#guys is this angst or fluff

[randomfandomworks]

Sylus watched as you ran your fingers across the back of the stray you had recently taken in. The small kitten was nothing more than a black ball as it curled in your lap yet he could hear its purring even from his place across the room.

He had nothing against the small animal, he regularly took care of discarded animals himself, it was just that while the cat loved you it must have adored him.

For the past week it could be constantly found with him, padding its way quickly across the floor in an attempt to keep up with his large strides whenever he left the room.

Regularly rubbing against his legs and begging for his attention.

Meowing softly whenever he would fail to acknowledge it or when he would forget and accidentally close the door to his office before it had the chance to enter as well.

Even now it sat content with you only as it kept a watchful eye on him.

It simply had to be around him whenever it could, even when he would scold and scruff it for pawing at Mephisto it would purr in his hold until he would give up and pet it for the next few minutes.

It was quite funny to you, to watch your dear partner have to deal with the small animal, to hear his complaints of already having to deal with one Kitten only for you to bring home another.

Yet he would say these same complaints while gently petting the sleeping cat in his lap.

And then he would wonder why you never believed him when he said he wasn’t attached. When in fact he had obviously become rather adjusted to his two kittens roaming around and asking for his attention.

[everfallenwings]

found family; with sae itoshi -> female reader

imagine volunteering at japan's u20 working a small job but unintentionally becoming friends with SAE ITOSHI... no, not having the usual equal respect and companionship, or expectant friends to lovers. you're the same age as his little brother, so he oddly treats you like a little sister. the weird thing? he's so nonchalant about it.

"excuse me, but they're confirming if you wanted a red or white zip up again..." twiddling with your fingers softly before pointing to your pushy bosses, you seem to be making good friends with the floor while speaking to a famous, pro-league, good-looking but mean soccer player (sae itoshi). your classmates were all practically screaming at how lucky you were to secure volunteer service in professional sports, in professional soccer. i mean, the card collecter boys in your class were practically feining, asking you for autographs and other stupid favours. maybe you could ask for a picture, yeah—you were definitely going to ask sae itoshi for a picture, but that thought was soon dispersed at the man's dismisive tone. "white is fine," the midfielder curtly replies, with a straight face and one hand planted on the side of his hip. "how old are you?" he looks down at you with the world's most unreadable gaze and ridiculously long lower lashes, "sixteen." you reply, finally facing him. "oh," sae dryly responds, that bored look in his eyes in never, "you're about the same age as my little brother."

oh!

"[name], come here." sae itoshi murmurs, laying flat on the floor in the middle of the training center, you look around the empty facility at five in the morning, confirming if he was even POSSIBLY speaking to you again. "yeah?" he tuts on the floor, lifting a muscled leg in your field of vision, "i need help stretching, pull on my leg."

your eyes scan hesitantly over the dangling cleat, before your hands lock around his ankle, attempting to pull and soothe his strange stretching, though definitely failing. why was the midfielder so heavy? he wasn't even trying to make this easier by at least slightly lifting himself. "you're bad at this, not even lukewarm." he'd say, though his tone didn't show any real frustation or intended offense. instead, cerulean eyes blow open when you pull a little too hard and hear something crack that most likely wasn't supposed to.

on other days, he'd pat your head and buy you a popsicle, two for the price of one was a better deal, anyway.

and on the day of japan's u20 verus blue lock's eleven, when RIN ITOSHI's piercing gaze catches the melting popsicle clutched in your hand and sae handing you a napkin, he freezes. his gaze softens in a way that doesn't melt away at the icy chambers of his heart, but instead softens and melts it wholly intead. that day, you were genuinely bewildered and confused that blue lock's number one gave you more dirty looks that day than any actual player on the field.

"your brother is scary," you mutter, causing the taller midfielder beside you perk up in interest. "he kept giving me death glares." sae rolls his eyes at the thought, "maybe he likes you, i dunno. he's in his rebillious phase." it truly made you, at your adolescent age, realise that sae itoshi's head was entirely hollow when not thinking about football. buuut, he buys you ice cream, so who really cares?

-> series masterlist

[theorphicangel]

sunday sukuna thoughts!!!! this is maybe college au!

thinking about sukuna secretly wearing glasses but never wearing them around you because when he was younger he got called 'dorky sukuna' in school and has been ashamed ever since. he'd rather squint than wear his pair in public, only wearing them whenever he's alone

it's only when you catch him early in the mornings at his laptop reading for his glasses that you notice him squint through his glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose

'you wear glasses?'

your voice nearly caused sukuna to jump out of his skin, not even noticing you behind him.

sukuna immediately takes them off, his cheeks heating up. 'no, they're not even mine.'

'so why are you wearing them?' you raise a brow.

sukuna curses under his breath, running a hand through his pink locks.

'what was that?' you tease.

'fucking fine, i wear glasses you have a problem with that?'

'why would I have a problem with that you look cute.'

cute?

he hasn't heard that before.

sukuna's mouth opens and closes, struggling to come up with a response. by this time you walked over to him and placed a kiss on his forehead, 'my cute little dork.'

'oi, watch it.'

