garfieldsladybird

[garfieldsladybird]

There's "committing to the bit" and then there's whatever the fuck Shawn Spencer and Burton Guster were doing on television every week from 2006-2014

[garfieldsladybird]

I’ve read every single one of your works, and I am absolutely obsessed! The way you write and capture emotions is beyond amazing—it’s pure magic. I really hope this isn’t too much to ask 😭, but I just adore your writing so much. If you’re not comfortable with this request, though, please don’t hesitate to ignore it. Thank you so much!

Could I request a James Potter x Reader story? The plot starts with James pursuing Lily Evans, but along the way, he realizes his feelings for her were more about the excitement of the chase. In contrast, with the reader, he feels truly at ease, able to be himself without pretending or changing for anyone. I’d love for Lily’s perspective to be included—how she starts to desire James after noticing how much he’s 'matured' in his relationship with the reader, but she can only stand by and watch as James and the reader create their beautiful love story.

chase ⋆˚࿔

synopsis ⭑.ᐟ james potter x reader where he realizes who he truly loves

warnings: fluff overload, mild angst

word count: 1,836 words

author's note: omg stopppp you’re making me blush ‹𝟹 this is the sweetest thing ever, and i’m so honored you enjoy my writing!! ♡

navigation┆ james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter had been chasing Lily Evans for years. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it—how he’d flash his most charming smile, throw an arm around her shoulder with a wink, and dramatically proclaim his undying love. It was all in good fun, of course. At least, that’s what he always told himself.

Lily, ever stubborn, had always rebuffed him. At first, she detested his arrogance. Later, she simply rolled her eyes and dismissed his advances, treating him as little more than a particularly persistent house elf. James didn't mind. The chase was half the fun, after all.

"She'll come around, you'll see," James would say after every rejection, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Mate, she's been saying no for three years," Sirius pointed out, sprawled lazily on the Gryffindor common room couch. "At what point do you consider the possibility that she's actually not interested?"

James gasped, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. "Not interested? Padfoot, please. That’s just what she wants me to think."

Remus sighed from behind his book. "Or perhaps she genuinely means it. You ever consider not making a public spectacle every time you ask her out?"

Peter snickered. "Yeah, Prongs, maybe if you stop serenading her in the Great Hall, she'll stop running the other way."

"That was one time!" James protested. "And I thought she’d appreciate the gesture."

You, sitting cross-legged by the fire, smirked. "James, darling, even I was embarrassed for you, and I usually live for the drama."

Sirius grinned. "See? When even our dear, theatrical doll here cringes, you know you’ve gone too far."

James huffed, crossing his arms. "You lot are supposed to support me."

Remus finally set his book down, giving him a small smile. "We do support you. We just also support your dignity."

James groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Alright, fine. Maybe I’ll try… a different approach."

The boys exchanged glances, and you patted his knee sympathetically. "That’s the spirit, Prongs. Maybe next time, just… don’t propose in front of McGonagall again."

James groaned even louder as the Marauders burst into laughter.

But somewhere along the way, the chase had stopped being fun.

It had started with you.

You, the one he never really had to chase. You, who laughed at his antics but also scolded him when he was being too reckless. You, who had a quick wit but also a kindness about you that softened his rougher edges. You, who never needed him to be anything but himself.

It hadn’t happened all at once. There was no lightning strike, no grand revelation. Just little moments that wove themselves into something undeniable.

The way you tucked a stray curl behind your ear when you were reading, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. James had watched you do it a hundred times before realizing how endearing he found it. The way you argued with Sirius about the best way to sneak into Hogsmeade, eyes alight with mischief as you held your ground against the self-proclaimed master of rule-breaking. The way you always had a spare quill when he inevitably lost his, rolling your eyes fondly as you handed it over with a teasing, "Honestly, James, do you even own quills?"

There was the way you leaned against his shoulder after a long cold day, sighing. "James Potter, you are a human furnace. Please continue existing exactly as you are."

There was the way he found himself seeking you out first—before Remus, before Sirius, before Peter, before anyone else—whenever he had good news to share. The way his jokes felt funnier when you laughed at them. The way his name sounded different coming from your lips, softer somehow, like it belonged there.

One night, after an exhausting Quidditch practice, you had met him outside the changing rooms with a chocolate frog in hand. "For your heroic efforts," you’d said with a mock bow, pressing it into his palm. He had laughed, shoving it into his pocket, but the warmth in his chest lingered long after.

James Potter had always thought he wanted a grand, all-consuming love. He had spent years chasing something he thought would make him whole. But standing beside you, teasing and laughing and existing so effortlessly together, he realized something else.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be a chase.

Maybe it was supposed to feel like home.

Lily noticed the shift before James did. It crept up on her, subtle but undeniable, like the slow changing of seasons. He still ruffled his hair like a prat, still laughed too loudly with his friends, still turned every moment into a grand performance. But there was something quieter about him now, something settled in the way he carried himself. The endless pursuit that had once defined James Potter—the grand gestures, the dramatic declarations, the unrelenting chase—had stopped. And he hadn’t even noticed.

At first, she felt relief. She had spent years pushing him away, certain that his attention was something fleeting, something she didn’t want. And now, finally, he had listened.

Then she felt something else.

She caught herself watching him more often. Noticing the little things. The way his grin softened when he looked at you. The way his hand found your wrist when he pulled you toward him in the common room, like it was second nature. The way he listened when you spoke—really listened, with an intensity that made it clear you had his full attention. She had never seen that look on his face before. Not when he looked at her.

And suddenly, she found herself wondering. Had she been wrong about James Potter?

Had she spent all these years dismissing him without ever really knowing him? Had she mistaken boyish bravado for immaturity, mistaking the show for the substance beneath it?

But it didn’t matter.

Because James wasn’t looking at her anymore.

The realization hadn’t struck James like lightning, not at first. He hadn’t woken up one day and thought, Oh, I love her. No, it was something slower, quieter—woven into the fabric of every moment he spent with you.

It was the way you sat beside him in the common room, curled up with a book, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your face. The way you absently played with the hem of his sleeve when you were lost in thought. The way you saw him—not James Potter, Quidditch Captain, mischief-maker, the boy who never stopped chasing—but James. Just James.

And for the first time, he found that was all he wanted to be.

He didn’t need to impress you. He didn’t need to chase you. He could just exist with you, and it was enough.

There was a night—one that stuck with him, long after it had passed—when he had finally put words to the feeling.

You had found him on the Astronomy Tower, shoulders hunched against the cold, lost in thoughts he hadn’t even realized were weighing him down. You didn’t ask what was wrong. You just sat beside him, close enough that your knees touched, close enough that he could feel your warmth.

“You ever think about who you are without all the noise?” he murmured after a long silence.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

James hesitated. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent so much time being—being James Potter, you know? The one who’s always got a joke, the one who’s always chasing something. But with you…” He trailed off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t have to be anything but me.”

You blinked, taken aback, before a small smile curved your lips. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Yeah, it is.”

You nudged his shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I like just you.”

And that was it.

Not a grand confession. Not a dramatic moment. Just quiet understanding.

Just home.

Lily saw it all unfold. Saw James fall in love without the fanfare, without the spectacle. And for the first time, she saw him—not the boy who had chased her, but the boy who had finally stopped running.

And it wasn’t for her.

It was too late.

Then came the grand gesture.

James Potter did nothing in half measures, and asking you on a date was no exception. If anything, he seemed almost nostalgic about the whole ordeal—like he had spent so many years planning elaborate schemes for Lily that now, finally asking the right person, he wanted to do it justice.

So, naturally, it started with fireworks.

Not just any fireworks, but ones that spelled out your name across the sky in brilliant, shimmering letters, crackling above the Quidditch Pitch where half the school had gathered after dinner. Then came the enchanted banners floating midair, reading: 'WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?' in flashing gold and red, trailing behind a very enthusiastic Sirius, who had volunteered to fly them around on his broom. A charmed choir of singing toads croaked a love song (Remus’ contribution, because, according to him, ‘there needed to be some class in this spectacle’), and Peter had somehow gotten his hands on a bouquet of flowers that smelled like sunshine.

James himself stood in the center of it all, hand on his heart, eyes locked on yours, waiting.

The crowd turned to you, hushed in anticipation. Lily, standing off to the side, watched with wide eyes, an unreadable expression on her face. There was a time when she would have scoffed at something like this, dismissed it with a roll of her eyes.

But you—

You were grinning.

Dramatically clutching your chest, you gasped, staggering back like a swooning damsel in distress. "Oh, James Potter! Whatever shall I say? This is all so sudden!"

James, without missing a beat, fell to one knee. "Say yes, my darling star! For I have loved you since the dawn of time—or, well, since fourth year at least, and that’s practically the same thing!"

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. "Hmm. I don’t know, Potter. It’s an awfully big commitment."

James shot to his feet, grabbing your hands, eyes wide with mock desperation. "I shall spend every day proving myself worthy of your love! I shall carry your books! Share my sweets! Defend your honor against Slytherins and bad hair days alike!"

You sighed deeply, then beamed. "Well, in that case… Yes! A thousand times yes!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, Sirius fist-pumped midair, and Remus groaned into his hands. James, triumphant, swept you up in a spin, laughing so hard his glasses nearly fell off.

Lily watched it all unfold, and for the first time, she felt the weight of what she had lost. Not because she wanted James, not really. But because once upon a time, it had been her he was chasing.

But James Potter had finally stopped chasing.

Because he had already caught what he was looking for.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[garfieldsladybird]

Uptown Girl

(Masterlist)

Summary: A woman from high society, never needing or wanting for anything. Your world of jewels and silk gowns comes crashing down around you when your father's mounting gambling debts catch up with him, and he is forced to relinquish your home Arrow House before his untimely death to his biggest creditor, Tommy Shelby. But with your name on the deeds, and the land of your childhood home your only bargaining source of income to escape the union arranged since your birth to a monster of a man from your own class. You make your intentions of staying put stubbornly known to the Birmingham gang leader, as you clutch to your only remaining hope of freedom from the inevitable chains of a violent marriage. With neither one of you willing to budge on the matter until the iron clad documents of Arrow House are reviewed, you are both begrudgingly left without any other choice but to live together. What will become of your unusual living situation with the notorious gangster, and the arranged marriage you want to be free from? A way out, friendship, lust...love? One thing is certain. Tommy Shelby's abrupt appearance into your life will open your curious eyes to a whole other world that had been shielded from you since the day of your noble birth.

