourself.

"Okay," you pause, "Should we get started?"

"Mhm."

-

"See? You got it." Edward said handing you back your pencil. "And this shape here... this would also be..." His voice trailed off as he extended a long finger to point at a square-like shape on the cipher.

"L...?" You asked, looking over to Edward for reassurance.

"Exactly! See? It's easy." his voice full of nothing but adoration and praise.

"Easy to you Eddie, you're like... a genius." You giggle. Edward's cheeks begin to turn a soft shade of red in response to your compliment.

"Oh," He sighs and shakes his head, "Not a genius, look, you did most of the work."

"With your help Eddie."

Edward's entire body gets hot and he can feel your eyes on him, he can't think of anything to say, no words will come out. You sound so kind, so appreciative, it has Edward in a trance. He's almost glad that his words are stuck in his throat, worrying that if somehow, someway they were able to climb their way out of his mouth he'll say something dumb. In a weak attempt to escape your unrelenting gaze Edward glances downwards and while doing so gets a quick look at the watch that wraps around his wrist. The ticking minute and second hands instill dread within him as he looks down at their surface.

"Shit." He sighs, "My break ended 5 minutes ago."

You frown, "Well, I'm not leaving until I finish this cipher, so, I'll probably still be here when you get off."

"Alright," Edward looks back up and pushes his glasses back up his nose, glancing back up at you he notices a sudden change in your face, your brows hang lower and your mouth points downwards. He can't quite explain the way your look makes him feel but he knows its not good. Edward looks around, noticing the lingering customers that are still scattered about. It's not that many people, he sighs "I- I'll be around a few more times." He sets his hands on the table and nods reassuringly.

"Okay," You respond in a hushed voice, barely above a whisper. Edward usually loves to hear your voice, but not now, you sound dejected, disappointment radiates off those two little syllables and he's well aware he's the one who caused it. Edward tilts his head as he looks at you, the corners of his mouth involuntarily falling just as yours had done seconds prior.

"You've got this," he barely lifts his finger to point towards your open notebook, he gives you a wholehearted smile, cheering you on in an attempt to hopefully lift that frown off your face.

"Thanks, Eddie." Your lips perk up slightly in a small smile, and Edward is relieved slightly that he is able to make at least a tiny change to your disappointed appearance.

He wants to stay sat down, helping you with the rest of the cipher, praising you every single time you get something right. He wants nothing more than to sit next to you for the rest of the night, and he contemplates just saying fuck it and doing just that. But the rational part of Edward's brain knows he can't risk getting fired, can't risk losing this job, and in the long run spending an extra few hours with you was not worth losing out on potential weeks' worth of diner visits.

So, unwillingly, he begins to send himself back to reality, away from your warmth and delight. He looks back around, noticing that the old couple that has been harping on him all night is still sitting at a booth in the far corner of the diner. A long breath falls from his lips, wishing that all of his customers could be as sweet as you, greeting him with a kind smile and attentive eyes. But even then Edward knows no one could ever compare, he knows he would never get as much pleasure from serving anyone as he does you. You were an experience he could not find anywhere else, and that's why it pained him so much to once again leave you alone in this booth, left to try and solve this cipher on your own.

Edward slowly stands up from the table, his hands warily pushing into its surface, reluctantly supporting him as he makes his depart.

"I'll be back soon," He smiles, stepping out of the booth.

"See you, Eddie."

-

A brisk wind hits Edward's face as he takes a step out of the overwhelming confines of the diner, slipping out into the dark Gotham streets. He sighs as he leans up against the building, his fingers slipping into his pocket to fish for the battered cigarette package. His hand wraps around the flimsy cardboard and takes it out of the tight confines of his trousers, flipping open the top and taking out a cigarette. He places the long, slender stick in his mouth before placing the package of cigarettes back in his pocket, and searching for his lighter in the other one. The cigarette sits between his teeth as both of Edward's hands come up close to his face, one cupped around his mouth to protect the impending flame from the wind, and the other holding his lighter, ready to strike. A calloused finger flicks down on the cold, metal flint, eliciting a bright orange flame from the cheap green lighter. The soft glow from the flame casts a small amount of warmth against Edward's face as he lights the end of his cigarette.

Edward inhales the warm smoke, letting the cool taste of menthol coat his mouth and throat, his prior urge to quit dissipates just as quickly as the smoke that exits his mouth does when it hits the wind. Edward's vaguely aware of each inhale's toxicity, but people fill their bodies with garbage every day, so really, how much more harm could a cigarette be doing?

Edward suddenly turns around, startled by the rattling of the diner door behind him. His gaze now falls upon you, who's just exited the diner, bag full of books slung over your shoulder, ready to leave. Your sudden appearance catches Edward way off guard, causing him to stifle his inhale, the smoke getting stuck in his throat. The once comforting warmth is now burning as he begins to viciously cough, nearly dropping his cigarette in the process. You stand there next to him, a vaguely worried look on your face.

"You alright, Eddie?" You ask, tiliting your head to the side.

"Yeah-yeah," Edward barely chokes out after a few more coughs, his face flushed with embarrassment. Finally, he catches his breath and straightens himself out, and a more relieved look washes over your face.

"I finished the cipher." You state, "I- uhh- I left a copy of it on the table- right next to your tip- if you wanted to take a look at it."

"Of course I do," His face lights up, "That's good. I told you you could do it." Edward's free hand taps anxiously at his side, his fingers pattering at the fabric of his pants.

"Well," You look down at your feet, a shy smile tugging at your lips, "It was mostly you, Eddie."

Edward wonders why you're being so bashful, you should be proud of yourself.

"Don't discount your work, I merely just helped,"

"I guess." You shrug, "Well- I just thought I'd let you know it's there for you on the table, I didn't know if you're staying 'til close- but I'm getting pretty tired so I figured I should go."

"No-uh-yeah that's alright, I still have a bit left on my shift." Edward nods incessantly. "Thank you for letting me know."

"Of course Eddie." You smile, "Goodbye," You shift towards Edward slightly and open your arms. He freezes for a minute, all of his joints simultaneously feeling like they've just locked up. He needs to take a second to process what your open arms are inviting before he anxiously opens his up slightly too.

Your arms find themselves on his torso, just barely giving his upper body a squeeze. Edward is completely thrown off guard, you've never hugged him before. He wants nothing more than to throw his arms around you, pull you into a bone-crushing embrace, and show you the full force of his affections. But he stops himself, only wrapping one arm fully around your back, and the one with the cigarette loosely around you, keeping it stuck out slightly to keep the flame away from your body.

Even in your friendly embrace, Edward can't help but admire the warmth that radiates off of you. Not just physical body heat, but the way your arms hold him, and your headrests just gently on his shoulder, no one has ever handled him with such delicacy. He couldn't even tell you the last time he had a hug, years probably, and one like this? Literally never.

