#𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✭

[louilies]

𝐈 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀 𝐌𝐲𝐭𝐡

fluff. Drew Starkey x Y/N

The sun was shining brightly over the Outer Banks set, casting a warm golden glow over the trailers and beach chairs scattered across the sand. The cast and crew bustled about, preparing for another day of filming, laughter and chatter filling the salty air.

Drew Starkey, however, had a secret. Well, not for long.

“You ready, babe?” he asked softly, turning to Y/N with a smile that could melt glaciers. His hand found hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Y/N, heart pounding like a drum, nodded. “I think so.”

She had met Drew months ago, and what started as a sweet, unexpected friendship had blossomed into something so natural, so right, that she often wondered how she ever lived without him. Still, the thought of meeting the entire OBX cast as "Drew Starkey’s girlfriend" was enough to make her palms sweat.

They walked hand-in-hand toward the set, Drew chatting casually, as though he wasn’t about to introduce her to some of the most talented, tight-knit people in his life. His calm demeanor was her anchor.

“Yo, Starkey!” Chase called out, spotting him first.

“What took you so long?” Rudy teased, tossing a football back and forth with Jonathan.

Drew grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I had to pick up someone special.”

As they closed the distance, Y/N felt a dozen pairs of curious eyes land on her, but Drew never let go of her hand. Instead, he pulled her closer, tucking her into his side like she belonged there.

“Everyone, this is Y/N,” he announced, his voice soft but sure. “My girlfriend.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Madison’s face lit up. “Oh my God, finally! We’ve heard so much about you!” She rushed forward, enveloping Y/N in a warm hug before the rest of the cast followed suit, their welcomes genuine and enthusiastic.

“I thought you were a myth,” Rudy joked, giving Drew a playful nudge. “He never stops talking about you, but we were starting to think you weren’t real.”

Y/N laughed, feeling her initial nerves melt away under their kindness.

Throughout the day, Drew kept her close, stealing soft kisses and whispered jokes between takes, his thumb brushing over her knuckles absentmindedly.

By lunchtime, she wasn’t just Drew Starkey’s girlfriend; she was part of the OBX family. And judging by the way Drew looked at her, like she was his whole world, she knew this was only the beginning of something magical.

[louilies]

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞́𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐱 𝐘/𝐍

The apartment was warm, filled with the soft hum of Paris in the background. Rain tapped gently against the windows, casting a cozy spell over the room. Timothée sat cross-legged on the floor, a French textbook open in front of him, while you lay sprawled across the couch, face-down in defeat.

“Come on, mon amour,” he teased, poking your side gently. “It’s not that hard.”

You groaned into the cushion. “Easy for you to say. You grew up speaking French. I sound like a dying cat.”

He laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made your heart flutter despite your frustration. “That’s not true. Say it again—‘Je t’aime, Timothée.'”

You lifted your head, giving him a withering look. “Je… tem… Timotay.”

His eyes crinkled as he fought a grin. “Okay, first of all, adorable. Second of all, it’s Timothée, not Timotay. You’re not ordering a drink.”

You buried your face back in the pillow. “I’m a lost cause.”

“No, you’re not.” He crawled up beside you, propping himself on one elbow as he brushed a stray hair from your face. His voice softened, eyes full of that effortless tenderness he always held for you.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, you turned your head, your cheek still pressed to the cushion. He smiled, tracing a gentle line along your jaw with his fingertip.

“Je t’aime,” he whispered slowly. “Say it with me. Je…”

“Je…”

“T'aime.”

“T'aime.”

“Timothée.”

“Timothée.”

His grin widened. “See? Perfect.”

“You’re lying to make me feel better.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to your nose. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Un petit peu.”

“Look at you! A natural.”

“Don’t push it.”

He laughed again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest, the French textbook long forgotten as he whispered sweet nothings—half in English, half in French—until the rain lulled you both into a blissful, sleepy haze.

[louilies]

masterlist (all of them combined)

about me

masterlists

[louilies]

𝐅𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

angst, Jughead Jones

Y/N paced back and forth in the dimly lit room, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. The silence between her and Jughead felt suffocating, like the space around them was shrinking with every passing second. She could still hear his words ringing in her head, sharp and bitter, like daggers.

“You don’t get it,” Jughead’s voice had been harsh, almost bitter, as he stood there, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. “I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in, and I don’t want to. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird. And you’re standing here acting like you can fix me. You can’t fix me, Y/N. I’m not like you.”