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, mutual pining, smut, domestic violence, mentions of suicide, violence

Authors Note: I basically took Alfie's passing statement of how Tommy acquired Arrow House and the trope "One bed, two people" and turned it into "One house, two strangers" and ran with it! The idea for this series and it's storyline, is loosely based off the lyrics to the well known song "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel.

Teaser Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine (completed series)

Gif credit: @mushroomseb. Go check out their wonderful works of art!

[garfieldsladybird]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 she ignored my letter!

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever)

a/n: heyyy... i had sm fun writing this, can't wait to write the rest of this bc i literally LOVE anne with an e and this is inspired by it ofc!!!! anyways, im barely writing now..smh, its cause im reading manacled and its literally heart breaking... im also editing on ae and its so hard so im slowly learning😭 but i want to finish this mini series by next week!!

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

James had liked you for a while now. He wasn’t quite sure when it started—maybe it was the way you laughed at his jokes, always the loudest in the room. Or perhaps it was when he’d catch you staring at him, your gaze lingering just a bit too long, thinking he was too distracted to notice.

With the Christmas holidays fast approaching, James knew he had to make a move. He had to let you know how he felt. If you didn’t feel the same, maybe the time apart over the holiday would make it less awkward. But he couldn’t let another term slip by in silence.

Knowing your love for all things old-fashioned, James decided there was no better way to confess his feelings than through a handwritten letter. It felt personal, genuine—something you’d appreciate. But writing it turned out to be harder than he imagined.

He’d written and discarded at least a dozen drafts, each one crumpled and tossed aside in frustration. Finally, after half an hour of agonizing over the perfect words, he settled on this version. It was short, straightforward, and sincere:

Dear, (Y/N)

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve tried a hundred times, and every single attempt has been worse than the last. So here’s the truth—I’m hopelessly in love with you.

You’ve probably guessed I’m not great at being subtle. But what I’ve never been able to say outright is how much you mean to me. The way you laugh, the way your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating—Merlin, you make it impossible to focus on anything else. I want you to know that you’ve made me braver, happier, better. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay—I just needed to get this off my chest.

Yours, James

He sighed deeply, folding the letter carefully before slipping it into an envelope. Your name was written on the front in his slightly shaky handwriting. Taking a steadying breath, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. He’d leave it somewhere you’d find it tomorrow, just before you both left for the holidays.

As he lay awake that night, James tried to figure out the best way to deliver the letter. Should he hand it to you directly? No, that was too nerve-wracking—he’d probably end up babbling like an idiot. Maybe he could slip it into your bag and avoid the risk of witnessing your reaction.

The morning was crisp, the kind of cold that painted your cheeks red and sent little clouds of breath swirling in the air. On the platform, the train sat waiting, puffing out plumes of steam that mingled with the frosty air. It was alive with the sound of students saying goodbye and dragging their luggage over the cobblestones.

James walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was doing his best to appear casual, though every step he took felt heavier with the weight of the letter in his robe.

“Let me take that for you,” he blurted suddenly, nodding toward your luggage.

You blinked, surprised by the offer, but your lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh, thanks, James. That’s really sweet of you.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his ears turned a telltale shade of pink at your words. “What kind of bloke would I be if I didn’t help you out?” he mumbled, his voice tinged with nervous humor.

The two of you chatted as you strolled toward the train. You told him about your plans for the holidays—how you were excited to see your family, how your mum always made far too much food, and how you couldn’t wait to decorate the tree. James listened intently, nodding and laughing at all the right moments, even as his mind raced ahead to the task at hand.

Then, his opportunity came.

You turned away for a brief moment, waving at one of your friends across the platform. James acted quickly, pulling the envelope from his pocket and slipping it into the outermost compartment of your bag. His fingers brushed the fabric for only a second, but it felt like an eternity.

His heart was hammering so loudly he was certain it could be heard over the clamor of the platform. He straightened up just as you turned back to him, completely oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Thanks again for carrying that,” you said with a smile, your eyes meeting his.

James gave a small, lopsided grin and shifted your bag on his shoulder. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves swirling inside him.

As the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time to board, James knew there was no turning back now. All he could do was wait—and hope that when you found the letter, you’d read it and understand the words that had taken him so long to say.

It had been days since you’d left for the holidays, and James still hadn’t heard from you. Each passing day only worsened the sinking feeling in his chest.

Did you not feel the same? Did you hate him for ruining the friendship? Or worse, were you so disgusted by his confession that you couldn’t even bear to send him a letter saying so?

By Christmas morning, the knot of worry in James’s stomach had become unbearable. He’d stopped pacing and pretending not to care. He spent the early hours staring at the window, waiting for an owl that seemed as though it would never come.

But then, just as the first rays of sunlight streamed through his frosted window, he saw it—a familiar owl perched outside, clutching a small envelope in its talons. His heart leapt with a desperate flicker of hope. Maybe you’d only just found the letter. Maybe you’d taken your time because you wanted to write something perfect.

James hurried to open the window, shivering as the cold air rushed in. The owl extended its leg, allowing him to untie the letter. “Thanks, mate,” James murmured, absently offering the owl a treat before it flew off into the winter sky.

His fingers trembled as he opened the envelope, eager to see your handwriting. But his heart sank the moment he read the first line.

“Happy Christmas, James!”

No mention of his letter. No response to his confession. Just a short, cheerful note wishing him a wonderful holiday and apologizing for not writing sooner. You explained that things had been hectic at home and promised to catch up with him soon.

James felt his chest tighten, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The hope he’d been clinging to was slipping through his fingers.

You’d ignored his letter.

You’d chosen to act as though he’d never written it at all, as if he’d never poured his heart out on that piece of parchment.

James scoffed, his grip on the letter tightening. Fine, he thought bitterly. If you were going to pretend his confession didn’t exist, he could do the same.

He shoved the letter onto his desk, glaring at it as if it were the source of his frustration. Deep down, though, he knew the truth: he didn’t want to ignore you. He wanted to write back, to ask if you’d found the letter, to make sure you weren’t upset with him.

But pride was a stubborn thing, and James Potter wasn’t about to let his vulnerability show again—not now.

As the snow fell softly outside his window, James sat in silence, staring at the letter and wondering if he’d made a mistake by ever writing to you in the first place.

When it was time to return to Hogwarts, James made no effort to find you. Normally, he’d scan the platform, pretending it was a coincidence whenever his eyes landed on you. This time, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

He saw you anyway, just briefly—standing near your family, your face lit up with that familiar smile. His heart leaped in his chest, and his legs almost betrayed him, ready to stride over and say something, anything. But he stopped himself.

Instead, James turned sharply, mumbling a quick goodbye to his parents before heading onto the train. He didn’t want to see you—not now.

The walk through the train felt heavier than usual. He knew exactly where his friends would be—the same compartment they’d claimed since their first year—but it felt like an eternity to get there. When he finally slid open the door, the familiar faces of Sirius, Remus, and Peter greeted him.

“Oi, Prongs!” Sirius called cheerfully, but his grin faltered when James slumped onto the seat next to Peter with a loud huff.

James leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He could feel Sirius’s gaze on him, curious and probing.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” Sirius asked, unable to resist.

“Don’t.” James’s voice was sharp, firm. It was rare for him to be in a foul mood, let alone snappish.

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t say a word.”

The tension in the compartment was palpable. The train rattled on, and the usual chatter of the four friends was noticeably absent. Sirius kept stealing glances at James, who sat brooding, arms crossed. Peter fidgeted nervously, while Remus flipped through a book, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Finally, about an hour into the ride, James broke.

“She ignored my letter.” His voice was low, bitter, but it shattered the quiet like a hex.

The others exchanged looks before Peter spoke hesitantly. “She really ignored it?”

“Yes, Peter,” James snapped, his tone sharp enough to make Peter flinch. Realizing what he’d done, James sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“Maybe she didn’t see it,” Remus offered, his tone calm and rational. “What if it got lost in her luggage? Or someone else found it and hid it? Maybe you gave her another piece of parchment? There’s always a chance—”

“Moony, no.” James cut him off, his voice strained. “I double-checked. It was the right letter, in the right spot. And who doesn’t check their trunk full of clothes over the holiday?”

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Sirius said with a shrug, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, women can be unpredictable. Maybe she’s got a secret stash for random letters in her trunk.”

“No, she checks,” James said with certainty. “I’ve slipped plenty of things into her luggage before, and she’s always found them. She just doesn’t fancy me back.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, but he forced a small, bitter smile. “And it’s fine. I’ll get over it. I always do, right?”

The compartment fell silent again, the weight of James’s words sinking in.

Sirius leaned forward, a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It’s not fine, James. If she didn’t fancy you back, that’s one thing. But ignoring you? That’s—”

“Don’t,” James interrupted quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Don’t make it worse, Padfoot.”

Sirius bit back a retort and leaned back in his seat, muttering under his breath.

The rest of the ride passed more comfortably, but the shadow of James’s disappointment lingered. His friends cracked jokes and told stories, trying to lift his spirits, but even when he laughed, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Deep down, James wondered if he’d ever stop wishing that you’d read his letter and felt the same way.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling reflected the dusky evening sky, and the buzz of students catching up after the holiday filled the room. Normally, James would sit with Sirius to his left, you to his right, and Remus and Peter across from him. It was a familiar arrangement, one you’d fallen into without question.

But tonight, James broke the routine.

He subtly nudged Peter into the spot on his right before sitting down, leaving the space where you’d usually sit conspicuously empty.

You walked in a moment later, scanning the Gryffindor table until you spotted your usual group. But when you approached, your steps faltered. Peter sat where you always did, looking apologetic but saying nothing.

Your eyes darted to James, silently questioning him, but he avoided your gaze, his attention fixed stubbornly on his plate.

Confused, you looked to Remus for an explanation. Out of all the Marauders, he was the one you trusted most to give you a straight answer. But Remus only shrugged, his expression carefully neutral, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at discomfort.

You scoffed, your chest tightening. First, James ignored you all through the holiday, and now he didn’t even want to sit near you? Fine. If he wanted to sulk like a child, you weren’t going to beg for his attention.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked further down the table, sliding into a seat beside your other group of friends. You forced yourself to laugh at their jokes and join in their chatter, but your mind kept wandering back to James.