[anintrovertedechoe]

no thoughts just hugging mammon with everything you have and crying into the nape of his neck while he hugs you just as tight, just as hard, just as desperately, but also so gently because he’s afraid he’ll break you with how delicate you are right now.

no thoughts just slumping against him after crying out everything left in you and falling asleep while he still holds onto you and kisses the crown of your head because he knows you won’t notice.

no thoughts just his heart breaking because if he had his way he would take your pain onto himself in a heartbeat but he can’t and that’s what hurts the most.

no thoughts just mammon staying with you like that the whole night and checking your pulse occasionally and feeling relieved at it’s presence because it means you’re still here with him.

no thoughts just falling asleep with your first man and having him treat you like you’re the most precious thing in all of the three realms.

no thoughts; just mammon being your rock like he always is.

[pencil-n-pen]

HANDLE WITH CARE

₊˚⊹

──────────────────────

hotch x fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: spending the night at aaron’s usually puts you at ease, but not tonight. A broken mug brings up old memories, but he still has a way of soothing away old hurts.

cw: implied/referenced past abuse

a/n: honestly idk i just wanted to write hotch comfort. this has been in my drafts since like day 1 of this acc

──────────────────────

⊹ .

It’s really stupid, in hindsight.

In the moment though, it was really, really scary.

It was late. This is mistake number one.

You were trying to quietly make tea and whatever odd hour it was. You can’t check the oven timer. It just keeps flashing 12:00.

Making tea quietly is hard, though. Every sound seems to echo and all the shadows seem to crawl. You’re this close to closing the living room curtains you can see from the corner of your eye. You don’t, though. Not being able to see would be worse.

Anyway. You’re trying to make tea quietly. You’re staying over at Hotch’s —Aaron’s, as he insists you call him when you’re alone— Jack is away at a sleepover. It’s just the two of you.

You couldn’t sleep. Usually, being with Hotch is the strongest sleep aid in the world. You tend to conk out the second your arms find his in bed.

But not tonight.

Tonight you slept in fitful bursts. Your skin prickled and crawled with restless anticipation- of what, you’re not sure.

Not wanting to disturb his sleep on such a rare day off, you got up. Tried to do what you did when you had nights like these before him. Only watching tv is too loud and you don’t have any books here.

Thus: tea.

It started raining a little while after you got up. The pattering of the droplets against the roof and the windows helps drown out the racket you’re making.

You’re not really making a racket, you tell yourself. It just sounds like you are because it’s night. This would all sound normal in the daylight.

It’s the mantra that keeps you going on nights like these. You’ll feel normal in the daylight. It’ll go away in the daylight. You won’t feel so haunted in the daylight.

In the daylight, in the daylight, in the daylight.

You get lost in your thoughts. It happens fairly often on nights like these.

Only Aaron’s stove is newer than yours. It heats up faster.

The teapot lets out a terrible, wailing hiss, shattering the fragile silence.

You lunge for the kettle, hands moving too quickly and too clumsily to move it off the burner. Your fingers slip. The side of the kettle slams into your forearm, and you don’t quite manage to stamp down the pained yelp that rips its way from your throat the second the searing pain registers.

Your nervous system reacts before you do. It jerks your arm to the right, away from the kettle.

And into your empty mug.

You watch in horrified slow-motion as the cup is swiped off the counter, falling to the floor in an explosion of porcelain.

Your arm is screaming in pain. There is boiling water and a hot tea kettle on the floor. There are shards of mug everywhere.

You hear a thump. The creak of a door opening that signifies Aaron coming out of the bedroom, Aaron being awake, Aaron coming to you.

For a moment, your brain just… catches. Sort of like it gets stuck in this web of fear-induced indecision.

The footsteps sound rushed. They come closer.

To compensate for the momentary freeze, your brain kicks into its highest gear.

You drop to your knees on the floor of the kitchen so quickly they crack on the linoleum. You can’t tell if the sting is from the fall or the boiling water. Would it still be hot? Is it still hot?

The footsteps stop. You scramble to get a hold of the pieces of the mug, shaking fingers grabbing, grabbing, grabbing. They’re clutched tight in your palm when you speak, words rushed and tumbling out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please go to bed, I’ll clean this all up—“

A hand reaches out for yours and you flinch. Not a full body one. Just like what happened with the burn. Your nervous system reacts before your brain can process. Takes your hand away from the threat.

Only the hand stills. Stops, right where it is, and your entire body feels funny, and something doesn’t seem right.

Then you stop too. You don’t move. You don’t grab more pieces of the mug, but you don’t drop the ones you have either. Your knees are throbbing. Your arm is burning, stabs of stinging pain pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

The hand retreats and the person crouches down, and you recognize those pajama pants, that hand, those feet.

“Honey?”

You keep your eyes trained on the mess. On the wreckage.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks over the words.

“Shh,” He hums, and the hand reaches out again, slower, closes over your wrist and turns your hand over. A second hand pries your fingers apart and gently shakes your hand, the mug shards dropping to the floor, tinged scarlet. They mix with the spilled water, washing the kitchen floor a kaleidoscope of linoleum and sharp edges and pinky-red water.

He gently pulls you up to your feet, strong arm going around your waist. It doesn’t cage you, doesn’t box you in. Another hand turns your head away from the kitchen floor and all at once a switch flicks in your brain, and you remember. Where you are, who you’re with.

If Aaron notices your sharp intake of breath, he doesn’t say anything. He leads you to the bathroom, sits you on the toilet lid, and pulls out the extensive first aid kit he keeps under the sink.

“Can I see your arm?”

You hold it out to him, looking at his face only when he’s not looking at you.

He doesn’t look mad. You still have the vague urge to run.

He examines it carefully. “It’s only first degree, but it’s fairly big. We’ll need to run it under cool water for at least ten minutes, and then apply some burn cream and bandage it.”

He’s telling you exactly what he’s going to do. Talking you through all the steps. So you won’t be caught off guard by anything.

“Sweetheart,” He crouches down in front of you again, and you feel bad for his knees, “I’m going to need some sort of confirmation.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” Your voice is raw, “I think I bruised my knees when I— when I fell.”

Your pajamas consist of an oversized shirt —one of his— and a pair of pajama shorts. It’s helpful because he doesn’t have to roll up any pant legs to check your knees. It’s unhelpful because in the adrenaline crash, the bathroom is cold, and so is the toilet lid.

Your shivers of fear are replaced with ones of cold. A small but marked improvement.

He examines your knees, thumbs brushing deftly over the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Looks like you might’ve cut one of them on one of the pieces. It’s not too big, though. Better than your hands.”

You wince at the mention.

He stands, pulling you up with him.

“What hurts the worst?”

“Burn.”

“We’ll take care of it first.”

He turns the sink tap on, checking and double checking the temperature is to his approval before gently guiding your arm under the water. It stings on first contact, and you bite your lip through the pain. You’re sure you’ve made enough noise for the night. The pain mellows, relief following hot on its heels.

Aaron stands behind you, his presence a solid weight. One hand holds your arm in place under the water, the other hovers over the faucet, ready to make any adjustments to the temperature at your word.

You don’t make any.

You’re tired, abruptly. Your hand still stings and your knees ache, but without the sharp stabbing of the pain in your arm, the exhaustion of the past five minutes rushes into you all at once and you sag, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Aaron catches you, hand over the faucet leaving to place a steady hand on your waist.

“You’re not going to hit me. Or yell at me.”

He presses his face into the back of your neck, not so much as kissing your nape as just pressing his lips against the skin there.

“I’m not.”

“I know that,” you say, going for confident but tripping and falling into desperate, “I know that. I was just. I forgot. In the moment, and I got scared.”

The hand on your waist squeezes once.

“I was scared too, you know.”

“Why?”

“Because you were scared,” You can feel his chest vibrate as he speaks, “And you were hurt. And for just a moment, I didn’t know how to help you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for. I was scared for you.”

“I know, I’m just. I know how rare days off are for you, and I was trying to be quiet, so you could sleep but I—“

“Hey, hey. Slow down. Don’t work yourself up.”

He moves your arm back and forth under the water, slowly working the angles of the burn so it all gets evenly cooled.

“Sorry,” You say again, both for lack of anything else to say and just to make sure he knows that you are. Guilt pulses and pounds to the same beat as your heart, to the same rhythm as the pain in your knees and your hands.

“I know you are,” He murmurs, voice a gentle wash of concern and something tender. He always knows just the right thing to say, especially when you’re like this. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not upset.”

“I know,” You answer, and this time he doesn’t respond. He probably knows that your words weren’t for him.

He works methodically through applying the cream and bandages, and then as he fixes up your hands and knees. You’re careful to keep your eyes trained on his, focusing on the feel of his hands and not the fear that jackrabbits in your chest every time your focus slips.

Once finished, he guides you to your feet, and there’s still concern etched in the lines of his face, right in between his brows. That’s where he always keeps it— his worry.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

You could. You should. He’s tired. He deserves to sleep in and you should be able to fall asleep again, because he’ll be there, and everything is fine, and you are fine.

But there’s still pieces of mug on the floor and you feel like there’s pieces of you stuck there too, and your mouth goes dry, and you never did drink that tea, and what’ll happen to the mess? What will things look like in the daylight?

Foolish? A foolish girl, yes— always overreacting.

“Honey?” He says for the second time tonight.

Your face crumples. “I’m sorry.”

He folds himself around you again, easily. His arms slot into place like a puzzle piece- always the right angle, the right feel, the right amount of pressure. He holds you together as you cry, frustrated and tired and all the things you’d tried so desperately not to let show.

“You’re okay,” He whispers, hand smoothing over your neck, your back. All those vulnerable places that itch. “You’re okay.”

He repeats the words as your cries quiet to sniffles, as you start to think he might be right.

You pull away, wiping your hands across your face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what— I’m okay now, I think.”

His eyes search your face, looking for any signs that isn’t true. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I know,” You say, and you really do believe it this time, “I just… it’s frustrating. That this still happens. That you still need to do this. It happened so long ago, and I don’t even think about it anymore, really. It’s weird, it’s just- the mug. It broke and I just… I don’t know.”

Aaron listens attentively to your rambles, no sign of being annoyed or exasperated or anything. “I understand. Healing isn’t linear, sweetheart. There are things that happened to me many years ago that I still think about.”

He dips down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “And I will always do this. Always.”

For the first time tonight, you believe him, fully.

You’ll be okay. Maybe not now, but you will be.

۫ ꣑ৎ

[neoheros]

kageyama is having a horrible night.

he’s hungry, cold, and pissed – and now, to add a new thing to that roster, he finds himself lost in this big ass apartment building now too.

and to be honest, it just about serves him right for ditching hoshiumi and the others back in the parking lot downstairs.

they can’t really blame him though. they were taking way too long in the car, arguing over and over again on how to make an entrance into “enemy territory”, when really its just another harmless reunion party they’ve all been forced to attend.

still, despite all of that, kageyama finds himself here — lost and alone in an empty building corridor, mentally berating himself for forgetting which door number he was actually supposed to go into.

he supposes he could always just text hinata and ask, he would know after all, considering it’s miya freaking atsumu’s apartment this stupid get-together thing’s being held at.

he grumbles to himself again at the thought.

it’s only been a few hours since the adlers vs. jackals match ended and much to kageyama’s dissatisfaction (and surprise), the jackals won over him and his team by a wopping 15 points.

15 of which were scored with atsumu’s sets.

and now, not only is he supposed to live with losing to someone like atsumu miya, but he’s supposed to be a guest at his apartment now too? he really doesn’t want to be here.

“are you here for the party?”

a voice snaps him out of his inner grumblings, and suddenly, he’s back in the cold apartment corridor.

the voice he finds (you) looks at him quizzically, and he realizes there that you’re also pointing towards the door in front of where he’s standing.

he hasn’t really met you before, but he does recognizes you as one of the people in the picture hinata keeps on the back of his phone case.

were you part of the reunion thing too?

“yeah.” he nods, quiet, and its only now he notices the amount of brown paper bags you carry in your arms, it looks like snacks and groceries, so he says, “do you need help with that?”

“would you?” you smile at him, “thank you so much.”

he takes the paper bags in your arms and in return, you open the door for him. you had your own set of keys for the apartment it seemed, so maybe you really were a close friend to the jackals after all.

the two of you take your shoes off as you enter the doorway, and he’s only a little bit startled when you call out, “we’re here!”

kageyama takes a quick scan around the room. there’s at least 10-15 people who showed, half of them he knows from his high school days and the other half he only sees in passing when he plays them during practice matches or official games.

the turn out to this reunion thing is impressive, speaking volumes for the kind of man atsumu miya is for being able to host such a thing.

(he’s more surprised this amount of people like atsumu so much to turn up to such a pointless party. the only thing he remembered about the fake blond back in high school was how punchable his face was.)

the apartment itself isn’t really that impressive to begin with, it’s a standard two bedroom japanese flat, but the way it’s been decorated makes it feel a whole lot more different — homier.

“you can place the bags here.” you tell him, pointing to the kitchen counter, and he remembers that he’s no longer as alone as he was earlier tonight.

he does as he’s told, quiet, skittish, polite and he watches you walk past the kitchen counter and start opening cabinet drawers.

“kageyama, right?”

he isn’t that surprised to know that you already know his name, you are pretty close to hinata after all.

“yes.” he tells you, nodding, “tobio kageyama.”

“shoyo showed me a couple photos of the two of you guys a while back.” you say, rummaging through the kitchen fridge now, “so i recognized you when i saw you at the doorway.”

you turn back to him after another second, a proud smile on your face as you show him what you’d been looking for — drinks.

you hand him the bottle on your right hand and you introduce yourself to him finally, a small smile on your face that he finds actually really nice that he almost misses the part where you say your last name too.

“miya?” he asks, taking the drink you’re offering, “you’re miya too?”

it would make sense if you were, seeing as how comfortable you were in this apartment of his or how close you were to all his teammates.

besides, it wouldn’t be the first time kageyama’s met someone related to atsumu miya anyway, but this time it was less obvious, considering the fact that you don’t share his face and all that.

“are you related to atsumu?” he asks, although a bit obvious.

and you give him a playful smile, shoulders rising a little bit as it kind of gets you to laugh, “something like that.”

hoshiumi and the others still haven’t gotten here yet and he’s got half a mind to just ditch them and leave for making him wait by himself for so long.

but the other half of his thoughts are here, sharing a drink with you, and he thinks, okay, it isn’t so bad.

“so, kageyama,” you nudge his shoulder, “you here alone?”

he shakes his head, “i came with a few of my teammates… hoshiumi korai? but i think i lost them on the way here.”

(he omits the fact that he did leave them deliberately. but if he’s asked, he’ll admit the fact that they deserved it.)

“well, what do they look like? maybe i can help you find them.” you tell him, and immediately you looked more eager to do so than he’d expected.

you were very friendly and polite, a lot different from the usual characters he’d usually meet on the court. not to mention the fact that you’re supposedly related to someone like atsumu miya, someone he knows for a fact was very much not friendly and polite at all.

“he’s short.” is his simple response, and he follows up, just as casually, “like a pigeon.”

that gets you to smile, and weirdly enough, kageyama thinks it’s nice.

“looking for a short pigeon.” you nod, “coming right up.”

you laugh a little bit as you say it, and he thinks well, your laugh is nice too.

to be honest, maybe its the people or maybe its the mood and atmosphere of the party, but kageyama isn’t as invested in looking for his friends anymore.

he feels his ears get warm at that sentiment.

was that a weird thing to think about somebody you just met? he really doesn’t know.

hoshiumi has been hounding him since the day they met that he needed to be more social and less of a recluse, but kageyama always thought of hoshiumi as the human equivalent of a bouncy house, so he didn’t really pay that much attention towards his words.

“do you play volleyball?” he asks you, and he doesn’t really know why. he hates small talk, but he thinks its nice when you talk to him.

“not at all.” you laugh with a shake of your head, “i’m mostly here for shoyo and the other guys.”

the two of you walk around the apartment now, both in hopes to suddenly run into hoshiumi and the other team mates in the midst of the crowd.

you pass by different faces all familiar to him, and they all say their heys and hellos to the both of you, but you seem to receive them a lot warmer than he does.

if he didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like you were the one hosting and not atsumu with the way everyone here greeted you — where was he, anyway?

“actually, before i met them, i had no clue what the hell a libero was.” there’s a soft laugh in your voice as you speak, and he’s all the more glad he made small talk.

you give him a bashful smile, “now i wanna be one just so i can be the only person on the team with a cuter shirt.”

that makes kageyama smile a little bit too. a smile small enough for it to be polite, but still big enough for him to know that it may actually be genuine.

in all truths and honesty, he really doesn’t care about where his teammates are anymore. they could have left and ditched him here for the evening and he felt that it still would’ve been fine.

kageyama has a hard time meeting people. they always think he’s too mean or too cold or too reclusive, and he can’t really blame them, for that’s really just the way he is.

he’s been resigned to this personality for forever that it just seems pointless to try and change anything about it now. if people don’t like him then fine, he’s not asking to be liked anyway.

but for some reason, tonight feel different, different here and different with you.

the conversation feels easy and your words are kind and polite, almost sweet. you smile a lot as you talk to him, and he thinks it’s nice to see every single time.

( it almost makes him think, maybe he isn’t as bad as company as people make him out to be. )

the two of you had done an entire lap around the apartment by now, back at the starting point of where the two of you first met, and still no sign of his team mates that were supposed to be here with him.

“well, should we try calling them?” you suggest, and he only shakes his head in return, you’ve already done so much for him tonight.

he sees you take your phone out of your pocket though and a different idea pops into his head, and immediately, his face feels warmer than it did a moment ago.

hoshiumi’s always been hounding him about being too much of a recluse, always going on and on about how he should seize opportunities and meet new people, and he’s always thought it was a load of bull.

“actually.” he begins, and kageyama feels embarrassed almost to even think about what he’s about to ask you.

but it’s a party and where else would opportunities be seized and where else would he meet new people that made him smile so easily.

so he swallows down his pride a little bit, and he looks at the ground, seemingly having an easier time looking at anything else aside from you, and he says, ears pink and all, “may i ask for your numb-”

“tobio-kun, glad to see ya make it.”

he doesn’t get to finish his question and when he looks up from the floor, he finally sees the man he’s been looking for all evening.

atsumu miya really does have a punchable face.

but it’s so much worse right now as he stands next to you, smug and proud to have seen him at such an embarrassing moment that kageyama could only hope that you didn’t hear him.

“atsumu.” he makes a polite nod of acknowledgment, straightening himself as he bows slightly, “thank you for having me.”

kageyama ignores the look atsumu’s giving him, and he says instead, “you have a lovely home.”

atsumu only gives him a shrug and kageyama swears he’s looking at him the same exact way he does when he sees him talk to hinata on the court.

the three of you stand by the doorway. awkward.

you clear your throat and the two of them look at you now.

“well, it’s all thanks to me, really.” you give them both a nudge, and atsumu knows the laugh you intertwine with your words feel nervous.

kageyama sees you give the blond man to your side a look, and atsumu deflates a little bit, but his menacing — and oh so punchable — demeanor is gone almost instantly.

its less awkward now.

you pat atsumu on the shoulder, “if it were up to this guy, it’d be paper plates kitchenware and dirty socks all over the floor all the time.”

it’s quiet for a second.

then kageyama raises a brow, “you two live together?”

and atsumu quickly replies, “obviously.”

( you nudge atsumu on the shoulder again, harder this time, and you roll your eyes when he says “ow!” )

you look at kageyama, feeling a little bit sorry for him at the confusion this all must be causing him.

“not by choice.” you give him a short smile, and you point to atsumu with another roll of your eyes.

“he’s my husband, so i’m forced to live with him.”

. . . oh.

it takes a second for your words to click in kageyama’s head, another second to notice the bright gold band on atsumu’s ring finger, and one last second to realize that you had been wearing one this entire time too.

. . . oh.

if kageyama hadn’t felt like an idiot before, he sure feels it and a million times more now.

he makes a mental note to never listen to anything hoshiumi tells him ever again, and another mental note to hit hinata in the head for not ever mentioning that atsumu miya, the most punchable guy on the planet, is married to you, the kindest person he’s ever met.

his words feel dry on his throat, his ears a darker shade of pink just from pure embarassment alone, and he chokes out, “ah — congratulations.”

and atsumu smiles widely, not missing a beat, “i set the bar high, i know.”

( surely, this guy has been punched before. )

you look like you’re about to say something to kageyama, (probably something consoling) but before you get the chance to, a stroke of luck in his favor finally happens, and finally — finally — after all evening, kageyama hears hoshiumi call for his name.

truly, he’s never been happier to hear his human bouncy house call for him.

kageyama turns to you quickly, and he bows, polite, “please excuse me, i finally see my friends.”

he sounds eager and quick to leave as he speaks, “thank you for your help and thank you for having me into your home.”

“its not a problem at all.” you tell him, and you kind of feel sorry for him just by looking at how much he already wants to leave.

before kageyama goes though, he looks to you one last time, ears still pink and eyes still avoidant.

still, he tells you, “it was very nice to meet you.” and then he’s gone.

atsumu watches kageyama leave, an amused smile on his face at the sight of how quickly he’s walking just to escape his vicinity, and a second passes, maybe another, and he’s lost in the crowd again.

the two of you are alone now, leaning together by the wall of the door and you nudge atsumu on his side, “you were mean.”

and your husband scoffs at you, “don’t think i didn’t hear him try and ask for ye’r number.”

you wave him off, and he moves closer to you.

finally, he felt like he’s been missing from you all night.

“ah, let it go, he didn’t know.” you wave your hand as you dismiss him, and you smile, “besides, what would you have done, hm? hit him?”

“no.” your husband crosses his arms against his chest, scoffing loudly, almost sounding offended if you didn’t know him so well.

but then he peeks an eye open, tone immediately changing, and he follows, “why? would you have found it hot if i did?”

you laugh and he is closer to you. “absolutely not.”

( you don’t get to experience the smug and punchable atsumu miya everyone else gets, when he is with you, the only smiles shared are big and happy and in between kisses and hugs. )

atsumu pulls you into his arms loosely, just to get you closer, just so he can touch you, “then i must be soooo hot right now because i didn’t, right?”

“oh, yes, definitely.” you match him in every way, “you are soooo hot and sexy for not assaulting anyone on our brand new carpet.”

“oh, i get sexy too? here i was being all humble with just hot.” he teases, and there may be lots of people in the apartment you share right now, but it still feels like its just the two of you together. “you’re very easy to please.”

you laugh — the way he always makes you laugh — and he kisses you, because who could resist kissing you? you kiss him back briefly, your smile breaking the kiss eventually as you push him off.

“i’m married to you.” you say, and you’re as playful as he is, “my bar is very low.”

people are always so shocked to hear it when atsumu introduces himself as your husband, and he knows, for good reason, that yes, it is because the two of you are married so young.

but he also knows that aside from that — and this one makes him very proud — that the shock and surprise doesn’t only come from your age, but from something else entirely too.

because not only is atsumu miya married at 21, but he is also married to someone who’s the complete opposite of him; someone who’s as perfect as you.

[flwrstqr]

୨୧ ❛ ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE REACTION WHEN YOU CALL THEM A PETNAME IN FRONT OF THEIR MEMBERS

﹙ 𝓹𝐥𝐨𝐭 ♡𝓹𝐫é𝐜𝐢𝐬 enha hyung line x fem!r. 𖥔fluff, headcanons ot7 works one shot wordcount` 700. 𓈃 ◌⠀⠀˖ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𓏵⠀

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

heeseung’s eyes widen in surprise when you casually call him “baby” in front of the other members. his cheeks immediately flush a soft pink as he glances around, hoping no one heard. unfortunately, sunghoon smirks and jake lets out a teasing whistle, while jungwon raises an eyebrow in amusement. "did you just...?" heeseung stammers, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it cool but clearly flustered. you smile sweetly at him, completely unbothered. “what? you are my baby,” you tease, making him groan softly in embarrassment. "not in front of the guys," he mutters, voice low, though the shy smile tugging at his lips betrays his true feelings. despite the teasing, you can tell he secretly loves it. the other members keep poking fun at him, but heeseung just leans in closer to you, whispering, “you’re lucky i love you.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종���)

jay freezes for a second when you call him “love” in front of the members. his ears turn a little red, but he quickly recovers, trying to play it off coolly. "did you just call him love?" sunoo snickers, and niki grins widely. jay shoots them a half-hearted glare but can’t hide the small, proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “what? she’s allowed to,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a hint of softness in his voice. you giggle, leaning closer to him, “you like it, don’t you, love?” his face turns even redder, and he sighs, covering his face with his hand, but you catch the way his eyes sparkle behind them. “maybe,” he mutters under his breath, clearly enjoying the attention despite his embarrassment. the members keep teasing him, but jay just wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as if to say he doesn’t mind at all.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake’s eyes light up instantly when you casually call him “baby” in front of the members. he flashes you his signature bright smile, completely unfazed, but the guys aren’t about to let it slide. “baby, huh?” sunghoon teases, raising an eyebrow, while heeseung lets out a playful laugh. jake just grins wider, clearly loving the attention. “yeah, what about it?” he says confidently, giving you a quick wink that makes your heart flutter. you can’t help but giggle at how easily he handles the teasing. “so cheesy,” jungwon chuckles, shaking his head. jake shrugs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. “i don’t care, i like it,” he says, his voice warm and genuine. you blush at his boldness, and despite the teasing, the other members smile at how happy he looks, knowing he’s completely smitten.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

sunghoon freezes the moment you call him “babe” in front of the members, his eyes going wide as he processes what just happened. jay is the first to snicker, followed by niki, who barely holds back a laugh. “did you just call him babe?” sunoo teases, a grin spreading across his face. sunghoon’s ears turn bright red, and he stammers, “wh-what? no—i mean, yes, but…” he’s clearly flustered, trying to avoid the members’ teasing looks, but you can see the hint of a shy smile forming. “you don’t like it?” you ask innocently, leaning closer. he glances at you, cheeks still flushed, and mutters, “i didn’t say that.” despite the embarrassment, he softly bumps his shoulder against yours, as if to let you know he secretly enjoys it. the members continue to tease him, but sunghoon stays close to you, trying to hide his blush but clearly loving every second of it.

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

Bored days

[iamgonnagetyouback]

you can keep talking ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ●ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ spencer reid

spencer reid who speaks in statistics and spirals. who gets so excited when his mind begins to string facts and patterns together, he doesn’t even notice the hours slipping past. who gestures wildly with his hands while talking, voice bouncing softly as he explains a theory, a memory, a moment from his childhood—until he notices you’re quiet. too quiet.

spencer reid who finds you curled up beside him, asleep. and something in his chest tightens. not because he’s angry—he could never be—but because some wounded part of him thinks, of course. of course he bored you. of course he talked too much. he shuts his mouth instantly, lips pressed together in a quiet, familiar regret.

spencer reid who gently adjusts the blanket over your shoulders. who brushes a hand over your hair with the softest touch, the kind only someone who adores you would know how to give. he whispers “goodnight” even though he wasn’t finished. he never really is. the silence that follows is a lullaby he’s learned to live with.

you who wakes up with guilt curling in your stomach like smoke. because you remember the way his eyes dim when he thinks he's too much. you remember how he once told you he learned to count the seconds people stay interested before they drift. and now you’ve gone and confirmed it—you fell asleep.

you who cups his face in your hands and whispers you’re sorry, so sorry. and spencer who looks up at you like he doesn’t understand why you're crying. he says it's okay, really, but the way he avoids your gaze tells you it still stings. so you make him sit back down. you ask him to tell you everything from the beginning.

spencer reid who blinks in surprise, then slowly starts again. who watches your eyes this time, tentative and cautious, until your hand finds his and stays. and when you repeat back what you remember, ask questions, lean forward with that soft look only meant for him—he realizes you’re listening. you always were. you just needed rest.

spencer reid who talks slower now, but with the same love. and you who never interrupts, who makes mental notes of every reference, every name, every thread of thought that lights him up. because to love spencer is to listen. and he’s never been so quiet in his heart before.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[kitchen-spoon]

Thinking about Steve and Eddie when they first get together. Steve worries because they are so different and is afraid Eddie will think he is boring. He throws himself into all of Eddies interests and hobbies and one day it all boils over.

Steve knew he was going to get a migraine that day the minute he woke up. He could feel it in the way his jaw was clenched and his head was already aching. But tonight was important, Eddie had a gig at the hideout and he had to be there. He’d listened to Eddie give passionate grandiose speeches about becoming famous one day and how music was his passion, his life. So Steve popped an ibuprofen drank and extra glass of water and went to work.

Keith wasn’t in so he kept the lights off in the store as long as the sun allowed him, then wore sunglasses as he vacuumed under the flickering florescent lights. By the time he clocked out his head was pounding and he could feel his pulse in his sinuses. But he just took another ibuprofen, kept the sunglasses on and drove to the hideout.

By the time he made it Corroded coffin was 10 minutes away from starting so he had no chance to see Eddie. Instead he tucked himself away in a booth at the back of the bar with a water. He took the few minutes he had to pop in some earplugs and rest his eyes, praying and hoping to all hope he could just make it through Eddie’s set.

When the bands name was called Steve’s eyes popped open. He was greeted with aura’s all around wherever he looked no matter how hard he tried to blink them away. He tried giving his head a shake and immediately regretted it, slumping down in the booth and clutching his hair as he waited for the pain to reverberate its way through his skull.

He just needed to make it through Eddie’s set then he could go home and lay in the dark, sleep it off. He couldn’t disappoint Eddie he had to be there. He clutched the table and he forced himself up and out of the booth, using chairs for balance as he stumbled his way as far into the crowd as he could. Each bump against him sent shocks of pain bouncing through his head but he kept going as far as his feet would take him, finally stopping when he his steps stuttered and he couldn’t catch his breath anymore.

And after all that what did it was the first tap of Eddie’s finger against the mic sending ear splitting feedback through the speakers. Steve crumpled like his strings had been cut, his knees slamming against the sticky bar floor as he went down.

The next thing Steve knows he’s laying on a couch, someones hands are in his hair massaging his scalp and all the lights are off.

“Whu?” He makes to get up but the hands in his fair stop him, along with a familiar voice.

“Lay back down baby.” Eddie spoke softly, and he coaxed Steve into laying back down. “You went down pretty hard and its going to hit you soon”

“M’sorry.” Steve mumbled feeling his face go hot. “Please tell me you at least played?”

“Oh god no, the minute you went down I hopped off that stage and hauled you back here, I could tell what it was from the sunglasses and earplugs.” Eddie kept his voice gentle and his fingers continued to move, migrating down to Steve’s temples.

This was horrible Steve had ruined it all, he could feel the tears begin to sting his eyes. “God I’m so sorry.” Steve sat up, resisting Eddie’s gentle attempts to lay him back down. “I- please.” His voice broke, his hands flew up into his hair right where’s Eddie’s had been but his grip was much less soothing. “Please I swear I didn’t mean to. I can make it through concerts and shows, I don’t even get migraines all that often.” He began to plead, his eyes wild as they leaked tears, straining to make out Eddie’s face in the limited light from a crack in the door. “Just please don’t dump me, I swear this just it was bad timing on my part. Please don’t dump me Eddie.” Steve’s sobbing was adding to his headache but he was too far past it all to care, the sinking feeling of his heart in his stomach was more prevalent anyways.

Even in the limited light of the room Steve could see Eddie’s brows furrowing. He opened his mouth again, ready to beg and plead some more but one of Eddie’s hands coming up and gently cupping his face stopped him in his tracks. His mouth snapping shut when Eddie’s thumb reached up to wipe his tears away.

“Honey you need to slow down, and breathe.” Eddie instructed calmly, his free hand coming up to rest against Steve’s chest. “Nobody is leaving nobody so breathe for me okay?”

Steve followed the movements of Eddie’s shaded body , sinking the flex and release of his ribs and stomach to the outline of Eddie’s.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered again once his heart was no longer racing and he could breathe on his own again. He couldn’t meet Eddie’s eyes though, and only did when a warm calloused finger tipped it up.

“You have nothing to apologize for baby, why don’t you tell me why you’re so worried about me dumping you though?” Eddie’s head tilted, his hands roaming up and down Steve’s arms slowly.

“We’re just so different and I’m so scared you’re gonna wake up one day and realize you could be so much happier with someone more like you. So I started getting into all your hobbies to show you I can be interesting too.” Steve felt stupid now that he had to admit it out loud.

“Oh baby, I like that we are so different. You don’t have to be anyone but who you are, because thats the Steve that I like. And for the record I’d never be upset at you missing a show for Migraine by the way.” Eddie ducked his head to the side to catch Steve’s eyes.

“But music is so important to you, it’s your passion!” Steve tried to protest.

But Eddie shook his head, his hands migrating up to cradle Steve’s face. “Yes but, Stevie baby hear me when I say this; I love you, I would never ask you to hurt yourself for me, that’s incredibly selfish thats not what love is.”

“I- really, your sure its okay I won’t always be able to come? Even when you’re rich and famous?” Steve questioned his heart still not believing it.

“Of course honey! If anything all the money I make being rich and famous will be used to spoil you anyway. I’ll get you any and all help for your migraines too. We are a team baby.” Eddie pulled Steve into his chest.

Steve instantly melted into the embrace, clutching at Eddie’s clothes and he rocked the two of them, one hand back in Steve’s hair to try and distract from the migraine.

[natalievoncatte]

There was something decidedly… insistent about Lena’s footsteps. Kara knew it was her, of course, when she picked up Lena heading towards her apartment. Not just her heart rate but her breathing and mumbling to herself and the way she walked, her footfalls painting a picture of how she was walking, and she was mad.

Kara expected a complaint when she opened the door. Lena would sometimes launch without preamble into a rant about this investor or that senator or some such executive at this or that company and just rant adorably, balling her little fists. Kara would never tell her, because she’d feel patronized, but Lena genuinely was cute when she was angry.

Well, annoyed. When she was really angry, throwing a fit angry, fed up with the world angry, she was something else entirely. Kara would move heaven and earth, quite literally, to address whatever bothered her. When she was sad it was even worse and Kara just wanted to bundle her up in her invulnerable arms and shelter her from everything forever.

Lena walked into the apartment, not looking at Kara, and clearly fuming. She dropped the order she’d picked up on the way into the kitchen island and stared at it, then finally glared at Kara. There was no mistaking the subject of her anger.

Kara fidgeted nervously. She shifted on her feet, feeling a pressure of Lena’s gaze that forced her own away.

“Lena? Is something wrong?” She swallowed, hard. “Bad day?”

“Something is wrong,” Lena said, very softly, in the icy tone she reserved for the fools she did not suffer gladly. “Take off your glasses.”

“What?”

“Take off your glasses, Kara.”

“But I can’t see…”

Lena stepped forward and put her hand on the takeout order in its plastic bag. Kara had ordered it and Lena had agreed to pick it up, far from be first time they’d done that. Lena often ordered for them and Kara brought it when Lena was hosting.

Right now Lena was trembling, head tilted forward like she meant to charge, eyes locked on Kara.

“Glasses. Off.”

Kara hesitated briefly.

“Okay,” she muttered, screaming at herself not to do this, pleading for some kind of distraction.

All she wanted to do tonight was curl up with Lena on the couch and watch a movie and focus very very hard on not giving away how badly she wanted to make out with her.

Kara slowly took the earpieces in her hands and slipped them off, setting the too-heavy frames on the table with a soft clunk. The word rushed in, sounds more vibrant and distracting, colors almost unpleasantly sharp.

Lena was staring at her. Her nostrils flared and her fists clenched. She took her hand from the food bag and took another step forward, then another, finally picking up the glasses in her own hand, feeling them. She raised them as if to put them on and stared through them.

“For someone who says she’s blind without them, these glasses don’t have a very strong prescription, do they.”

Possibilities raced through Kara’s mind. Things she could say, things she might do. She’d squeaked out of this before, somehow evaded Lena’s staggering intellect. She had seen curiosity darken her brows, maybe even brief moments of suspicion.

This was different. Heavier. More serious.

“What gave me away?”

“Everything, really. All the pieces were there this whole time, but I just refused to put them together on my own. It took a flat out slap in the face to make me choose to see it.”

Kara’s chest felt like it was caving in. Everything was going wrong. Her chin quivered and the tears began welling hot behind her eyes.

Lena looked at her flatly. “The guy at the take out place asked me why I was picking up Supergirl’s order. I asked him what the hell he was talking about and he told me Supergirl comes on all the time. Then he showed me a selfie.”

Kara licked her lips.

“It has to be a mistake.”

“They have your number on their speed dial as Supergirl, Kara. You let their delivery kid take a selfie in your suit. They wouldn’t let me pay for it. The old lady that owns the place said ‘Supergirls girlfriend, no charge!’ and started laughing.”

Kara stared at her.

“Lena…”

“You better have a good fucking explanation for why your favorite restaurant knows who you really are and not your supposed best friend.”

The tension in their air was palpable, electric. Kara could feel it like the gathering energy in the air before a storm, ready to burst forth with energy and life or mindless destruction. She folded her arms around herself and looked down.

“You do know me,” