#conan side table

[danielaprice]

Living Room Salt Lake City A small, enclosed living room from the 1960s with a light wood floor and gray walls but no fireplace or television

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Holmes was seated at his side table clad in his dressing gown and working hard over a chemical investigation.

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[spencereidluver]

E is for Even Guys Like Me?

september 12, 2008

summary: You tell Spencer about the conversation you'd overheard with his mother. He gets embarrassed, and even a little angry.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: the slightest teensiest bit of angst. mostly just a lot of spencer crushing for reader

It had been a little over two weeks since you overheard Spencer’s phone call with his mother. You’d been making it your mission to drop little hints at him about your feelings being the same, but they all seemed to just go over his head. You decided it’d be best to find a moment and tell him directly before it’s too late. 

You were on a case right now, you and Spencer once again staying back in the PD to work on the intellectual side of things. Though a lot of time was spent together, this was not a time for deep conversations. You’d wait on the case before you said anything. You didn’t want to distract the genius. Because, despite what he had told Hotch in your meeting last month, Spencer did most of the work. You were just there on the off chance that he didn’t know something, which was pretty much never.

Three days went by, you had to try your best to not be too flirtatious with Spencer. He got flustered fast. And you weren’t sure how experienced he was, you didn’t want to move too quickly. Though your guys’ carpooling and coffee sharing was normal, it felt different for you now. More meaningful. You caught yourself blushing sometimes when the tall boy would bring in two cups of coffee, one with his name and one with yours. He’d even begun leaving sticky notes on them sometimes, ever since you did the morning of the phone call. You’ve saved them all in your desk, his handwritten script being some of the most effortlessly beautiful things you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on.

_____

You’re seated on the jet on the way home from the case. Directly to your left, is Spencer, who is deeply entranced in a book, “A Study in Scarlet,” by Arthur Conan Doyle, the book that he received in last year’s white elephant gift exchange, which took place before you began working at the BAU. Across from you is Emily and Derek, and Hotch and Rossi are at the booth behind her. JJ stayed home for this case as she is pregnant. She is in charge of files until she gives birth and returns from maternity leave. 

The silence in the jet is broken by a head turn from Hotch who clears his throat. “Are you three up for dinner tonight?” He says.

“My treat,” Rossi adds. 

“Well, if Papa Dave is paying, then of course I’ll be there,” Emily says.

“Sure, I’ll go,” you said, glancing over at Spencer who hadn’t even looked up from his book. “I’m sure Spence will come too.” Derek kicked you under the table and gave you a wink. His teasings were the main reason you haven't made any moves on Spencer prior to hearing him speak to his mother about you. 

Almost on beat, Spencer looks up, “Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll just need a ride if that’s alright,” he said. His eyes met yours.

“I’ll give you a ride, Spence.” Another kick from Derek, this time, you kick him back. Emily catches on to the teasing game of footsies going on under the table and gives you and Derek a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at the two of them and pull your feet into your lap. Sitting criss-cross now, you pull out your book of crossword puzzles and begin scribbling answers.

_____

You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed. Emily and Derek had fallen asleep, and not a peep had been heard from Rossi or Hotch either. Spencer was still awake and was coming up on the final few pages of his book. He was curled into a small ball against the wall in the corner of the seat, his knees to his chest and feet pointed toward you. His mismatched socks peeked out from beneath his khakis, one pink and one yellow. The shoestring of his left converse was coming untied. Untied! That was the answer to the last line of your puzzle! You subconsciously thank Spencer for his accidental aid to your old woman games, and it’s almost as if he heard it. He looks at his watch, then up at you.

“Hmm, we should be back in Quantico in 17 minutes. Taking to account the wind speed, maybe even 16,” he says. He crinkles his nose and returns to the last pages of his book. You scribble in the final word of your crossword puzzle and begin to pack up. You slide your puzzle book into your small carry on backpack, and begin to clear off the rest of the table. You pick up yours and Emily’s empty coffee mugs and reach around Spencer’s elbows which were rested against the table to grab his. You stack the three mugs together and grab Derek’s plate. Derek was the only person you knew who would eat four pork chops at 3pm, then agree to go to dinner only two hours later. 

Spencer sees you take his mug and looks up at you. He gives you a smile and whispers a soft “thank you.” 

_____

Spencer was seated on the passenger side of your car. His eyes were following the flashing lights as you drove down the city streets in the darkness. It was 7:30pm. A little late for dinner, but it’s when the jet got back. Plus, you were hungry.

The light was hitting Spencer’s face in a way that made him look ethereal. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Hey, Spence,” you say, alluding a hum in response. Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” he looked at you. Somehow, from the repositioning of his head, the lighting somehow hit his face even better. The yellow luminescence shining through the windows made the honey brown of his eyes almost 3-dimensional. It felt as if he was looking inside of you. He was truly breathtaking.

“Okay,” you sigh, “please don’t hate me, but I kind of overheard you and your mom’s conversation…”

“What?”

“Well, just your side. I know I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t… I just… I need to-”

Spencer interrupts you. It was dark, but you could tell his cheeks were red. “So you were eavesdropping?”

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I just…”

“How much did you hear?”

“It was only the end. If you would’ve been talking about something personal I would’ve left but-”

“How is me opening up about my feelings for someone not personal?” He seemed a little angry.

“No, it is, and I know I shouldn’t have, but…”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have, y/n.”

“Spencer, I…” You looked at the man in the seat beside you. You didn’t want this conversation to upset him. You really wished you hadn’t spoken. You could see the betrayal in his eyes. You felt truly awful.

“You what?” He broke the silence, eyes meeting yours. He stared at you intently. 

You took a moment, trying to find the words to say. You didn’t want to break his trust even more. “Spencer, I like you too.”

His eyes were blown huge. “Huh?” “I like you too. I’ve liked you since I first started working here. I didn’t want to try anything because I didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you even date because I know some people with this job don’t. And-”

You were rambling. You were trying your best to defend yourself. Spencer’s eyes were searching your face. He was profiling you. You were telling the truth.

“I, wow. I didn’t know you felt that way, y/n…”

You reached for his hand. It was cold and shaky. You ran your thumb over the back of it, letting it raise and drop with the veins it crossed. He began shaking even more, so you let go. He snaps his hand to his thigh, and with his other hand, traces the tracks you’d left. He smiles to himself and lets out a large sigh. 

_____

“You guys have a good night,” Rossi says as he climbs into his luxury sedan. The team had just finished a large dinner and were beginning to head their separate ways. 

“Don’t worry, Papa Dave, I’ll get the kid home safe,” Derek says, giving Spencer a playful noogie. 

Spencer agreed to a ride home from Derek at dinner. Maybe it was because their houses were only a few streets away from each others’, or maybe, he still felt a little awkward from your previous conversation with him. You didn’t mind all that much though, after all, you’d finally openly expressed your feelings for him. That was enough for one night.

Rossi carefully backs out of the parking lot, leaving you, Spencer, and Derek still remaining. You stuff your hands in your coat pocket; it’s chilly. You want this night to last forever, yet simultaneously, you hoped it’d end right now. You tilted your head toward your car. Spencer understood.

“Derek,” he says, “are you about ready?”

“Yeah, we can head out whenever you want.”

Spencer ran his hand through his hair before turning around to look at you. He gave you a smile. “I’ll see you Monday, y/n.”

“Bye, Spence,” you say, returning the smile.

_____

“Hey, Derek,” Spencer says as he rubs his fingers over his knuckles. 

“What’s up, kid?” Derek responds. He looks over to meet eyes with him quickly.

“Can I, um… can I ask you a question?” Spencer looks at Derek like a lost puppy.

“Woah, the boy genius asking me a question? What has this world come to?”

“It’s about girls.”

“Oh. I see.” Derek knew of Spencer’s trouble with girls. Despite the darkness, he could see the light in the skinny man’s eyes. “Come at me, big guy.” He gave Spencer a pat on the back.

“How do I like… ask one on a date?”

“Oooh, who’s the special lady? Hmmm?”

“Derek, I’m being serious. Please.” 

Derek could hear Spencer’s plea in his voice. He understood that Spencer was confiding something foreign to him and truly needed the help of an experienced man.

“Well, what does she like? Don’t take her somewhere too extravagant. Maybe a nice dinner or a breakfast date. Start simple and see how it goes.”

“Okay, but like, how?”

“Step one is speaking to her.”

“I have spoken to her… a lot.”

“The main thing, kid, is just to sound confident. Even if you’re not.”

“But what if she says no? Like how do I turn away from that?”

“There’s no reason for her to say no.”

“Yeah, but like… what if she does? What if she thinks I’m weird? Maybe this is a bad idea…” 

Spencer was spiraling. Derek reaches over and puts his arm on Spencer’s shoulder. He turns to him, meeting his eyes.

“Even guys like you are capable of love, kid. Any girl would be lucky to have such a kind and caring man like you, okay? Just go with your gut.”

Derek rounded the turn to Spencer’s road. 

“Thank you, Derek, really. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Have a good night, lover boy.”

“You too, Derek.”

_____

next chapter: F is for First Date

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____

a/n: i've spent the most time on this out of any post i have in a while. kinda hit writer's block pretty bad the other day. i'm really hoping i can get the next part out by sunday, but i work all day tomorrow and idk how much time i'll have time to work on it saturday, but i'm trying my best, i promise.

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

taglist: @universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @lotus-ignis @sammy-4103 @ktssstuff @ada--44 @moongirl27 @monfleurr @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @ariianelle @iiheartbowie @spencerreidismybitch @traderjoesmints @ivyflowers13

[chessariusrex]

"I had been working for some months before I succeeded in perfecting the formula: a few crystals of sodium, not potassium, chloride, and a quantity of glacial acetic acid proving to be the correct combination. Pyridine I had tried, of course, instead of the acetic acid, but it was less reliable, and only the most reliable of tests would do for me. It was important, too, that the test proved the presence of only human, not animal, haemoglobin. As I watched the reaction occur for the fourth time that morning, my mind was suffused by the keenest of pleasures: a pure, a delicate, mental, nay, cerebral, joy. A joy which, I believed, would always surpass in quality the lesser joys of the flesh in just such a measure as the tone of my own violin, its quivering strings eloquent in their passion, would surpass the discordant scrapings of the street fiddlers of London.

Steps roused me from my happy contemplation. Two people. One was Stamford, my colleague, a rotund, inoffensive man, much attached to the pleasures of the table, although not yet prey to the cold sensuality of the glutton. The other . . . a smaller man than I, the length of his stride told me, stepping more heavily to one side than the other. The hint of a drag in a militarily precise pace: wounded on the right, high on the limb."

Entry from the fic that keeps on giving and my visual depiction of it :

I just wanted to show my appreciation for the fic and it's creator @artemisastarte , the only other thing that keeps me waking up is knowing it will update eventually.

[katsukikisses]

birds of a feather: chapter three [hawks x reader]

chapter summary: sixth grade is a year of changes. you and keigo learn a few things about yourselves as you prepare to enter junior high.

also, by popular demand (aka 6 people), i have made a playlist for birds of a feather. it's a wip so if you guys have any songs you think would suit this fic then please leave a comment or send in an ask with the song name, and i will add it!

chapter tags: childhood friends trope; alternating povs; feelings realizations; discussion of japanese honorific speech. this is a helpful article on the intricacies of honorifics if you are interested.

cw: obligatory mean girl steal-ur-man character; socioeconomic differences?; toomie not showing up for keigo's graduation

prefer to read on ao3? here!

prev. chapter | table of contents | next chapter

“When we were younger, We didn't know how it would be, We were the dumb, the wild, the free." — Conan Gray, Little League

“Hey, Keigo-kun, what are you wearing to the graduation ceremony?”

“I bet he’ll be wearing a hakama, since he’s traditional like that. Aren’t you, Keigo-kun?”

“At least tell us what color, Keigo-kun! Maybe we’ll match.” 

That last comment was enough to stir you from your nap. With immense effort, you lifted your head from its comfortable position on your desk and sat up straight. A bleary glance at the clock told you that there were only a few minutes left before class started, causing you to sigh—no point in going back to sleep, now. 

Vengefully, you turned towards the commotion that had awoken you, and, unsurprisingly, found your best friend at the center of it. Keigo sat at his desk at the far end of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of girls. They leaned against the windowsills and surrounding desks, getting as close as possible without overstepping boundaries. The boldest of the group, a girl named Miyake Aito, was perched on Keigo’s desk, legs swinging beneath her. When you heard her giggle at the other girls’ teasing, you realized that she’d been the one to inquire about matching outfits. Unbidden, a frown spread across your face. 

“I’m not sure yet, Miyake-san” Keigo was saying, smiling amiably. “I don’t want to be the only one in traditional wear.”

The girls were quick to assure him that No, there will definitely be others, and began to complain about how guys didn’t want to wear hakamas anymore. Keigo listened to them politely, nodding at the appropriate times, but subtly attempted to peer around their bodies. You realized, belatedly, that he was searching for you. How did he even know I’d woken up? Sometimes, it was like he had a sixth sense for all things YN-related. 

Keigo's golden eyes finally found yours and narrowed at your sleep-addled appearance. You stuck your tongue out at him in return. For a moment, the two of you remained in your little bubble, silently communicating across the room. 

Aito quickly picked up on the blonde's distraction, though, and followed his line of sight. When she realized he was looking at you, she began waving at you excitedly. 

“LN-chan!” she grinned at you. “You’re finally up! Come join us.”

The other girls agreed, enthusiastically beckoning you over. Face heating up at the attention (and at the mention of your mid-morning nap), you rose from your seat and made your way over. You stopped at the edge of the group, but Aito reached out and pulled you to her side. Her long, wavy hair, which she wore over her shoulder, tickled your bare arm. 

“Um, what’s up?” you asked, attempting to sound casual. You’d never really spoken to Aito or her friends, so the sudden proximity was a little startling. 

“We’re trying to get Keigo to wear a hakama for the graduation ceremony,” Aito pouted, as if his refusal aggrieved her personally. “Help us convince him, LN-chan!”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d be any help,” you said, looking down at the boy in question. Keigo still had that demure smile on his face, but the subtle twitches of his lips betrayed his amusement. “He’s a real free spirit.”

Aito laughed, tightening her hold around you. “But YN-chan, a hakama would totally suit him, right? Given his whole traditional thing.” 

A few of the girls around you hummed in agreement. You looked questioningly at her. 

“His traditional thing?”

“You know, the way he uses san for everyone, and how he never calls anyone by their first name. Like, I’m Miyake-san,” Aito gestured to herself, and then to the other girls. “And she’s Nonaka-san, and she’s Kudo-san…”

And then she faced you, tilting her head curiously. “And even though you guys are close, he still calls you LN-san, doesn’t he?”

“I guess so,” you shrugged, meeting Keigo’s eye once more. Aito didn’t need to know that, outside of school, you were just YN and Keigo to each other. You’d dubbed him “Keigo-kun” practically the first time you spoke, and shortly thereafter dropped the honorific entirely. The blonde, on the other hand, took much longer to disregard formalities, and for the first six months of your friendship he exclusively addressed you as LN-san. The only exception was when your parents were around, in which case you became LN-chan and they were the sans. It took the three of you a year of insisting that he call you YN, and they oba-san and oji-san, for him to finally do so.

At school, though, Keigo still referred to you as LN-san. You didn't quite understand why until his mom overheard him call you by your given name a few months ago. Her expression had twisted into one of deep displeasure—not quite disappointment, or any other emotion one might show when their child didn’t behave. It was more like…fear. 

She’d yelled at Keigo, then, and made him apologize to you. You know better than that, she’d admonished him, We don’t talk to others like that. You remember frantically insisting he get up from his bow, alarmed and close to tears yourself. Somehow, you couldn’t help but feel that the whole thing was all your fault.