"Goodbye." He choked

He desperately suppressed the urge to tell you how much this meant to him, to get comfortable in your arms, to let you hold him there- but Edward knew this was no more than a friendly goodbye hug between two acquaintances. Your arms slowly pulled away from him as a small yawn escaped from your mouth. He couldn't even be disappointed at the sensation of you letting him go, the afterglow of even the simplest affection, was so heavy on his face.

"See you soon!" You wave, beginning to step away from Edward.

"Please be safe." He urges, unable to not worry about the possibilities of wandering around Gotham late at night.

"I will Eddie," You sport a content grin across your face as you turn around and walk away. Edward's gaze follows you down the sidewalk until he sees you get into a car that he presumes is yours.

He brings his cigarette back to his lips, inhaling, desperate for some relief now that his mind is once again moving at a million miles a second. The nicotine does little to calm him down now, still all too stunned from your sweet goodbye. If anyone were to pass by now he'd surely look like a madman, his body entirely stiff and locked up, smiling like an absolute maniac. But he didn't have half the mind to even care about his perception to other people because you hugged him. How could he ever possibly stop thinking about that? How could literally anything else in his life matter?

Edward quickly finishes his smoke, eager to see your work on the Zodiac cipher. What remains of the cigarette falls from Edward's fingers and onto the cold, hard ground below. He steps over the dwindling flame, crushing the cigarette with the heel of his boot and scraping the rubber sole against the rough pavement to make sure it's been put out. He anxiously steps back inside where he b-lines right to your table. The first thing he notices is a generous $15 tip, way over 20% for your meal. The sight of the wet bills sitting under a cup covered in tiny droplets of condensation brings a small smile to Edward's face, even though it makes him feel a little shallow.

Next to the bills, however, Edward notices a copy of the Zodiac cipher penciled out on the same notebook paper you had been using, on a separate sheet, the answer to the cipher, both of which he'd expected to see. However, Edward is slightly caught off-guard by a third sheet of paper, containing the same symbols of the 408 cipher, but of a different length in order, with a simple"Solve me :)" scribbled at the top.

Edward quickly realizes that you've left him your own cipher to solve, and he's even more excited now than he was before, just getting to see your solution to the Zodiac cipher. But now you're actually partaking in a puzzle for him to figure out? Could you get any more perfect? Edward's chest moves so rapidly, his breathing so present, that he's positive that it could probably be heard from tables away.

Despite all his eagerness to immediately drop everything and begin to decipher your message, he can hear his supervisor calling his name from across the diner. He gives out a shaky sigh, collecting the things from the table before returning to his job.

-

It's after 2 a.m. and Edward's finally home, his aching back hunched over his large wooden desk, papers sprawled throughout, illuminated only by a single, blinding lamp. He chews on his lip as he scribbles out the last remaining letters of your cipher before stepping back to read your work.

To my favorite waiter,

I know you love puzzles, so I wanted to try my hand at one I hope it's not too easy to solve, when you get the answer, give me a call!

The cipher then spelled out a series of ten single-digit numbers. Edward's pen fell right out of his hand straight onto the ground and his jaw went slack once he put everything together. Those numbers spelled out a phone number your phone number. You wanted him to call you. HIM!

Edward runs a hand through his sandy-blonde hair, lightly tugging on the strands as his fingers pass through in pure disbelief. Had his apartment always been this warm? His vision always been this blurry? Anxious fingers fumble towards his back pocket, quickly whipping out his phone. His hands are visibly shaking as he holds his phone out in front of him, typing the numbers onto the keypad. His nervous shakes causing him to hit the wrong number more than once.

Once he finally has the number down he sits there, staring at his bright screen reflecting back onto his face. He's lost, he has no clue what to do. You said to call him... but what if you're asleep? It is pretty late. What if it's a cruel joke and that's not even your real number? What if he says something stupid and embarrasses himself. Edward is at a loss, but he can't give up this opportunity, no way.

Edward screws his eyes shut tight, fuck it, he presses the bright green call button that shines in his face. The phone begins to ring, each high pitched toll feels like a growing mockery of Edward's own anxieties.

And finally, the ringing stops, the line picks up. Edward's heart drops down to his stomach.

"H-hello," He stutters into the speaker.

"Eddie!" A familiar voice says on the other side, comfort reigns over Edward as his body finally slumps back into his chair, "You called!"

Free Palestine.

The Riddler

By Sarah

𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝 | 𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐡 (𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: at ralph’s birthday party, you feel the need to apologize for what you’ve done.ralph, meanwhile, has a question to ask you. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ralph (timewasters, 2017) x fem!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none! cuteness with ralph, maybe kissing? if that’s a warning? 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is so short i’m sorry but it’s fine (also the surname penbury is courtesy of @mypoisonedvine hehe thanks jd <3)

“Don’t you think you’re a little mean to Ralph sometimes?” you asked, looking down into your glass of champagne. The party was raging all around you, the jazz quartet having moved into some slower songs after the fun of their first song, and Victoria had dragged you to sit and gossip about the “drippy” musician that she planned on asking to dance. 

Of course, this wasn’t the first time you had ever posed the question to Victoria. You had known Lady Victoria Penbury since you were in nappies together, and you had known Lord Ralph for just as long— Ralph had a habit of trailing after his twin like a lost puppy, and, while Victoria had always treated her brother as a brother, teasing him and all, since moving into adulthood, her teasing had become more than that. 

“What do you mean?” Victoria asked, her pencil-thin eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “He’s Ralph.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you said. “You talk over him all the time, you dismiss him constantly; he doesn’t deserve that.” 

“And since when do you care?” Victoria asked. “You’ve done it too.” 

“I used to,” you corrected her. “And I feel bad about it. But he’s your brother, you should treat him better.” 

“Why do you suddenly care about how I talk to Ralph?” Victoria asked.

“Because it’s his birthday too,” you said, gesturing across the room to him. “And he’s sitting all alone over there.” 

“If you’re so concerned about him, you go over to him,” Victoria told you, lifting her nose up. “Go apologize for the way we’ve treated him.” 

“I was never as bad as you,” you said, gritting your teeth. “At least I act like I actually care about Ralph.” 

With that, you got up from the table, gathering your purse in your hand, and you scowled once more at Victoria before taking yourself across the room to where Ralph sat all alone, nursing a glass of champagne. He looked pitiful, although Ralph often looked pitiful, his big eyes wet and owlish and his shoulders slunk in on himself. You knew that Ralph had the capacity to be lively, and seeing him look so forlorn only tugged on your heartstrings. 

“Hi,” you said gently, and he looked at you with his doe eyes. God, he really was gorgeous, especially in the multicolored suit jacket that he wore. His hair was slicked back, small fashionable waves sculpted, and you watched his entire demeanor change at the sight of you. 