Her hands trembled at her sides as she processed his words. Each one felt like a slap in the face, but the one that hit hardest was the one she couldn’t shake: I’m not like you.

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been standing there, locked in this standoff. Jughead was so distant now, like he’d put up walls she could never break down. It hurt more than she could express.

“I’m not asking you to change,” she finally managed to speak, her voice shaky. “I’m just trying to be here, Jughead. I’m not trying to fix you. But you’re making it impossible for me to help you when you keep pushing me away.”

He shook his head, the bitterness in his eyes growing. “You don’t get it,” he repeated, his voice rising. “You don’t know what it’s like to feel like this. You’ve got everything together. People like you don’t get people like me. I don’t need saving. I’m fine the way I am.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “That’s not it, Jughead. I’m not trying to save you. But I see you. I really see you. The real you. Not this mask you keep wearing, not the walls you keep up.”

“Stop,” Jughead snapped, his fists clenching. “Stop acting like you can fix me. I am not one of your projects, Y/N.” His words hit her like a ton of bricks, and for a split second, she couldn’t breathe.

“Is that what you think?” Her voice cracked, the hurt threatening to spill over. “That I’m treating you like some charity case? You think I’m just here to ‘fix’ you? I never asked you to be perfect. I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted to be with you.”

Jughead looked at her, his eyes narrowing, and he took a step back, clearly trying to put more distance between them. “You don’t get it. You think you know what it’s like to feel like you’re always one mistake away from everything falling apart. You think you know what it’s like to be the weird one, to feel like you’re always the outsider. But you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re too broken to love, too messed up for anyone to ever really accept you.”

Her throat burned as she tried to speak, to find the right words to make him see how wrong he was. But it was hard. Everything felt so tangled, so messy, and every time she thought they might understand each other, they just fell further apart.

“I’ve felt like that,” she whispered, the tears threatening to fall. “I’ve felt like I don’t belong. I’ve felt like I was never good enough. But I’ve never pushed anyone away the way you’re pushing me away right now. Jughead, I’m not asking you to be someone you’re not. I just want you to trust me. But if you keep shutting me out, if you keep telling me you’re not worth it, then how are we supposed to make this work?”

He stood there, his face unreadable, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something—something that might change everything. But then, he just shook his head, his voice almost a whisper. “You don’t get it. I’m not the person you think I am. I’m not the person you deserve.”

Y/N took a step forward, her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t care who you think you are, Jughead. I care about you. The real you. Not this broken version of you that keeps pushing everyone away.”

But he was already turning away from her, like he couldn’t bear to face her anymore. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s okay when it’s not.”

She felt the sting of his words hit her heart like a blow. She reached out to him, her fingers brushing the back of his jacket, but he flinched away, the distance between them growing even more.

“Jughead, don’t do this,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Don’t shut me out. Please. I’m not giving up on you.”

He froze, his hand on the door, but he didn’t turn around. He just stood there, his back to her, like he couldn’t bring himself to face her. “You deserve better than me,” he said quietly, the words almost a confession. “You deserve someone who’s whole, someone who isn’t broken.”

“Stop,” she cried, her voice shaking with emotion. “Stop telling me that. I don’t need someone perfect, I just need you. But if you keep pushing me away, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fighting for something that’s slipping through my fingers.”

Jughead didn’t respond. He just opened the door and stepped out into the night, leaving her standing there in the silence that now filled the space between them.

Y/N closed her eyes, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilling over. She had tried. She had tried so hard to be there for him, to make him see that he didn’t have to push her away. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough. Not when the other person wasn’t ready to let go of their own darkness.

[louilies]

𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 ?

Angst. Requested by @lailasnight

Central Cee sat in his car outside your building, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. His jaw clenched, eyes trained on the dim glow of your apartment window. You were home.

But you weren’t answering.

He checked his phone again. Nothing. His texts sat there, unread. His calls went straight to voicemail. It had been days now—days of suffocating silence, of sleeping in a cold, empty bed, of reaching for you in the dark only to remember you weren’t there.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He had been mad that night. Mad at you, mad at himself, mad at whatever had twisted its way between you and turned love into something that hurt. He didn’t even remember what started the argument—something stupid, something that didn’t matter now—but he remembered how it ended.

"If you walk out that door, don’t come back."