(Many months later, you worked up the courage to ask Keigo about it—why he was so proper all the time and why his mom yelled at him. Why it was okay for you to call him Keigo but not okay for him to call you YN.

He’d simply replied, “Because I’m a hybrid.”)

Shaking the memory from your mind, you realized you’d zoned out while Aito continued talking. She didn’t look happy with your noncommittal answer, and had let go of your arm in favor of turning back towards Keigo. 

“Well, if you won’t wear a hakama to be traditional,” she sighed, twirling a stray lock of hair around her finger. “Then you should at least do it for LN-chan. She’d love to see you in traditional wear.”

At this, the other girls snickered. Your face heated—you were sure you were being laughed at, but you just didn’t know for what. 

Keigo raised his eyebrows impassively. “I don’t know what you mean, Miyake-san.”

Aito leaned towards him. From her position on his desk, she could look directly down at him. “I think,” she giggled, “we all know what I mean.”

“Why don’t you tell me, then,” he returned coolly. 

A conspiratorial grin spread across Aito’s face. She had really nice teeth, you noticed offhandedly. While other kids’ mouths were still shackled in metal and rubber bands, her’s was already blindingly white and straight. 

“I mean,” Aito began, “We all know that LN-chan—”

She was cut off by the ring of the school bell, signaling the end of the period. Students immediately began taking their seats, and the teacher walked in, frowning when she saw your group gathered by the window. 

“Miyake-san, it’s quite rude to sit on someone else’s desk,” she chided, “Everyone, please return your seats. Goodness, you all are about to enter junior high, and you still can’t be ready for class on time.” 

Aito slid off the desk, mumbling an apology to your teacher and Keigo. The other girls hurriedly returned to their desks, and you began heading back to your side of the classroom. You were stopped, however, by a hand wrapping around your wrist. You looked back to see Aito at your arm, that same smile on her face. She tugged on you lightly, learning over to whisper in your ear. 

“We all know,” she giggled, “that you like Keigo-kun.”

“What about this one, YN? The blue is very pretty.” 

“No, I already wear blue on my uniform everyday.”

“Okay, then how about this one? You can’t go wrong with black.”

“No, it’s too somber. What am I, going to a funeral?”

“Alright, then, what about a two piece—”

“No!” you jumped up, shoving away the skirt your mom was dangling in front of your face. “Two pieces are for little kids—I’m literally entering junior high!”

“Right,” your mom said, “So…you’re a little kid.”

Groaning, you sank back into the plush changing room chair. Across from you, your mother exasperatedly flopped down in her own chair. The mall was blessedly empty today; otherwise, shoppers would’ve gotten a front-row seat to LN Akemi having a breakdown over formalwear.  

“Why are you making this so difficult,” your mother wailed, half-heartedly flinging a blouse at you. It landed a few feet short of your chair, on a different shirt you’d rejected. “You usually love shopping with me.”

That was true—shopping with your mother was one of the rare times where the two of you weren’t bickering and actually got along. No, for a few peaceful hours every weekend, you were united by gossip, cute clothes, and her credit card. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” you sighed, “I guess I’m just nervous about graduation.”

Your mother pushed herself up one her elbows and peered at you. “I thought you said it was just a ‘lame event’ that you ‘didn’t care about.”

You winced at your harsh words being thrown back at you. “Well, that was before…”

“Before what?”

“Umm,” you said intelligently, “Before I realized how important this milestone actually is?”

Your mother narrowed her eyes at you. You averted your gaze. 

Truth be told, it was still just a lame event that you didn’t care about. An elementary school graduation was not a great cause for celebration, in your opinion, especially since everyone would be heading to the same junior high. Still, considering recent developments, you wanted to put some effort into your outfit…

At the thought of the incident, you groaned again and shoved your face into your hands. It’d been the source of all your agony this past week, rendering you incapable of enjoying a simple shopping trip with your mom. Ever since Aiko had put that stupid thought into your head—

We all know that you like Keigo-kun. 

Well, of course you liked Keigo, you huffed internally—he was your best friend! Ever since that fateful stormy afternoon in the second grade, the two of you had been inseparable. You hung out everyday, either watching lame superhero shows at your place or playing video games based on said lame superhero shows at his. You shared every thought with him (even the stupid ones, like when you thought Algeria was in South America) and he was the first person you turned to when you needed support. You enjoyed his company better than anyone else in the universe, and when you thought of your future you couldn’t imagine it without him. So yes, you did like Keigo, because all best friends liked each other. 

But, you knew that wasn’t what Aito meant. She meant that you like-liked him, in the way that many of the kids in your class had begun to: holding hands at recess, bumping shoulders on the walk home. Calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Like-liked, in the way that best friends totally shouldn’t like each other. 

So did you?

You dragged your hands down your face, choosing to ignore your own question. Peeking through your fingers, you saw that your mom had left her chair to go back to shopping. She was shifting through the racks of dresses, her wedding ring glinting noticeably as she moved. The sight of it made you think about your parents’ own marriage. They liked—no, loved—each other, didn’t they? 

You tried to think if they did any of the things the couples in your class did, but came up empty. Your father didn’t like to hold your mother’s hand because he claimed it was always “unbearably sweaty”, and you think your mother would push your father into the street if he tried to bump shoulders with her. You couldn’t even remember the last time they called each other by “husband” and “wife”, preferring more intimate nicknames like “the old ball and chain” and “my trophy husband”. 

But…they showed that they liked each other in other ways. Your dad always fixed your mom a cup of coffee in the morning, no matter how late he was for his own job, because she claimed he was the only one who could make it right; and your mother never complained when she had to pick your father up from the bar, merely laughing about how he couldn’t hold his liquor. They always made time to watch “their” show together, and seemed to be in a constant competition of who could complete more of the others’ chores. So maybe it wasn’t the type of like you were used to seeing among your classmates—but it was undeniably there. 

And what about Keigo, a small, insistent voice in your head brought up, Do you see yourself “liking” him? 

You furrowed your brow, imagining the two of you in your parents’ positions. Him making you a cup of coffee, you wrangling his tipsy form into the car. Watching old Endeavor re-runs and doing chores together in a sage-colored house. And, in the way that you parents often did, leaning over to press your lips to his— 

“Okay, you cannot find anything wrong with this one,” your mother dropped a dress on your lap, snapping you out of your thoughts. You hoped she didn’t notice the way you flushed. “It’s not blue, or black, or a two-piece, or anything else you might possibly have an issue with. At least try it on.” 

Not wanting to get into another argument, you reluctantly agreed, figuring it would be no different than the others. But once you had the dress on, you couldn’t help but agree with your mother—there was nothing you could find wrong with it. It was cut from a soft, ruby-red fabric, billowing elegantly at your waist and stopping just below the knees. It struck the perfect balance between the elementary-school-innocence you were leaving behind and the mature junior high student you were about to become. 

Akemi watched you scrutinize the dress in the changing room mirror, flinging the folds this way and that—but she knew you were already sold. She’d known it the moment she spotted the dress, because it was the exact same shade of red as a certain hybrid’s feathers. 

Stifling a smirk, she opened her wallet. You could be so predictable sometimes. 

“Psst, Keigo.”

The blonde ignored the whisper, valiantly focusing on the principal’s speech. When he didn’t respond, he felt your finger begin to prod him in the back. 

“Keigo! I know you can hear me.” 

The prodding intensified. After a few moments, Keigo couldn’t take it anymore. Subtly angling his head to look behind him, he flashed you an annoyed look. 

“What?” he hissed. The two of you, alongside all the other sixth graders, were currently gathered in the school auditorium for the graduation ceremony. The students were lined up in neat rows across the stage while the principal gave a speech at the podium. With her back to the students, she remained unaware of any impropriety, but the teachers and parents in the audience had a perfect view of their actions. Plus, with Keigo standing in the front row and you in the back, it was much harder for him to get away with talking. 

“Isn’t this so boring?” you grinned at him. Keigo could feel his eye twitching—you risked getting in trouble to tell him that? He ignored you, turning back to the principal, but a hand in his suit jacket yanked him back. 

“I said I’m bored!” you whispered indignantly. “Entertain me!”

Keigo sighed. A glance at the audience told him that no teachers were watching him, and the principal was still droning on with her speech. Subtly, he shuffled backward until he dropped out of his row and squeezed into yours. The boy who'd previously been standing by you looked peeved by the intrusion, but Keigo couldn’t be bothered with apologizing. 

“What can I do to cure your boredom, m’lady,” Keigo deadpanned. 

You clapped your hands gleefully. “Well, first, let’s decide on where we want to eat after this. My parents want to go to that seafood restaurant—you know, the one on Main Street? But it’s been so popular recently, I feel like we’ll definitely see classmates who are also celebrating…”

Keigo zoned out as you described the horror of running into someone you’d just bid goodbye to. He typically loved listening to you ramble, but right now he was finding it immensely difficult to focus. Every word you spoke was enunciated with a dramatic fling of your hands, causing your dress to flutter mesmerizingly. His eyes tracked the fabric’s movements obsessively; for some reason, seeing you in red made Keigo feel all warm and gooey inside. 

“…so that’s what I’m thinking. Does that sound good?”

He blinked as he realized you’d concluded your story, dinner plans interjected somewhere in there. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said, hoping he didn’t just accidentally commit to a Michelin-star restaurant. He knew your family liked to dine at the finer places in Fukuoka, having been invited to many such outings before, but his mom would kill him if he ever accepted. It’s bad enough that I let them feed you every day, she bemoaned often, The least we could do is let them think we have inexpensive taste. With today being his graduation, though, and the fact that she couldn't be there to celebrate him herself, she had made an exception. 

Reminded of his mom's absence, Keigo wistfully turned towards the audience. He knew, logically, that she couldn’t dictate her work schedule; yet, selfishly, he wished she was here to see him graduate. 

“I’m sorry that your mom couldn’t come to this,” you said softly, noticing his sullen gaze. Keigo merely hummed in response—he’d long stopped being shocked by your mind-reading capabilities. Sometimes, he thought you were a hybrid in disguise; there was no other explanation for how you could pick up the smallest shifts in his mood and know the perfect thing to say each time. 

The principal was nearing the end of her speech now, if the generic verses about changing the world and shooting for the stars were any indication. Keigo grew restless as she droned on, eager to shed his formal wear; his suit jacket was uncomfortably small and scratchy, and the wing-slits darned into the back were constricting painfully around his feathers. He always thought the worst part about having wings was the fact that he couldn’t loan clothes—holes had to be put in anything he wore. As a result, his mom usually sprung for thinner shirts and sweaters, made from materials that were easy to sew through. His only option this time, it appeared, was a kids-size tuxedo.

Keigo stifled a laugh as he remembered Miyake's reaction to his cheap, ill-fitting suit. The girl had been chatting excitedly with her friends when she spotted him, her expression immediately twisting into one of deep distaste. She’d quickly exchanged it for a cute pout, though. 

“Keigo-kun,” she admonished, “I thought we agreed you’d wear a hakama!”

We did nothing of that sort, he wanted to say, but merely smiled placatingly at her instead. “What, do I look that bad in this suit?”

An eager chorus of Nos and Of course nots! rang back at him from Miyake’s friends. The girl herself still looked miffed, tugging unhappily on the sleeves of her red kimono. Keigo could tell that it was expensive from the detailed embroidery and silk skirts, and he wondered what it would be like to wear something that well-made. 

“I wanted to match with you, though…” Miyake looked up shyly at him through her eyelashes. He held back a snort, and was thankfully saved from answering by the arrival of their teacher. He didn’t even know how he could get out of that one… 

Cheering from the audience drew Keigo out of his memories, and he belatedly realized that the principal had concluded her speech. His classmates were laughing excitedly, and you were shaking his arm like a madwoman. 

“We did it!” you screamed, “We graduated!”

Keigo laughed—where was the girl who insisted graduation was lame just last week? Still, your enthusiasm was infectious, and he couldn’t help but smile as you jumped up and down in joy. 

For the second time that day, Keigo could feel his heart beating erratically. He really should get that checked out.

Next Chapter (coming soon!)

author's note: i told y'all that things were heating up 🤭 i hope you guys enjoyed this first chapter-- please feel free to let me know what you thought in the comments :) i can't wait to see our beloved YN and keigo in junior high!

in case y'all missed it: fic playlist!

[propertyofwicked]

people watching | spencer reid

spencer reid x bau!reader

inspo - people watching by conan gray

2.3k words

warnings: none really - canon character death, angst to comfort :)

they're counting months they've been together, almost 49

“y/n - how long have you worked with the BAU?” morgan asked, shooting you a smirk as you threw your head backwards with a load groan. 

“i don’t know? like, 4 years?”

“4 years, and 34 days, 2 hours and based on when we got called out for your first case, 34 minutes,” reid interjects the conversation without looking up from his file. 

“for someone who has worked here for 4 years, wouldn’t one assume that you would know we never get a whole week without a case?” morgan continued, ignoring reid’s comment, chuckling slightly at the face you pulled. you knew he was right, but something about garcia announcing there’s a new case made you grumpy. as a result you simply whined in response and pushed yourself up to walk to the round table room. morgan and jj walked ahead, but spencer stayed back to walk by your side. 

“hey, that made me realise we’ve been friends for 4 years - we should celebrate!” he said, not looking at you but carrying a smile on his face. 

“depending on the case, maybe we could do movie night when we get back?” you responded, but unlike him, you turned your head to respond to him. 

“that sounds good, did you know research has shown that spending time with loved ones, even doing something as mundane as watching a film, can increase your mental wellbeing?” this time he looked at you to respond, the smile still present on his face.

“so spending time with me is mundane?” you quipped, chuckling at the end of your sentence, so he’d know you were only messing. 

“reid, y/n, thanks for finally joining us,” hotch’s voice sounded across the room.

“sorry dad,” spencer joked, taking his seat next to alex.

they met in class for metaphysical philosophy

he tells his friends, "i like her 'cause she's so much smarter than me" 

they're having talks about their futures until 4:00 a.m

“hey spence?” you asked, filling the silence. the film you had been watching ending a while ago, but the two of you stayed sat on his sofa. at some point you had turned to face him, stretching across the chair with your legs over his. he didn’t mind - he compared it to the calming effects of a weighted blanket, rattling off the statistical benefits on anxiety. 

“yeah?” he looked up from his book, with a soft gaze in his eyes. 

“if you weren’t in the bau, what would you be doing right now?”

he paused for a moment, as if to think about his answer.

“i honestly don’t know. i don’t think i knew before i joined the bau either. had i not joined the fbi when i did, i think i’d still be in college just collecting degrees until i’d done them all,” he laughed to himself, “maybe a professor, i have taught a few classes.”

“i know - that’s how we met. you told that god awful joke about a horse who became hyper aware of his own reality.”

“hey! it wasn’t that bad.”

“spence - no one laughed.”

“you did.”

“and i regret that decision almost daily,” you respond, earning a light smack to the shin that was still thrown other his lap. 

“what about you? what would you be doing?”

“i used to think id be married by now but we both know how that ended,” you mention, referencing the ex boyfriend you and spencer both hated, “honestly though, i think id still be in the FBI but with counter intelligence like i had originally planned.”

“im glad you’re not,” he said with a smile. did he mean married or in a different department? you felt safer assuming the latter - it was safer to than getting your hopes up that some feelings might be reciprocated. so for now, you simply hummed in response and allowed the room to fall back into a comfortable silence. 

im only looking just to live through you vicariously ive never really been in love, not seriously

it was clear you had been mistaken, and in the most cruel and soul destroying way - through no fault but your own. he was happy, you could see. the way he no longer had bags living permanently under his eyes - he was sleeping. he’d sneak away to the payphone, assuming no one noticed. it started off serious, like he was only asking the other person direct questions. it didn’t stay that way. soon enough you found yourself sitting in the SUV, staring at him as he laughed into the phone, basically twirling the wire around his finger like a giddy teenage girl. spencer wasn’t yours anymore. you know he never was yours really, but still you held out hope that the lasting glances, the jokes, the comfort and the spontaneous movies nights meant something more to him. it was clear you had been mistaken. 

