The Bet- Sherlock Holmes X Fem!Reader

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Here you will find all of my Gally fics.

Will be updated with every new one that comes out!

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Just A Dragon (Hiccup x Reader)

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Tags: Fluff, slight emotional hurt / comfort

Warnings: None (calling Toothless a beast like once, that’s all)

Word Count: 2,5k words

Summary: After arriving to Berk when they’re rescued from their dying land, Y/N tries to adjust to their new home. Luckily, a boy called Hiccup is very helpful in that regard. Unluckily, he’s good friends with a dragon that scares Y/N.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing for this fandom, but I’m so excited!! I really loved the movies upon rewatching them, even more than I remembered, and after finally watching the third one, I was already missing the characters, so I wanted to write a little something! Enjoy!

AO3: Link

Want to send a request? Read my rules first, please!

Hiccup Haddock x Gender Neutral Reader

Being a newcomer in Berk wasn’t easy. You were in an uncharted land filled with strangers with different customs and with something far more worrying than just different traditions… They had dragons.

You were wandering around the forest, trying to put some order in your thoughts. Things would be okay, you just needed to get used to that place and for that you needed time. The people seemed friendly enough, even if a bit strange. As long as you stayed away from the dragons, everything would turn out alright.

“Oh, hey!” A voice startled you, making you look up when you reached a clearing. “Hi, Y/N!”

“H-Hi” It was Hiccup, one of the few people you got along with so far. He was a sweet boy, but his dragon was the most ferocious looking one out of them all.

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canon garrett

everything happens for a reason - zuko x fem!reader // masterlist

⇦ back to masterlist ⇦

status: wip, tag list is open!

summary: As a servant in the Fire Nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. But as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to realize a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

warning(s): angst, hurt/comfort, hurt without comfort, threats of death, parental death, betrayal, there is a lot of sadness but that comes along with a zuko fic lmao. there is a happy ending though! i promise 

timeline | playlist | ao3

current wc: 114,915

CHAPTER 1 . I am not your concern

CHAPTER 2 . And out of the blue, I fell for you

CHAPTER 3 . I feel so much, I get carried away

CHAPTER 4 . The night was full of terrors and your eyes were full of tears

CHAPTER 5 . I can go anywhere I want, I can go anywhere just not home

CHAPTER 6 . The thing about forever is that it’s a fucking lie

CHAPTER 7 . I think my ways are wearing me down

CHAPTER 8 . Used to do these things so effortlessly, somehow

CHAPTER 9 . I fell in love with a war, nobody told me it ended

CHAPTER 10 . I hate you for what you did, and I miss you like a little kid

CHAPTER 11 . Memories, where’d you go?

CHAPTER 12 . Living in the state of dreaming

CHAPTER 13 . But there was one thing missing, and that was the moment I knew

CHAPTER 14 . How could you be so reckless with my heart?

CHAPTER 15 . I thought I had you figured out

CHAPTER 16 . I miss you more than anything

CHAPTER 17 . And maybe I don’t quite know what to say

CHAPTER 18 . Don’t speak, I know just what you’re thinking

CHAPTER 19 . Can we go back to the world we had? With a love so sweet it makes me sad

CHAPTER 20 . Guess it’s true, I’m never getting over you

CHAPTER 21 . Meet me in the afterglow

CHAPTER 22 . I’ve been waiting on you

CHAPTER 23 . You’re coming back, and it’s the end of the world

CHAPTER 24 . Finally, I have found a way to be happy

No one else could've played Chandler Bing. Thank you for making us laugh and always putting a smile on our faces.

We will miss you and you will always be remembered.

Rest in peace, Matthew Perry ❤

He may be a bad guy but that's my babygirl🫶🏾 Yes, he committed multiple crimes, should be locked up in jail, and is a red flag but he's hot as fuck with a face card that never declines.