Ralph straightened up, a smile breaking on his face, and he cheered your name. “How are you?” he asked, and he gestured at the empty chair next to him for you to sit. The beads on your dress lightly clacked as you sat, and Ralph looked like he couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. 

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “How are you, though, Ralph? You look… Sad.” 

Ralph shrugged. “I’m merely gathering energy,” he told you. “For the next dance! Would you dance with me?” 

“Of course I will,” you told him, but you struggled to swallow. “Ralph, I wanted to come here to say, um… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Ralph asked, his eyebrows furrowing, much like his sister; for twins, they didn’t look anything alike, but often they had the exact same expressions and mannerisms. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But I have, though,” you protested. “I’m so… I’ve been so mean to you. I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t been mean,” Ralph said. He played with his tie, his fingers lightly stroking the silken fabric, and you sighed heavily. He was anxious and uncomfortable, you could tell, and you reached out and took his hand. 

“Yes, I have,” you told him. “I-I’m rude to you all the time, I never listen to you, I feel proper terrible about the way I’ve treated you these past few years. And here we are, your birthday party, and you’re all alone. If I’ve done anything to hurt you, please, let me apologize.” 

Ralph was quiet, his chest heaving as he sighed, and he mumbled, “You’ve done nothing bad to me. Victoria is your friend, and I, her little brother. If anything, treating your friend’s little brother like dirt is common, and you’ve not nearly gotten there yet.” 

“Ralph, you realize how bad that is, right?” you told him, holding his hand tightly. “I’m sorry for treating you that way. I-I feel awful.” 

Ralph was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking, and he took his bottom lip between his teeth.  “Dance with me now,” he said simply. 

“Dance with you?” you repeated. “Why?” 

“Because I want to dance, there’s a good song playing, and I have nobody to dance with,” Ralph told you. Then, grinning, he added, “You promised me. And it’ll help me accept your apology quicker.” 

“Oh, so you’re manipulating me?” you asked with a light laugh, and Ralph nodded quickly. 

“It’s what I do best,” Ralph told you, and you were glad to see his smile back. Ralph was a typically happy guy, always giddy and smiling, and you loved to see it. Truthfully, if you could find it in yourself to admit it, you loved to see Ralph. 

He was such great fun, always chattering away or playing his ukulele, and, over the years, you had grown a fondness for the slightly younger Penbury sibling. He was a handsome man, those big eyes and pink lips and sweet smile, and his chirpy happiness was intoxicating; that is, when Victoria wasn’t dissing him. There might have been a time when you would have said that you had a crush on Ralph, but, now, as adults, you had locked those feelings away. 

Ralph stood from his chair, his hand still in yours, and he pulled you to the middle of the dance floor, his shoes making an odd tapping noise as he walked. “Are you…” you started with a giggle, and Ralph’s smile grew. “Are you wearing tap shoes?” 

“Yes!” Ralph exclaimed. “Aren’t they wizard?” His face fell for a moment, almost as if he expected you to interrupt him or shout his name to get him to quiet down, and your heart hurt. 

“They are wizard,” you told him. “Exceptionally wizard, Ralph.” 

“A-And my hair?” Ralph asked next, his hand drifting up to lightly touch the finger waves in his hair. 

“Handsome, as always,” you said, and that cute smile spread across his lips again. One of his hands came down then to touch your waist, the other capturing your free hand, and you laughed at the tap-tap-tap of his shoes as he stepped to dance with you. 

“You look beautiful,” Ralph told you, and, when you looked up at his face, you were mesmerized by those eyes of his. If you were just a little drunk, you might have even tried to kiss him. You felt the pull in your belly, but your confidence is what you lacked. You didn’t care what Victoria thought, or any of your other socialite friends— you were terrified of Ralph. Sweet Ralph scared the hell out of you. If you kissed him and he rejected you, you had no idea what you would do with yourself. 

“Thank you,” you told him anyway, and you clenched your back teeth to keep in any confessions of admiration. 

Ralph, it seemed, had other ideas. A moment passed, those big eyes fixed on your face, and he whispered, “Please don’t hate me.” 

“Why would I—“ you started, but Ralph leaned forward before you could finish your question, and he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was objectively simple, nothing more than his mouth meeting yours, but fireworks exploded in your chest all the same. Ralph was kissing you, and you loved it. 

The kiss broke, and you couldn’t control the warm flush that invaded your cheeks. Ralph gave you a shy smile, and he said, “Do you hate me?” 

“I could never,” you told him, and your hand lifted from his and fell to the back of his neck, and you kissed him again. You could almost feel Victoria’s beady eyes lock on you as you kissed Ralph, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything; only Ralph. 

Ralph said your name against your mouth, and you pulled away from him with hopeful eyes. “I…” he started. “I wanted to… I have a question for you.” 

“Anything, Ralph,” you told him, your eyes softening at him. “What is it?”

“I’ve wanted to ask you for years,” Ralph confessed, and your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. He smiled at your simple affections, and he cleared his throat, like he was nervous. “But do you… I…” 

“”Ralph?” you asked gently, cradling Ralph’s cheek in your hand. He nuzzled his face into your hand for a moment, his eyes closed as he breathed, and he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you. 

“Marry me.” 

“Ralph,” you gasped, and your heart sank into your stomach. “Oh, darling, I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” Ralph asked. “We’ve known each other our whole lives, and I love you, and I know that you love me too. You don’t have to tell me, because I know.” 

You liked how Ralph just seemed to know, that you didn’t need to tell him anything. Despite him knowing, though, you needed to tell him. “I do love you,” you confessed. “I think I always have. But we can’t just get married, darling, there are things we need to do first.”

“Like what?” Ralph asked quickly. “I’ll do them. Anything to be yours.” 

You took a deep breath, and you mumbled, “At least take me on a date first before you marry me.” 

“I’ll do it,” Ralph told you. “What else?” 

“Ralph, darling, it’s just not how things are done,” you uttered. Despite everything, you stayed in his arms, and you leaned forward and touched your cheek to his chest. You could feel his heartbeat under his jacket, quick like a rabbit’s, and you added, “I need a ring, and we’re not even courting. I adore the thought, I do, but we can’t just get married.” 

“Says who?” Ralph asked. “I’ve loved you since we were little. And, knowing how you feel, it only makes me more anxious to start my life with you.” 

“You have a life—” you started, but Ralph cut you off. 

“Do I?” Ralph asked. “Trailing after my sister is not a life. My life means nothing without you, my love. You bring me meaning and happiness.” 

“You do the same for me,” you said softly, and you looked up at his face. “I… Alright, Ralph. I’ll tell you what: I’ll marry you tomorrow if you want, but you have to tell Victoria.” 