“you know if you keep staring at him like that your eyes might dry up,” JJ spoke from besides you one day. it made you jump - you hadn’t realised she was stood next to you and you certainly didn’t know how long she’d witnessed you staring at the side of spencer’s faces as he laughed and smiled over the phone. 

“i wasn’t staring,” you defended, but she gave you a look that said she knew you were lying, so you moved on, “who’s he talking to anyway?”

“we don’t know, but morgan and i think spencies got a girlfriend,” she taunted. you didn’t react, this wasn’t news to you - it didn’t take a profiler to work that out. jj didn’t say anything else, she just adjusted the strap of her bag and walked off to find hotch. eventually spencer put the phone down and walked over to you.

“hey you guys find anything?” he asked, it was a general question but it was clearly aimed at you. 

“nothing yet from me, garcia’s still digging stuff up on the victim though. it’s clear the unsub is organised, he’s been disposing these bodies for years, concealing their identities and he’s never been caught.” concealing their identities, you should know all about that reid, you thought to yourself but didn’t allow your face to waver.

“did you know that despite the rich history in the town, only 2,000 visit the area per year on average?”

“i didn’t, no.” it was a blunt response but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. but of course he did, mr 187 who couldn’t gauge most social cues but could tell when you were off with him. it wasn’t fair. how he could act like he loved you still, even though he clearly had someone worth keeping secret in his life. 

his hand reached up to rest on your shoulder, his tall frame towering over you, giving you an intense stare as he did.

“what’s up?” damn you and your profiling skills. you contemplated saying nothing, but that would only lead to more intense questioning, so you deflected, saying you were thinking about the profile. he seemed satisfied and left you to find hotch, just as jj had. 

cut people out like tags on my clothing i end up all alone but i still keep hoping

maeve was gone. that was her name, that was the woman that had made spencer happy in a way you couldn’t. she was gone, and emotionally, so was spencer. for weeks he moped, refusing to leave his apartment. but he was still your best friend. everyday, you sent him a message asking if he was ok, or needed anything, and everyday, it was left on read. whilst he needed his space, it wasn’t in your good conscience to leave him without support. 

walking up to his door was terrifying. why? you had been here thousands of times, spent hundreds of hours watching films on his sofa and yet your heart was beating so fast you felt as though it would tear through your ribcage and fall out on the floor in front of you. if spencer was here, he’d tell you that wasn’t physically possible and you’d more likely have a heart attack. he’d then reassure you by noting the statistical unlikeliness of having you having a heart attack. but he wasn’t, emotionally anyways. you knocked twice.

“go away garcia, i really appreciate everything you’ve done but please leave,” you heard him shout through the door. it was his voice alright, but deep and strained as if he had been crying for weeks - on second thought, he probably had.

“it’s me spence, not penelope. can you let me in?” you called back.

“no. please, i need some space.” ok, if that’s how he wanted to play it, tough love it was. 

“spencer reid if you do not open this door within the next ten seconds i will have morgan kick it down.” it seemed to work, you could hear a muffled sound of him standing up, shuffling across the floor and undoing the latch. you were not expecting the sight you saw when the door opened - it made your heart shred into tiny little pieces that you wanted to sew together and give to him. his hair was greasy, his facial hair had grown more than you’d ever seen it but worst of all, his skin was pale and his face seemed almost a hollow shell of the spencer you knew and loved.

“what do you want y/n?” he grumbled.

“i wanted to check in on you?” suddenly any tough love had gone out the window, and you doubted every word you said to him.

“ok, well im alive. you can go now.”

“spence ple-”

“i said i’m fine. y/n, i know you want me to sort myself out but im not ready to. please leave.”

“i don’t want you to ‘sort yourself out’ spence,” you paused to breathe, “you need to grieve, i understand that but i need you to look after yourself. however, you clearly don’t need me, you’re clearly coping so well on your own.” sarcasm was a defence mechanism - seeing him like that hurt you down to your very core, but they way he was treating you wasn’t fair. you turned on your heal, intending to leave with your dignity mostly intact, but as you go to take your first step a hand grabs you wrist, stopping you from moving.

“y/n, im sorry, please come in.” you offered him a restricted smile and stepped into this apartment, he followed close behind. you were expecting the worst, but this took it to another level. the curtains were drawn closed, takeout containers littered the counter, the floor and the coffee table - at least he was eating. spencer moved to the sofa, shoving books to the floor and offering you a seat. 

“talk to me spence, tell me everything going on in that big brain of yours.” and he did, you must’ve sat there for 2 hours as he told you about maeve, how he first contacted her, how she understood him, the way she laughed. he spoke about guilt, he believed it was his fault and that he’d never be able to forgive himself. only towards the end did he begin to cry, so you wrapped you arms around his torso and pulled him down to rest on your shoulder. to your surprise, his arms snaked around your waist and held you tight. the room fell into silence, as it had hundreds of time, but this one was not one of comfort as it usually was. 

after some time he sat up, “you know, IQ has no effect on the size of your brain. it may be cause a change in external appearance but the size itself will not change.” you couldn’t help but laugh - it wasn’t condescending, just the mere fact that he had spent two hours talking but still remembered to correct your original statement.

i wanna feel all that love and emotion be that attached to the person i'm holding

years passed since that day at spencer’s apartment. it took him a few more weeks, but he returned to work and returned to his normal self. he no longer thought of maeve, he thought of the future, he moved on in life whilst still holding a spot in his heart for her. soon, he became your best friend again - movie nights and take out were reinstated. sometimes he had to beg you to come round after a case to watch a movie. he remembered what life was like. 

that night was a night like many others. the credits rolled and the room became dark with no light blaring from the screen. silence. a comfortable one. tonight, you found yourself with your head laying on his lap, facing the tv, his arm rested on your hip and his fingers played with a hair tie absentmindedly. you said it was comfortable, he didn’t argue - spencer liked your presence. he appreciated you being in his life and never giving up on him. he admired your work ethic, and your friendship. you provided him an outlet, an escape from the stress and constant work.

“hey y/n,” he whispered, and you hummed in response, “i love you.”

“i love you too spencer.” your heart skipped a beat, but you knew he meant as friends, that’s all you were and all you’d ever be - you had grown to accept that. 

“no, y/n, i love you.” this made your head turn and you rolled onto your back to look up at him. “i mean it. i think i always knew deep down, but i couldn’t establish that that was what i was thinking. did you know studies show that some people have to feel love in order to love?”

“i love you too spencer.” you smiled up at him, squinting through your tired eyes, and his hand came down to stroke your cheek softly. 

[badsongpetey]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

The Water Guardian (aka Cryptid Keith AU) Part 7

Keith’s cave is, well, Lance wouldn’t call it homey, but it’s not what he was expecting, whatever that was. Set off to the side of the waterfall, still close but far enough away to avoid the spray that surrounds it, the cave is dry, and warm, and remarkably clean. The stone floor smooth and polished from what looks like decades, maybe even centuries of wear.

A simple wooden table and chairs line up against one of the walls, and an equally simple bed piled with a few old quilts stands in the back. There are no pictures on the walls, but carvings made of wood and stone fill alcoves carved out of the stone walls of the cave itself.

Keith raises his hand and a sphere of bluish white light forms over his palm and rises gracefully to hover near the ceiling, illuminating the space fully. Well, that’s convenient.

Keith walks to the back of the cave, and bends over to open a chest at the foot of the bed. “My books are here.” He says by way of invitation.

It feels odd to be in what is clearly Keith’s home, but Keith seems cool about it, so Lance tries to be nonchalant. “Nice, ah, cave.”

Keith grunts and squats next to the chest, lifting out some of the books within.

Lance leans over. The chest is old, but well cared for. A couple dozen hard cover books are stacked neatly inside, next to some smaller carved wooden boxes, some wrapped in old linens.

Lance glances at the spines of the books he can see: There’s Jane Austen, Dickens, H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Thoreau, Conan Doyle, Mark Twain, Brontë, Lewis Carroll, Bram Stoker. Keith hands Lance a book and he looks down to see it’s an old copy of “Treasure Island”. A really old copy.

He sits down at the small table to examine it. He carefully turns the yellowed pages, not wanting to damage Keith’s prized possessions. This book looks more like an antique than something a person would keep on their nightstand. All the books Keith has look old. Doesn’t look like he has a single author from the 20th century even. Keith said they belonged to his dad, was he some kind of collector?

“Have you read it?” Keith asks him, nodding at the book in front of Lance.

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Lance answers, “I think we read it back in 6th or 7th grade. I remember thinking it would be cool to be a pirate.” He smiles.

Keith hums and returns to sorting through his stash.

Lance takes another good look around the space. Now that he’s thinking about it, everything here looks old. And not the normal “this belongs to my parents or grandparents old”, but an “I found this at an estate sale at some haunted old mansion” kind of old. The only things that don’t look like antiques are the carvings of animals and birds that fill the shelves notched into the walls.

They look hand made, which makes sense, it’s not like there’s a mall nearby. Lance picks up a small wooden rabbit from the shelf next to the table. It’s beautiful work, delicate and realistic, looking like it could hop out of his hand at any moment. Keith clearly has other hobbies besides reading.

As he carefully returns the rabbit to its place on the shelf, he notices something he hadn’t before. A small, faded, sepia toned photo of a young couple in a plain sliver frame. Lance lifts it off the shelf and takes a closer look. The couple is dressed in clothing from over a century ago, and posed formally in what looks like a nice living room. The man is handsome and well built, he looks like he’s no stranger to hard work, but has kind eyes. The woman next to him is tall and beautiful, and, fuck, a DEAD RINGER for Keith.

Is this Keith’s mom? Are these his parents? They can’t be, this photo is ancient! But then so are the books, and everything else.

“Keith? Who are these people?” Lance asks, holding out the photo.

Keith glances over, “My parents.”

His parents? But, how…

“What year was this taken?”

Keith shrugs and turns back to the chest.

“You don’t know?”

“What care would I have for human years?” Keith responds without looking up.

Bah, this idiot is FRUSTRATING. But still, if this photo and the books are as old as they look… “Keith, how long have you been here?”

Keith is idly sorting through the books in the chest, clearly avoiding having to look at Lance. “A while.”

Lance huffs in exasperation, “How much of a while?”

“It’s not important.”

“Humor me.”

Keith sighs, “Maybe, ninety turns of the seasons?”

Lance sits back. NINETY YEARS? Keith’s at least ninety years old! He looks no older than Lance. Of course, he’s not a human, and who knows how long a dragon is supposed to live. Forever?

Still it’s a long time to live in this cave all alone. Geez, has he been alone this whole time? No wonder he wanted Lance to come back.

“Has it always just been you here to guard the waterfall?” Lance asks.

“Mostly.” Keith answers softly, still speaking into the chest.

“Did your mom live here too?”

Keith drops the lid of the chest down with a crash, standing abruptly. “You’ve seen the books, so we’re done here.” He spats.

Oh crap, too far. “I, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. I just wanted to get to know you.”

Keith is silent, glaring at the exit, waiting for Lance to get out he supposes.

“I could get you more books. If you want.” Lance offers, hoping Keith takes it as the olive branch it is.

Keith shifts his gaze to Lance. “More books?”

“Well, you can’t think that this is all there is?” Lance chuckles, gesturing at the chest.

Keith looks down, “I don’t think much about it. This is what I have.”

Lance is suddenly overwhelmed with compassion. Hell, poor kid, stuck out here for a century with the same handful of books to keep him entertained.

“Well, yeah!” Lance smiles, “Of course there are more. Thousands more! Look!”

Lance grabs his phone and thumbs quickly to find his book app, bringing up one of the few downloaded books he has and shoves it in Keith’s face.

Keith squints looking confused, then focuses, his eyes growing wider by the second.

“This is a book??” He points to the phone in astonishment.

Lance nods enthusiastically. “Yup!”

Keith blows out an audible breath as he looks again at the phone. “I don’t know this story.”

“There are a lot of stories you don’t know.” Lance laughs. “But I can bring you them.”

Keith’s eyes are impossibly even wider when he looks back at Lance. “You could get books? For me?”

Lance scoffs, “Yeah, no problem! I’ve got a few and I can stop by the library. Seems like you enjoy adventure and fantasy stories, me too, I’ll bring some back next time I come.”

“Next time?” Keith asks, suddenly shy.

Oh lord, this guy… “Yes, next time. I mean, I’ve been a guest in your… cave, I figure we’re friends now.”

“Friends?” Keith repeats warily.

Shit, did he read this wrong? Just when he thought that maybe he was getting the hang of it. “I mean, if you don’t want me to, I don’t have to…”

“No!” Keith practically yells, “I… I want you to. Come back… bring books…” he looks down, “be friends.”

“Friends then.” Lance confirms with a grin.

[cuffmeinblack]

Between the Lines

Andrew Larson x reader

Tags: Ravenclaw reader | fluff | tension | slice of life | very mild spice

5.1k words

Summary: Something on the noticeboard catches your eye; a book club run by your fellow Ravenclaw. Joining might be the best decision you ever make.

A/n: Yes, I wrote 5k words of pure fluff, sue me. Credit to @ellivenollivander for book club nerd Andrew inspo. Credit to myself for giving him glasses because I'm a self-indulgent pos.

⤍ Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

By the time you’d found your way back to the Ravenclaw common room, your eyes—now permanently imprinted with light from distant stars—no longer bore the tiredness the late hour invited. In fact, you were wide awake, mind buzzing with maps of constellations and mentally writing your homework assignment not due for another week. It appeared your classmates felt the same annoying spark of energy that would delay sleep until the wee hours. Amit appeared to already be working on his essay, parchment and quill pulled out of his bag and lain across one of the coffee tables. With a sigh, you stalked through the room, bathing in the soft glow of ever burning candles and starlight, coming to a stop near a bookcase filled with mostly educational textbooks. The lone book of Muggle literature seemed to have been borrowed, only a gaping hole left behind.

Another late night atop the Astronomy tower concluded with an assignment that promised yet more of the same. The howling wind almost blew you down the stairs in the rush below, students clamouring into the relative warmth of the castle. The deeper you descended, the more your muscles relaxed—despite the warming charm you'd cocooned yourself in at the beginning of your lesson, it was clearly no match for the harsh Scottish Winters. In front of you, you spotted others shivering still, rubbing their arms, teeth chattering, including the ash blond hair you recognised as Andrew Larson's. He was perhaps the only other student who enjoyed the subject as much as Amit, who's enthusiastic smile appeared frozen in place.

Instead of grumbling your annoyance, you let your eyes drift over the adjacent noticeboard, chuckling softly at the personal notes that littered the display. Love letters sat side by side with passive aggressive scrawls, replies inked haphazardly in the margins of the papers. Your gaze finally fell onto the more serious announcements, ignoring the notice from Headmaster Black that was sure to be a load of old tosh. A new piece of parchment caught your eye, pinned to the very top, the stiff paper curling upwards. With a delicate finger, you peeled it down to reveal the neat and somewhat familiar penmanship detailing a new club—a book club. Well, if that wasn't right up your street…

“Interested?”

The softly melodic voice interrupted your reading, and you turned to face Andrew, a hopeful glint in his eyes—or perhaps that was the lingering starlight still etched into your own retinas. 

“Is this your book club?” you asked, surprised that the quiet boy would be interested in running such a thing.