The Midnight Subway

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x GN!Reader

Deranged Five my beloved ❤️ They massacred your character

(this is not canon compliant in the slightest; prepare for gross misinterpretation of Five's new powers)

Summary: You are the only passenger on the timeline subway. You've met many iterations of the same traveler, but he never comes back. Until he does, and he finally asks the right questions. He claims to know how to stop the apocalypse, and all he needs is your help, but is he worth leaving behind all you know?

Word count: 3.6k

(AN: Confession: I never watched season 4 because I saw what a trainwreck it turned out to be, so this is very VERY loosely based in canon. Also the relationship between Five and Lila doesn’t exist because Genuinely What The Fuck. Basically I saw the vague concept of a time subway and ran with it.)

He’s covered in blood again.

He is more often than not.

In the middle of wiping arterial spray off his face with a handkerchief, he notices you, and surprise and suspicion flit over his face. Not a version of him that’s met you before, then. You’ve met him… eleven times now? All different versions from different timelines. All tired. All old beyond their years.

They get off at the same stop every time and never get back on.

This one’s wearing his school uniform. You’ve never seen him dressed like that before. His hair is long like the rest of them, though, strands hanging over his narrowed eyes.

“Who the hell are you?”

You blink. He’s not usually so aggressive. “I’m just a passenger.”

“How did you get here?”

You shrug. “Stepped off the station platform, I think.” It was a long time ago, except it wasn’t. You’ve been riding this subway for a very long time, except you haven’t. Your mind is filled with a hundred thousand identical minutes of staring out the window at the blurred lights, but you look exactly the same as you did when you boarded. “Hey, what year is it for you?” Sometimes he says something truly outrageous.

He ignores your question in favor of trying to pull open the subway doors, but they don’t budge. He curls his hands into fists. Blue light crackles around them and he pushes, but nothing happens.

You clear your throat. “Unfortunately, that won’t work. You’ll just have to wait until we get to your stop.”

“What do you mean, my stop?”

“I don’t know. I think you just have to feel it.”

“Well, aren’t you cryptic.” He rolls his shoulders and angles his chin, a tell you’ve noticed he does just before attacking. Sure enough, out comes the gun from his pocket. He angles it square at your forehead and snaps, “Explain. Now.”

“I can’t.” You raise your chin, daring him to shoot. You’re not sure if people can die on the subway. You’re not sure if you can die. You’re not sure that you don’t want to. “Obviously I’ve never felt it.” You gesture pointedly at your seat. “I’ve been here a long time.”

“How long?”

“Time doesn’t really exist here.”

For a moment it’s obvious that he’s internally debating whether or not to shoot you. “Fuck.” He shoves the gun back into his pocket. “When’s the next stop, then? I need to get off, I need to save my family. There’s an apocalypse—”

“I know,” you say gently. He’s always worried about one apocalypse or the other, always running from a million different ways to end the world. “You might as well sit. There’s no way to stop the train. It’ll stop when it’s meant to.”

“No. No, I don’t have time for this.” He shakes his head. “I’m finding a way out. You can rot here for all I care.”

“I won’t,” you say serenely. Until the timelines implode, you’ll continue to ride the subway. And once they do, you probably still will. It exists outside of the continuum. All that will change, you think, is that there will be no more stops. It’ll just be one long subway ride for eternity. If not, then at least you’ll go out painlessly.

He sighs and looks around for anyone to commiserate, but there’s only you. Without so much as a goodbye, he’s stalking away in that little ramble that reminds you sometimes of an adolescent bear: a dangerous beast that thinks it’s as large as it will be, not as it is now.

He slams the door to the next compartment. You sigh and scratch the cheap paint on the pole to your right. Sometimes he stays longer, sits down in a seat across from you and asks questions meant to seem casual, but you always know they're an interrogation.

You'll see another him soon enough. There's no indication of time on the subway—if it was real, it would be in an underground tunnel, and the only light comes from the flickering fluorescents above and the occasional tunnel light through the window. Days don't pass with the indication of a sun and moon. You're not sure if you've ever even slept. So you're not sure how long it will be before another shows up. Once two showed up at the same time and tried to kill each other. At least the survivor was nice enough to drag the body away before he got off.

Some time later you feel the subway shudder. You tilt forward slightly as it starts to slow down and eventually stop. Both sides of the doors open to a nondescript subway station, and the train repeats its usual monotone monologue. Time for him to get off, then. Maybe there's a difference in the destinations depending on which side you choose, but probably not. You're pretty sure the subway knows what its riders need.

An hour, a day, or a year passes, and the door to the next compartment opens. He steps through again. This one is wearing the same schoolboy uniform, and he doesn't look surprised to see you.

In fact, he's strangely intent.

"There's no one else on this train," he says, and you realize this is the same boy you just saw.

He came back.

He's never come back before.

Something stirs inside of you, something you haven't felt in a long time. It's still trapped beneath the blanket of dull apathy you've nurtured for so long, but its shape starts to rise in your throat.

"So why are you here? How are you here? Who even are you?" He stands in front of you close enough that you can see blood on the side of his neck that he didn't wipe off.

"I told you before. I got on. Why didn't you get off at your stop?" He's never stayed on the train longer than he has to. He's never stayed.

"This isn't a subway you can just 'get on.'" He uses finger quotes. "Do you work for the Temps Commission?"

"No," you say slowly. "I don't know what that is."

Abruptly he sits down across from you, loosens his tie, and asks, "What day were you born?"

"What a strange question. I don't know."

"You don't know an awful lot."

"I was born sometime in the fall of 1989," you say. "Sometime in September, I think, or maybe early October. That's what they estimated at the orphanage, anyway."

He sits back and runs a hand through his long hair. "You don't know."

"What do I not know."

"Who you are." He looks at you curiously. "That's why you keep ignoring the question."

You snort. It's not even very funny, but you haven't had anything to find amusing ever since you stepped on the platform. What a relief to learn that you can still laugh. Of all the things the universe stole from you, laughter isn't one of them. "Of course I know who I am. I'm one of you."

"What?"

"Or I was supposed to be." He still looks confused, so you elaborate, "One of the umbrellas."

"How do you know about that?"

"I didn't grow up on the train. I got on when I was nineteen. I saw your team all over the news growing up." A familiar hurt pangs in your stomach. "Why was I the only one your father didn't adopt?"

He lets out a long breath, then says, "Jesus." He stands up, then sits back down. “Well, if it makes you feel better, you weren’t the only one. Reginald only needed seven. He made forty-three.”

“Oh.” You slouch a little in your seat. It’s comforting to know that your exclusion wasn’t personal. You and thirty-five other kids hadn’t been found. Had their parents kept them? They probably had families. And even though the Umbrella Academy’s families hadn’t kept them, at least they had each other.

It’s comfortable to sink back into self-pity.

“So what can you do? Do you have a name, at least?”

“Of course I have a name,” you say, and tell him what it is. “Funny you ask me that when you’re the one that doesn’t. Is this where you went when you died?”

“No.” A shadow crosses over his face. “I went somewhere much worse.”

“Sorry,” you say after a pause. It seems like the appropriate response. You haven’t had a real conversation in a while. Or maybe you had the last one yesterday, just before stepping onto the subway.

“So what can you do?”

“Change time.”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you think I made it here?”

Technically, time broke when you and Five were born, bunching into little pockets like the one you made your home. When he jumped through time, though, he started the branching of realities.

The only real difference between you two is that you can manipulate time, and he can get in and out of it. That's not to say that he doesn't have its own influence over it, though.

"I made this little pocket of time into a circle, and around and around we go.” You spin your finger in the air. “But it’s because of you that it looks like a train. Five, who do you think broke the timeline in the first place?”

He stares at you, speechless.