Ralph pouted, and it made you smile. “Must I?” he asked, like the tortured little brother that he was. 

“It’s like you said,” you told him. “If you’ve known me your whole life, so has your sister. Tell her that you intend to marry me tomorrow.” 

Ralph looked over his shoulder to Victoria, who was, as you had suspected, staring right at you. “One more kiss before the dragon breathes fire and slays me?” he mumbled as he turned back to you, and you giggled. 

“Of course, my darling,” you whispered, and Ralph leaned down to kiss you one more time.  

Delivery driver reader is just so fun to think about for me, especially if they're aware of the yanderes on their route, but they really need the money so they just have to learn how to avoid those houses.

-

[You creep to a front door, trying to nab a tip taped to it before another can notice]

A neighbor: Hey you work at the pizza place around the corner right? What are your deals?

You: You fool! [Sprints to the car as the door opens]

Yan: Y/n, come back! The rest of your tip is in the bedroom!

i knew what i was going to see, but i still gasped when i saw it.

You: Is something burning?

John Doe, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

You: John, the toaster is literally on fire.

Can I request as ethan landry as a bf? thanks!

(Toxic relationship with female reader)

Toxic Ethan Landry as a bf

bro why is he so pretty. i could stare at this gif for hours

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

Thanks for all the request you've been sending me! I'm working on them don't worry.

TW/CW: ghostface Ethan, murder, manipulation, stalking, voyeurism, obsession, sickness, throwing up, food poisoning

I hope that's what you wanted. I have difficulties with headcanon because I feel they're all the same? I don't know how to explain but it's hard to find new ideas that no ones ever mentionned before. Still, i liked writing this. (27/07/2023) (2 232 words)

Toxic Ethan Landry who has access to all your private life on your phone. It's his morning journal at this point, he just kinda read what you liked, retweeted or sent.

He'll spend minutes filtering the accounts you follow to see if you started following someone he doesn't know. Or if someone followed you, which is worse in his opinion. Most of the time, it's porn account with big tits but Ethan still doesn't like it because he's scared you'll fall in love with them. (he knows they're fake accounts, he doesn't care)

Toxic Ethan Landry who already thought about sending you a dick pic to see what your reaction would be. (he never did it, he probably never will either)

Toxic Ethan Landry who made multiple fake accounts to dm you on different social media to test your loyalty. And you, on the other hand, tell him how you're confused because you usually don't get any dm?? And suddenly you get plenty ? You don't even have a profile picture on some social media and you still get dm?

"The world finally understands how pretty you are!" he tells you. But it's him, him and only him. He blocks every guy he deems too pretty so you never see them. So you never get tempted to leave him.

He's happy you don't answer to any of his dm and sad because that also mean you don't answer him.... He's confused.

Toxic Ethan Landry who made a 'fan account' of you just to see how you'd react to someone with as much devotion, to test the water. You have no idea it's him and when you learn about it, you're a little creeped out because what the fuck ? A stranger did that ? And it's just picture of you in your classes from different point of view. You looking at the board, you writing, you dozing off.

Of course your boyfriend would help you file a complaint. He goes to the police station with you, supporting you. And, oh, detective Bailey is in charge of your case ! He's so nice with you, asking you to calmly explain him the situation and he even lets your boyfriend stays in the room with you. You don't understand why a detective and not a normal cop is taking your complaint but you're happy someone is simply even taking it.

And when you go back home hands in hands with your boyfriend, you feel a little better because you have hope you're protected. And your tension lessen thanks to Bailey who didn't judge you and stayed patient.

"I'm happy you like him, love." Ethan tells you fondly and you don't quite understand but you just think he's happy you feel at ease.

While Ethan is just really fucking happy he finally introduced you to his family and is delighted you like his father.

Toxic Ethan Landry who saw the text Mindy sent you. Because he reads every one, and especially those you send Mindy, of your messages. She was trying to prove you Ethan was Ghostface, she didn't have any proofs, he knew that. But you've been friends with her longer than you've been with him, she had that advantage in which you'd trust her if she was convincing enough.

And she was reminding you about how weirds things keeps happening to you ever since he's in your life. Some of your friend's contacts in your phone have been deleted, you lose your keys at least once every week just the day where your roomate isn't here and you have to go sleep at his place instead, he keeps giving his opinion on things that are directed to you. It's not even big things, it's Tara asking you if you saw one certain film and if you want to go see it and Ethan's all like "I heard this movie wasn't really good! Don't worth seeing it." And Mindy always snaps at him because "damn, nobody asked you?"

And that, right now, is why her fucking girlfriend fucking died.

Mindy keeps insisting that he's weird, that sometimes you can't make it to your friend's parties because he's all clung to you and keep begging you to stay. Or she mentions how you told her you felt bad because you always lose your homework and you often end up copying on your boyfriend. Her main argument is that he's using "passive control" over you.

"Never trust the love interest" she'd repeat. "you won't dare leave him because he's making it look like he's nice and you'll feel bad for leaving him when he's a literal demon"

And Ethan starts to freak out because you genuinely start to see everything she highlights. But he still has times, because he knows you love him. You're simply starting to have questions.

Questions Ethan can't answer.

Toxic Ethan Landry who know you want to have a good, serious conversation with him. He knows you'll ask him about the deleted numbers, he knows you'll ask him about the lost homework, or simply all the things you lost in general. And you lost damn lot of things because of him.

And each time you come back home, ready to talk, Ethan's already here. You guess your roomate let him in. He's always doing a chore before you, doing laundry, cooking, vacuuming or sometimes he just sleeps (well, he makes it look like he does anyway). And you always feel bad for wanting to talk to him when he's so nice to you.

Because he doesn't have to clean your home, it's yours, not his. But he still does it. Because he's your perfect boyfriend.

"Ethan, I wanted to... you say, setting your bag on the nearest table. You have to talk to him, it's been haunting you for days ! He looks at you, eyes bright. He came back from his classes two hours ago and he's cleaning your windows. The floor, you noticed, has been vacuumed and mopped. He only wears a shirt and a boxer, because he knows it alters your concentration and just eases your anger in general when you see his ass. Even more when he's doing chores, he looks like he's your husband. -Yes sweetheart ? Something bothering you?" with a bright smile as he's always happy to see you get back home, and he knows he won again because you change subject.

Toxic Ethan Landry who, strangely enough, never argues with you. Because somehow, he's always agreeing with you. Or, at the end of the day, you changed your mind.

"I want to take somes vacation", you'd say. And Ethan despises your idea because that mean you'll leave him alone for some time. But he won't tell you, because he's your perfect boyfriend.

"Yes, that's a good idea. You deserve a break."