“Yes, though I only put the notice up yesterday. Are you interested, then? I've seen you reading in the common room a lot…”

He flushed slightly, perhaps realising he'd said too much. The thought of Andrew Larson noticing you doing anything made the corners of your lips quirk upward.

“What kind of books are we talking? Not schoolwork I presume.”

“No, nothing of the sort. A little bit of everything I suppose,” he mumbled, suddenly unsure as your scrutinising gaze bore into him. Only then did you notice him clutching a book under his arm, which now appeared in front of your face—a fine green leather bound edition with gold text.

“Dickens?” you asked, tilting your head to read the cover.

He nodded. “For starters. Conan Doyle, Stevenson, Warbeck…”

You snorted a little at the last, the famous witch being an author you’d not expected him to enjoy. “Warbeck? Read a lot of romance novels, Andrew?”

“Well…maybe…,” he blushed, then took a deep breath to rally his confidence. “There's nothing wrong with branching out into other genres.”

“No, you're right,” you replied, quietly watching him. There were clearly things you didn't know about your classmate. Though you'd not admitted to it, you'd noticed him reading in the common room, too, head dipped and perfectly coiffed hair falling over his eyes as it loosened after a long day. He tended to idly bite his nails as he did so—a terrible habit, yet oddly endearing to see him so engrossed in the pages, nibbling away. At no point had you caught him with a romance novel in hand, though, and given the content of some of Warbeck’s novels you had the sneaking suspicion he kept them for bedtime.

Your mind was made up. Plunging a hand into the bag still slung over one shoulder, you pulled out a self-inking quill and returned to the parchment notice. A quick scribble and your name was the first to join the sign-up sheet. 

“Welcome to the Hogwarts book club,” Andrew said, beaming. The amber flecks in his eyes glittered as he turned to face you, tucking the book back under his arm. No doubt the club would be fun, the avid reader that you were, but it might have been worth signing up just to see his smile.

-

Days passed with giddy anticipation, until Andrew had passed you a note during Arithmancy the following week. It had surprised you, jolting you out of a near-slumber as the neatly folded parchment fluttered onto your desk. All it contained was a date, a location, and a little doodle of a book that coaxed forth a sleepy smile, earning you a public admonishment from your professor. You'd tucked it into your robes where it stayed for the remainder of the day, fingers fumbling the edges as you walked the halls. You'd never before been so excited about an extracurricular activity that didn't involve flying spherical deathtraps, and you suspected that part of it was due to the quiet and devastatingly handsome boy running it. The first meeting of the so-far-unnamed book club would take place that evening in the Charms classroom, no doubt with Professor Ronen’s blessing yet you hoped that the man himself wouldn't be attending—it was ever so hard to relax when teachers were around.

After dinner, you took the opportunity to shower and dress more comfortably, styling your hair and paying far too much attention to your appearance. You supposed the first meeting would be a way to meet your fellow club members and vote on the first book, but you tucked a couple of your favourites in a satchel anyway, eager for any opportunity to gush about the intricately crafted worlds you'd come to love just as much as Hogwarts. You had a skip in your step as you travelled the quiet corridors towards the classroom, stopping briefly along the way to stroke a few cats, eager for attention. The landing was clear, door ajar with nothing but silence within. The eeriness had you checking the time and rereading the note that now had hundreds of creases along its length. One minute early. You pushed the door open to reveal an empty room, bathed in gold from the setting sun.

“Welcome.”

The voice made you startle, and you turned to see Andrew perched on Professor Ronen's desk, once again clutching a book under his arm.

“Hi,” you said with a smile, glancing around the room to avoid staring at him. He'd dressed in cotton breeches and a smart navy jumper, and you hadn't failed to notice the gold rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. “I'm the first to arrive?”

Andrew shuffled his boots on the floor, eyes cast downwards. “You're actually the only one who signed up.”

Now you looked at him, almost falling sideways from the weight of your bag and the way he peered over his glasses at you. “I'm surprised our fellow Ravenclaws didn't want to be involved,” you said with a quiet chuckle. 

“Me too. Since it's just us, you don't have to stay.” He shrugged, though you could tell that it bothered him, the disappointment in his tight smile.

“I'd still like to carry on, if it's okay with you. Maybe more will join over the next few weeks…”

You stepped a little closer to him, debating whether to squeeze his arm in a show of solidarity and sympathy. Instead, you faltered, awkwardly swinging your arms by your sides. He didn't notice, tucking his book back into his bag as if to leave—the rejection of your company stung painfully.

“Shall we go back to the common room, then? It's more comfortable there, and…”

“Yes, good idea,” you interrupted with an audible sigh of relief.

The walk back was filled with friendly chatter, never delving too deep—questions about your classes, his plans for the weekend, the weather—and never straying to the reason you'd ventured out here in the first place. Official book talk would only commence once settled into the common room, it seemed. Andrew, taking his position as club leader, picked out two armchairs by one of the towering arched windows, the backdrop now one of inky black as night well and truly settled. Tucking your feet underneath you, you tried to get comfortable as he called the meeting to order.

“I thought we could start by discussing some books we've read recently, then agree on a title to finish before the next meeting,” he said, suddenly adopting an air of confident formality.

You tried to suppress a smile, though you weren't entirely successful. “If that's what you'd like to do. Maybe you can tell me about the last Warbeck novel you read. Please tell me it was ‘Call of the Harpy’.”

Andrew huffed, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “Actually it was ‘Dragon Fire’,” he muttered. “I'm not going to discuss that.”

Teasing out of the way, you talked about recent reads and went back and forth with suggestions. It somewhat surprised you how easy it was, falling into conversation with him until the room emptied and candles dimmed. You'd found yourself subconsciously edging closer towards him, caught up in his radiating passion. His shyness seemed to melt the longer he spoke, and you along with it. It was almost midnight by the time you agreed to delve into ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ for next time.

“Shall we meet again in a fortnight?” he asked. 

You wanted to say no, demand something sooner, but instead you nodded. “Sounds good. Let's hope some more people join us,” you replied, not meaning a word of it. These few hours had been far too enjoyable in just his company, the last thing you wanted was another voice to pull his attention, as selfish as the thought was.

-

You finished the book in four days. The fifth was spent making notes, annotating every margin with points you thought worth discussing. The sixth had you climbing the walls, biting back the urge to storm up to the blond whenever you saw him, eager to know when your next meeting would be. You noticed him still reading almost every evening, nibbling his nails and deep in thought, and during the day you exchanged pleasantries, or passed each other like ships in the night as you mingled with your separate friendship groups. You swore you felt his eyes on you during Arithmancy. On the eighth day, you were walking back to the common room with Samantha when you noticed a fresh slip of parchment pinned to the noticeboard—how could you not, when your eyes diverted there every morning and every evening? The original notice for the Hogwarts Book Club remained in place, still bare and devoid of any signature but your own, yet on top there lay a curling piece that you knew was written by Andrew the closer you approached.

“What is it?” Samantha asked, following beside you. “I forgot you joined the book club. Maybe I should, too, but I'm so busy with chess and summoner's court…”

“You don't want to take on too much,” you replied with just the slightest pang of guilt. Your attention diverted to read the paper, happily noting that the next meeting would be only three days away. Samantha was mumbling something beside you, trying to talk herself into signing up. Part of you felt annoyance towards your classmates, and bafflement; yet another, larger part was pleased that the club was just you and Andrew. Still, the thought of his downcast eyes and obvious disappointment when he realised nobody else would be attending flared in your mind, prompting an uncomfortable twist of your stomach.

“I’m sure Andrew would be happy for another member.”

“I’ll think about it,” she hummed.

Once she'd departed for bed, you settled on a sofa facing the fire with a new book, having now exhausted everything ‘Dorian Gray’ had to offer. That night, you had company.

“Not reading your assigned text?” 

You looked up to the familiar, soft voice to find big brown eyes creased from a smile. You smiled back, rolling your eyes. “I finished days ago. You're slacking."

Andrew motioned at the space next to you, a silent question you responded to with a nod. He didn't say anything else, just looked a little bashful as he turned to his book, now on the final few chapters by your estimations. Lapsing into silence, you fell back into your own story whilst the common room melted away around you, the chatter dulling to an unnoticeable hum. Only occasionally did you reach a natural pause, peering over at Andrew to check his progress, admire his profile, his slender form draped over the arm of the sofa.

“I'm finished,” he said sometime later, stretching his arms above his head to reveal a slight tuft of ash blond hair that smattered his taught abdomen. There was absolutely no way you could concentrate on your book now.

“At long last. What did you think?”

“That's a question for our next meeting.”

So instead, you talked about everything else.

-

A month passed and meetings came once a week or so, the time between them growing shorter and shorter. Reading together in the dimly lit common room seemed to have become routine, neither of you feeling the need to make awkward small talk to while away the hours, simply happy to sit comfortably in each other’s presence whilst immersed in other worlds. You'd not expected the friendship—grown so late in your time at Hogwarts—and somewhat missed the years that could have been. Laying in bed at night, you'd wondered if it wasn't too late for something more. His earthen eyes behind the gold frames haunted your dreams, whilst conscious hours dwelled on how soft his hair might be, or how pliant his lips against yours. He must have caught you staring, as you'd done him.

“We need a club name.” 

Perched in the usual spot on your sofa, now several inches closer to the middle, you voiced the idea you'd thought of whilst Andrew had been busy updating a list of prospective books for the following week. You were so close your legs touched, bodies drawn together like magnets that seemed to ignite your skin upon contact. Neither of you flinched away, nor commented on it.

“Do we? I'm not even sure we count as a club.”

“Maybe if it was more official, people would come?”

Andrew looked at you with a curious expression, perhaps wondering why now you'd suggested recruiting more members when it had been just you two for so many weeks. His knee withdrew just an inch, and you regretted suggesting it, craving the slight pressure, the warmth. The truth was, you were nervous of where this was headed. The tension between you rippled and sparked every time you were alone, and it was just a matter of time before you cracked and did something disastrous, or potentially embarrassing. 

“Hm, it can't help to try,” he chuckled. “What did you have in mind?”

“I hadn't thought that far. Erm, ‘Book Buddies’? ‘Rabid Readers’?”

He hummed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “‘Page Turners?’ ‘Once Upon a Tome?’”

Your face cracked into a smile as you grabbed the parchment and quill from Andrew's hands, fingers brushing. Your heart pounded at just the smallest touch of skin, so distracting you almost forgot what you were doing. With a quick and messy scrawl, you inked ‘Once Upon a Tome’ across the top of the paper and held it up.

“You couldn't have written that a bit neater?” Andrew said.

“I’ll let you continue to do the official notices, don't worry.”

“That's probably for the best.” He held out his hand and for one moment of insanity, you thought he was asking for yours. Of course, he was simply waiting for you to return the parchment. Embarrassingly, you couldn't help the disappointment as you rolled it up and slid it into his palm, your body reacting to the gentle brush of fingertips with a swell of warmth and affection. The exchange lasted for agonising moments, yet was over altogether too soon. Andrew tucked it into his bag on the floor but remained planted on the sofa.

“Well, that's all for this week,” he said hesitantly. “Have anything planned this evening?”

“No, nothing. Do you?”

He shook his head and bit his lip before looking at you with hope in his eyes. “Do you want to…I don't know, take a walk?” He almost flinched as if the suggestion were a terrible one.

“That sounds nice,” you replied with a warm smile. An excuse to spend even more time together wasn't to be passed up. “If we're going outside, I'll need a cloak.”

“I'll meet you here in a few minutes then?”

Donning your heaviest Winter cloak, a navy blue woolen affair, you jogged down to the common room to find him already waiting, holding a pair of black gloves. Whilst the hour was late and light was all but gone, it was still before curfew. You followed him down the tower, turning to the nearest exit that brought you into the refreshing night air. You hadn't noticed just how stuffy the common room had been with the roaring fire and mingling scents—the gentle breeze was most welcome. You talked and talked until you came to a stop on the parapet, leaning against the low wall that surrounded Hogwarts and looked out over the lake. The ripples on the surface looked too tumultuous to be caused by the wind, and you glared down at the glittering surface.

“Do you think a storm's brewing?” you asked, pointing below. 

“I don't think so. Perhaps it's the mer down below.”

“You really think there's mermaids in the Black Lake?”

“I like to think so, even if it's nonsense. It can't all be grindylows and vicious fish with too many teeth down there.”

“Not a fan of the fish, Andrew?”

“I prefer my feet on dry land and fish on my dinner plate, thank you.”

You chuckled and turned your head back towards the lake, the ripples now stilling, yet you noticed something more alarming further out. The water had only stilled as the waters receeded in preparation for a wave. As if sucked into a giant plug hole, it rushed inward, bubbled, then burst outward. Andrew jolted and shouted in surprise beside you, your own mouth agape as you watched tentacles flailing and a huge, slimey head rear from the lake. You'd never seen the giant squid in all your years at Hogwarts, only heard of its size and the rumours of disappearing students who lingered too close to the water's edge. From the wall high above, you knew he couldn't reach you, but something had gotten it in a tizzy and you instinctively took a miniscule step backwards. You weren't high enough to completely avoid its spray, though, as a fine, salty mist now coated your face.

“It's amazing,” Andrew gasped.

“One word for it…monstrous is another.”

“Come on, look at it! I've never seen it before…or anything like it.” His excitement was palpable, and you almost clutched a fistful of his cloak to stop him from leaning too far over the edge.

The squid flailed again, more of a belly flop, sending a huge wave to the beach as it plunged back underwater and out of sight. Soon the only sound was the crash of water against the pebbles and your own heavy breathing. Only then did you realise you'd been clutching his arm, and his hand had found its way to the small of your back. You looked at him and he tore his eyes away from the lake, both standing in silence as the gravity of your instinctive pull to one another settled. As on the sofa, you'd found yourself growing subconsciously closer. It appeared there was no stopping it.

“You're wet,” he remarked. His eyes widened after he'd said it, his burning cheeks evaporating the water right off his skin.

“A little. So are you. It was worth it though, right?”

“Yes, it was worth it,” he said. 

You weren't sure if you were talking about the squid or the fact that his hand still held firm against your back. Judging by the slightly furrowed brow, neither did he.

-

The new addition to the noticeboard almost blended into the myriad other notices—if it weren't for Andrew's recognisable handwriting, neat and elegant like the man himself—you’d have missed it. Of course the tiny book doodle in the corner was a giveaway for whom it was for. You read the contents, and your cheeks burned involuntarily. You had to read the note three times, inspecting every letter for forgery. It contained a date and time, and curiously, a new location. A flick of paper confirmed that no names had been added to the signup sheet for your newly titled club. Perhaps Andrew was bored of the common room, but the astronomy tower seemed an odd place for discussing literature, with not a comfortable chair in sight and no lights to speak of except the ones dotting the sky.  A flicker of hope ignited, that perhaps he had other ideas for that evening.

Neither of you mentioned the curious change in venue as you chatted during classes or smiled across the laden breakfast table. You'd told Samantha everything you knew and suspected, and her dark eyes flitted between you both with a smirk on her face. By the time you were due to leave for the astronomy tower on a Tuesday evening, your friend had become insufferable in her teasing. 

“Make sure you wear that perfume…”

“Sam, it's just a book club.”

“Of course it is. In the Astronomy tower. Alone.”

That final word made your stomach squirm. Still, you packed your book into your satchel and ignored the perfume sitting on the dressing table, passing Samantha with a wave met only by an eye roll. The tower was quiet, no classes scheduled and the bitter wind warding off all but the most dedicated students. Even Amit had decided to do his stargazing from the comfort of the common room that night. Andrew was already waiting, leaning against the railing and peering out at the clear night sky. Dressed in a black winter cloak, he almost blended in with the landscape were it not for his hair, almost silver in the soft moonlight.

“Strange place to meet,” you remarked, causing his head to whip around. 

He shrugged, smiling shyly as you approached. “I thought it would be quiet. And…” He looked out at the sky again, as if the view was answer enough. It was.

“What would you have done if someone else had decided to join our club?” you asked.

“Apologise profusely and ask them to make themselves scarce.”

Smiling at him, you waited for him to carry on, but he seemed to be too nervous to say anymore. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, throat bobbing as he swallowed deeply.

“So, why are we up here?” you prompted.

Andrew let out a deep exhale, his breath producing a cloud of mist between your faces. Mint. He'd brushed his teeth. The fact that you were now close enough to have noticed such a thing almost startled you. “I wanted to tell you something,” he said whilst shuffling his feet. He looked nervous, ready to bolt back down the stairs given the way he avoided your stare. Perhaps that's why you decided to be bold, and put him out of his misery.

“I like you, too.”

The seconds after blurting those four words out seemed to stretch into minutes, maybe even hours. Whilst you tried hard to keep your face neutral, inwardly your thoughts were in turmoil, desperately awaiting his response. Anything. Your chest hurt with the aggressive thumping of your heart, your palms felt sweaty despite the cold…

“You knew?” he asked.

“I guessed, or hoped.”

“I had a whole speech planned.”

“You can still say…” The rest of your sentence was cut off by his lips pressing against yours. The initial shock dissipated quickly, your body heating and blood rushing as it responded to his kiss. Only a tempting press of lips and it was over too soon—Andrew pulled back, the tip of his nose still brushing your skin as he took another deep, shuddering, minty breath. He seemed to be allowing you a chance to pull away, as if that were ever an option. Your hand snaked around his neck, another fisting the heavy fabric of his cloak, pulling him so eagerly he almost stumbled and fell straight into another, deeper kiss. This time he didn't hold back, gripping your waist with slender fingers, firm and sure. 

You could have kicked yourself for how long you'd waited for this to happen. All those weeks spent agonisingly close on that sofa, you could have been doing this. And it was everything you'd dreamed of; his lips just as soft; tongue just as warm and offering such a gentle caress. His hands remained respectfully at your waist, yet the way he kneaded at your flesh suggested he wanted more. You shivered in response to a quiet moan as his tongue delved deeper, your bodies pressing tighter. When you finally broke for air, his fingers curled in your hair and he held you close, foreheads touching as you gathered your breath. Never before had you experienced a kiss quite like it, an outpouring of a deep well of tension. There'd be no going back now, not when you'd had a taste of him.

“Andrew...” Your voice was breathier than usual, and you felt an unmistakable twitch in his breeches. He almost pulled away, but you held him firm, lips barely brushing as you felt your own arousal simmering dangerously close to the surface. The temptation was overwhelming, yet you knew he was a gentleman. His expression was almost pained with desire.

“I won't do anything you don't want me to,” he finally said.

“I don't want you to think I go about doing this with every boy.”

He chuckled and brushed a finger under your chin, tilting your head enough to meet his gaze. Gods, he had beautiful eyes. “I don't think that. I really only wanted to tell you that I like you as more than a friend and to…well, to ask you if you'd like to accompany me to Hogsmeade at the weekend.”

A date, of course. Your mind had been in the gutter from the moment his lips met yours. Perhaps a faint flicker of disappointment had appeared on your face as Andrew smiled wider, his cheeks now a rosy pink.

“Give me three dates,” he mumbled.

You let out a nervous giggle before kissing him again. “Two, and I promise to keep my hands to myself until then.”

It was a while before you were defeated by the cold, lured back to the castle. You held hands on the walk back to the common room and Andrew cast warming charms on you both to dispel the chill. As beautiful as the view was on top of the Astronomy tower, you preferred the one right next to you. He was a little quieter than usual, perhaps nervous for what was about to come. It was only a promise of a date, yet the way your hands entwined so surely and perfectly, you had the impression that it was a mere formality, that your hearts were perhaps already promised to one another. 

-

The end of the school year brought tears for the loss of classmates, promises to friends and a palpable excitement that rippled through the seventh years as they embarked upon new adventures. Andrew had travelled home a week earlier than most, leaving you feeling empty, despite the revelry taking place around you. Countless parties had been thrown to mark the occasion, yet you most of all missed the quiet hours spent curled up in his arms reading, talking, or much more physical pursuits. It had been worth the wait.

Along with much of the common room’s occupants you had a hangover, and inwardly cursed the Hufflepuffs for their home-brewed mead. Samantha recoiled from the soft morning light beside you, collapsing into an armchair with her trunk beside her and muttering about needing a pepperup potion. The train would be leaving in an hour, and all around you people were saying their goodbyes, perhaps for the final time. You'd be sad to see the castle go, and all the memories it held. The people you'd met would still be only an owl or floo away, though, and you looked down at Samantha's crumpled form with a fond smile. A final sweep of the room, and you were ready to go, rallying your friend with promise of hot cocoa on the train. She grumbled but traipsed behind you, until you were stopped in your tracks by something you'd missed that made your heart leap almost clean out of your chest.

You'd spotted a note on the noticeboard with the familiar little book doodle in the bottom right corner. Without Andrew, you'd not bothered to check for any notices, yet here it was—one final note for the book club that had started it all. 

“Sam, I'll meet you outside…”

“Is that from Andrew?” she asked, peering over your shoulder. “Ooh, let me see!”

“I'd rather read it alone, if it's all the same to you.”

She tilted her head in disappointment but had no energy to argue, muttering about getting the information out of you later on the train as she slinked off to wait. Your gaze dropped to his beautiful handwriting, the care he'd taken to make this particular parchment worth keeping was evident. Removing it carefully from the pin, you began to read.

‘It started with Once Upon a Tome,

Now Princess, let's have our Happily Ever After,

I shall see you again in the Summer,

The beginning of our adventure.

Yours,

Prince Charming’

You held it close, warmth spreading through your tired body as the sounds of the common room evaporated around you. You recalled every minute spent with him, every date you'd squeezed into the remaining months of the school year. You owed it all to that one fateful day when you'd taken a chance to join a book club. A fairytale ending, indeed.

[your-average-yandere-lover]

14 𝓓𝓪𝔂’𝓼 𝓦𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓡𝓮𝓷/𝓡𝓮𝓭𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓷’𝓼

Things I genuinely think Ren-Ren and Redacted would do, because they live rent free in my mind. Did I get the both of them a little mixed up a bit; probably. Yandere and slight NSFW Content trigger warning! ૮‪ ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ა

18+ Content; Minors Do Not Interact

❥ Much like your blow up mattress in the closet, Ren/Redacted would tamper with anyting that insensitive’s having guests over. You bought travel sized soap’s for guest’s to use when they come over? Really? Are you sure? No you didn't—the products aren't where you would have put them so maybe it was all part of your imagination; maybe you used them.

❥ However that being said, if you have a chalk board and write a cute little ‘welcome’ message on it, he wouldn't tamper with it, despite the message being for guests. Instead he'd pretend you wrote it especially for him, and stare at if for a couple minutes after walking in; your hand writing is too cute to look away!!! although if you happened to have a generic target welcome sign, he’d snag it or make it look like it fell super hard on the floor so it’s ruined. The apartment building you’re in has plenty of issues so maybe the rats climbed the table and knocked it off—if this happens you should really give that landlord a piece of your mind! Or move in with Ren/Redacted.

❥ Prior to meeting Redacted’s Ren persona, Leon invited you out to the beach. You were so excited to see your childhood friend again after all the time you spent apart; you even bought a new swim suit. You set the folded suit nice and neat on your living room table, ensuring nothing would happen to it. However when you woke up the suit had somehow ripped and your bottoms wouldn't stay on… you couldn't necessarily surf commando and considering how much money the suit put you out, you decided to call it, giving Leon a quick text. It had to be those damn rats again!

❥ If you like to bake—whether you’re good or not, you notice that anything you leave out has little indents, as if you unconsciously bumped the cake or knocked it with a butter knife while applying the finishing touches. Guaranteed Redacted and Ren both straight up ran a finger along side it like a kid at a birthday party who can't have a piece yet. Every time you leave something out, Ren/Redacted deeply contemplates how much they can take before you notice. They would definitely make it look like it fell off the table after having a piece— if they knew it wouldn’t upset you. Most always they stops themselves from destroying the baked good because it’s something their Angle made, with love! When they think about how they just tasted something made with your love, their brain goes haywire with scenarios of you baking together.

❥ Your perfumes have been draining so quick lately, to the point in which you wondered if all of Conan bay could smell you when you walked outside. Honestly, were you using that much? No, Redacted plays smarter not harder. He popped off at his nearest Ulta and bought an empty perfume sample vial, and the exact same perfume; now I know what you're thinking. If he already has the same perfume, why would he buy the sample vial? Because it just hits different when it's from ‘Your’ perfume. It's because ‘You’ own and use the perfume in your bathroom, and on top of that he gets to sneak the new perfume into your bag or your apartment after you’ve gone shopping, so you think you bought it—unknowingly accepting his gift. Drives the dude crazy. Made every awkward glance at ulta worth it.

❥ After you start ‘dating’ Ren because he declared it so, you might have the common thought to buy him a gift; what sane partner doesn't wanna put a smile on their own partner face? Did you get him a little pink cactus to put by his computer because it’s also pink and fluffy? A cutsie light up keyboard? A mug? don’t come for me :(；ﾞﾟ'ωﾟ'): Bet you thought you hid it well or that if you bought it while out with him, he never noticed; ya’ wrong. Ren and Redacted both notice everything their Angle does. There is only Angle. Ren had a hunch, Redacted was just pretending to be blissfully unaware but, once you give it to him, he’ll drop hints that he knew.

❥ At some point you invite Ren/Redacted over only to find that the heater isn’t working. Every time you set it to 72, ten minutes later it drops down to 62. Luckily Ren/Redacted was there to warm you up. Ren would be more passive and wait for you to say you were cold but if you took to long he’d drop some obvious hints that he was cold even though he was in fact not cold. He was the one who was playing with the thermostat after all. This Man just wants some cuddles. Whilst I think Redacted would be adamant about wanting to keep his Angle warm (Even if angle isn’t actually cold)—maybe a bit too adamant if consensual. Even so, if cold really bum’s Angle out he would probably have never messed with the temperature in the first place or he would fix it immediately to look like he was useful around the house; to impress angle of course. He would also try this but uno reversed; it would be 84 degrees up in your Livin’ room.

❥ If you didn’t drink to much while on a dinner date, Ren might pretend to be tipsy so he can have the excuse of leaning on you as you help him get home. Ren wouldn’t want you to be tipsy when he tried this because if you were under the influence, he’d want you to feel safe with him. However Redacted can hold it, despite no confirmation of his experience with alcohol, I strongly feel he can hold it. But honestly, if he can’t he wouldn’t allow himself to get drunk in the first place because he has to protect Angle. If Angle gets drunk Redacted would politely interrogate ask her questions that she probably wouldn’t answer sober, nothing too invasive that would push any boundaries or disrespect Angle—like skeletons in the closet/ deeply personal things, no. He respect’s Angle (in a weird and confusing way) and would never manipulate her into opening up while under any influence; he wants Angle to open up to him authentically on their own timing. Instead he’d ask things like “Is (f/c) honestly your favorite color?Because I saw you eyeing that blue shirt yesterday.” Or “Did you really like the song I played you yesterday on the guitar or were you being nice to me?”

❥ Redacted would straight up send your favorite band money anonymously so they’d show up and have a free concert on the beach. This man would stop at no cost to bring your favorite band to Conan bay, well he’d have to play smart if it got too expensive; if he had to use alternative methods, he would—seeing he is a hacker after all. He would invite you the moment after the band agrees because he ‘happens’ to like the band too.

❥ If you have toys Ren/Redacted would dis them while having sex. This dude would absolutely bully an inanimate object. Rens babbles would be more so focused on how great he was making you feel and how much more attention he could pay you then silicone. Redacted however would go off on how horrible that toy was because it wasn’t filling you the way you needed it, Or how your vibrator was trash compared to his hands. They’d both point out that silicone can’t cum in you…like, why keep it around when you have them?

❥ You want to go for a hike? Ren would be beyond excited to go on a hike with you…All alone…With no body else for miles because he would take you on a detour away from the main trail. A detour he happens to know well since he uses it to dump ‘garbage’ in lake Blue moss. As happy as Ren would be about hiking, he would become fed up with the mosquitos feeding on his Angle—homie was ready to google how to bite mosquitos back. Like damn, go suck on a bear or something. If you invited Redacted on a hike instead of Ren they’d straight up pull the bug spray out and launch a mosquito genocide, a bug that hurts Angle is a bug that shouldn’t exist.

[bts5sosempire]

silent sea (i)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: toji fushiguro x reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2,510 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: yandere, dark, horror, psychological horror, death (later), merman au, merman toji, mention of blood and raw flesh (fish) feeding, loose merlfolk lore, etc. 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "A few years ago, you went missing with a few other marine biologists into the deep sea, only to resurface with untold horrors ingrained within your now soulless eyes. Even moving away from the sea and living more inward inside the island of Bordia didn't help you when you could still hear the sounds of crashing waves and seagulls crying from above. Sometimes the nights were hopeless, and when you closed your eyes, the nightmares began.

But when a typhoon was coming toward your home, flooding the island in the water with more than half the population missing, that's when you saw them. He, out in the open sea. They only allow themselves to venture where the water had occupied." 𝐚/𝐧: been waiting and wanting to write for this dilf for so long that it's here (rather short atm, but will extend). I will not be using my regular boarder as a divider or timestamp skip since that is what has been causing my post to not go through or lagged. Btw, please like if you like ❤️, comment below in the "comment" section 📝 for tagging, and reblogged if you wish to too. Have a nice day lovelies! 💖

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"Someone come help me!" A fisherman shouts, running toward the ocean where a wooden boat drifts towards the golden wet sand of Bordeia Island. A few others chase after the older man lead. One grabs the stem while the others are at either side of the boat, pushing it toward the shore.

You were lying inside, drifting in and out after spending many days at sea with the sun beating down on you and the cold nights caressing your husk of dehydrated and malnourished form. The gulls were high in the air, crying out while people's voices were nothing but warbles in your ears, and their figures were just blurs in your hazy eyes.

Have you made it? Away... To home?

"Hey, (Name), are you alright? You look a little distant there." This snaps you back to reality; you can't help but make a small sheepish smile. Sometimes you seem much more empty-minded, and today looks like one of the days. "Look, if you're not up for it, we could discuss this another day."

"No, tell me; sorry for tuning you out," you could see them heave a long sigh. Conan Warden is a man who moved to the island about a year ago from the metropolis life. They were a frequented beach boy/ surfer back in their hometown who loved the ocean more than anyone there, and his moving out here to Bordeia Island felt like the right move for them. Conan felt like a perfect slot with the Islanders here; his charm makes him a pretty, unique person.

There was a moment of pause before they repeated themselves for you again. "As I said, a research team would visit the island in a few days." You settle down a mug of coffee before Conan, waiting for him to continue, "They want you to help assist them in their research." You look at Conan with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. Then a snort emerged as you quirked both brows and sat across from them.

"Do they want my papers or something? I could always give them that," you muse out, but Conan gives you a look of 'Really?'

"No, (Name), they want you fully assist them by going out in the open sea," suddenly, you felt blank hearing those words. A ringing comes into your ears. Conan saw how you had that distant look in your eyes again, and his russet hand crossed the table to tap your arrow cradled around your coffee mug. Every time Conan mentions the sea, this is the response he gets most time. It's not like he doesn't know, but he does learn to a certain extent why you don't venture out in the sea anymore. The locals were quite vocal about your sudden disappearance, along with a few marines biologist, considering you have been a resident for about a decade.