“I didn’t mean to,” you say defensively. “And you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“That’s—just so—how does that make any sense? People are still dying! My family will die!” Instead of the gun, this time he pulls out a switchblade and flips it open. The tip glints under the fluorescents.

This has never happened before. The Fives never come back. They’ve never asked the right questions. After all, you’re not hiding anything.

“You can’t kill me,” you say wearily.

“I can try,” he growls, and lunges.

Here, you exist constantly. It's a circle and it's one stationary point. The track is an ouroboros, and the train isn't even moving. Five lunges and he doesn’t, and your throat splits and it doesn’t, and blood spills all down your front and it doesn't. You choke as it rushes out, and—

There is no blood. No cut. Five is back in his chair holding the switchblade, and you’re still in yours.

“You can’t surprise me,” you say apologetically. “I’ve seen everything. Before you even try to kill me I’m stopping you.”

“I’ll figure out a way,” he growls.

The subway grinds to a halt. You look around, surprised, when the brakes squeal. That’s never happened before. The announcement over the speakers is so gravelly you can barely understand a word.

The doors open. Five looks between you and the exit several times, then makes his decision.

“I’ll be back,” he promises. Threatening, like that’s supposed to scare you. You’d be glad for the company, you think. You’ve been sitting in silence for so long.

He steps off the train and the doors whoosh closed.

The ride starts again, and you fall back into the comfortable lull of the engine’s rumbling.

Some time later, the subway stops again. Its words are still garbled through the speakers. Technically, no time exists here, but you're pretty sure these intervals are out of the ordinary. Are they affecting the subway?

It starts back up again, and the connecting compartment's door opens. In walks a new Five. He's wearing the same schoolboy uniform as the last—you think. Instead of a spray of blood on his face and collar, though, he's completely soaked in it, like he drained a hundred bodies and bathed in their entrails. His hair is soaked flat against his head, and his teeth are red when he bares them.

"I'm back," he growls.

It's the same Five.

He came back again. No one's ever come back for you even once, let alone twice.

"What did you do?" Your stomach twists. You're not squeamish, but this is... a lot.

"I went to a diner," he huffs and sprawls in the chair across from you. The gaudy faux-velvet seat drinks the blood up greedily. "Met a lot of alternate versions of me."

"Did you kill them all?" you ask, horrified. Some of them had been polite. Gentle, even, beneath their hard exteriors.

"They had given up," he snarls. "They wanted me to give up on saving my family. I haven't spent decades of my life fighting for them to do that." A manic light shines in his eyes. "One of them made brisket."

Your lips twitch. "You're not a fan of brisket?"

"I like brisket fine," he says, giving you an annoyed side eye. "What I didn't like was their attitude."

"So you killed them all."

"Yes."

Well, at least he remains secure in his decisions.

“So I broke the timelines?”

“We both did.”

“So we’re the only ones with a chance of mending them.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why not?” he challenges. “You said you made a pocket of time—this pocket of time—a circle. Why can’t you fix it?”

“Because our birth was what broke it in the first place,” you say sharply. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re so selfish you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself for the world?”

“The world’s never done anything for me,” you say. Cruel foster home after foster home, orphanage between them, minimum wage paychecks kept in a box beneath your bed because you couldn’t open a bank account without guardian permission as a minor, and an abrupt stint at being homeless the moment you aged out of the system. You couldn’t afford housing even on the highest-paying job that would hire you. You couldn’t afford a college degree to get a better job. No, the world never did a thing for you. That’s why you left in the first place. “It’s not my responsibility to save it. Besides, you’d have to die, too. Are you willing to make that sacrifice?”

“For my family, in a heartbeat,” he says immediately. “I’ve killed plenty of people to save them. What’s another two more?”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” you sigh. “For as long as we exist here, the timelines stop branching.”

“What?”

“I already did the world a favor by leaving, but you kept breaking it by jumping through time.”

“If you won’t come willingly, I’ll force you.”

“You could certainly try.”

“I’m leaving.” He stands abruptly.