He didn’t mean it. God, he didn’t mean it.

But you left anyway.

Now he was here, sitting outside like a ghost of the man he used to be, trying to piece together what was left of you and him. If there was even anything left at all.

His phone buzzed. His heart leapt.

But it wasn’t you.

It was a text from one of your friends.

"Stop calling. She’s done, Cench."

His stomach dropped. He felt like he was going to be sick. His breath came in short, uneven gasps as he stared at the message, reading it over and over, hoping—praying—that it would change.

Done.

The word hit harder than any punch he’d ever taken.

Because the truth settled in all at once, cruel and unrelenting. You weren’t just ignoring him. You weren’t giving him the silent treatment, waiting for him to show up and fix things.

You had already decided.

He had already lost you.

You were not coming back.

[louilies]

𝑮𝒆𝒏 𝒁 𝑳𝒖𝒗

central cee x reader, fluff @lailasnight, inspired by gen Z luv by central cee

It started as a simple question.

“Daddy, how did you meet Mummy?”

Central looked up from his phone, meeting the wide, curious eyes of your five-year-old daughter as she sat on his lap, legs swinging. Beside her, your son, a couple of years older, leaned in, clearly just as interested.

You glanced at your husband with a knowing smile from across the couch, already anticipating his answer.

Central stretched an arm over the back of the couch, smirking slightly. “You lot really wanna know?”

Both kids nodded eagerly.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Alright, listen up. So, boom—”

“Oh, no,” you muttered, already giggling.

He ignored you, leaning forward dramatically. “I met your mum on the FYP.”

Your daughter scrunched her nose. “What’s an FYP?”

“It’s—” He paused, glancing at you for help.

You chuckled. “It’s where you see videos on TikTok, baby.”

She blinked. “What’s TikTok?”

You gasped, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh no, we’re old.”

Central barked out a laugh before refocusing on the kids. “Basically, I saw this peng girl—”

“Watch it,” you warned playfully.

“—this beautiful, stunning, intelligent girl,” he corrected, smirking. “She liked my music, or at least, that’s what I thought. But I had to be sure, so I messaged her.”

Your son frowned. “What did you say?”

You burst into laughter before Central could even respond. “Ohhh, you wanna know?” You turned to your kids. “Your dad said, ‘Yo, you actually rate my music, or you just tryna be cute?’”

The children howled with laughter, clapping their hands. “No way!”

Central shook his head, smiling. “Why you gotta expose me like that?”

“You make it too easy.”

Your son, still giggling, leaned against you. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” you said, tilting your head toward Central, “he fell in love with me.”

Your husband rolled his eyes. “Other way around, bruv.”

“Debatable.”

The kids watched you two bicker with amused smiles before your daughter yawned, climbing into your lap. “So, you guys met on the FYP and then got married and had us?”

Central Cee pulled both of you into his arms, his voice softer now. “Yeah. We were young, and our love’s Gen Z.”

Your son grinned. “That’s cool.”

You kissed his forehead. “It is, isn’t it?”

Central met your eyes over their heads, giving you a look that said I love you without saying a word.

And just like that, your love story—your Gen Z luv—became the kind of bedtime story that would be told for generations.

[louilies]

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫...

Fluff, Elio Perlman X Y/N (female reader) @sadgir111. Anon's Request

The Italian sun blazed high above, casting golden streaks across the worn cobblestones of the small countryside villa. Every summer, like clockwork, your family and Elio's would retreat to this dreamy corner of Italy, a tradition older than either of you. And every summer, it was the same: lazy mornings, bike rides through the vineyards, and afternoons swimming in the cool, cerulean river.

You and Elio had been friends since childhood, bonded by endless summers spent together while your parents immersed themselves in art, music, and wine. Over the years, you'd grown close—close enough to know that Elio hated olives but loved the way the sea smelled at dawn; that he tapped his pencil rhythmically when lost in thought; that he sometimes stared at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

This particular afternoon, the two of you lounged on the grass, backs pressed into the earth, the sky a brilliant blue canvas above. Elio's arm brushed yours, casual, yet sending a ripple through your skin that felt anything but.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like?” he asked suddenly, his voice soft, thoughtful.

“What what’s like?” you murmured, turning your head to find his gaze already on you.

“Kissing someone.”

The question hung between you, delicate and heavy all at once. You blinked, a slow, measured moment, as if time itself had taken a pause.