"You know I can't do that," you said; it was already hard enough for you to face the trauma that still lingers around you like a ghost. Suddenly standing up, you take deep, shaky breaths, and; your heart rate picks up as you try to shake off the jitters that seem to take hold of you. Your mug slipped through your fingers and spilled across the table. "Fuck! Shit!" Flicking your hand, some of the hot content got onto the back side of your palm.

Conan helps you grab a nearby wash towel and clear the liquid before tossing the rag into the sink. "Sorry, I didn't mean to act like that," you said with quick breaths, running cool water over your burned hand. You close your eyes to refocus as you train your ears to focus on the running water and the sensation to distract you momentarily.

"You know it's fine; I didn't think it was this bad," Conan was concerned. He couldn't say much; your trauma wasn't something he could ever truly phantom. Conan could only understand to some degree and be empathetic about it, but to fully sympathize with you, he has to go through what you went through to know how it affected your daily life honestly. "You know what, I could tell them to fuck off for you; how does that sound?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. Who is leading the team?" You ask, getting your bearings together and shutting your eyes tightly for a few more seconds. Tilting your head up, you open your eyes and look at your flat white ceiling.

"Um, hold on" Conan search through his pockets, and you shut and turn off the tap water. Gently wiping your hands dry, Conan pulls out a paper, "Some guy name Watanabe Morisuke." You tense up at the name; Conan notices but doesn't say anything. He thinks you have too many jumpscares at this point and that another might add to your untimely demise, making him pretty sad as he considered himself your best friend.

You take the form presented, and a picture at the top left corner is shown. Skimming over the information, you see how Watanabe's head is full of grey and black, mixing like yin and yang.

"I tried to ask for more information, but I was cut off rudely by Professor Eugene." Conan pouts; he mimics Eugene's speech in an annoying high pitch voice.

You laugh as you felt much calmer and put the paper on a countertop. It would help if you remembered to apply cooling gel cream on your supposed upcoming burn that will blister.

°

It was only barely ten a.m., and the sun was already high in the sky, with the heat downing any fisherman or anyone who ventured to the beach. But in the shade was a cool breeze, shifting through. A few days passed, and out in the open sea, a boat was approaching the shore.

The locals used to tourists waited at the pier and were ready to fetch the boat.

Watanabe Morisuke got off the boat and looked up into the sky to see seagulls flying above his head before walking to the land where the pier and boardwalk are connected. His team followed behind him.

"Ah, you must be Watanabe Morisuke, (Name) sent me." Conan came to greet the older man, who pressed their lips tightly. Conan grabs their hand and shakes it with high enthusiasm that Watanabe has to rip their hand out of their hold.

With the boat coming closer, it stops next to the pier. A thick mooring line was thrown down at the wooden boards as a local picked it up to tie an eight-figure on a cleat, then did the same with the other mooring at another end.

"That child could've got me herself; how uncouth of her to send someone in her stead." They frowned, lips thinning. But Conan thinks that that's their natural expression. Without much thought, he explains why you couldn't be there to pick him up.

°

You were pacing back and forth in your house, chewing your lips as you kept tugging the string from your shirt at the height of the collarbone. Your eyes keep drifting to your front door, and most of all, you want to focus on anything, but your house is too quiet. The radio you bought would've helped you, but it's broken. The distant sea raptured inside your ears clear as day like a haunted melody, so your steps suddenly halt. You could almost hear a voice calling you, groaning at you with longing—withering woes of betrayal and agony along the line. Still, a lingering subtle feeling of forgiveness was weaved into the song.

But it gradually got louder and louder until the sound wasn't just whisperers anymore; you felt your skin crawl and the hair on your body spike up. A feeling slowly rouses up in your chest, and the emotional pain seeps and spread like a plague. You shudder a broken breath before your throat closes on you, and breathing becomes much more complicated.

"Don't leave me."

'It's just your brain playing tricks on you.' You tried to convince yourself.

"Come back home. To me."

Their harmonies echo inside your head; you don't want to hear them. You use loud music and noises as sounds to block and cope with things when some days are harder to deal with, like today—the voice you want to forget always returns randomly, and sometimes when you're unfocused or distressed, you think. But walking out of the door and towards the sound was tempting whenever your head heard it. Snapping back is hard without a good startle when a yearning clouds your logic and instinct.

'Why isn't it going away?' You grip and pull the string.

"You said that you would stay."

You jump when your doorbell resonates loudly in the living room, enough to bring you back from your anxiety. Shakingly soothing yourself as you tried to calm yourself with a few deep breaths, you went over to the door and opened it to be greeted by Conan and Watanabe.

Conan didn't miss how alarmed you were but didn't bother to point it out, and there are times you appreciate that he doesn't divulge when people are around. You greeted Watanabe, "Hello... Uncle." Conan squawk; he then looks in between you and the older man with disbelief. You and this man doesn't look the slightest related.

Side-stepping to allow both men in, Watanabe hauled his many suitcases and also made his displeasure known, "Pompous girl, you know how much I detest strangers." Watanabe's eyes flickered toward Conan for a quick second, then made himself at home. Conan didn't look offended at the comment, but instead, he thought, what an ass and insufferable being your Uncle must be.

"I don't like him at all," Conan stands next to you, leaning while whispering into your ear. There was a side glance of agreement coming from you. "How is your hand, by the way?" He continues to whisper, and you show him the bandaged hand and give him a shrug as your answer. Then you turn your attention to your Uncle.

"How long are you planning on staying here?" You ask, wiping your palms down your pants legs.

Your Uncle, who, not even five minutes into your house, sprung his suitcases open and claimed your living room as his. He took most of his clothes out and threw them on the armchair adjacent to your couch. For your coffee table, it had become his research table when he strewed files of papers across it, and it soon became a mountain.

"I just came here on impulse; I have no explicit time on how long I will be staying here." Watanabe's answer got you scratching your head because that's a first. Usually, your Uncle would make a timetable of his schedule since he's a punctual man. "Go get me your papers, girl." You give Conan a look of 'see the shit I gotta deal with?' before going to your room to retrieve what was requested.

You could hear Conan snort behind you.

°

From a distance away from the island, out in the open sea, a figure swam across the blue water gingerly. They have been trailing along Bordea's coast for a few years. Constantly rumbling a song to lure someone out, it was unsuccessful, but defeat wasn't something in their morals of value; their dark sclera and bright forest green eye peered through the navigation of palm trees and high bushes. The furthest they could see were a few houses behind the tall debris.

The hours passed, and the sun dipped low enough that only a fraction of daylight remained. It gives the creature a lot of shade under the giant leaning Live Oak tree to be obscure from any human sight. The sky has darkened to a deep hue of burnt orange and magenta, with dark violet now dominating most of the space in the sky. Even stars of multiple colors and sizes are beginning to litter around their perfect location.

Toji, the merman, was a sea creature that only existed in fairy tales, myths, and stories and was the dominator under the reefs of Bordea Island. He was a light blue-skinned humanoid merman with no fishtail to accompany the original stories. Instead, he has two functioning legs with fins attached to his legs and arms and sharp claws of webbed hands and feet. With veins that are a deeper shade of blue mixed with purple, they were visible across his skin.

Entering through the entrance, they kept going until an opening was above them, and they went up. Toji's head broke through the cave's water surface, and they swam until the water got shallow. They were nearing the dry flat surface of the lair.

The merman lingers for a few more minutes, swimming under the shaded oak, and then sinks beneath the surface. They glide past the corals and go deeper and deeper until an opening of a cave entrance is in their view. A school of fish scatters away, and even sharks that linger nearby make their escape too.

Inside the damp, moist, warm cave, it was quiet besides the dripping drops of water that fell off the stalagmites that hung above. It would let ripple sounds that bounce off into the space. Toji hoisted himself out of the water, the side of his neck was his gills that would move once or so, and unlike his other variations of kin, Toji was capable of surviving out in the open air as long as his skin and gills were able to saturate and constantly absorb damp moisture to prevent him from drying out.

To him being different wasn't the problem, but the prejudice that comes with it. Toji being a merman without a tail, was considered a bad omen. Thus, he was shunned by other merfolks who were born with a tail. Being treated differently was something he had grown accustomed to over time.

But one thing they should be wary about Toji is his prowess; even if he doesn't have a tail, he can annihilate one or more enemies in a single moment. If the man was powerful enough to take a shark and orca with one swoop of bare hands, do they think their spears made from the most robust shells would be enough to stop him?

The answer is definite; it's a no.

°

It was dark, a quarter till twelve; if another quarter passed, a new day would start. You were lying in the bathtub; the water had now turned cold. Your Uncle Watanabe was asleep in the living room, as you were sure you were one of the few individuals still up.

Your injured hand from days ago hangs over the tub; you raise it until it's high enough. You wiggle your fingers to play with the lighting to create shadows above your face. Staring at your hand, you see the tendons flex underneath every twitch under your skin. But your hand wasn't mar at all. It looks like it was never burned in the first place.

[pandorasfavorite]

Hi Emma! Can I pls have Dom x Fem reader that's super fluffy but no smut and can you make it so that it relates to the song Heather by Conan gray? Like maybe something where reader likes Dom but thinks that he likes Rhea Ripley more? Thank you.

Forever yours

AN: can't even begin to REGISTER this heartbreak. (not a ship thing btw^^^^)

What is something that breaks your heart?

What breaks my heart is

What destroys me is

will I ever get over the heartbreak that is...

You groan loudly and lay your head on the cold table, letting the chill press your forehead. Your fingers run through your hair and tug at the roots, just barely letting yourself feel something. The thoughts of him swirl in your brain like they do every day and every hour. And you swore you wouldn't get attached to the possibility of Dominik Mysterio.

But God in the moment it felt more than a possibility, his hand brushing against yours and his cheeks getting pink; the nervousness in his voice that was rarely there any other time. The way Dominik was a gentleman and so connected to everyone was appealing. And it's not like you haven't known him for years, you both came into The Judgment Day together, hand in hand, hearts entwined. YOUR heart is entwined with a fantasy. You fell in love with Dominik Mysterio and you stayed that way for 3 years, longing after a man that didn't even register your loving gestures and looks.

It was almost instant the way Rhea stepped into Dominik's life. Day by day Dominik slipped further away from you, forgetting you in the shadows to be with her. She touched his arm and his face lit up like never before, nothing like when he was with you.

Your breath hitched and you couldn't stop the soft sniffles when you curled further up into yourself. More images of Dominik flicker in your brain but only seconds later the picture of Rhea holding onto came back into view. You sit up and snap your eyes open, moving to your scratched-up paper only to crumble it up and throw it into a pile.

You can't even write down their names side by side, let alone face the reality every day but you have to. Your hands are shaking and your cheeks are tear-stained and red.

"Hey!", the door bangs open startling you. Frantically you wipe your face and turn towards the energetic voice, Dominik himself. Despite your attempts, Dominik could tell you've been crying, his smile drops and his eyebrows furrow together in worry for his best friend. He steps closer and speaks softly, "What happened?", you don't answer lost in a daze feeling the urge to scream and cry at the simple question. "Chica, what is it?", he kneels in front of you taking your hands into his from where he's sitting.

You blink rapidly, pushing back the salty tears, and you shake your head from side to side refusing to speak. Even if you tried, your throat was closing up with every attempt and your lip trembled in emotion you could hardly contain. But he gives you that God-forsaken look, his pleading look that could convince you to go to hell and back for him.

"I -, I can't stand-".

"Everything okay?", her voice rings through the room and Dominik instantly drops your hands; pulling away when you need him most. He just looks up at you one more time and all you do is nod, submission to losing him. Rhea nods unsure but nevertheless, she speaks to Dom, "We got to go Dom Dom", she says assertive in her smooth voice that could convince anyone of anything. Dominik looks at her and then back to you, hesitating on what to do. He stands up and pushes the stray hairs away from your face without a word before walking away with Rhea.

The door clicks shut and you shut your eyes tightly but only for a moment. You turn back to the desk and pull out another sheet of paper.

Dear Dominik,

You once asked me, "What's something that breaks your heart?". Every day I answer that question repeatedly in my head and my heart feels heavy knowing you're the answer.

I remember the times we spent together and then I see you with her, reliving our memories in a happier way. How could I be mad at you? At her? I'm not mad, I wish I was the one that you hug, kiss, think about, and love.

But I watch your eyes as she walks by, the way you're captivated by her, in love with her. If only you knew how much I wished I was Rhea.

I think I'll miss you forever.

Sincerely,

Yours.

[sooverwhitesandpinks]

Wish You Were Sober

fratboyharry x friend!reader Inspired by the lyrics of Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray

Warnings: angst, alcohol, weed, frat party, no mention of gender, idk.

You never really wanted to come to these parties. Maybe the first few in the beginning of the semester, but you grew tired of them quickly.

Beer, weed, loud music, and sweaty bodies. The bathrooms were always trashed and the floor was always sticky, but you still spent your Friday nights in these humid frat houses. Not for your personal benefit, but for Harry.

"Is he really worth it?" Your roommate, Gianna asked. You were on one of the couches in the living room. Her boyfriend, Danny, was on her other side with his arm lazily slung over her shoulder, scrolling through his phone.

You sank further back into the couch. Your eyes hadn't moved away from Harry in minutes. He was leaned against a wall in black jeans and a dark henley, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the buttons unfastened, exposing his chest. A red flannel was tied around his waist, he'd taken it off within the first half hour of you two arriving.

He looked too good, he always did. His eyes were bright, his hair was perfect. His smile was killer, though the only thing killing you was that it wasn't being sent your way. The girl he'd been chatting up all night was the lucky recipient.

The girl, Piper, was in one of your smaller classes. She was pretty, you understood why Harry liked her. She was sweet and genuine but fuck, did you wish you could hate her.

They looked cute together, you guessed. She stood in front of him, drink in hand as she effortlessly flirted back. You watched as she shrieked something that he laughed at before they switched drinks and took a sip. They both pulled a face before switching back. You shook your head and finally looked away.

"Is who worth what?" You played dumb, turning to Gianna.

"Is Harry worth pining over? You follow him around like a lovesick puppy and he just keeps dragging you behind him," she tsked, sipping her seltzer.

You ran your thumb over the rim of your drink can and bit your cheek before answering. You and Harry became friends at an involvement fair at orientation over the summer. You were instantly smitten, but you never told him and he acted like he didn't notice.

"He's a good friend to me," you replied, shrugging.

"Is he? He's gotta know you like him, and he plays with your feelings anyway," she told you.

"He doesn't know," you shook your head, though you didn't put any effort into hiding your staring or blushing.

"He uses your feelings against you. He drags you out to these parties, he gets drunk, he knows you'll always take care of him," she sat up, staring down at you.

"He's just drunk, it's not intentional," you responded with a shake of your head, though you didn't know why you were excusing his behavior. She wasn't wrong.

"Either way it's fucked up. It's happened too many times. He brings you to these stupid parties you don't like, he flirts with other girls in your face, he gets too drunk, and you always sign up to take him home. Plus he tries to bone you when his flavor of the night won't fuck him 'cause he's hammered," she ranted. "You deserve better."

"I know," you dropped your head into your palm. You did deserve better. "I gotta get over him."

"Go get another drink, and go dance or flirt or I don't know, just don't look at him again. He'll be just fine without you," she shooed.

You lazily got off the sofa, making a point to look everywhere except the corner of the room Harry was currently occupying.

"Okay, I'm going," you nodded, setting your empty can beside the pile of them on the side table.

"'Atta girl," Gianna whooped. Your first stop was the kitchen, you grabbed your second seltzer of the night from a cooler before stepping out into the backyard.