But suddenly, you can't go because your roomate announces you that they won a prize on internet on a contest they don't even remember participing in. And they won a ticket for a trip to another country. So you can't leave because you'd leave the apartment empty, something you can't do in such a big city like yours. So now you have to wait before leaving.

So you announce the new to Ethan, a few hours later. He already knows it, of course. He's the one sending the damn ticket and he's the one putting a mic in your phone.

But you look so sad when you can't go on vacations so Ethan reassures you, telling you that as soon as your roomate comes back, both of you'll leave on vacations for a week, just the both of you. And you want to leave so badly that the idea of Ethan bringing you in another country is making you dream so you agree.

Or when you're on the verge of leaving because Ethan couldn't prevent you to do so sooner, bad news are thrown at you. You're trying to do one last laundry to put one or two clothes more in your baggage when the washing machine stops working. Then the fridge is acting weird, the TV is disconnected and if everything does not prevent you of leaving, you're being robbed while you're out.

Now, you just can't leave. That'd be too dangerous to leave your apartment (your roomate!) alone, even for a week, especially for a week.

You're angry, of course. Insulting whoever decided to break into your house and Ethan supports you throught it all. You're telling him how it's always hard to leave a few days because you have the strange impression the fate against you. And maybe you're right.

Ethan is happy because that mean he gets to sleep at your place more often, 'just in case someone try to break in again'.

Toxic Ethan Landry, who, hates when you go to parties. You always offer him to come with you but he refuses. He hates parties because everyone is always drunk out of their minds and they're just all semi-naked and he hates the thought of you seeing someone else's body.

He does come, of course. He wouldn't think of leaving you alone.

Well, Ethan Landry doesn't come, Ghostface does. He's anrgy enough of thinking you'd leave him alone while you're out with your friends to kill whoever is on the way. He's mad at you, but he can't be for long. He grabs the first fucker aside form the group he sees and plunges his knife in him withtout waiting. All he needed was a witness to run away telling everyone what happened, so you'd have to leave the party.

And that's what happens. Everyone runs everywhere, they're pushing each other yelling, and he hopes no one hurt you because other wise the night will be much longer than expected. He already hid his costume in the bag in his car by now. He searches for you and eventually, he finds you.

You're with your friends, you don't understand what's happening but you're leaving too. It warms his heart seeing you here. It's as if you're seeking refuge in his presence. So he endulges you and joins you, your friends recognize him so they just let you go. You're drunk. He knew you'd be as you don't go out much, so when you do, you completly let go. He still doesn't like it but it eases him the work. He won't have to explain why he's already here when you haven't even called him.

After that, everything is back to normal. You're both in pajamas, cuddling in bed. You're fast asleep and Ethan loves it. And when you wake up the next morning, he simply tells you that your friends called him to come pick you up. That he doesn't know what happened but he's happy you're safe.

Toxic Ethan Landry who, when thinks you start to avoid him just a little too much, is pissed the fuck off, and is obligated to poison your food. Because your stupid little friend Mindy is always in your fucking business when she should be crying the death of her fucking girlfriend and leave you both alone. And she's telling you that Ghostface attacked again, that your boyfriend's behaviour is just too weird and Ethan doesn't realize it but he fully death glare her when she talks now. Because you always defended him until now, he thought he was safe.

But you start having doubts.

And if it wasn't for his damn family's plan Mindy would be long gone by now. Because she just loves ruining your life, right ? But he'll talk about her to his dad later, because you're calling him. For the first time in three days. Three only (or three too much) because he didn't last long being ignored by you and he decided to act.

Food poisoning, a classic he must say. But it works. He's already packing his bag to come see you when he answers your call.

"Hi Ethan, I didn't want to bother you but do you have medicine? He hates that you didn't want to bother him, because before you'd have called him because of a headache or because you're hungry. He knows by now, your stomach hurt like hell and you probably threw up once or twice. He's sorry but it was the only option. "Aw, you're sick baby ? I'm coming. you can hear him move in the other side of the phone, you're assuming he's putting some clothes on. Did you eat ? I bet you didn't. I'll find you something to eat, okay ? Try to sleep, love. I won't be long."

When he arrives a few minutes later, he feeds you, gives you medicine and ensures your fever doesn't increase. He doesn't like seeing you in pain. But he's glad you called him. Because you were distancing yourself from him. And you know damn well you just can't do that.

And he hates to think like that but somehow, you deserved it. Because you should trust him and not her. Because he's your perfect boyfriend who'd never do harm. Because he's the love of your life.

But it'll taught you how you can't live without him. He thinks he'll have to change plan now. It seems being too nice makes you think he's weak.

But he's everything but weak, especially when you're concerned.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Never would you have thought that you’d be running for your life from the one person you trusted the most, but neither did you think that he would let you go. (From this headcannon from ☁️ nonnie)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): SPOILERS, mentions of blood, dying, pregnancy, angsty, fluffy, lots of profanity

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 7,338

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Reader    

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! Happy reading lovies <3 I hope you like it cloud nonnie!!!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Afficher davantage

I'm speechless, the talent is immaculate

love in the margins | t. iida

a short, slow-burn library romance, ft. one blueberry muffin, exactly zero jokes, and a boy who takes flashcards way too seriously. (4597 words)

you meet tenya iida under circumstances that can only be described as tragically collegiate: a peer-led study group in the furthest, quietest corner of the campus library, surrounded by half-dead fluorescent bulbs and the palpable despair of students on the brink of burnout.

it's the third week of the semester, and you're already floundering.

you hadn't intended to be. in theory, you were going to stay on top of things—read the chapters early, color-code your notes, maybe even start a study group of your own. but somewhere between sleep deprivation, an avalanche of discussion posts, and the mysterious black hole that is the university's online portal, you fell behind. hard.

introduction to public policy has been your academic nemesis from the start. the textbook reads like legal jargon swallowed a thesaurus. the professor talks in dense, circular metaphors. every quiz is a minefield of trick questions and ambiguous phrasing. you are, in every sense of the word, academically drowning.

so when a brightly colored flyer promising a "collaborative review session" caught your eye on the bulletin board outside the lecture hall, you didn't think twice. you showed up. desperate. caffeinated. terminally underprepared.

and now you regret everything.

the room smells like dry-erase markers and nervous sweat. a whiteboard at the front is covered in illegible graphs. someone has already spilled a latte on the floor. the guy leading the group talks fast and loud, his explanations full of buzzwords and gestures but lacking anything remotely useful. you suspect he's just regurgitating the study guide at a slightly faster pace.

the other students seem to agree.

one by one, they start to trickle out. a girl leaves with the excuse of "office hours." a guy mutters something about dinner. another just quietly packs up and disappears, not even bothering with a pretense.

by the end of the hour, only two people remain: you, clinging to a futile hope of salvaging your gpa... and him.

he sits across from you with the kind of posture that makes your back ache just looking at him. tall, composed, and absurdly polished—like someone who writes essays three days early and carries a spare pen in case someone forgets theirs. his navy-blue sweater is wrinkle-free. his glasses catch the dim library light. his notes are not just color-coded—they're thematically organized, annotated with footnotes and marginalia in tiny, immaculate handwriting.

he hasn't spoken once. he hasn't needed to.

he radiates competence like it's a moral obligation.