At the Gryffindor table, James’s eyes flicked toward you more often than he’d admit. Every time he saw you laughing with your friends, his stomach twisted.

“Why is she acting like I’m the one in the wrong?” James muttered under his breath, jabbing at a piece of roast potato with his fork.

“Maybe because you’re acting like a prat?” Sirius replied, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned closer.

James shot him a glare.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius continued, dropping the teasing. “She doesn’t know what’s going on. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, and now you’re sulking like a first-year who lost his chocolate frog cards.”

“Explain what? She ignored my letter, Padfoot. What’s there to explain?” James hissed, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Remus sighed, setting down his goblet. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe she doesn’t even know what letter you’re talking about?”

James froze, his fork hovering mid-air.

“Just talk to her, mate,” Sirius said, giving James a nudge. “Or don’t. But if you keep this up, you’re only making it worse—for both of you.”

James huffed, slumping back in his seat. The truth was, he didn’t know if he had it in him to face you just yet.

From across the hall, you caught the way James’s shoulders sagged, and for a brief moment, you considered walking over. But pride held you in place. If James wanted to act like this, fine. Two could play that game.

You and James hadn’t spoken in what felt like weeks. The once effortless connection you shared had been replaced with an awkward silence that weighed heavily on you. It wasn’t just James—it felt like the whole group of Marauders had grown distant, their usual antics and inside jokes missing their spark when you were around.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d done something to upset him. But what? You racked your brain for answers, replaying every interaction from the past few months. James had always been one of your closest friends—why was he acting so strange?

Charms class was the hardest part of it all. You always sat beside James, sharing notes, exchanging whispers, and stifling laughs when Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. Now, you sat in the same spot, the chair next to you glaringly empty.

You tried to focus on the professor’s instructions, but your thoughts were louder than his voice. Scribbling aimlessly in your notebook, you hardly noticed when someone approached your desk.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy with a blue-and-bronze tie standing beside you. His face was vaguely familiar—you’d seen him around in class but had never spoken to him.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you stammered, blinking in confusion. Why was he talking to you?

He gave a polite, slightly amused smile. “Well, can you move your stuff? I’m sitting here now. We’re partners for the project.”

“Oh!” Heat rose to your cheeks as you hurriedly shoved your books to one side. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize.”

“No worries,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. “I figured you weren’t paying attention—no offense. But I was, so I’ll explain what Professor Flitwick said.”

You managed a small smile, relieved by his casual tone. “Thanks. That’s… helpful.”

While he began outlining the project details, your focus wavered, glancing at James out of the corner of your eye. He was across the room, seated next to a loud and enthusiastic partner who seemed to be trying desperately to get his attention. But James wasn’t listening.

His gaze was fixed on you.

There was a flicker of something in his expression—jealousy, maybe? Regret? Whatever it was, it made your stomach twist.

You quickly turned your attention back to your new partner, nodding along to his explanation, even if you weren’t entirely listening. You felt James’s eyes on you the entire time, but you refused to look back.

Across the room, James’s jaw clenched. His partner waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oi, Potter! Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” James muttered, though his eyes drifted back to you moments later.

He hated this—seeing someone else sitting beside you, making you smile when that used to be his seat, his job. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The letter. The silence. The way he’d avoided you. It all felt too big now, too messy to undo.

Still, James couldn’t stop watching you, his heart sinking further with every laugh you shared with your new partner.

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[garfieldsladybird]

“Tingin,” (Look)

Parings: James Potter x reader

Warnings: fluff

“What?” You asked as you tilted your head to look at James. He was sitting across from you, his chin resting on the palm of his hand.

“Nothing,” he smiled softly, adoration was clear from his eyes as he stared intently at your face.

“It’s not nothing if you're staring at me like that.” You said before looking down at the essay you're trying to write.

“Like what, darling?” he queried.

“I don't know,” you breathed out.

James only gave you a smile before reaching out to hold your hand that wasn't occupied with a quill.

“Can’t I just not admire my girl?”

My Girl.

He called you his girl and it was enough to send your heart soaring.

“You can but you're distracting me here,” you petulantly said, and James willed himself not to kiss away the pout on your lips.

James chuckled, clearly amused by the way your cheeks turned red.

“Alright, darling. But can I at least hold your hand?” He asked before squeezing your palm, and you could only nod as you went back to doing your homework.

James, on the other hand, did not stop staring at you. He just couldn't. Not when you hold the stars in your eyes, not when his heart skips a beat everytime you look at him.

He couldn't care less about the noise and the chaos around you, not when you're here with him.

[garfieldsladybird]

“Two of a Kind”

a parent trap inspired au

Summary: You and James Potter were once intertwined, hearts beating for each other, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you decided to break up, taking Harold with you and Harry with him.

Pairings: James Potter x reader

chapters:

chapter i

chapter ii

chapter iii

chapter iv

chapter v

chapter vi

chapter vii

chapter viii

chapter ix

in case u want to be tagged

[garfieldsladybird]

“Two of a Kind”

chapter ix

summmary: You and James Potter were once intertwined, hearts beating for each other, but due to unforeseen circumstances, you decided to break up, taking Harold with you and Harry with him.

pairings: James Potter x fem!reader

chapter x series masterlist

If you told your younger self that you’d meet James Potter again after almost a decade—she would probably whip out her wand and hex the hell out of you into oblivion.

But here you were, seated in front of him inside the Leaky Cauldron, eyes looking anywhere but at him. It was just the two of you; Harold and Harry having gone to go with Remus and Sirius. The latter had suggested that it would do you and James good to talk things out without any distraction from the boys, though you could tell there was another meaning behind his words if the wiggles of his thick brows and his mischievous smirk were anything to go by.

The air inside was charged with tension, electrifying you in a way that took away your ability to talk. Your finger drummed against the surface of the table, pulling James’ eyes for a second. He could tell you were nervous, and to be frank; he was also feeling nervous himself. It was a miracle he hasn’t shit his pants yet.

But really, for the love of all the founders of Hogwarts, what were you supposed to tell him? Talk about the weather. Ask each other about your new favorite colors. Ask how life had—

“Cat’s out of the bag, I guess?” The sound of James’ voice halted your internal monologue, something you were grateful for because you didn’t think you could survive the voices in your head.

You gave a tense smile before clearing your throat, your eyes risking a glance at his face. “I can’t believe what happened,” you softly whispered, eyes raking his face.

“Me neither. Who would’ve thought?” He chuckled, the sound slightly easing the tension that had taken over the table.

You let yourself lean back against the wooden chair, the anxiety coursing through your body slowly dissipating.

“It was unexpected, but given that they’re your boys—”

Your words were cut off by James’ laugh.

“Is that an insult or…?” he trailed off, his eyes glinting with familiar mischief.

“Oh no,” you shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips, “all I’m saying is that you had a knack for causing trouble back when we were in Hogwarts.”

“Oh, so that is an insult.” He nodded his head, his face morphing into the look of someone who’s affronted.

“It’s a fact,” you quipped with a roll of your eyes.

It was quite amusing how easily you felt comfortable around him, given that this was the first conversation you’d had since the day you left. It felt almost natural as if you hadn’t left at all and it was scary.

“How have you been?”

A brief pause enveloped the two of you, your eyes locking for a split second before you averted your gaze, feeling rather shy under his intense stare.

How have you really been? If someone had asked you that, you would have an answer in a second. But the thing is, it’s not just someone—it’s James Fleamont Potter, the boy you had once been in love with, the man you had once promised your life to, and with him, your words seemed to betray you as they flew out of the window.

“I’m fine,” you answered, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

James nodded in understanding, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he averted his gaze again, landing on your fingers wrapped around the cup of your drink. A small smile tugged at his lips before he looked up again, now looking a bit flustered as if he had been caught doing something.

“A flower shop, huh?” He mused, the slight bashful look on his face earlier was now replaced with collected ease, “Guess you’ve got what you wanted after all.”

“Yeah, Lily and Mary helped me.”

“How about you, Jamie?” You didn’t even realize that the nickname slipped past your lips so naturally, catching the both of you off guard—you looked at him with wide eyes, not really knowing if you should apologize for the sudden use of his nickname. But when he only gave you a slight shrug of his shoulders, seemingly letting go of the fact—you let yourself relax once again.

“Heard you have quite a name in the Ministry.” You added, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

“Guess that makes the two of us,” he muttered, his eyes boring deep into yours.

He looked as if he wanted to say more— he opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“You’ve done a great job raising Harry,” you subtly changed the topic, earning a gentle hum from James.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “but I don’t think I could have done it without the boys.” A smile took over his face, almost prompting your lips to smile as well.

“You’ve done an excellent job with Harold too,” he added, fiddling with his cup.

“Speaking of the boys, what are we going to do about them?” you asked. “We can’t really keep them apart now that they’ve met.”

James was silent for a moment, his brows stitched together, a sign that he was mulling over your words.

“I was thinking I could keep them for half the year and you can keep them for the rest,” you suggested with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You realize they can’t go to two different schools every year and Harry would have to learn French,” James muttered, taking a sip of his drink before giving you a small smile.

You let out a chuckle, realizing that he hadn’t even known you’d be staying in England for good.

“Well, maybe you keep them for a whole year—”

“James,” you called, stopping him from speaking.

He looked up and met your gaze, his eyes softly wide in silent question.

“This is the reason why we came up with this arrangement,” you said, your words coming out in a whisper—as if speaking them aloud could trigger something.

You half hoped that James didn’t hear what you just said—but in the years that you’ve known the man, you know that nothing can evade his notice.

“Really? I thought it was because you decided that we shouldn’t see each other again,” he joked, though the harshness of his tone wasn’t lost on you—and you could tell by the look in his eyes that his words carried more sincerity despite masking it with humor.

“Did I really…?” You let out a shaky laugh, the humor you were trying to put in your voice sounding rather awkward. “That part’s become a bit hazy to me over the years.”

James shook his head, an amused smile dancing on his lips. “You don’t remember the day you packed?” he asked.

“No, I do, James,” your answer came out soft. “Did it…uh, hurt when I threw that um—?” you added, trying to dig up your memories regarding the item you had thrown at James from across your shared bedroom. “What was it again?”

“Your Transfiguration book,” James answered, sending you a playful glare, to which you returned with an innocent smile.