You sigh as he does, accompanied by the train's distorted, "Arriving now—doors clear at—see you—"

What a miracle that he visited you thrice. The company should tide you over for a long while yet.

You sit for a while, just looking at the blood stain he left on the chair across from you. Eventually it starts to stink, or maybe that’s just in your head. Either way, looking at it makes your stomach turn.

Ever since you got on the train and sat down, you’ve never switched seats. It’s almost a surprise that you can stand up. You clutch the pole close to you for balance when the floor vibrates underneath your feet just slightly with the force of the train’s engine.

You head across the compartment and sit in a seat facing away from the bloodstain, but the back of your neck prickles. It’s in the shape of Five’s body, and you can’t stop picturing it coming together as a facsimile of a person, a terrible lumbering blood-shadow creeping up on you.

You jump to your feet and whirl around, but it’s just a bloodstain.

You can’t stay here, but you don’t know what the next compartment looks like.

Will it be exactly the same? Will it be completely different?

It's the same, and for some reason you can't bring your feet to stop moving. You pass through that car, then the next. They're all the same, except none have the bloodstain that Five left on his seat. Would it still be there if you were to return? Can you even go back?

You can't stop opening the doors, but the train never slows. You want to get off. You want to explore more of this inbetween space.

You want to find the Five that came back for you.

You give up after a hundred compartments and stand in the middle of one, clutching the nearest pole for dear life, barely swaying with the train's gentle movement. The train was always an escape for you, but now it seems more like a trap. One that you sprung on yourself without knowing how to get out.

Do you even want to get out?

The air shifts, and you turn just in time to see the bag close over your head.

Five drags you away from the pole and slams you into a seat. Something poking out of it digs into your back. You can only see the faint light filtering through the bag, and that makes you hyperfocused on Five's hands on your shoulders.

"I figured it out," he snarls, the sound so close he must not be more than an inch from your face. "You and everyone else that gave up were wrong. There's a way to save the world and save my family, so you're going to get off this train now, or you get off the train in thirty minutes after I cut off each of your fingers and feed them to you and you beg me to stop you."

You suck in a breath. It's one of his more graphic threats for sure. Oddly enough, you can't see how this will play out. The bag over your head means you can't see where the blows will come from.

For the first time in a long time, you're scared.

Your mouth opens without knowing what to say. You're saved by a screech of static. The train announces, "Congratulations! All passengers—to a book club—third compartment in any direction—Ben will see you there."

The pressure of Five's hands disappears from your shoulders, and you hear hurried footsteps. He never tied the bag, so you rip it off in time to see him pass through the door to the next compartment.

Your pulse bounds in your throat. That announcement was new, and makes the train sound much more sentient than any train ought to. You're supposed to be the one in charge of this pocket dimension, but what if you're not? What if someone else has been calling the shots this whole time?

You chase after Five. At least with him, you know what he wants. You know how to appease him. He doesn't go out of his way to hurt people, at least, though he doesn't seem to think of himself as anything more than a killer.

You only catch a glimpse of his heel in the next compartment. You start to run. What if the doors lead you to separate cars, and you never see him again? The only person that ever came back for you, and he did it four times.

You're still running when you make it to the third compartment, and you run straight into Five's back. He doesn't even seem to notice it, apart from stumbling a bit. He's too busy staring openmouthed at the man sitting down. His hair is a little bit longer than it was when you saw him last.

The stranger has dark hair and glasses, and there's a book forgotten on his lap. He looks just as surprised to see Five as Five is to see him.

Five chokes out, "Ben?"

Oh. Ben Hargreeves. Number six of the Umbrella Academy. The Horror. He always seemed so gentle when you saw him on TV, at least when he wasn't covered in blood.

"Five." Ben puts the book to the side and stands. Five is already striding towards him, and they collide into a tight hug.

Seconds later, Five pulls away and demands, "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know." Ben shrugs. "I woke up on this subway a couple days ago with this book."