“I mean, we could just... try it,” he offered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though there was an edge of nervousness in his eyes.

You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest, the cicadas' hum a distant backdrop to the sudden pulse of anticipation.

“Just to see,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to be any louder.

He leaned in, hesitantly, giving you space to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. The warmth of his breath mingled with the scent of sun and grass, and then his lips were on yours, soft and searching.

It was supposed to be innocent. Just an experiment. But the second your mouths met, something shifted. His hand, tentative at first, found the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw in a way that made your skin tingle. The kiss deepened without either of you meaning for it to, as though your bodies had known something your minds hadn’t quite figured out yet.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, there was a moment of stunned silence.

“That didn’t feel like... just seeing,” Elio murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours.

“No,” you admitted, eyes still closed as you tried to steady your racing heart.

His fingers brushed over yours, tentative but deliberate.

“I think I want to do that again,” he confessed softly, and you smiled, tilting your face back toward his, the weight of an unspoken truth settling comfortably between you.

Summer, it seemed, had just taken on a whole new meaning.

[louilies]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭.

fluff, inspired by the scene when Priscilla meets Elvis for the first time. In the movie '𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚'

The evening air was thick with anticipation, the bass from the party inside thumping like a heartbeat. Y/N adjusted the hem of her dress, feeling both out of place and utterly alive. She hadn’t wanted to come, but she’d spent the past week trying to convince her parents to let her go with Terry and his wife. They’d been hesitant, of course — the idea of their daughter attending a party with someone like Elvis Presley seemed absurd, even dangerous. But Terry had been persuasive, assuring them with a steady smile and his wife’s calm presence.

“We’ll take good care of her,” Terry promised. “She won’t leave our sight.”

Reluctantly, her parents agreed, and now, here she was, standing at the edge of a grand living room, unsure if she’d made the right decision. The house was sprawling, a lavish testament to its owner’s success. Strangers milled about, laughing too loudly, sipping drinks that shimmered under the golden light. Y/N felt like she was watching a movie, the scene surreal yet intoxicating.

“You look lost,” a smooth, velvety voice murmured behind her.

She turned, and there he was. Elvis Presley. His presence was magnetic, almost otherworldly. He wasn’t just famous; he was a phenomenon, and now, inexplicably, he was standing in front of her, blue eyes piercing and kind.

“I guess I am,” Y/N admitted, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Well, we can’t have that. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Without waiting for her response, he took her hand — warm, firm, reassuring. The room seemed to blur as he led her through the crowd, murmuring polite excuses as they passed.

“You from around here?” he asked, glancing at her with a curiosity that felt genuine.

“No, just visiting.”

“Lucky me,” he said, and there was something in the way he said it that made her pulse race.

They ended up on the patio, where the noise of the party faded into a distant hum. The night was cool, a welcome contrast to the heat blooming between them.

“It’s... quieter out here,” Y/N said, feeling suddenly shy under his gaze.

“I like the quiet," Elvis confessed. "Gives you a chance to really see someone."

Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Y/N felt seen in a way she hadn’t expected. As though, for a fleeting heartbeat, the world had shrunk to just the two of them.

“I should probably go back inside,” she whispered, though she made no move to leave.

Elvis smiled again, a little softer this time. “You could... or you could stay a little longer. I promise I don’t bite.”

And against all reason, against the backdrop of a party that suddenly felt miles away, Y/N found herself wanting nothing more than to stay.

[louilies]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝.

Angst, Matt Sturniolo x Reader.

The night air was cold, biting at your exposed skin as you sat on the edge of Matt’s bed, knees pulled tightly to your chest. The hum of the city below seemed distant, muffled by the walls of his apartment, though the ache in your chest felt louder than ever.

“You’ve changed,” Matt whispered, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His voice was soft, but the weight of his words hit like a punch.

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze on the floor. The worn-out carpet beneath your feet felt more familiar than the boy you’d once known better than yourself.

“I haven’t,” you managed, though even you didn’t believe the words.

“Yeah, you have.” His tone wasn’t angry, just... tired. “Does growing up just change your body ? Or also your soul ?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You felt the sting behind your eyes, but you refused to cry. Not now. Not in front of him.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “Maybe both”.

Matt let out a hollow laugh, the kind that sounded more like giving up than amusement.

“I miss you,” he admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “I miss how things used to be. Before everything got... complicated.”