“Sorry.”

There was a brief pause—the sound of the wizards and witches around the pub returning, pulling you away from the bubble you had found yourselves in. You couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from his face, feeling as if a permanent sticking charm was cast on them.

You took your time to admire the way the soft glow of the pub’s lights softened James’ features which had become rather sharp throughout the years. Sitting here with him brought so many memories; they came flooding inside your mind, drowning you in a way that you couldn’t escape no matter how much you tried. Supposed it’ll always be like this with James—the years without him only proved that. Because no matter how long the distance, how many oceans and mountains you’ve put between each other, there will always be a part of him with you. Your son, Harold, who looked so much like James, minus the round glasses, is proof of that.

James seemed to be doing the same as he shamelessly stared at your face, his eyes committing every of your features.

You didn’t know how many minutes had passed— but after what felt like a lifetime, James looked away, cutting off whatever spell you’d found yourselves in. His hands reached for his glasses, fixing the way they sat on the bridge of his nose as if to appear composed— though the way he’s avoiding meeting your eyes says differently.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, the sound snapping you back to reality. You blinked, eyes meeting his deep brown ones for a brief moment and this time, it was you who looked away.

“Can I ask you a question?” He asked, cutting the awkward atmosphere that had settled heavily at your table.

“Go ahead,” you waved your hand in the air, urging James to speak.

He took a deep breath, his lower lip caught in between his teeth.

“You know I may never be alon—”

You could tell James was trying to ramble with the way he was shifting awkwardly in his seat, his hands flailing animatedly in the air and his eyes looking anywhere but at you. You let yourself smile in amusement, the eerie feeling of familiarity crawling up to you again.

“James, just ask the question,” you interjected, making his cheeks heat up in light embarrassment once again. He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes fixed on the wooden surface of your table.

“Right,” he cleared his throat and closed his eyes for a moment as if he was trying to muster up some courage to ask you the question.

“So about the day that you packed. Why’d you do it?”

The silence that came after his words was so loud you could hear a pin drop. It was as if the people around you had also stopped talking as the only thing you could hear was the ringing in your ears. You blinked, mouth slightly agape as you tried to absorb his question. There was a certain uneasiness in your eyes, one that you were quick to mask as you blinked once again and let out a sigh, hand reaching for your drink as if the very action could ground you.

“James,” you began, your eyes downcast.

You didn’t really know what to say, words seemed to evade you as you tried to desperately grasp for some reason. Despite your hesitation, you knew your answer was dangling on the tip of your tongue, patiently waiting to fall from your lips; you just didn't know how to soften the blow once you blurt it out.

You took a deep breath, eyes traveling to James’ expecting hues.

“We were so young and stupid,” you carefully said, your fingers circling the rim of your cup. “I think we weren’t really ready for married life and… so I packed,” you admitted, your words coming out weakly.

James’ face was pulled in a slight grimace, the grip in his cup tightening, turning his knuckle white. You looked away, not really having the heart to watch the pain flash in his eyes.

“I got on the very first train in the morning and…” You felt a lump lodged in your throat, causing you to sound so broken and dejected.

“You didn’t come after me.” Your words came out in a whisper, the air in your lungs constricting as you let the reality of your words sink in. It felt as though you were being stabbed, the dagger buried in your heart slowly twisting, intensifying the pain coursing through your body.

“I did not know you wanted me to,“ his eyes met yours, the deepness of his brown eyes catching the hues of the golden lights. There was something so familiar with the way his orbs looked, something that you had grown fond of back when you were still together.

“It hardly matters now, does it?” You forced a smile—and James would have believed that look on your face if it weren’t for the fact that there was a certain look of sadness in your eyes, intensified by the mist that gathered over your irises. “So let’s just put on a good face for our boys and let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

James stared at you, the look on his face seemed to pull you back in the past, specifically, eight years ago. Suddenly, the James in front of you didn’t look older, he looked exactly like the James that fateful night, utterly broken and young. But like a flash of lightning, that James, your once James, disappeared, replaced by a man whose features and knowledge were stitched by the years of adulthood.

You’d think you’d be able to heal in time and talk about this without feeling like you’re being torn in half, but alas, you were a victim of the saying "time heals all wounds" once again. Time doesn’t heal wounds; it is simply a distraction from the fact that you were achingly bleeding until another wound opened, and the pain of your past dulled, but never fully disappeared.

“Yeah, sure.” It looked as if James was having a hard time letting the words out. With a thick gulp, he muttered softly, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

The rest of the time at the Leaky Cauldron was spent exchanging stories about the twins growing up. You learned from James that treacle tart is one of Harry’s favorite treats, and in turn, you shared Harold’s favorite, discovering they both have the same taste. You were glad that the awkward tension had completely disappeared as you both immersed yourselves in discussing the twins’ lives, you didn’t think you could endure spending more time in such an uncomfortable situation.

…

By the time you exited the pub, the sun was already slowly dipping below the horizon, twilight blanketing the sky. You were grateful for the coolness of the evening, which helped to cool down the heat on your cheeks that had lingered since you were inside the Leaky Cauldron.

The long walk toward your shop was enveloped in a comfortable silence. James walked alongside you, his eyes fixed on the cobblestone path ahead, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his trousers in the most casual way possible. If it were not for the knitting of his thick brows, you’d say he was starting to feel comfortable, but the way his shoulders tensed told you otherwise.

The lights inside your shop were already lit by the time you arrived, the curtains pulled closed, and the shadows of your twins visible from outside. It looked as if they were playing; one of them was standing on his tip toes as if reaching for something, and then another shadow appeared, this one taller than the twins with shoulder-length hair.

You smiled as you watched the scene in front of you before glancing at James, who was also watching the same thing, his eyes filled with genuine love and happiness. Sensing your stare, he shifted his gaze to you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You inclined your head, beckoning to James to follow you.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you offered James a smile as you pushed the door open, his lips widening at your words.

“Abode?” he asked, his left brow quirked and his voice tinged with amusement.

You mimicked his expression, though the way your brow was raised looked a bit intimidating. “What? It’s my second home.”

James did not say more, only offering you a smirk before entering your small shop.

The tall figure of Remus, standing by the arrangement of florals, greeted you, his eyes skimming over the various flowers with genuine interest. Hearing the door softly shut, Remus looked up, his hazel eyes meeting yours.

“You’re back early,” he said as he walked towards you, his lanky arms wrapping themselves around you in a familiar embrace. “How have you been, love?” he questioned as he pulled from the hug, putting enough distance between you two, his eyes scanning your face.

“I’ve been good, Rem,” you softly answered, your eyes raking over his scar-littered face. Remus smiled at your words, his hands softly squeezing the blades of your shoulders.

This is the first time you’ve seen Remus, having gone to Flourish and Blotts during your entire unexpected reunion with James. He had grown incredibly taller since the last time you saw him, the bags under his eyes a testament to the stress of the full moon, making him look slightly older than his age.

“Mary went home already. Trusted us enough to stay with the twins.” Remus said, noticing the way your eyes skimmed over the shop, looking for a familiar figure behind the counter.

The sound of approaching footsteps made you turn away from Remus, your attention now fixed on the two boys, noting that one of them was missing his glasses. They had their hands behind their back, mischief oozing from their face, making you feel a bit uneasy.

“Haz, why are you not wearing your glasses?” you asked, your eyes darting back and forth between the two.

The boy, whom you assumed was Harry, only looked at you funny before his eyes darted towards his new shirt, and then to his twin. You followed his line of sight, realization washing over you like a cold bucket of water.

You snapped your gaze towards the two men in the corner of the shop, your eyes wide with accusation. There was no way they could afford matching t-shirts without some adult interference.

As if expecting it, the two immediately looked away. The raven-haired man whistled innocently while the lycanthrope kept his eyes glued to the pages of the book in his hands.

“Here’s the deal, Mum. We thought it over and decided that we’re being totally gypped,” the boy spoke, voice filled with confidence.

“Dad mentioned that we’re going to the Quidditch World Cup this summer,” he continued, eyes sparkling with a playful look, “and we wanna go. Together.”

“Harry, this is ridiculous. Go find your glasses,” James said in a stern voice, his eyes shifting between the two boys, feeling unsure of whom he was speaking to. The twins only looked at each other before shrugging their shoulders, a determined look in their eyes.

“You’d think with your glasses you’d be able to tell us apart, but Merlin Dad, you’re a lost cause.” One of them said while the other one was trying to stifle his snickers.

You bit your lip, trying as hard as possible to suppress the laugh that was trying to bubble out of your chest. Sirius, on the other hand, let out a bark of laughter— prompting James to throw daggers at his direction.

“Do not make me tell you twice, Harry James Potter.”

Normally, Harry would have been scared by the use of his full name, but with determination coursing through his body, he couldn’t find it in himself to be so.

“Are you sure I am Harry?” the boy, whom you both assumed was Harry, asked in a challenging tone, arms crossed to his chest.

“I am sure. Now, do as I say and get your glasses.” There was a tone of finality in James’ voice which went in one ear and out the other.

“Come on, Mum, Dad,” the other one stepped forward, a puppy look in his eyes, “we go to the Quidditch World Cup and we’ll tell you who’s Harry and who’s Harold by the end of it.”

“There’s no need. I am sure for certain that you are Harold.” You kneeled down to the boy’s height, eyes squinting slightly.

“Are you really? You don’t want to bring the wrong kid back to France, do you?” he challenged, causing you to reel back slightly, now more confused than ever.

“Guys, we can’t do that. I bought the tickets months ago— it’s pretty sold out,” James said, sighing as he gave up trying to identify who Harry was.

“That won’t be a problem, Prongsie, Y/N!” Sirius interrupted, his appearance beside you catching you off guard. “We could give Moony and I’s ticket so that you could have much-needed family time.” He wiggled his brows, his smirk widening upon seeing the look on your face.

“Sirius,” his name came out in a sigh, “as much as I appreciate your sacrifice, I cannot simply do that.” You shook your head, emphasizing your words.

Sirius clicked his tongue before snaking his arm around your shoulder, pulling you slightly closer to him so that he could whisper in your ears, “Nonsense, love. It’s our suggestion anyway. Besides, Me and Moony are going somewhere.” He said in a low voice, but loud enough for James to hear.