"you're still here?" you ask, more surprise than judgment.

the boy looks up, blinking as if surfacing from a well of deep concentration. he adjusts his glasses with a practiced motion.

"yes," he says, voice clipped and oddly formal. "you are as well."

you arch an eyebrow. "no offense, but... are you actually getting something out of this?"

his expression doesn't change, but he tilts his head slightly—almost like he's assessing you.

"of course," he replies. "engaging in structured group review enhances cognitive retention and contextual understanding. it's an effective method for consolidating knowledge prior to a high-stakes assessment."

you blink. "so... yes?"

he doesn't hesitate. "yes."

you snort—audibly. it escapes before you can stop it. and to your surprise, a faint smile flickers across his mouth.

"i'm tenya iida," he says, extending a hand across the table with the kind of precision reserved for formal introductions at university mixers.

you stare at his hand for a moment, then take it. his grip is warm. steady. confident in a way that makes you sit up a little straighter.

"y/n," you say.

his smile grows just slightly. "it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

he releases your hand and immediately pulls out a second set of flashcards from his folder. of course he has a second set.

"would you like to quiz each other?" he asks, dead serious. "alternating questions could be a mutually beneficial method of review."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

something about him—the earnestness, the posture, the complete and utter lack of sarcasm—disarms you. it's like he's the living embodiment of academic sincerity. you're not sure whether to laugh or agree.

you do both.

"...sure."

you don't know it yet, but that's the beginning.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't plan on seeing him again.

it's not personal. it's just that study groups are the social equivalent of jury duty—temporary, miserable, and best forgotten. you assume tenya iida is one of those hyper-dedicated overachievers who only exist within the academic ecosystem. he probably recedes into a cloud of flashcards and moral fiber as soon as the library closes.

you are, however, proven categorically wrong the following wednesday at exactly 8:03 a.m.

you enter the campus café half-awake, mildly hostile, and fully dependent on the idea of caffeine as a substitute for sleep. the plan is simple: grab something with enough espresso to make your eye twitch, stare blankly at your phone for fifteen minutes, and pretend the crushing weight of institutional learning isn't slowly hollowing you out from the inside.

but fate—or perhaps syllabus-based divine intervention—has other plans.

because when you step inside, there he is.

same posture. same glasses. same stupidly crisp button-down like it didn't just come out of someone's laundry but graduated magna cum laude from it. he's seated at a table by the window, surrounded by highlighters arranged like soldiers, reading the textbook that has been your personal tormentor since week one.

and next to his coffee?

a single blueberry muffin.

you hesitate, caught in that weird space where it's too late to pretend you didn't see him, but also too awkward to walk past without acknowledging him.

before you can make a decision, he looks up—and smiles.

not just a polite, "ah yes, i recognize you" smile.

a real smile. brief, but sincere. like he's actually glad you're here.

he waves you over.

you hate how quickly your legs respond.

"didn't expect to see you here," you say as you slide into the seat across from him, instantly aware of how tired you look in comparison to his perfectly combed hair and terrifying punctuality.

"i study here most mornings," he replies. "the ambient noise level is consistent, and the natural lighting is optimal for focus."

you blink. "that is... alarmingly specific."

he inclines his head. "i find that consistency breeds productivity."

you want to tease him, but the truth is, it's kind of admirable. alarming. but admirable.

he gestures to the pastry between you.

"would you like half?" he asks. "it's fresh. and i believe we have, at this point, established a cordial enough rapport to justify the sharing of breakfast items."

you stare at him.

"do you always offer muffins to people you've only studied with once?"

he doesn't even flinch. "only when they look tired enough to deserve one."

your mouth twitches.

"you've been saving that line, haven't you."

he looks mildly offended. "no. though i could annotate it in my planner if you'd like."

you laugh—genuinely this time—and accept the muffin. it's warm, sweet, and annoyingly perfect. just like him.

you don't pull out your flashcards. not immediately. you sit there in companionable silence, splitting the muffin and sipping your drinks like it's something you've always done. like this is normal.

you tell yourself this isn't a date. obviously.

it's too early in the day for romance. you're both clutching textbooks like weapons. he hasn't even made a single joke. (you're not sure he knows how.)

and yet—

when he leans in to show you a section he highlighted—carefully annotated with footnotes and marginal notes that are somehow neater than your typed essays—your shoulders brush. you don't pull away.

he doesn't, either.

later, you realize that you don't even remember what chapter you reviewed.

but you remember the sound of his voice as he quietly explained it. the way he passed you the last bite of muffin without saying anything. the way his fingers curled ever so slightly when he set his pen down between you.

you remember thinking, with a strange flutter in your chest: this could be something.

not yet.

but maybe.

⋆˚✿˖°

you tell yourself this is still just about school.

you repeat it like a mantra as you meet him at the library every tuesday and thursday without fail, settling into your now-permanent seats by the windows like assigned partners in some ongoing group project that no one else remembers being assigned to. his bag always lands on the table first, followed by a reusable water bottle the size of your emotional baggage. he brings extra highlighters now—plural—and starts leaving a green one near your elbow like he’s not even thinking about it.

you, in turn, stop pretending to study anywhere else.

because the truth is, you don’t concentrate better when he’s around—not even a little. he’s distracting in the worst possible way: tall and tidy and terminally composed, with a voice like a podcast host and a smile that you pretend not to notice every time he glances over at you with something like pride in his eyes.

and the worst part?

it’s working.

your grades are going up. you understand policy terminology now. you caught yourself referencing a case study unprompted in another class, and the look your professor gave you made it feel like you’d just been knighted.

you’d thank him for it—sincerely—if he didn’t look so smug every time you nailed a quiz.

“you’ve clearly been applying yourself,” he says one evening, looking over your annotated notes like they’re some kind of sacred text.