A muscle twitches in Five's jaw. "And instead of trying to find a way out, you started to read it?"

Ben says, "It seemed like the right thing to do." His eyes slide past his brother and land on you. "Who's this?"

You introduce yourself and Ben's eyes widen. "That's you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain. It's just... you exist in this subway." The way he says exist sounds like he means something bigger. Deeper. He just doesn't know the right words for it, because there might not be any. "I was waiting for you to find me."

"Why?"

"It felt right."

What on earth does that mean? If it felt right for him to wait for you, why didn't it feel right for you to seek him out? Why did it take you decades or minutes to chase after Five and bump into Ben? None of it makes sense.

Five grabs Ben's sleeve. "Hold on to me." He looks at you and says firmly, "You have to let go."

"Let go of what?"

"You know what. The reason you got on the train in the first place. Y/N, you have to let go."

Your lips tremble. "I don't want to."

"I know. But you have to." Five's hand takes yours. He squeezes it comfortingly. "I need you for this. Won't you come with me?"

You take a deep breath.

And you let go.

Five x Reader Taglist

@statsvitenskap @dare-the-punisher @thespian-anon @ask-veronica-sawyer-heathers @fivegallaghers @ggclarissa @akiyamakuro @featuringcone9 @badluckqueen @littleamoux

My requests are open! As always, let me know if there's anything you particularly want to read!

Solving mysteries, solving problems.

Shaggy Rogers (Scooby Doo Mystery Inc.) X reader

Got a request for a fic like this, and I had fun with the ✨angst✨

Your hands move quickly as you lock up the food counter for the night. You technically weren't supposed to close today, but your coworker got sick. You've already cleaned out the soda machine tray and flipped the closing sign over to closed. Despite this, when your back is turned to clock out, you hear a crash behind you as the front door swings open. Sighing, you turn. Collapsed on the floor is the lanky form of your... friend, Shaggy Rogers.

"Y/N!" He says in his scratchy voice, getting up from where he collapsed on the floor. He notices he knocked over a promotional cardboard cutout for the shop, and awkwardly tries to place it back up. It falls again, and he spends about 5 minutes repeating the action, while you watch from behind the counter. "Uh, like, sorry about your decor man..." He says after giving up on his task. He strolls over to the counter, and looks at the menu. "Shaggy, I don't know how to tell you thi-" He completely ignores your talking, hyper-focused on the menu. His eyes squint and his brows furrow in concentration, and you stop talking. 'He's totally tuning me out.' you think, rolling your eyes. "Okay!" He slaps his hands on the counter, his posture determined. "Give me, like, one of everything on a sandwich. No, two sandwiches!" he stops. "Gotta pick up something for Scoob." He mutters. He then looks up at you expectantly, only to be met with your annoyed face. "Dude, we're closed." you say. He only stares in disbelief, blinking once or twice, before collapsing once more before the counter. He clasps his hands together, and sits on his knees. "Wha- NO! Y/N, come on, please!" He shuffles forward, trying to look more pathetic. "I'm practically on the verge of starvation, man!" You sigh. "Shaggy, we closed like half an hour ago, you know this." You lean forward over the counter to look at him.

"You've let me eat here before after hours!" He yells. You push your hands forward in shock. "Shh, no, don't be so loud, I could be in serious trouble for that!" You exclaim quickly. He sighs and slumps back to the ground. "Like, what am I gonna do, man?" He asks. "I'm sure you'll think of something." You attempt to go back to your work, but he pops up over the counter and scares you. "Hey, maybe Daphne has some snacks. She's, like, super loaded!" He says. "Come on, we can go together!" he begins to leave. "Wha- no, I need to close, and besides," You shut the cash register, "I walked here. Daphne lives on the edge of town." Shaggy's positive attitude never falters. "Don't worry, man. I'll drive us! We just have to pick up Scooby, and-" You cut his rambling off.