“Did you plan this?” James asked, his voice rising a bit. “And don’t give me that look, Remus Lupin. We have so much to talk about,” James said to the man sitting on one of the stools, an innocent smile dancing on his lips.

“We might have helped them a bit. But it was their plan. Wicked, don’t you think?” Sirius spoke, sending you a wink, to which you only shook your head.

Your mind wandered off again, slowly drowning out the sound of the marauders bickering in the background. There was a war in your mind; one side was ringing alarm bells that this was not a good idea, while the other was urging you to succumb to the twins' proposition. The latter seemed to win the battle as guilt slowly crept in. And you knew by now that there was no use in trying to fight a war when guilt interferes. Perhaps this was the least you could do to make up for the years they spent apart. It was, after all, your decision to separate them.

James, as always, noticed your silence. He glanced at you, his eyes catching yours—there was a look of an unsaid question in his eyes, one that you answered with a timid smile. You looked at your twins, who were now watching the two of you in anticipation, holding their breaths.

Maybe this won’t be a bad idea. And even if it is, you find that you couldn’t care less as long as both of your sons are happy.

“Fine,” you said, sending the twins a gentle smile, which they returned with beaming smiles of their own.

thank you for reading! let me know what you think!

in case you want to be tagged

[garfieldsladybird]

I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭

If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay

HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg

☆

stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.

it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.

"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."

"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"

allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.

"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."

scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."

"worse than killing derek?"

"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."

stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"

once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.

"you're gonna rub right through your skull."

"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."

that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."

he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.

"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.

"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"

"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."

"who's paying?"

"who do you think?"

you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.

☆

you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-

"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."

he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.

"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"

you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"

"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."

and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"

he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"

"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"

stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."

this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-

"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.

"like what? i'm just in disbelief."

he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."

"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."

his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"

"hot."

you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.

"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."

he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."

"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.

"okay, um... i'm asking you."

you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-

"please." he hums.

you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"

"my eyes are what?"

you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.

"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"

"my hands?"

"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."

"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"

you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.

"your buzzcut makes you look good."

his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"really good."

stiles grins.

☆

you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.

dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.

your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.

this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).

all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.

but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).

this is going to be a pathetic walk home.

you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.

part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.

but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.

jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.

you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"

"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"

you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."

"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"

"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."

you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?

"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."

he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"

you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.

"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."

stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"

you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."

"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"

"i wasn't feeling well today."

this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.

☆

in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.

he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.

stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.

"hey."

you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"

he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"

"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."

"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"

"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.

"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"

you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."

and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.

"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"

he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."

stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."

you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"

"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.

you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.

"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"

stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.

"yes."

he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?

he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.

pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.

what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.

"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.

"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).

"no, no. but, your dad-"

"he's out."

"he could get home anytime."

"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."

"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."

your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"

he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.

"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"

"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."

you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.

"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"

"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.

he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?

stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.

☆

he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.

you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.

which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.

☆

i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!

☆

BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.

"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.

"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"

"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"

her face showed no recognition.

"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."

her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:

"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"

"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."

"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"

"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."

"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."

he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."

"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."

the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"

stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"

lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."

stiles whimpered a little "oh."

"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."

"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."

"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.

"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."

"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.

oh, it's you.

his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.

☆

[garfieldsladybird]

stiles STILINSKI 💜

part 10

[garfieldsladybird]

I hate my phone so much. I want to get off of it so badly but what else am I supposed to do?????

[garfieldsladybird]

| "I've seen your frown, and it's like looking down the barrel of a gun, and it goes off."

After an argument, you and Stiles don’t usually keep separate. It happened when you both needed a moment to really cool down, but not usually. It was a mutual thing when one of you would reach out to communicate and talk it out. After your night routine, you climbed into bed and immediately felt empty as there wasn’t any noise from his routine. He never came into the room to turn the lights off, and you had to get back up and do it yourself. After an hour, you finally fell asleep. 

You were woken up by your bedroom door opening. With squinted eyes, you slowly sat up in the dark. The only thing you could make out were blurry outlines. As your eyes adjusted more, you saw his slouched figure standing against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable, but everything else about him looked defeated, almost pathetic, in his sweatpants and T-shirt. Mussed hair and tired eyes. When you laid back down and pulled the covers over your head, he almost appreciated that more. He didn’t expect open arms after a fight like that, but that small bit of allowance lifted a weight off of him. 

After hearing a few soft footsteps, he crawled into the bed behind you, keeping his distance for a moment. Over the thick duvet, he put a hand on your body, kissing over where your shoulder made a smooth curve on your upper body. He was grateful for this. Even though the blanket made it impossible to really feel you, he was grateful to be touching even an extension of you. Because at least you were there. He found himself kneading over the layer of blanket, just nearly reaching you. He pressed his cheek against the back of your shoulder again and hoped that, soon in your sleepy state, you’d push the covers down, forget about the fight, and pull yourself into him. Even if, in the morning, you’d push yourself away and tell him you need a little more time. He needed you to forget, however briefly, because he couldn’t fix this right now. He could, however, brush your hair away from your face. Sleep had erased conflict from your expression and every other emotion, and Stiles started making a plan to reconcile.

[garfieldsladybird]

Can you do one based on work song by hozier.

Like the episode after he is struck by lightning, and he would do anything to get back to her (the reader) 😭

COMATOSE - E.BUCKLEY

after he’d been hit by lighting, buck had been rendered comatose, and he’s just as eager to wake up and see you again as you are for him to be okay.

WARNINGS: massive spoilers for 06X11, happy ending, established relationship

evan buckley x fem!reader II angst Il 4.6k Il requests open!

a/n: eddie doesn’t deserve to be separated from christopher in any universe so i wrote them back in-

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

First it was Daniel.

Then he found out Maddie was still with Doug and hadn’t even met Chimney.

Then it was finding out that Bobby had died.

You were his last shot.

God how he wanted to see you right now. He felt like his whole world had been flipped upside-down, and it had in a way. He was sure of his theory, that this was some alternate reality induced by the lightning strike. That he had to be in a coma. That was the only reasonable explanation for all of this.

The first course of action was to ask Chimney and Hen about you. He had no direct impact in you joining the 118, so you had to still be there right? Your job was your life, and even in a place like this that shouldn’t have changed. You were independently driven, and he just hoped that meant that you weren’t different.

“Oh right,” Hen snapped her fingers at Buck’s description of you. “She went into early retirement to look after the kids,”

“Sad to see her go honestly, she was great,” Chimney nodded along to Hen’s assessment, crossing his arms. “I miss her cooking sometimes,”

“You say that like she’s dead,” Hen rolled her eyes, hitting Chimney’s bicep with the back of her hand. “We see her all the time,”

“Yeah but that’s not the same as coming off a call and having the mastery that is her lasagna waiting in the oven for me to devour the minute we sit down,” Chimney sighs at the thought, his shoulders dropping as he imagines it. “Now we get it maybe once a month if we’re lucky,”

“Wait stop-” Buck holds his hand up to stop the two’s conversation, pushing himself from the dining chair he was sat in at Chimney’s table to stand with a furrowed expression. “Kids?”

You weren’t just not in the 118, you had kids here? Kids plural. Not even just one.

“Yeah,” Hen gives him a short nod with a raised eyebrow, like Buck’s confusion was the weird thing and not you having multiple kids with somebody who wasn’t him. “Chistopher and Nicolas,”

“Well, if we’re being semantic here, Christopher isn’t technically her kid,” Chimney gestures outward with his hands as he corrects Hen’s explanation.

“Oh please she may as well be,” Hen rolls her eyes with a scoff. “He calls her mom doesn’t he?”

“Still, biologically-”

”Guys.” Buck stops the two again, holding up both of his hands this time. “Christopher like Eddie’s Christopher?” There was absolutely no way.

“Yeah,” Chimney nods enthusiastically like Buck had just suggested a good answer for a general knowledge quiz. “They’re not married wherever you come from?”

“They’re married?” Buck swears he’s going to die all over again.

“I’ll take that as a no-”

Buck sat back down on the pulled out chair with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

You got married and had a child with his best friend?

This definitely wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Not where you were supposed to be.

You were supposed to be his, he was supposed to be yours. God you’d been through so much together, you’d pledged yourselves to each other. He had a ring waiting for you in his apartment.

You weren’t supposed to be married to anyone else. It was just wrong.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Hey,” There’s a gentle hand placed on your shoulder, and you reluctantly tear your eyes away from where Buck is lying towards the origin of the voice.

“You should take a break, you need to eat something and stretch your legs,” Eddie squeezes your shoulder gently as he stands behind you, looking over the top of your head towards the ECMO machine keeping Buck’s breathing regulated. “It’s not good for you to sit here for so long,”

”You know I can’t leave him Eddie,” You sigh softly, dragging your hands over your face to try and rub the fatigue away from your features.

“Please,” He shakes your shoulders gently under his grasp. “You know he wouldn’t want to see you like this, you need to take care of yourself too,”

“I know that…”

“But you’re not going to leave anyway?”

”I just-” You exhale heavily, stretching your back from being hunched over to rest it against the back of the plastic chair you’re sitting in. “What if something happens while I’m not here?”

“Hey,” He tugs on the chair until you’re half-facing him. “If anything happens, I will call you. I promise. Please take a few hours to look after yourself, i’ll watch over him for now,”

You glance back towards Buck’s unmoving body, with a stuttered breath, slowly standing yourself up from your chair with Eddie’s hand behind your back to make sure you don’t stumble with how long you’d been sat there.

“He’ll be okay,” You look up at Eddie with glassy eyes as he tries to reassure you. “He’s a stubborn bastard, he’s not going anywhere,”

“I hope you’re right,”

“When have I ever been wrong?” He tilts his head slightly with a small smile, a lace of joking in his tone in his effort to lighten your mood a little.

It works to an extent, a small breathy laugh leaving your mouth, joined by a small shake of your head as you pull him into a short hug.

“Go and get some food, and then some rest alright?” He pulls away from the hug after a few seconds with his hands braced on your shoulders.

“Yes sir,”

Eddie laughs shortly at your sarcasm, watching you leave the room with a reassuring smile before he takes your place in the chair to watch over Buck until your inevitable return.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“So what are we doing here exactly?” Chimney calls out to Buck as he power walks into the waiting room of the hospital, just barely able to match pace with Hen as the two follow after him.