The cool air of October nipped at your nose and the exposed skin of your knees. The back deck had been converted into a beer pong arena, people were crowded around the white folding table. You bypassed the mass of people and headed toward the bonfire in the yard.

"You mind if I sit here?" You asked, pointing to an empty folding chair beside some guy you'd never seen before.

"Not at all," he shook his head. His voice was lazy and his eyes were red tinted and heavy.

"Thanks," you nodded. You stared into the fire pit as the few other people in the circle conversed.

"You smoke?" The guy from before asked, holding a half-smoked joint out.

"Sometimes," you shrugged, accepting it. You brought it to your lips and sucked in a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs.

"You seem sad," he observed, taking the joint from between your fingers and hitting it himself. You exhaled.

"Maybe I am," you shrugged. He blew a cloud of smoke in the other direction before turning to face you again.

"How come?" He asked, handing you the joint. You took another hit, held it, then exhaled before you replied.

"I don't even know your name," you said, still blowing smoke. You handed him the joint again.

"I'm Zayn," he smiled before batting his long eyelashes. You told him your name before finally answering his question.

"I'm desperately in love with one of my friends, but he couldn't care less. My roommate thinks he's stringing me along, and honestly she might be right," you admitted. You sat back in your chair as the buzz from the weed startled to settle in.

"Damn," he hit the joint once more before he passed it off to the girl a few seats over from him.

"Damn indeed," you nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked, you could feel his eyes on the side of your face even though yours hadn't moved from the flames.

"Not particularly," you answered. If you talked about it, you might cry. You saw him nod in your peripheral before he turned to face the fire as well.

The two of you sat side by side, the crackle of the fire and the cheers of the cup pong club were the only sounds in the air. You weren't sure how long you were sitting there. You weren't exceptionally high, but definitely buzzed. Your drink was almost empty by now, the alcohol in your system only providing a slight buzz as well.

"I'm gonna go get another beer, you want anything?" Zayn asked, rising from his seat.

"I'm okay," you shook your head. He nodded before walking off.

He returned a few minutes later, beer in hand and a couple trailing behind him. The girl, who you now realized was Piper, was holding Harry up. He was behind her, slumped over her shoulders.

"These two were walking around calling your name, I told them you were out here," Zayn said as he plopped down into his seat again.

"Harry's hammered. I asked him who he trusted to take him home and he said your name," Piper explained. She gestured to the boy behind her who stood up upon the mention of his name.

"This your friend?" Zayn asked. You nodded.

"Okay, I'll uh-- I'll get him back to the dorms," you stood, suddenly thankful you hadn't taken another hit.

"Thanks. I would do it but I don't know which building he's in," she smiled, patting Harry on the arm.

"Why can't we go back to your place?" He slurred, looking to Piper, who giggled.

"Because you're too drunk," she told him. "Call me tomorrow, if you can remember."

"Oh I will," he pointed. Piper waved at you before walking back to the house.

"Hey," you felt Zayn's hand wrap around your wrist. "Don't get strung along."

You didn't say anything, just nodded. You grabbed Harry's arm and wrapped it around your neck so you could help him walk.

"Hiiiiii," he cheesed, starting to walk with you.

"Hey, Harry," you sighed.

"Can I hit that joint I saw back there?" He asked, jabbing his thumb back in the direction of the bonfire.

"Absolutely not," you shook your head as you walked alongside the house.

The two of you stumbled down the street, Harry babbling incoherently and you trying to lug him just a few blocks further.

"You're so nice," he hummed, tripping on every third or fourth step he took.

"I know," you sighed, disappointed with yourself.

The two of you eventually made it to the dorm hall, slowly climbing the few steps ahead of the door. You had to instruct Harry on which leg to lift when.

"You're so pretty too," he added. You shook your head and let it roll off of your back, he always started with that. You pulled him into the building and dragged him to the elevator. The two of you leaned against the back wall after you hit the button for your floor.

"I think I might be a little drunk," he giggled. You wanted to laugh with him, but you couldn't.

"Maybe," you simply replied. The doors opened after a minute or so. You stood up again, letting Harry's weight fall back on you once again.

You walked down his hallway, stopping at his door. He mumbled something about this looking like his room as you punched his code in and opened the door.

You dropped him on his bed, his roommate gone like usual. Harry fell back onto his mattress, his fingers sliding down your arm until they grasped your hand.

"You should lay down with me," he suggested, patting the small space beside him with his other hand.

"No, Harry," you shook your head and pulled your hand from his. You moved to his dresser and grabbed his water bottle.

"C'mon, please," he begged. You sat down on the corner of his bed and held his water out.

"No. Just drink some water," you sighed. This was how it usually went. You would bring him home and he would try to pull you into his bed. You wouldn't ever take advantage of him, but it somehow felt like he was trying to take advantage of your kindness and love for him.

"Okay, okay," he nodded before he clumsily sat up beside you. He grabbed the bottle from your hands and took a small sip.

"More," you urged, wanting to leave this entire situation. You pledged to never accept a party invitation from him ever again. Gianna and Zayn were right. You can't keep getting caught up in your own one sided feelings and let yourself get dragged behind him.

"I'll drink this whole thing if you let me fuck you," he said, leaning closer. You closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh, the smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne consuming you. You jumped when his lips met your jaw.

"Harry, I'm not gonna fuck you," you shoved him away gently. You still hadn't opened your eyes.

"Why not?" He leaned in again, this time speaking lowly into your ear. "We both know you want it."

You shook your head again and shoved him back a little harder this time. You stood from the bed and tried to breathe calmly, but you were honestly at your breaking point.

"Is that all I am to you?" You asked, not turning around to look at him yet.

"What do you mean?" He slurred, reminding you just how drunk he was.

"I can't keep doing this, Harry. I can't keep letting you drag me around. It's not good for me anymore, not that it ever was," you started, turning around to look at him.

"I'm sick of watching you parade other girls around all night. I'm sick of still being a good friend and taking you home when you're too drunk to walk. And I'm extremely tired of you toying with me when your first choice won't have sex with your drunk ass," you huffed, frustrated tears pooling in your eyes. "It's exhausting, and I'm tired of it. I deserve to be called pretty when you're sober."

You looked down at Harry, watching him stare back up at you. He seemed a little less drunk than he was before. He blinked a few times, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm a shitty friend," he shook his head, setting his water down on the floor.

"You're not, Harry. Most of the time you're great. Honestly, it's not your fault. It wouldn't hurt so much if I wasn't hopelessly in love with you," you bravely confessed. You figured he wouldn't remember it anyway.

"It is my fault, though. I knew you liked me and I still said all that terrible stuff to you," he spoke. You wiped your tears away with the heels of your hands, even though fresh ones replaced them almost immediately.

"God, Harry. I think I need to be away from you for awhile," you said, blowing out a shaky breath. He didn't say anything, just nodded.

"Are you going to remember this in the morning? You usually don't."

"Do we have this conversation often?" He glanced up at you with a hiccup.

"No, not the conversation. You usually try to get in my pants though," you grabbed a bottle of painkillers and set them on the table by his bed.

"I'm sorry," he fell back onto his mattress again, clearly exhausted. He rubbed his eyes.

"I know," you stated, pulling the door open.

"I wish I was sober for this conversation," he sighed, turning onto his side.

"I wish you were sober too," you walked out.

Masterlist

Part 2

[thelovelylolly]

Hi! Another request you can take as long as you want to do write this!:) a billy hargrove x yn based on the song heather by Conan grey! Fluffy ending please!:))

Heather

Summary: You wish you were Heather... Warnings: hurt/comfort, self-doubt, reader is described as shorter than billy, fem reader, not proofread bc im a bit lazy at the moment lol Word Count: 826 Notes: i cant believe its been like 4 years since conan gray dropped kid krow im going CRAZY AHH

Having a crush on Billy wasn't rare at Hawkins High. Only a few girls were able to win him over, but those were flings to Billy. You were one his best friends, so you saw these girls fawning over him first hand. You saw all the girls laughing just a bit to loud at his jokes and trying to get their hands on him. But you couldn't blame them, he was handsome and charismatic.

It was no surprise that you caught feelings for him, too. You were better at hiding them since you figured you weren't his type.

That's when Heather came into the picture.

She was, at first, like the other girls trying to get Billy's attention. Then, things changed into something else. It wasn't a fling like all those other times, Billy seemed to actually be interested in her. He took her on a nice dates, walked her to her classes, helped her study.

Of course, Billy still hung out with you, but it felt like he was slipping away. It frustrated you, yet you said nothing. He was happy and that was enough for you.

Heather was everything you wanted to be. She was smart, funny, talented, pretty. She was the kind girl next door, the girl everyone would want. You quickly came to terms that she was the girl for Billy, because that's how it always worked. The popular, perfect girl always ended up with the popular guy.

You were fine just standing to the side and letting your best friend be happy. Did it hurt watching your crush be with another girl? Sure, but it would pass.

It had to pass, right?

You tried to make it pass, but Billy started to hang out with Heather more often and spent less time with you. You knew they hadn't made anything official, but things could've changed since Billy didn't have time to tell you.

One day, you even saw her with his jean jacket around her shoulders as she walked to her next class.

That's when you started to distance yourself from Billy. You were still there for him if he needed you, but you didn't want it to look like you were trying to steal him away from Heather.

Sometimes, they would catch your eyes as they walked past you at lunch and it made your heart ache.

You really wished you were Heather.

----

You were lounging around your living room on a Friday night, your parents having gone out with friends. You caught up on some magazines you followed and watched some shows, but you were bored. You'd usually spent your Friday nights with Billy doing dumb teenager stuff.

Now, you opted to stay in for the night.

You were flipping through one of your magazines when your doorbell rang. You sighed and tossed your magazine down onto the coffee table. You grabbed a nearby hoodie, not really paying attention to it, and pulled it over your tank top and sleep shorts.

You quickly went to your front door, sparing a quick glance out of the side windows before opening it.

Billy stood there, his hands in his pockets. You saw his eyes look you over before meeting yours.

"That's my hoodie," he said softly.

"What?"

"You're wearing my hoodie," he repeated, stepping inside.

You glanced down, noticing that he was right. He must've left it the last time he was over. You looked back up and saw a smile on his face along with blush on his cheeks.

"What are you doing here, Billy?" You asked.

"I..."

"You...?"

He sighed before pulling his hands out of his pockets and cupping your face with them. He quickly closed the space between you, giving you a short yet passionate kiss. When he pulled away, he kept your face in his hands.

"I really like you."

"R-really?" You asked, still processing if that kiss was real or not. "But what about Heather?"

"She didn't want anything serious," he answered, his hands slowly drifting down to your waist. "And she made me realize that I really just wanted you, she even told me to tell you that I like you."

A smile pulled at your lips as you felt your face heat up. "You got a taste of your own medicine, huh?"

He chuckled. "Guess so."

"Can I be honest?"

He nodded.

"I've liked you for a long time."

You reached up and cupped his cheeked, pulling him into another kiss.

"I could tell," he murmured against your lips.

You pulled away, playfully hitting him as he laughed. "You jerk!"

"I had a good reason why I didn't say anything!" He quickly said. "I promise."

You closed the door behind him then took his hand in yours, leading him to the living room. Then, you smiled and replied, "looks like we have time for you to explain."

He smiled, getting butterflies from knowing that he was the reason you were smiling. "Gladly, sweetheart."

[cannedapricot]

the bouquet. || njm

in which you love watching your coffee shop regulars and irregulars go about their day. you loved hearing stories about their lives and their loved ones. yet, you'd be lying if you said it didn't make you feel lonely. alternatively, you were in love with the concept of love, na jaemin was in love with you.

word count: 2.8k

genre, warnings: fluff, angst near the end, comfort i think, slice of life, coffee shop!au, flower shop!au, pining, worries about never being able to experience romance covered up with bright smiles and warm coffee, profanities

bgm: people watching by conan gray, cloud 9 by beach bunny, perfect day by mao buyi, sweet dream by nct u

a/n: this only happened because i wanted to write fluff HAHA so by default it isn't proof read also i am not a florist so idk if these flowers look good in a bouquet LMAO

PHILIA (n) - affectionate love - yellow chrysanthemums

A warm beam of sunlight streams in through the glass window, toasting the wooden the tables and chairs in its wake. You stretch behind the counter - warm sunny afternoons always gave you the urge to nap.

Opposite you, on the other side of the store, stood your coworker amongst the displays of flowers. Na Jaemin was attractive, and more often than not, you'd hear people compare him to the flowers he worked with in attempt to woo him. They never worked though, Jaemin would always respond with a polite smile and a "thank you". You'd try your best to hold in your giggle as they leave the store with a sour expression. But then you'd meet eyes with Jaemin, he'd mouth a playful "oops", and you'd have to duck down to hide your laugh behind the counter.

It was a slow day. You barely had anyone to serve so you spent your time arranging and rearranging shelves in the back, cleaning equipment, and munching on the seasonal lavender flavored cake your store offered. Jaemin, on the other hand, seemed to be catching up on bouquet orders. Each bouquet was prepared with the same amount of care and focus as the next. Each flower was chosen with a purpose to serve. Jaemin wasn't only known as a pretty face. He was also known for his beautiful bouquets.

Seemingly haven to caught you staring, without looking up from his work, your coworker jokingly says,

"Go back to work."

"But there is no work. No one wants a coffee from me."

"I do. See, you have work."

You turn around to start his coffee - iced americano, three shots of espresso. He usually whines for more espresso but in attempt to keep his body functioning, you only allow a maximum of three shots.

The overhead bell tinkles and a woman walks in. You give them a smile over your shoulder to welcome them in. She returns the smile, but walks up to Jaemin's counter instead.

"Hi! I had an order for pick up today?"

"Oh yes, chrysanthemums right?"

The woman nods as Jaemin goes to fetch her prepared bouquet. You finish the coffee and bring it over to your coworker's counter, making conversation with the customer as you do so.

"Are the flowers for anyone?"

"They are! One of my friends is graduating today and I wanted to congratulate her as well as thank her for being such a lovely friend."

You can't help but grin at the story. The way the woman brightened up mentioning her friend. The way she spoke so highly of them. They must be someone extremely precious to her.

"A great choice of flowers." Jaemin comments, returning with a bright yellow bouquet.

"Thank you. I spent hours looking up the meanings of flowers. My friend's really into the language of flowers."

The both of you thank her for her patronage and watch as she heads off, the brightly colored flowers tucked safely in her arms.

"Happiness, joy, celebration."

"Hm?"

Jaemin takes a sip of his coffee before answering.

"You wanted to know the meaning right? I could tell."

Sometimes Jaemin's ability to read your mind scares you. How does he just know?

"Also, this coffee doesn't have the amount of espresso I requested."

"I'm saving your life." You retort, heading back to your post.

You spare a glance at the door the woman walked out of. How special it must be to have someone care for you that much. A friend who would scour the internet for the perfect flower for you. A friend who had the most precious expression talking about you.

You loved knowing the stories behind your customers. Yet, for some reason, they always made you feel more alone.

PRAGMA (n) - enduring love - baby's breath

Entering the shop today, you were greeted with the sight of Jaemin surrounded by a copious amount of baby's breath flowers. It was certainly a sight to behold.

"A regular of ours is getting married soon - they've asked me to prepare the flowers for their wedding." He had said, bunching the small flowers together with a white ribbon. You hum, leaning on his counter as he continued to work. Jaemin's breath hitches at the proximity between the two of you - yet it goes unnoticed as you rack your brain to remember the regular.

"I remember! Is it the tall man who always shows up in a suit?"

"The one that always manages to squeeze his partner in every sentence? Yeah."