“i’ve been applying your study methods,” you reply, then instantly regret it, because the smile he gives you in return is devastating.

and that would be fine—annoying, but fine—if it weren’t for the fact that he’s started sitting closer.

not drastically. not inappropriately. just... close.

close enough that when you both lean in to look at something on the same page, your shoulders brush. your knees knock. his hand lingers near yours when he passes you a pen, and he doesn’t move away quickly. sometimes—and this is particularly evil—his thigh rests against yours under the table for minutes at a time, and you’re too proud (and too panicked) to say anything.

you’re not flirting. not really.

you’re both too stubborn for that.

but something is happening. you just don’t know what to call it.

one thursday afternoon, the sky is gray and heavy with the threat of rain. the windows in the library fog up slightly, making the whole room feel smaller, softer, somehow more intimate. your shoes are damp. your brain is fried. you’re barely holding onto your focus.

but he’s already there, sitting at your usual table with a mug from the downstairs café and a folder labeled “legislation review: week 5.” there’s a muffin. of course there’s a muffin.

he looks up as you approach. smiles. “you’re early.”

you blink. “so are you.”

he shrugs. “anticipation is efficient.”

“what does that even mean?”

he hesitates, like he’s genuinely considering it. “it means i enjoy this.”

your heart does something stupid.

you take your seat before your face can give you away.

thirty minutes in, your brain stops processing information entirely.

you’re trying to focus. really, you are. but his leg is pressed against yours and you swear it’s getting closer every time he shifts. it’s not even the contact itself that’s distracting—it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice. like it’s just normal. like this is how he always studies with people.

(does he?)

(no. he can’t.)

“y/n?” he says, and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

“hm?”

“i asked if you’d like to walk through the case brief again. you seem... distant.”

you clear your throat and try not to sound like someone whose brain has just been wiped by a thigh. “yeah, no, i’m fine. just tired.”

he nods solemnly. “understandable. your coursework has been particularly intensive.”

he says it like he knows your schedule better than you do—which he might. you’ve seen his planner. you’re pretty sure he’s memorized the entire academic calendar, national holidays included.

you try to return to your notes.

you fail.

eventually, you lean back in your chair and exhale.

“okay,” you say. “i need to ask you something.”

he looks up, immediately attentive. “yes?”

you glance around—no one’s within earshot— and lean in slightly.

“this thing we do.”

he blinks. “studying?”

“no. i mean yes, but no.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this. the muffins. the flashcards. the... sitting so close i can smell your laundry detergent.”

he goes still.

“i’m just trying to understand if we’re, like...” you hesitate. “is this just a really intense academic friendship or are we... flirting?”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

then, carefully: “i hadn’t realized my proximity was making you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not!” you say, too quickly. “it’s just... confusing.”

“confusing how?”

you fidget with the cap of your pen. “because we do things that feel... date-adjacent. and i don’t know if that’s just how you are with people or if i’m—” you stop yourself before you can say not imagining it.

his brows draw together, faintly perplexed. “i apologize. i didn’t mean to cause confusion.”

you blink. “so you are flirting?”

his ears go pink. just slightly. “i wouldn’t define it as flirting. but i do enjoy spending time with you.”

you squint at him. “that’s not a no.”

he hesitates. then, quieter: “it’s not.”

oh.

you stare at him. he stares back.

and then—like the universe can’t stand unresolved tension—your knees bump again.

but this time, he doesn’t shift away.

and neither do you.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don’t call it a date.

not out loud.

not even in your head, really—not technically. because you’re not dating. you haven’t kissed. there’s been no confession. there’s been no moment of clarity where either of you has stood dramatically in the rain and said i think about you all the time, which, honestly, is a bit disappointing.

but you still change your outfit three times before meeting him for coffee on saturday.

you still hesitate in front of the mirror, adjusting your sleeves and second-guessing your hair, muttering get a grip under your breath like it’s a prayer.

you still pause at the door to the café, one hand on the handle, and remind yourself—again—that this isn’t a date.

you’re just meeting up. casually. like friends.

friends who sometimes sit with their knees touching under library tables. friends who share muffins and steal glances and somehow always find reasons to linger a little too long in doorways.

friends who, if they weren’t so emotionally constipated, might’ve figured this out already.

but you push the door open anyway, and the little bell overhead chimes bright and familiar.

he’s already there.

of course he is.

tenya iida is punctual to the point of pathology. if you told him to meet you in the afterlife at 3:00 p.m. sharp, he’d be there early, holding a clipboard and a fully prepared powerpoint.

he’s sitting near the window, back straight, hands folded politely in his lap. his hair is a little messy from the wind outside. his sweater is navy—clean, simple, a little oversized in a way that makes you stare longer than you should.

he sees you and stands immediately, which is both adorable and completely unnecessary.

“you’re early,” he says, voice warm.

“so are you.”

he doesn’t reply, but the smile he gives you is soft around the edges.

you order something with too much caffeine and not enough nutritional value. he offers to pay, like he always does. you decline, like you always do. it’s a silent tradition now, a ritual of stubbornness. he lets it go with a quiet nod, but not without giving you that look—the one that says i was raised right and this physically pains me.

you find a booth in the corner, a little more secluded than the rest. the sun spills in through the window in soft golden streaks, and for a moment, it feels like you’re somewhere outside of time.

“i’ve never seen you wear that color,” he says as you sit down.

you glance at your shirt. “yeah? too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. it suits you.”

your mouth goes a little dry.

you recover quickly, leaning back and sipping your drink like it doesn’t mean anything. like the warmth crawling up your neck is from the coffee and not the compliment.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat. “what’s on the agenda for today? rigorous academic analysis? philosophical debates about economic ethics? impromptu pop quizzes?”

he tilts his head. “i thought we might take the day off.”

you blink. “from... studying?”

“from everything.” he shrugs, a little sheepishly. “i realized we’ve never spent time together without a textbook between us.”

your heart does something strange.

“you mean like... just hang out?”

“yes.”

“like friends.”

he hesitates. just barely. “yes. like friends.”

the words hang in the air between you—awkward, uncertain, but not unkind.

you nod, slowly. “okay. yeah. we can do that.”

and you do.

you talk. not about school, not about deadlines or group projects or the upcoming midterm. you talk about dumb childhood stories and weird food preferences and the fact that he once tried to start a recycling initiative in his middle school and was very upset when no one followed the sorting chart correctly.

you tell him about your obsession with terrible reality TV. he listens with the seriousness of a man taking notes for a thesis.

he tells you about his older brother, and how much he looks up to him. you tell him about the stray cat that used to follow you home in high school, even though you never fed it.

he laughs—really laughs—when you tell him about the time you broke your nose in gym class trying to dodge a volleyball and ran straight into a bleacher.

“i’m sorry,” he says between gasps. “i don’t mean to laugh at your pain.”

“no, you do,” you say, grinning. “and it’s okay. i would too.”

at one point, your knees bump under the table again. this time, neither of you pulls away.

it’s later than you mean it to be when you finally leave the café. the sun is dipping low, the sky tinged with lavender and orange. the street is quiet, and the wind bites just enough to make you zip your jacket up.

you walk together. not toward the library, not toward another class—just aimlessly. like people who have nowhere else to be.

it’s peaceful.

and weirdly... intimate.

you’re not talking. not really. the silence between you is comfortable now, lived-in. every so often your hands brush, and you wonder—wildly, stupidly —what would happen if you just reached out.

but you don’t.

because this isn’t a date.

it’s not.

except maybe... it is.