“Me too.” And you meant it. But there was a gap between you now, a chasm filled with unspoken words, missed calls, and late-night overthinking.

“Then why does it feel like we’re strangers?” he asked, and the pain in his eyes was unbearable.

You finally looked up at him, and for a moment, it felt like you were both sixteen again, sneaking out to meet at the park, sharing secrets under the stars. But that moment was gone, and you couldn’t bring it back.

“Because maybe we are,” you said softly, hating yourself for saying it, but knowing it was true.

Matt took a deep breath, as if he was about to say something, but instead, he just nodded, like he understood something you didn’t.

The silence between you was deafening, and yet neither of you moved to break it.

Growing up had changed you, your body, your soul, and the fragile connection you once thought was unbreakable.

[louilies]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ᰔᩚ: fluff/ᰔ: flirty not smut/ෆ: angst @anitalenia

Chris Sturniolo

Worthy of Love pt2 ෆ

Incapable ෆ

Bad Idea Right ? ᰔᩚ

Captured In Time ᰔᩚ

Oscar Winning Tears pt2 ෆ

The Greatest ෆ

Isn't It Strange ? ෆ

Central Cee

London Skies ᰔᩚ

Gen Z Luv ᰔᩚ

Say it, Don't Buy It ᰔᩚ

What Were We ? ෆ

Jacob Elordi

Tall Boy Problems ᰔᩚ

Cloud Nine ᰔᩚ

Matt Sturniolo

Moodboard ʚɞ

Through His Lens p2 pt3 pt4 ʚɞ

All's That Ends Well ᰔᩚ

You've Changed ෆ

Elio Perlman

The Hot Summers In Crema ෆ

I Never Thought I'd See You Again ᰔᩚ

Elvis Presley (Jacob Elordi's Version From The Movie Priscilla)

You Look Lost ᰔᩚ

Jughead Jones

Fading Light ෆ

[louilies]

take a cookie…

thank you 👅👅💦💦

[louilies]

𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫.. 𝐏𝐭 𝟏

fluff, Elio Perlman X Fem Reader

The days that followed were different. Subtle, but different. The easy rhythm of your friendship was still there, but now, there was a charged undercurrent, an unspoken tension that neither of you dared name.

One evening, after another long swim, you both lay on the dock, damp hair dripping onto the worn wood, watching the sunset paint the sky in hues of pink and orange. Elio's hand found yours, fingers intertwining without hesitation this time.

“What are we doing?” you whispered, not entirely sure if you wanted an answer.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did you.

That night, as the stars blinked to life above the villa, you both knew something had shifted irreversibly—something that no summer, no matter how fleeting, could take away.

The following morning, you woke to the scent of coffee and the distant sound of waves. Elio was already awake, sitting on the terrace with a book in his hands, the early sun casting a golden glow over him. You watched him for a moment, heart fluttering in your chest, before quietly joining him.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice soft and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Morning.”

He closed his book, setting it aside, and without hesitation, he reached for your hand again, as though touching you had become second nature overnight.

“I was thinking...” he started, hesitating for just a beat.

“About?”

“Last night. You. Us.” He looked up, his gaze open and earnest. “I don’t want this to just be a summer thing.”

Your breath hitched.

“Me neither.” The confession tumbled out, unfiltered and raw, and the relief in his eyes was instant, as though he’d been holding his breath.

The rest of the day was a blur of stolen glances, secret touches, and whispered promises. The line between friendship and something more had dissolved completely, and neither of you wanted to rebuild it.

As the days slipped by, the inevitable end of summer loomed larger. But this time, there was a quiet assurance between you. The kind that spoke of more than just fleeting warmth and sun-drenched afternoons.

“I’ll visit,” he promised one night, as you sat side by side on the villa's roof, watching the moon rise. “As soon as I can. I’ll find a way.”

You knew he meant it. And for the first time, the thought of leaving didn’t feel like an ending—just the beginning of something you’d both been waiting for, without even realizing it.

[louilies]

Can you write fluffy elio perlman x femreader? :)

Of course ! To anyone whose trying to attacking me let me explain why

In the movie "𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘔𝘦 𝘉𝘺 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘦", Elio's sexuality is not directly labeled as gay, in fact in the book and the sequel "𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘦", Elio has relationships with woman. So yes, I can and will write Elio Perlman x Fem!Reader ! Give me a plot and i'll write it !!