“I’m not sure,” Buck stops abruptly once he’s inside, looking around. “I think maybe I’m supposed to come back to where it all started,”

“I guess that makes sense in the rules of this- Alternate universe,” Chimney gestures with his hands, following Buck’s turning head in gazing around the sterile white environment.

“I-I have this weird feeling, like I’m running out of time-” Buck turns to face the two with a furrowed expression and a hand pressed against his chest.

“Ooh, a ticking clock,” Chimney snaps his fingers in amusement, turning his head towards Hen who gives him a dissatisfied look. “Plot twist,”

Hen shakes her head with a roll of her eyes at Chimney, turning her attention back towards Buck. “You were having trouble breathing before right?”

“Yeah?”

“What if that wasn’t a panic attack?” She shakes her head again, but this time not in disapproval, instead in concern. “You guys are talking about this place as an alternate reality, but it’s not,” She gestures between Buck and the two of them.

“If you’re in a coma then this is all in your head, meaning that this place is still connected to that body.” She continues her theory with fervour, and Buck is increasingly grateful that at least she hasn’t changed at all. “If it can’t breathe, you can’t breathe,”

“So he feels like he’s running out of time-” Chimney’s cut off halfway through his sentence.

“Because my body is…”

Buck drags his hand down his face at the revelation. He was really at risk of dying here if he didn’t figure out how to get back quickly enough. He wanted to get back. He needed to get back. Desperately.

“Oh hey!”

Buck would recognise that voice anywhere. And it was both the most and least thing he wanted to hear right now.

“Chim, Hen, I didn’t know you guys knew Mr. Buckley,” Buck turns almost begrudgingly in the direction of your voice, a flicker of hope in his eyes as he meets your face. A flicker that immediately disappears as his eyes turn to the child in your arms.

He can’t be any older than five, and he looks just like you, except for his nose and his eyes. They matched Eddie’s features perfectly. And it felt like they were ripping his heart in two.

“Yeah uh…” The two look between each other as they question whether to divulge Buck’s predicament to you. “New acquaintances,”

“Mister Buck!” The child in your arms waves enthusiastically in Buck’s direction, a perfect mimicry of your smile on his features. He figures this must be Nicolas.

Mister Buck. That’s right, he was a teacher in this weird purgatory. He taught your’s and Eddie’s child. Like his life couldn’t get any worse.

“Hey little man,” His greeting was more than a little stunted, his attempt at masking his features clearly failing under the way concern blooms across your face. He always hated when you looked at him like that.

“Are you alright? I know you just got out of the hospital recently and you’re looking a little pale, maybe you should sit down,” You place Nicolas on the floor to guide Buck over to one of the chairs to sit down, and your touch against his arm feels both familiar and foreign at the same time.

“I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” He waves you off gently with a raise of his hand before bracing his arms on his knees.

“What are you doing here, everything okay?” Hen mirrors your concern towards Buck back onto you.

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” You give her a short nod as you straighten up from where you were bending to held Buck sit down, taking Nicholas’ hand in yours as he tugs on the hem of your shirt. “Just a routine check for Christopher, Eddie’s in with him at the moment,”

“Okay good, can’t have our favourite squad in duress,” Hen nods, happy with your response as she ruffles Nicolas’ hair, earning a chuckle from the boy and only sending Buck deeper into his pit of misery.

He was angry at a child, how pathetic was that.

“Speak of the devil,” Chimney nods his head down one of the hallways, and the group of you all turn your heads in the same direction.

“Daddy!” Nicholas is off immediately, running in the direction of Eddie and Christopher the second he sees them round the corner, and Eddie scoops the boy into his arms with no effort whatsoever.

He always was suited to be a dad. And that arguably made it worse for Buck to watch.

“Everything’s good?” You walk over to the three boys with your head tilted, gaze flickering between Eddie and Christopher at his side.

“All good Mi Amor, he’s perfectly fine,” Eddie presses a kiss to your temple, his free arm sliding around your waist to hold you securely against his side.

And that’s when Buck decides that he’s had enough.

He physically cannot stand to watch you with Eddie like that.

He has to get out of there.

And so he does, standing up abruptly and practically running down one of the corridors, leaving all of you to watch on after him in a mix of shock and confusion.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

When you return to Buck’s hospital room, Eddie has been replaced by Bobby. You can’t really be mad at that, Eddie has Christopher to worry about, and you know that he’s probably having just as hard of a time with Buck’s situation as you are. You can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it is for Eddie to explain the situation to him. How Buck might not wake up.

You didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Hey…” Bobby turns his head up from his rosary beads as you practically whisper out your greeting, pulling a chair over so that you can sit next to him at the foot of Buck’s hospital bed.

He looks just as wrecked as you do.

“Hey,” His hands fall into his lap, thumbs still rolling over the wooden beads as he looks over your state. “How are you holding up?”

“Not great…” You start tearing up almost immediately, hands cupping your nose and your mouth and you lean forward with your elbows on your knees.

Empathy floods Bobby’s expression as he reaches over to rub a hand up and down your back with a soft sigh, watching as silent tears roll over the back of your hands to leave dark dapple marks on your jeans.

“I’m so scared…”

“I know kid,” Bobby pulls you securely against his side with his hand rubbing lines over your arm in a futile attempt to console you, his eyes locked on Buck’s unconscious features. “I’m scared too,”

“What if he never wakes up?” You lean your head against Bobby’s shoulder with a stuttered exhale.

“He’s strong, I have faith in him,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh hey kid, fancy meeting you here,” Bobby peeks out from behind a stacked shelf of medical supplies, his tone much lighter and less serious than Buck is used to when working with him.

“Thought you were dead,”Taking a moment to catch him breath, Buck steps further into the room slowly, his tone almost accusatory as his eyes narrow, beginning to tire of running around this fictional copy of his own life. “What are you doing here?”

“You tell me, it’s your dream, I’m just living in it,” Bobby shrugs nonchalantly, rifling through some of the bottles one one of the shelves. “Living my best afterlife,”

“Uh-huh, so I am dead,”

“Close but not quite,” Bobby suddenly changes position to come from behind Buck where he was previously stood in front of him. Because apparently that’s something he can do in this version of the world.

“Hey what do you think these do?” Bobby rattles a white tube container with a hum, tipping an unnumbered amount of pills into his mouth.

“This place is way too messed up to be heaven but uh, I don’t really believe in hell,” Buck exhales with furrowed eyebrows as he tries to comprehend everything. He feels like from the moment he woke up in this place he’s been in a constant haze of confusion, and no matter how much he tries to make sense of it, he can never fully grasp what’s happening.

“I- I’m in purgatory,” He exhales sharply as he accepts his own conclusion, laughing at himself ina derogatory fashion at his apparent stupidness. “I never really understood the concept of this, is th- is this a waiting room? Do I just have to hang here until my number is called or is it like, a-a punishment, a time out— do I have to do some type of penance before I’m allowed to move on?”

“Listen kid,” Bobby pulls an orange-brown translucent bottle from his pocket. “You need to relax,” He takes a large swig from the bottle, almost animatedly. “None of this is real,”

Buck’s features visibly soften at Bobby’s word, and he lets out a short laugh. “Ah, that’s the good news,”

Bobby turns towards a large white cabinet behind him, pulling the two doors open with both hands to reveal a large medicine cabinet. “The bad news is that it can be real enough to keep you here if you let it.”

“Uh, wh-what do you mean?”

Bobby pushes the clear bottles of pills on the middle shelf to the side to reveal a large glass window behind them, gesturing towards it with his head. “Hey look, you’re alive,”

Buck furrows his eyebrows as he cautiously approaches the window, features only furrowing further as they lock onto the image of the two of you in the darkened hospital room.

“And there’s me. Ooh I busted out the rosary beads, must be serious,” The image of Bobby shows him bent forward in his chair with his hands on his knees and his rosary in his hands, muttering soft prayers under his breath as he holds the beads up to his mouth.

“And a pretty lady, your girlfriend? She doesn’t look so good,” That was an understatement. From what Buck could see of the side of your face it looked like you were crying, the tear stains on your cheeks illuminated under the florescent lighting and making his heart wrench at the sight, wanting nothing more to pull you into his arms and kiss all of those tears away.

Then he noticed himself, lying perfectly still on a hospital bed hooked up to so many different machines he wasn’t even sure if he could name them all. “How- am I there and here?”

“Well, Evan Buckley, this is your deep dark subconscious,” Bobby leans over slightly towards Buck, tone slightly ominous.

Then the sound of a door turns both of them back towards the window as they watch Athena walk into the room and place careful hands on both yours and Bobby’s shoulders. “Oh hey, can we back up for a second? Are you telling me that’s my wife?” He exhales through his nose with a nod of satisfaction. “I mean, some things did work out for me didn’t they?”

“Do you know what’s happening to me in there?” Buck’s eyes lock on to what he can see of himself through furrowed eyebrows.

“Depends on how you look at it,” Bobby’s eyes follow his own, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “You could be dying, you could be fighting for your life. It’s kind of up to you,”

Bobby leans over towards Buck once again as he continues to stare at himself. “Which way you leaning?”

“I- don’t know,” Buck blinks softly, seemingly going over the pros and cons in his head. “This felt pretty great at first but… Then the Doug thing happened, then you, and then…” His eyes flicker towards where your sat once more, a soft sigh leaving his mouth.

“Well, I don’t think you can bring me back from the dead even in here, but…” Bobby crosses his arms loosely over his chest. “I think you can fix the Doug thing, maybe even the Eddie thing,”

“Wo- Would that actually work?”

“I don’t know, I’m not exactly bound by the laws of physics and logic here,” Bobby shrugs again and leans forward slightly. “I know what you know,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Athena walks over to Buck’s hospital bed with a sigh, gently laying her hand on Buck’s wrist to rub small circles against his skin. “I don’t know if you can hear me Evan Buckley, but I do know that you never give up. So don’t start now.” She shakes her head with an exasperated exhale, her tone still authoritative despite her obvious emotion towards the situation.

“Bobby has lost… two children. He cannot survive losing you.” She sighs softly, squeezing his wrist just a little. “And your girlfriend, oh the poor girl… She’s distraught over you. You can’t propose to her if you’re like this. So wake up damn it.” She raises her voice ever so slightly at the end of her sentence out of frustration. Mostly at herself, that she cant do anything to help get him out of the situation he’s in.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Wake up.”