"No, Shaggy! Just, no!" You yell, a bit harsher than you meant. His face falls and he looks at you. You sigh, and turn away. "Just, not tonight, okay?" You shake your head. Shaggy walks towards the counter, his face confused and his posture cautious. He sits up on the counter. "Y/N, if you don't wanna go to Daphne's that fine, we can go somewhere else..." He suggests. "No, it's not that." He thinks for a moment. "Then, what is it?" He asks. You remain silent for a minute.

"How long have we been friends, Shaggy?" You ask. He tilts his head at the confusing question. "Um, about a year now, maybe a year and a half?" He says, scratching the back of his neck as he thinks. "And how long have you known the gang?" He looks up. "Is that what this is about?" You sigh. "I guess, it's just. Do you know how hard it is to try and be friends with the gang?" You ask. "I thought you guys, like, liked eachother!" He says. "I do! Individually, everyone is really nice, but..." You pause. "But, together, everyone is so close, it feels like I don't belong..." You look down. "Y/N... No! I'm sure if you asked the others, they'd tell ya' you fit in." He tries to reach out to your shoulder, but you dodge it. "You're totally one of us, like," he pauses. He remains silent for so long, you look up. He is deep in thought, possibly more than you'd ever seen him.

"Like, if I asked the gang, I'm sure they'd let you become a permanent member." He suggests, before smiling at you. You sigh. "Would they?" You ask. "Sure, man, why wouldn't they-" he stops when he sees your frown. "I know that I wouldn't get in. Not officially." You sit next to him on the counter, and look at your lap. "You can't know that, like, we let in that weird little Scooby once." He shivers, remembering the horrors of Scrappy Doo. "I talked to Marcy the other day, I thought she could understand my dilemma." When you glance over at him, you see him nodding. He appears to be pretending to know who Marcy is. You sigh. "Hotdog water...?" You ask, and he nods, recognizing the old nickname. "Yeah, she was great, like, super nerdy." You roll your eyes at Shaggy's anecdote of the brilliant girl. "Yeah, well, she was a necessity to the gang, an assets. I mean, she was a genius, and you guys didn't let her stay." You say. "I don't really have anything to add to the team, I'm even worse off." You chuckle sadly. You're both silent for a while.

"Well, okay. You don't have to be a member of the team, or even hangout with them if you don't want to!" He says, nodding as if to assure himself. "But there your friends, I want to be able to get along with them. So you can hang out with them and me at the same time." You say sadly. "I hang out with them all the time, but, like, I do wanna spend more time with you." He stops himself, as if he can't decide if he should say what he's thinking. "I wanna spend more time with, just you." He mumbles. You blush a little, and look up. "With, just me?" You ask. he swallows awkwardly and nods. "Can I ask why?" It's his turn to look uncomfortable.

"When we hangout with the gang, like, they're always doing, y'know, group stuff. And I'm part of the group." You're a bit confused, but wait for him to go on. "Like, I'm always busy, man! Fred called us out at like 3 in the morning last week!" He says, hands flying up in exasperation. "I still don't see what this has to do with me." You mention. "Right, right. I just, I don't know man, I really like, like you. We haven't been able to see each other." He admits. "I, yeah, okay." You say, trying to think.

"So, like, could we go out to eat soon?" He asks. "Sure, but I feel bad. I mean, the gang is a huge part of your life, I feel like I should be able to at least get along with your friends..." You say. He shrugs, and says "You do get along with them, but, you don't have to be there best friend. I'll try to talk to the gang about, like, being more open or something..." He trails off. You smile. "Thanks, Shaggy." You say, hopping of the counter. "Lemme finish closing up the sop, then you wanna watch a movie at my place?" You ask. "Like, totally, man!" He says, giving you a thumbs up. Once your out of sight in the back of the shop, he sighs, and fidgets awkwardly with his hands.

He thinks to himself, 'Jeez man, I've gotta get this crush thing under control!'.