Jaemin's gaze falls upon you as you rest your head on your palms, a huge smile adorning your face.

"Adorable."

"The couple? Yeah. I can't believe they're getting married!"

His comment wasn't about the couple.

Jaemin returns his focus back on the flowers, aiming for the bunches to be as consistent as possible.

"They've been together for quite long, haven't they?" You mention, watching his slim fingers weave the perfect bow around the fragile flowers.

"Mhm, ten years I think. He said they were high school sweethearts."

A yearnful sigh escapes your lips.

"How cute. I wish I had something like that."

Jaemin gently pokes your forehead, a soft smile on his own lips.

"You're idolizing the idea of love again."

"I can't help it! Isn't the idea of falling for one another just so romantic? The butterflies, the flushed faces, the shy touches!" You squeal at the thought. Romance was your favorite genre, even if you've never experienced it personally, it was always a gem to witness.

"Instead of standing there and squealing like a high schooler - you should come around and help me with these flowers."

"But I'm not the florist - you don't see me asking you to make coffee."

"I am terrified that you will start kicking your legs like a high schooler with a crush next alright? And it's not hard, I'll teach you."

So you make your less than graceful jump across the counter, asking Jaemin to catch you (he didn't) and the two of you spent the day side by side bunching up baby's breaths.

"What do baby's breaths mean?"

Jaemin's shoulder meets yours and his fingers brush against your own as he fixes your ribbon. The sun was warm, or was that your skin flushing?

"Everlasting love."

STORGE (n) - familiar love - white lilac

"What do you recommend for my daughter who's just given birth?"

Your ears perk up from the storage room and you immediately drop the bag of coffee beans you were holding to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"Congratulations! I'm sure you must be ecstatic!"

"I am! A healthy young granddaughter! I love her already. The entire family is celebrating."

A wave of joy crashes on you. You weren't just a sucker for romantic love, but all types of love. Humans were surrounded by love all the time, consciously or unconsciously, it was always present. And to you, there wasn't anything that made you happier than seeing others feel the joy of loving and being loved.

You sneak a peak out into the open area, just in time to see the lady leave the store, white lilacs in her bag and a skip in her step.

"Eavesdropping is rude you know?"

"Boo, I'm just trying to get in on some good news."

Jaemin laughs as you jokingly pout at him, his structure stands out against the light streaming in from the big windows. You've always thought his smile was dazzling. It really was no mystery as to why he was so popular.

"Hey, could you help with the coffee beans? You've got nothing to do now anyway."

"Ask cutely."

"I'm reporting you to the boss. That has got to be a breach of some HR protocol."

"I'm just joking." The boy says making his way towards you. Unexpectedly, he stops to tuck a small piece of white lilac behind your ear, face only inches away from yours.

"Purity, innocence. I think it suits you."

He then continues his journey to the storage room casually, as if the two of you weren't just a hair's distance away from each other.

"Na Jaemin what the fuck?"

EROS (n) - romantic love - red roses

A knowing glance was shared between you and your coworker as a couple walks in, arms linked with each other.

"I love you honeybunches."

"I love you more sweetie pie."

The couple shares a kiss, the audible smooching loud enough to be echoing through the store. You had to pretend to clear your throat to grab their attention.

"How may I help you two?"

After placing their order, the couple giggles and slinks to a table in the corner. You notice that they sit next to each other instead of opposite.

"Is that the type of love you want?" Jaemin whispers as you froth the milk for a sweet potato latte.

"Oh come on, they're not that bad. I bet they're just in the honeymoon phase is all."

"Mhm, and they're definitely not making out in the corner right now."

With a roll of your eyes, you wipe down the metal wand. Without the noise of the machine, the wet sounds of mouth on mouth action could clearly be heard.

"They're cute!"

"Why? Do you want to make out in public as well? Come here, I can make that happen."

You were sure Jaemin was joking. The tone of his voice told you so. But when you looked into his eyes, they looked hopeful. Perhaps you were deluding yourself. All these thoughts about love were really altering the way you saw things.

"No. Go serve them their coffee."

"What? I thought you never made me do barista things?"

"It's only fair after you got me to do florist things."

Jaemin smiles at the playful quarrel, though you notice there was a hint of disappointment there. Why?

"This cake is new."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it's the new red rose cake. The owner said they used rosewater when baking it."

"Passion, desire, romance. No wonder the couple picked it. Wish me luck."

You give your coworker a salute as he heads over with the drinks and dessert before busying yourself with cleaning. You don't notice the couple giving Jaemin advice and support regarding his stupidly obvious crush on you because stupidly, you believed that romantic love would never come to you.

LUDUS (n) - playful love - white roses

It was a cloudless day, the skies were a lovely shade of blue, and the birds were chirping a happy tune. It was the perfect day for a first date. Which is why you found yourself craning your neck to look at the couple sitting outside.

They were evidently on their first date. The nervous fiddling, the shy giggles, the playful laughter. You weren't even part of their date, but just watching them interact made your insides bubble with excitement.

"Jaemin! Jaemin look! They're comparing hand sizes!"

"I know, I can see what you see."

You were pretending to wipe down a table on the other side of the glass, trying your best to seem uninterested in their conversation. But the reality was, you were dying to hear everything they had to say.

The florist, on the other hand, was watering his flowers. Less interested than you were, but was still listening. Most of his attention wasn't on the couple outside, it was on you.

You were fretting over every small detail, eyes wide and sparkling whenever someone made a move. You were clasping you hands together when they exchanged coy looks, excitedly muttering Jaemin's name in order to have him look.

You were in your element, and you were glowing.

When did he fall for you? Jaemin doesn't even know. You were always so into the small details, remembering the tiniest change in people. So adorable when you unknowingly purse your lips when attempting latte art. Perhaps you had him wrapped around your finger since the day you stepped in the store, asking if they were hiring. Or perhaps he fell slowly, day after day of working together and being in your presence.

Jaemin doesn't know when, but he knows that his attempts at flirting had gone unnoticed. But Jaemin doesn't know how to give up. So he's made the decision to keep trying, again and again. He'll keep trying until the day you stop loving the concept of love, and start loving him.

"Here, a white rose each for the two of you - free of charge."

The couple seemed pleased. Your jaw hanging wide open when Jaemin returned.

"Flies are going to get in your mouth."

"Jaemin... That was so smooth. That made their date even more memorable."

He hopes that one day, your rose colored glasses would be directed at him.

PHILAUTIA (n) - self love - narcissus

The clouds were crying today, dying the sky a deep shade of gray. You sigh. It was as if the weather was mirroring your thoughts. You hated it.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Jaemin's warm hands gently hold your face, slowly turning you to face him. Hesitantly, you meet his eyes. They were worried, he was worried. You know. You could tell.

"Okay fine. I'll tell you. But no laughing alright?"

He nods.

"Its just... One of my friends got into a relationship and I'm jealous."

Silence.

"Wait, no, not because I was in love with my friend. But because I've never been in a relationship. As in, I want to know how it feels like?"

Jaemin lets out a silent sigh of relief.

"But I feel like I could never be loved like that. I've never had someone look at me as if I was the only person that ever mattered. And as much as I love the idea of that, I don't know if I'm worthy of it the way I am now."

Your voice slowly turns into a whisper, your insecurities escape and spread out in the small store. The atmosphere was heavy, around the same weight as your heart. Tears threatened to escape your eyes, the embarrassment of crying in front of your handsome coworker was the only thing holding them back.

Suddenly, Jaemin's hands, a little rough from tending to flowers, push against your cheeks.

"Y/N. You are worth loving. You are worthy of everything the world has to offer. Fuck, you're worth more than the world has to offer."

"Huh?" Was all you could make out as Jaemin's palms still had a firm grip on your cheeks.

"Listen, you are the brightest person I've ever laid my eyes upon. If you claimed you were the sun, nobody would argue differently. I don't even know how my world was before you. Stop thinking so negatively, alright?"

Ah shit. The tears were free falling now.

"Thank you, Jaemin."

The sun peeked through the clouds. A rainbow formed in the sky. A single daffodil sat in a vase on the windowsill.

AGAPE (n) - selfless love - red carnation

Jaemin stands alone behind his counter, head in his hands. He had basically confessed to you the other day. He basically said you were his sun damn it. But you still hadn't caught on.

It was your day off today. Jaemin received a lovely selfie of you earlier of you and a friend at an amusement park. A telling smile that formed on his face told everyone in the room all they needed to know.

"Just tell her straight up." Taeyong, the owner, suggests. "At this point I don't think they'd understand if you don't."

"I don't want them to be pressured into a relationship if they're not ready or not into me though." Jaemin replies, groaning. "What if we become awkward? I don't want that. Please, anything but that. All I want is for them to realize that I've been nursing a massive crush on them"

"Make them a bouquet," Johnny, one of the cafe's investors, mentions. "You're good at those right?"

"I've tried. But they don't turn out the way I want them to."

"Try harder."

The older men snicker as the younger shoots them a glare. Jaemin lies his head down on the cool surface of the counter, his eyes catch onto the brilliant red carnations blooming on the side.

"Red carnation. "My heart aches for you"."

The next day you clock in, you find red carnations decorating your work station. They were on the espresso machine, sitting on the cookie jar, and even inside mugs.

"Jaemin? What happened while I was gone?"

The boy smiles brightly from his station opposite yours. A view you've gotten used to.

"Welcome back?"

"I was gone for one day."

"Hey, I missed you for a whole day."

A tingle makes its way up your ears. You admit, you've been thinking a lot about Jaemin's words since the day you cried in front of him. How tender and passionate those words were, how they sounded almost like a confession.

A cake box catches your attention. Wrapped in a white ribbon with your name on it.

Undoing the bow and opening the cardboard reveals flowers. Delicately placed and arranged. You carefully look over the flowers. Yellow chrysanthemums, baby's breath, white lilac, red roses, white roses, daffodils, red carnation.

"Jaemin... is this from you?"

He grins.

"You know the meaning right?"

[iseos]

: IN LOVE WITH A FANTASY

wc. 735 archive. pairing. yang jungwon x fm!r synopsis. heavy is the heart of an unrequited love genre. angst now playing. movies by conan gray

THE MOST ENDURING FRIENDSHIPS BEGAN as an unspoken love story; that's what y/n always believed growing up.

she met jungwon when they were kids; growing up in the same neighborhood, sharing secrets, dreams, and countless adventures.

as they ventured through life together, y/n's platonic love for her best friend jungwon silently evolved into something deeper, something she dared not to speak aloud.

the two had always been inseparable. they were that rare kind of friendship that could weather any storm; one that people would be envious of, one where people were sure that they were bound to fall in love with each other eventually. yet, y/n knew that only she held feelings that transcended the bounds of friendship.

jungwon was a kind, genuine person, the kind of friend who would drop everything to help y/n when she needed it; the one who stayed up late into the night, offering comfort during her darkest moments. and she was the same for him through every heartbreak, success, and life's trials.

throughout the years that they spent at each other's side, y/n couldn't help but hold on to hope.

despite the beautifully tangled web of shared memories they had, she couldn't help but secretly yearn for something more. but instead, she learned to bury her feelings deep inside herself, believing that confessing her love would risk their beautiful friendship.

y/n's unspoken love was her secret world; a world where jungwon felt just as passionately for her as she did for him. she often wished that he would be the one to make the first move, to bridge the gap between her secret world and reality, but it never happened.

jungwon's world seemed to orbit around everyone else but y/n. there were short-lived romances, heartbreaks, and whirlwind flings, but none of them were ever y/n. she watched as he searched for love in others, always hoping that one day he would finally find it in her.

one winter afternoon, as the snow blanketed the city, y/n and jungwon found themselves once again walking home from school together through the quiet, snow-covered streets. the world was painted in shades of white, and the silence seemed to amplify the unspoken emotions that coursed through y/n's heart.

they stopped by a small cafe, the warmth of the cozy interior a stark contrast to the freezing temperatures outside. they settled into a corner table, sipping hot chocolate while warming their bodies and sharing stories, just like they did every winter.

it was an ordinary moment, but for y/n, it began to fill her with an unbearable ache, an ache that she had carried in her heart for far too long.

when they left the cafe, the snow continued to fall, creating a hushed, ethereal world around them. jungwon smiled at her, a typically familiar and comforting gesture, but it felt like a bittersweet reminder of everything she could never have.

their walk came to an end as they stood in front of y/n's house. jungwon hugged her tightly, his warmth seeping through the layers of clothing and into her soul. y/n clung to the moment, secretly hoping for something more, but it remained just that—a fleeting, beautiful moment. she watched him walk away into the snow-covered afternoon, her heart heavy with unspoken words and unrequited love.

y/n couldn't hold the weight of her love anymore. overcome by her feelings for her best friend, she allowed everything she felt for him to come out. however, her words never reached him. they were swallowed by the dense falling snow and swept away by the biting wind.

so jungwon continued to walk home, unaware of her confession.

as the long weeks passed by, eventually, y/n found herself grappling with her ever-present feelings and unsuccessful confession. she couldn't change her heart, nor could she change jungwon's. she had to accept that maybe their friendship was beautiful in its own right, even if it didn't evolve into the love story she had always imagined and desperately hoped for.

and so, y/n continued to be jungwon's confidant, the keeper of his secrets, and the friend he could always count on. she watched him love and lose, and she was always there to pick up the pieces. she couldn't have his heart, but he would always, unknowingly, have hers.

“in my head, we kiss under the stars but we know that’s not what were doing”

© iseos

[jaymari-lyn]

Okay so we've established that all ships have that one artist whose songs are perfectly made for them

So here are my favorite ships and their artist:

Narlie (Nick Nelson + Charlie Spring): One Direction, and I know this one seems like kind of a stretch but hear me out. "Perfect", "What Makes You Beautiful", "Night Changes", and "They Don't Know About Us" fit their relationship so much. Or even like just Harry Styles, because "Late Night Talking" is literally these two wonderful idiots.

Wolfstar (Sirius Black + Remus Lupin): Conan Gray. You can't tell me that "Family Line", "Heather", and "Astronomy" are all not Sirius Black just singing to his werewolf boyfriend. Or that "Best Friend" and "Wish You Were Sober" aren't Remus Lupin coded?!

Byler (Will Byers + Mike Wheeler): My girl, my queen, Olivia Rodrigo. "Happier"? "Good 4 U"? "Traitor"? "Jealousy, Jealousy"? "Lacy"? "Drivers Lisense"? Want to know what all of these songs have in common? They were all written, sung, and produced by William J. Byers.

Steddie (Steve Harrington + Eddie Munson): Taylor Swift, of course! "Wildest Dreams", "Style", "Midnight Rain" "You Belong With Me", "Blank Space", and "Love Story" are all just songs that Taylor wrote specifically for Eddie and Steve.

Jegulus/Starchaser (James Potter + Regulus Black): She is such an icon that she is on this list twice, but once again Taylor Swift. If you try and convince me that James is not in fact the physical embodiment of the whole Lover album, or that Reggie isn't just Reputation in a trench coat, fedora, and sunglasses, then you are just plain wrong.

Ronance (Robin Buckley + Nancy Wheeler): Girl In Red. Do I even need to explain?

Elmax (Eleven Hopper + Max Mayfield): For them I would have to say Katy Perry. "Dark Horse", "Teenage Dream", "Last Friday Night", "I Kissed A Girl", "California Gurls", and "E.T" all scream Elmax to me.

Drarry (Draco Malfoy + Harry Potter): Definetly Ariana Grande. You just know that Draco knows every single word to "7 Rings" and will jump onto a table and belt it out if it comes on at a party. Let's also not forget "Into You", "POV", "34+35", "Positions", "Side to Side", and "Break Up With Your Girlfriend" are all just so Drarry coded.