#he fine

malachi barton x fem!bsf!reader

warnings: none

it’s late. the two of you are sprawled out on his bed, watching some random movie neither of you are actually paying attention to. you’re lying sideways, one arm draped over a pillow, feet brushing against his. he keeps pretending to scroll on his phone, but really, he’s fighting for his life.

we’re just friends.

he’s repeated that sentence so many times it’s starting to lose meaning.

you laugh at something dumb on-screen, soft and easy, and his heart does that annoying skip again. he swears under his breath, pretending to stretch so he can cover the fact that he’s blushing.

“you good, chi?” you ask, not even looking at him.

he nods too fast. “yeah, yeah, just—uh—back hurts.”

it doesn’t. what hurts is how his chest feels every time you say his name like that. he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. it’s just you. his best friend. you’ve hung out a thousand times before. but suddenly everything’s different. every movement, every word, every casual brush of your leg against his—it’s too much.

he’s trying to act normal, but you shift again, lying on your side to face him, chin resting in your hand. “you’re acting weird today.”

his brain short-circuits.

his mouth moves before his brain catches up: “no, you’re acting weird.”

you laugh softly. “that’s not even an answer.”

he shrugs, eyes glued to the screen because looking at you feels dangerous. “maybe i’m just tired.”

you hum, unconvinced, then reach over to steal the blanket from him. your hand grazes his stomach and he tenses so hard you notice.

you raise a brow. “relax, chi. it’s just a blanket.”

just a blanket, he repeats in his head like a mantra, except his brain’s like, nope. that was definitely electricity. actual static shock. i’m dying.

you snuggle into the blanket, totally unfazed, eyes half-lidded. he watches the way your lashes flutter as you get sleepier, the way you tug the blanket higher, the way your breathing slows. and that’s when he completely loses it inside.

stop staring.

stop thinking she looks good even when she’s doing nothing.

stop—no. don’t smile. oh god you’re smiling.

you turn slightly, mumbling, “you’re staring again.”

he freezes. “no, i wasn’t.”

“yeah you were.” your voice is muffled by the blanket, teasing.

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “you’re literally delusional.”

you grin sleepily. “sure, chi.”

and just like that—boom. there goes his heart again. it’s so bad now that every time you say it, his chest physically tightens. it’s like the nickname got wired to some emotional self-destruct button.

the movie ends and you drift off halfway through the next one. he stays still for a while, listening to your breathing, brain spinning a million miles an hour. he tells himself not to look, but he does anyway. your hand’s half on his arm, your face peaceful, the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air.

he stares at the ceiling. you’re friends. you’re friends. you’re friends.

then your fingers twitch against his arm in your sleep, and he quietly gives up. i’m so screwed.

malachibartonsangel speaks:

i think i'll do like one or two more parts of this?

i haven't decided anything yet, but for now, this is the second part.

not proof read!!

thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed it!

Guys, I wanted to draw “hot” but i have no idea on how to do it 😭 never doing this again lmao

This right here...has to probably the best Miles Morales edit I have ever seen

Somebody sedate meeeeee.