“this was nice,” you say, when you finally reach the crosswalk where you’ll part ways.

he nods. “i enjoyed it.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“we should do it again,” you say. casually. like it doesn’t mean anything.

but he looks at you like it does.

“i’d like that,” he says. and then—“you’re very easy to be around.”

your breath catches.

you want to say something. you’re easy to be around too. i think about you when we’re not together. i don’t know if i’m imagining this but i hope i’m not.

instead, you say, “you’re weirdly charming, you know that?”

he blinks. “i—thank you?”

you grin. “it’s a compliment. mostly.”

he laughs. soft. pleased. “i’ll take it.”

he takes a small step back, like he’s about to leave —but then pauses.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“if this had been a date...” he clears his throat. “would that have been... agreeable to you?”

you stare at him.

then, slowly—carefully—you nod.

“yeah,” you say. “i think it would’ve been.”

he smiles. it’s small. tentative. but it lights up his whole face.

“then maybe next time, we won’t pretend.”

you feel like you’re floating.

“deal.”

he nods once. then, with a strange, lingering sort of hesitation—like he’s not ready to go yet—he turns to leave.

you watch him go.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel... hopeful.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't know what you're expecting.

when he texts you the next morning—same time tuesday? not for studying this time. if you're free.—you stare at it for a good ten minutes before responding. not because you’re unsure of your answer (you’re not), but because the implication hits like a freight train.

not for studying.

not as friends.

just you. just him. again.

this time, it’s a little different.

this time, he’s calling it what it is.

you don’t overthink your reply (for once). you just type yeah. i’m free and throw your phone face-down before your heart can beat out of your chest.

and when tuesday rolls around, you are twenty minutes early.

you tell yourself it’s because the weather’s nice and the walk was shorter than usual and you didn’t want to cut it close. but the truth is, you’ve been ready since noon.

you’re wearing the sweater he said he liked once, months ago, after a study session where he handed you a highlighter and your fingers brushed and you both paused like the world might end. it’s not even your warmest or your nicest sweater. it’s just... the one he looked at a little too long.

you don’t want to admit what that means.

you sit in your usual seat by the window. a small table, worn edges. your coffee in hand. no textbooks. no flashcards. just the sound of the café around you and the low simmer of anticipation in your chest.

he walks in three minutes early, which is basically scandalous by iida standards.

you glance up, and the second your eyes meet, he smiles.

it’s not his usual polite, committee-appropriate smile.

it’s something else.

something softer.

he sits down across from you like he’s been doing it his whole life.

you stare at him for a second too long.

“you’re early,” he says, like it’s a fact worth noting. his voice is gentler than usual.

“so are you.”

“a rare occurrence.”

“should i be concerned?”

he laughs—quietly, warmly. “i thought you might say that.”

you both go quiet.

not awkward quiet. just... full.

full of everything you’re not saying.

you sip your drink and hope your heart doesn’t explode.

twenty minutes in, you realize you’ve forgotten what time it is.

again.

you’re talking about something stupid—a professor you both silently hate but never speak ill of in class—and he’s mimicking their voice in a whisper, hand shielding his mouth, and you’re laughing.

like genuinely, honestly laughing.

like you don’t have a hundred things weighing you down.

he always does that. makes everything feel easier. lighter.

it’s dangerous, how much you like it.

how much you like him.

you haven’t said it. not out loud. not even to yourself.

but the truth is: you’re in trouble.

deep trouble.

because tenya iida has the power to wreck you in a way no one else ever has.

not because he’s dramatic. not because he’s charming (though he is, in that annoying, understated, golden-retriever-with-a-perfect-credit-score kind of way).

but because he’s steady.

because he means things.

because when he looks at you, it’s like you’re someone worth understanding.

and you’ve never been loved gently before.

not like this.

you walk out together.

neither of you mentions how long you stayed. it’s dark out, but neither of you cares.

you walk close, side by side. your hands brush once, then again. his fingers twitch toward yours, and you pretend not to notice—not because you don’t want it, but because you’re not sure what happens if you reach back.

you talk about nothing. and everything.

he tells you about the time his older brother accidentally dyed his hair blue with a shampoo prank and how no one in their house was allowed to mention it for an entire year.

you tell him about the time you accidentally set off a fire alarm trying to microwave leftover curry in a dorm that very explicitly prohibited strong-smelling food.

“you’re a menace,” he says, laughing.

you bump your shoulder into his. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he glances at you. “i didn’t say that.”

you both stop at the crosswalk—the same one where you stood days ago.

the same one where he asked if this had been a date...

you’re not pretending anymore.

and yet.

you don’t know what to say.

you just look at him, the wind brushing through your sleeves, your fingers cold where they’re shoved into your pockets.

he looks at you.

longer than before.

long enough that your heart stumbles.

and then—quietly—he says, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “of course.”

his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. careful.

“why me?”

you blink. “what?”

“why... this?” he gestures gently between you. “i know i’m not the most exciting person. i’m not particularly funny or... spontaneous.”

you frown. “iida.”

“i’m just trying to understand,” he says. “why you keep showing up.”

you want to say because i like the way you talk when you’re tired, or because your laugh makes me want to listen to every dumb story you’ve ever told.

you want to say because i’ve never felt so calm next to another person in my entire life.

instead, you say, “because when i’m with you, i don’t feel like i have to be anyone else.”

his expression shifts.

his jaw tightens. his eyes soften.

he takes a step closer.

“i don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“you’re not.”

“i don’t want to misread it.”

you exhale, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “you’re not.”

his hand lifts, hesitates—then lands gently against your cheek.

you stop breathing.

“may i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod before your brain catches up.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you may.”

and he does.

it’s not rushed.

it’s not fiery or desperate.

it’s patient. reverent. like he’s memorizing the feeling. like he’s been waiting for the right moment and this, finally, is it.

his lips press softly against yours, and your hands lift automatically to his jacket, holding on, grounding yourself.

when you part, he leans his forehead against yours.

you’re both quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

you smile. “i could tell.”

“was i too obvious?”

“painfully.”

he laughs, arms sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this is still new,” he says. “i know that.”

you nod.

“but i’m willing to take it slow.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be patient.”

“okay.”

he pauses. “and i’d like to take you to dinner. an actual dinner. with reservations and menus and probably overpriced appetizers.”

you grin. “are you asking me on a real date?”

he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“yes,” he says. “i’m asking.”

“then yes,” you reply. “i’m saying yes.”

you walk home hand-in-hand.

you don’t have to say anything.

it’s not pretending anymore.

and for once—finally—that feels like enough.