“Yeah I’m trying.” Buck gestures exasperatedly with his hands as he walks back towards the hospital waiting room with Bobby following after him. “Just need to figure out what to fix to get back.”

“Maybe you should just give up.” Buck glances over his shoulder at Bobby’s ‘suggestion’, his harsh words contrasting his jovial tone. “Did you know that you were clinically dead for three minutes? Things aren’t looking good for you,”

“How come you’re such a jerk in this reality?” Buck’s tone shift to border frustration as he continues to walk with Bobby following after him.

“Because I am loosing patience.” Buck turns around with a furrowed expression, and the two stop in the middle of the corridor, locked in a stalemate.

“When are you gonna learn?” Bobby crosses his arms over his chest. “Brother’s die, children and their wives die, sisters get beat up by their husbands, girlfriends move on and find someone better, you can’t fix everything.”

“Well I fixed you.” Buck borders on shouting in anger at Bobby’s words.

“Oh really? How?” Bobby stares at him blankly as he anticipates an answer.

Buck takes a few seconds to respond, his eyes narrowing once he’s found his answer. “’Cause I joined the 118… And I mad you mad. And I made you cry. And I made you laugh sometimes, you know?” He exhales sharply, gesturing between himself and Bobby.

“I drove you crazy, but I think you spent so much time trying to make sure that I didn’t get myself killed, that it made you remember what it is to live.”

“So basically,” Bobby meets Buck’s gaze with his own. “You were Buck,”

“Yeah,” Buck seems to relax a little once he’d got everything off his chest, features softening. “I was Buck,”

“And that’s enough?”

Buck turns his gaze down to the ground as he takes a few seconds to think about it, a small breath of a laugh leaving his mouth as he makes his decision. “I think it is,”

“Looks like someone just figured out the answers for himself,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A small group of you stand in Buck’s hospital room as they prepare to disconnect Buck from the ventilator. The priority visitors. His parents stood side by side, wrapped up in each other for mutual comfort, Maddie was hugging herself as an act of self-comfort, and Bobby was stood with his hand on your shoulder trying to comfort you.

The nurse carefully removes the ECMO covering Buck’s mouth and steps back towards the foot of his hospital bed. “And now we wait, see if he takes a spontaneous breath on his own,”

There’s about thirty seconds of silence before the regular beeping of Buck’s heart monitor changes to a jarring sharp sound, and Maddie turns towards the nurse with an anxious expression. “What’s wrong?”

“His oxygen is dropping,” The nurse’s tone is not at all reassuring. “If he doesn’t take a breath in the next few seconds we’re gonna have to reconnect him to the ventilator,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Right uh, this, this is all happening inside my head, which means I’ve been talking to myself this whole time,” Buck takes a sharp breath in as he looks over the perfect mirror of himself in front of him, who gives him a hum with a condescending expression.

“Upside— uh, I don’t have to feel bad about not listening to you anymore-” He shakes his head towards his mirror image before turning to ignore him, swiping all of the bottles off of the shelves to further reveal the glass window, beginning to pull the shelves off of their supports.

“What are you doing?” His mirror laughs sarcastically as he watches.

“I have to get back, I’m running out of time!”

“It’s impossible. There’s no way in there. You’re stuck with me.”

“It’s not impossible!” Buck shouts to be heard over this negative side of himself. “There is not a locked room anywhere that, with the right tools and enough time, you can’t break into.”

He takes a deep breath to regulate his volume, staring at himself with a determined expression. “ I know that.” He lets out a short laugh as he gains a sudden weight in his hand, a bright red fire axe, one that he’d used so many times in the past. “’Cause I’m a firefighter.”

“There’s nothing for you in that room. No one in there needs you.”

“I’m not going back for them. I’m going back for me.” Buck gives the mirror of himself a final look of disgust before turning to swing the axe as hard as he can into the glass, a loud shattering sound verberating through his ears.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You all watching in a terrible anxious anticipation as the jarring beeps continue to blare with no indication of change, your eyes locked on Buck’s face as you all desperately will for him to take a breath without any assistance.

And then he does, and the whole room immediately falls into tears. His parents cling to each other with loud sobs, Maddie’s shoulders tremble as she cups a hand over her mouth, and your knees almost give out underneath you if not for the added support of Bobby keeping you upright.

To say you were all relieved was a universally large understatement.

You were sure you’d never felt happier in your life to know the love of your life was okay. And god forbid you ever let him leave your side again.

[garfieldsladybird]

I have to say Timothée Chalamet is going all out and being hilarious with whatever he is doing 😹

[garfieldsladybird]

What’s Good for You

summary: when your cat gets stuck up a tree, you have to call 9-1-1, which leads you to meet a very handsome firefighter.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: idk where this came from, i just wrote it in an hour lol. it started with thinking about how humiliating it would be to have to call 911 about your cat stuck up a tree, and this is what happened. enjoy<3

warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” you hear from your phone speaker as you pace around your living room. You’re biting at the skin of your thumb as your eyes dart towards your balcony window, and then you look down at the phone, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Hi. My cat is, um,” you begin, clearing your throat as you feel embarrassment filling your belly and making your cheeks heat up, “stuck in a tree.” you finish, mumbling. 

You feel so stupid right now, but you’re not sure what else to do. You can see the small ball of fur from your spot in the living room, a black speck perched on the branch furthest from your balcony, as if taunting you.

“Sorry, what?” the woman asks. You tilt your head back with a louder sigh, closing your eyes as you gather what’s left of your dignity before you speak up.

“My cat is stuck in a tree.” you tell her again, spacing out the words and letting them hang in the air around you while resisting the urge to hang up the phone and go buy a ladder yourself.

“Did you try to get it down?” she asks after a moment, and you can tell she’s trying to hold back a laugh. She’s most definitely smiling, you can hear it in her voice, and if you had gotten this call, you would be too.

“She’s, like, really high up there.” you mutter, walking out onto your balcony and looking down towards the sidewalk below. Well, at least she hasn’t fallen, you think.

“How high?” 

“Well, I live on the sixth floor, and she ran onto the balcony when I opened the door and jumped into the tree beside it. She’s on the other side of the tree now, right out on the far branch, so I can’t reach her.” you explain. It feels like you’re digging a bigger hole for yourself as you speak. She probably thinks you’re stupid, or at the very least, a bad pet owner. 

“I’m so sorry, this is definitely not an emergency, I shouldn’t have called.” you suddenly add on, ready to hang up the phone and never dial the number ever again.

“No, that’s okay, don’t hang up. It’s better you call us instead of climbing the tree yourself and falling. I’m Maddie. We’re gonna get your cat without someone getting hurt. Now, what’s your name?” Maddie tells you, and you stop your hovering thumb from clicking the end call button.

“Okay, okay.” you mumble, then begin to give her all your information.

You watch your cat, and try to call her a few times, and finally, a firetruck appears below your apartment. You haphazardly put on some shoes before going down to the main floor to meet the firefighters, thanking Maddie and hanging up the phone on the way down.

“Is this your cat?” a man with a captain patch on his uniform asks when you approach them. 

You nod, a sheepish smile on your face as you look up to see your cat, now looking extremely small from her high spot in the tree. It’s now that dread fills your belly. You’ve had your cat for years, and she helped you immensely when you first moved to LA and didn’t have any friends, so now that the initial embarrassment has worn off, all you can feel is fear.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. I opened my balcony for, like, one second to water my plants, and she-” you try to explain, but the captain just shakes his head with a smile on his face, giving you a comforting pat on the back.

“Don’t worry about it. We answer these kinds of calls more than you’d think. We’ll get ‘em down.” he reassures you. 

You give him a small smile, and stand back with him while he tells one of the other men to control the ladder while another goes up.

You don’t miss how attractive the man going up the ladder is; curly hair and bright blue eyes. He looks strong, and kind, but you try not to think about it as you watch him climb the ladder, getting closer to your cat.

You inhale a sharp breath when the firefighter finally gets up to your cat, hearing the quiet, distinct sound of her hiss as he grabs onto her. Your brows knit together in confusion, however, when you see how easily the man is able to come down the ladder a second later; your cat happily perched in his arm.

You take your cat gratefully once he’s down, a grin on your face as you clutch her to your chest and finally make eye contact with the firefighter who saved her, but not after he takes a brief moment to check you out. He’s pulled in by your curves immediately; your soft belly and your thick thighs, but he also thinks you have the nicest smile he’s ever seen.

“Thank you so much for saving her.” you say as you look into his eyes, feeling yourself getting lost in the prettiest blue you think you’ve ever seen. 

You feel underdressed; wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized long sleeve tee for your day off of work. You were planning on lounging around the house, but apparently, the universe had other plans.

Buck’s smile turns to a smirk when he notices the way your face changes, feeling his chest swell with pride. He’s used to being thanked while doing his job, but it’s not as often he’s thanked by someone as pretty as you.

“No problem. She’s sweet.” he replies, reaching out and rubbing the spot between your cat’s ear, causing her to purr loudly and rub against his hand.

“Yeah? She usually hates men.” you tell him with a shrug. 

A small laugh escapes your lips as you both look down and watch your cat being so friendly with him. You’ve only ever seen her like this with you and your close girlfriends.

“Really?” he asks in slight disbelief, eyes raising back up to meet yours. 

You nod, laughing again. It’s like she knows that he’s there to help, or, she can sense that you’re extremely attracted to him and is turning on her charm. You’ve seen it before; she’s extremely good at suckering you into giving her more treats than she needs.

“Yeah, she hated my ex, even after a year of us dating.” you tell him, feeling heat rise to your cheeks as soon as the words fall from your lips. Why did you just bring up your shitty ex-boyfriend to this handsome, muscular stranger?

“Guess she knows what’s good for you. That’s why he’s your ex.” he reasons with a smirk. You begin to nod, looking down as your cat leans into his hand, but when you look up and see the way his lips are quirked up on one side, you realize what he’s also alluding to. That he’s good for you.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you breathe out, suddenly finding it hard to find any words at all. 

You can’t believe he’s flirting with you right now. You know you should be aware of his team surrounding you, no doubt listening to your conversation and able to see the dazed look on your face, but while looking up at him? Everything fades to the back of your mind except for him.

As he’s about to say something else, one of his teammates cuts him off. He’s glad, because he was about to completely ignore his rule about not dating people he meets on calls.

“Come on, lover boy, we gotta go! There’s a structural fire on third!” 

Both of your eyes widen, and you jump slightly in surprise as you look over at the shorter firefighter climbing into the firetruck. You can see the hint of a blush appear on the man’s face as you look back over to him, and he laughs awkwardly, raising a hand and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I gotta go. It was nice to meet you!” he tells you, taking a second to drag his eyes over your figure one last time before he’s gone, running to the truck.

“Yeah, you too.” you mumble to yourself, watching from your spot on the sidewalk as they drive away, lights and siren blaring.

You walk back up to your apartment in a slight daze, your cat clutched tightly to your chest until you’re finally inside and the front and balcony doors are closed. You throw yourself down onto the couch, unable to stop thinking about the handsome firefighter. 

You run your hand along your cat's back as she jumps up onto your lap and makes herself comfortable, still feeling butterflies swarming in your belly as you think of his kind smile and broad shoulders.

“You did your best, but I think I’m the one that fucked up here.” you tell your cat, laughing softly to yourself. She had acted as the perfect wingman, and you still couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You know you should’ve asked for his number, or at the very least, his name, but you were far too afraid. 

Maybe he was just being nice? Or maybe he has a girlfriend at home, and he likes to be flirty on the job. 

Either way, you still can’t stop thinking about him, and you desperately wish you could see him again.

It’s been a few days since Buck had met you, and he can’t help but think about you. He could tell that you were slightly embarrassed about your situation, but it just made you more endearing to him. You had a figure that had his mouth watering, and all your dips and curves on show in your outfit were teasing him as he tried to do his job. 

That’s how he found himself here, in the grocery store closest to your apartment, hoping he’d coincidentally run into you. 

He had to go to a specific store a little further from his house; it being the only one that sells a specific ingredient he needs for dinner tonight, and on his way home, he realized he forgot another ingredient for dinner.

He was a couple blocks from your apartment; it being in between his apartment and the store he needed to go to, so he decided to stop there rather than go to his usual grocery store. 

With his luck, you wouldn’t be there, but he thought he might as well try. It’s a perfect loophole to his work-dating rule.

As he wanders the aisles, not used to the layout of the store, he hears a voice apologize to someone behind him, and his eyes widen. He knows that voice, he heard it the other day, apologizing for calling him to get a cat from a tree.

He grins when he turns and his eyes set on you, now in a sundress, and looking fucking incredible.

“It’s you.” you mutter in disbelief, a smile growing on your face as you look up and see him standing right in front of you, directly in front of what you came to this aisle for.

“It’s you.” he repeats, letting his eyes trail down your figure. Your bare legs have him licking his lips, and when his eyes snap back up to meet yours, you finally tell him your name.

He lets your name roll around in his mouth, feeling the weight of it on his tongue and making him grin. Finally, a name to the pretty face.

“Buck.” he replies, and you repeat it quietly, nodding sheepishly. 

He can tell you want to speak, that the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you seem nervous, so he takes over.

“Do you wanna go out sometime?” 

Your lips part as you look up at him, surprised at his words. You had spent the last few days telling yourself that he probably didn’t want you in an attempt to force yourself to stop thinking about him, and you were beginning to believe it.

“Like, a date?” you ask, your brain now completely empty as you try to keep looking into his eyes. His attention focused solely on you has your heart pounding in your chest, and his gaze has you thinking more about what your hands are doing, and your facial expressions.

“Yes, a date. How about tonight? I can make you dinner.” he clarifies with a quiet chuckle. You’re fucking adorable, and he can’t get enough.

“Okay.” You’re not sure what else to say. It would be embarrassing if you did anything else to show him how excited you actually are on the inside. 

He smiles, nodding as he tilts his head to the side, admiring the way you reach up and fidget with your necklace. When you see that his eyes are trained on your hand, you drop it back down to your side, giving him a sheepish smile.

“I’ll pick you up at 7?” he asks with a smirk, and you nod quickly, trying to hide your surprise and excitement with a small, not-too-excited smile.

“Yeah, that works.” you reply, then take his phone as he hands it over to you. You put in your name and your number with shaky hands, then hand it back, eyes focused on how large his hands are in comparison to yours.The rest of the day after you say goodbye to him goes by quickly, and you wish it wouldn’t. You’re stressed enough for your date tonight, and no outfit you put on seems appropriate. All your worries fade at the end of the night though, when Buck pulls you in for a kiss, mumbling a quick “guess your cat does know what’s good for you” before his lips meet yours passionately.

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[garfieldsladybird]

I actually kinda love the idea of no one ever imagining a possibility of wolfstar dating each other…

Just one day remus says something incredibly stupid that makes sirius laugh so hard he has to unconsciously grab remus by his cheeks and kiss him silly while still giggling and then the camera cuts to peter choking on his tea and james mouth hanging open

[garfieldsladybird]

drunken confessions. ( shawn spencer x reader )

gif belongs to me

Shawn had made his attraction clear to you from the moment that you met. He had doubted that you were a cop because of your appearance and you had replied by displaying your badge. Although you had shied away from the attention in the beginning, you began to respond to his flirting and you would never forget the shock on his face when you winked at him.

Cases became more entertaining with him around, and you knew Carlton was giving himself a headache with each eyeroll as you and Shawn flirted back and forth. But nothing had ever come of the flirting. One reason being you had a boyfriend at the time. The second being his feelings had started long before you felt the same way.

He was on a date when he found you in the bar. You had your own bottle at the table and from its contents, nearly finished it in the two hours since you both parted ways at the station after the case was closed.

"Hey, Y/N..." He joined your table while he waited for his date to arrive. "What'cha doin'? Parents out of town or somethin'?"

"My parents are dead." You told him, before taking a drink from your glass.

You never revealed anything about your past. Shawn could make predictions and while he knew your father had died when you were young, the reason you wore his watch every day, he never knew about your mother. And to hear you open up so bluntly was shocking despite your current state.

"I'm sorry."

"Happened when I was in the academy." You noticed the woman looking around the bar and Shawn looked over his shoulder, before looking around quickly. "You on a date?"

"No, no -" He lied.

"Hey," You called out to the woman, waving her over. "You looking for Shawn Spencer?"

She walked over and you stood up from the table, unaware of the concern in his gaze when you swayed slightly. "Have a good night."

Shawn noticed you taking out your car keys and reached out to take them, standing up from his chair. "Uh-uh. You're not driving."

"I've barely had three glasses. I'm fine."

"You've drank enought to subdue a baby elephant." Shawn argued. "I'll take you home."

He looked at his date who was looking between you, realizing that from the look in his eyes when he looked at you it was pointless rescheduling another date because his feelings for you were clear and it would only end in heartbreak.

"I'm really sorry." He apologized before quickly chasing after you when he realized you were nearly outside.

You stumbled as you stepped into the parking lot, Shawn holding the door open and you took off your heels, sniffling as you looked at your broken heel.

"I'm sorry about your date." You told him.

"Don't worry about it." He led you to your car and held the door open for you but you leaned against the car, turning to him.

"You are a really great guy underneath all the sarcasm. And hell I like the sarcasm too." You put a hand on his chest and Shawn looked at your hand then met your gaze as you continued. "Looks and charm with a sensitivity that makes you the ideal package." A giggle left your lips. "God, I can't count the times I've wanted to rip your clothes off."

"I'm sorry - what?" He stared at you in disblief when you got into the car without another word.

It was a fifteen minute drive home in which you spent most of the time dodging his questions as to why you were out drinking when you had work in the morning - something unheard of when you were concerned.

Shawn opened the door when you arrived and you laughed when he held his hand out to you. "M'lady."

You accepted his hand and wrapped your arm around his as you walked to the door. Once you were settled on the sofa with a cup of coffee Shawn decided to press for answers.

You sipped your coffee as he took a seat on the coffee table across from you. "I'm sorry about your date."

"Wasn't serious anyways." He brushed off. "I'm more interested in why you got drunk tonight."

"I like your eyes." You said, taking another sip of coffee.

"You're trying to distract me." He stated. "It won't work."

You rolled your eyes, placing a hand on your forehead afterwards. "You should go back to your date."

"I don't want to." He said. "Not until I know you're going to be okay."

"I'm always okay." It was the same exact words you had told him after you had gotten shot during a case three months ago when he had visited you in hospital.

And Shawn believed it as little as he did then.

"That's impossible. No one is okay all the time."

"What do you want me to say? That I didn't feel like returning to an empty house? That I feel like I should just adopt cats because I'll always be alone?"

Your eyes averted to your cup and Shawn stared at you for a moment. "You'll never be alone."

"I've been alone ever since my parents died." You met his gaze, revealing the tears in your eyes. "It's been six years and -"

"It's the anniversary." He sighed in realization. "Y/N, I'm sorry."

From the day you met he refused to call you 'Detective' or by your last name as he did every other cop he was in contact with. He always referred to you by your first name and while it bugged you in the beginning, you realized it was his way of showing how he felt about you without actually saying it. You had known how he felt for a while and when you heard about his date tonight you hated how long it had taken you to realize you felt the same way.

"I like you." You spoke up after a few moments. "Like a lot. More than I should - god knows Carlton has tried his best to stop me from liking you but I do I really really -"

The feeling of his lips on your interrupted your speech and you placed a hand on his cheek, leaning into the kiss with a smile on your lips.

He pulled away to meet your gaze, granting you both time to catch your breath. "If it wasn't obvious I like you too."

You smiled softly. "I'm sorry I waited so long."

"Trust me, it was worth it."

You raised an eyebrow teasingly, leaning in to reignite the kiss and Shawn placed a hand on your cheek.

It had taken three years for you to confess how you felt. And for a while Shawn had resigned to the idea that you wouldn't feel the same but a few weeks back he noticed your stare lingering longer than it should have that sparked a beacon of hope that told him to cling on a little longer. And after tonight he was glad he did.

[garfieldsladybird]

Nobody committed to the bit harder then Shawn Spencer. The fact that he could've just come out and told them about his photographic memory and deduction skills on the second day and they probs would've still hired him and taken him much more seriously, but the dumbass bi man chose to continue to pretend to be a psychic FOR 8 WHOLE YEARS is genuinely insane behavior. And don't even get me started on Gus keeping his besties secret for that long, he a real ride or die.