[louilies]

𝐈 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐈'𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

fluff, Elio x Oliver

It had been years since Elio Perlman had seen Oliver, and yet, the moment their eyes met, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Elio was walking through the busy streets of Italy, his thoughts preoccupied with the day's errands, when he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He froze, the sound like a melody he hadn't realized he'd been waiting to hear.

“Elio!”

He turned slowly, and there, standing at the corner of a café, was Oliver, his bright, mischievous smile lighting up his face. Elio’s heart skipped a beat, memories flooding his mind—the summers by the lake, the quiet moments shared between stolen glances and soft whispers.

Oliver's smile widened as he walked toward Elio, his steps quick and eager. "I thought I was imagining things," he said, his voice warm, the same as Elio remembered.

Elio couldn’t help but grin, the familiarity of Oliver's presence making him feel lighter. "You look different, but still... you."

Oliver laughed, his eyes sparkling with the same playful glint. "Is that a compliment or a critique?"

“A compliment," Elio replied, his voice soft. "You haven't changed at all."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the world around them—the distant hum of traffic, the chatter of Italians walking by—but none of it mattered. What mattered was the way Elio felt, standing in front of Oliver again, as if no time had passed, as if they were still those two young souls discovering everything for the first time.

They stood in silence for a beat, both of them unsure of how to continue, but the unspoken understanding between them was enough. Oliver stepped closer, his hand brushing against Elio’s.

"I missed you," he said quietly, his voice tender.

Elio’s heart fluttered in his chest, the weight of the years apart suddenly feeling less significant. "I missed you too."

Oliver smiled, his fingers now gently cupping Elio's cheek. "So, do you have time for a coffee?"

Elio's grin grew, and he nodded, his heart full. "For you? Always."

They walked into the café together, hands brushing occasionally, as if everything had returned to the way it was meant to be—two souls that had never truly let go of each other, even when time and distance tried to pull them apart.

As they sat down, the world outside seemed to fade away. There was just them, sharing this moment, knowing that some connections never fade, no matter how much time passes.

[louilies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚

angst, Elio Perlman x Male Reader

The summer in Crema had been sweltering, the kind of heat that clung to your skin and made every moment feel both eternal and fleeting. You had arrived in Italy with the quiet hope of escaping yourself, of finding something new, something that didn’t remind you of home. What you hadn’t expected was Elio Perlman.

From the moment you met him, there was an undeniable pull — a gravity that seemed to anchor you to him, despite the soft warnings you whispered to yourself each night. He was radiant in a way that made your chest ache, his curiosity and brilliance as intoxicating as the sunlit afternoons you spent together.

At first, it was innocent. Reading side by side in the garden, his shoulder brushing against yours just enough to send your heart racing. The way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as though he, too, was holding something back. But you knew better than to believe in hope.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked one evening, as the cicadas hummed their endless song. You were lying on the grass, staring at the vast, indifferent sky, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

“You,” you whispered, the word escaping like a confession. You felt him stiffen beside you, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“Don’t,” he said softly, almost pleadingly. But there was no anger in his voice, only fear and something that sounded like longing.

You wanted to apologize, to take it back, but the truth had already made itself known. That night, you dreamed of him, and in the morning, he was distant, as though your admission had created a chasm neither of you could cross.

Days passed, and the space between you grew wider. He avoided your gaze, and when he did speak to you, it was with a careful detachment that cut deeper than any rejection. You told yourself it was for the best, that you had been foolish to think he might feel the same.

The evening before you were set to leave, you found him by the river, sitting alone, his expression unreadable. You hesitated, but the thought of leaving without saying goodbye was more painful than the humiliation of facing him.

“I���m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling. “For what I said. I didn’t mean to make things… complicated.”

He looked at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing, and you thought he might simply walk away. But instead, he stood and closed the distance between you.

“I wish you hadn’t said anything,” he whispered, and the rawness in his voice broke something inside you. “Because now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

And then he kissed you, sudden and desperate, as though trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. You tasted salt and knew he was crying, or maybe you were — it didn’t matter. The moment was too brief, and when he pulled away, the look in his eyes was not regret, but sorrow.

“This can’t happen,” he said, his voice cracking. “It’s better this way.”

You nodded because you understood, even though it felt like dying. The next morning, you left without waking him, the ache of his absence already a familiar weight in your chest.

And though the summer faded, the memory of him never did.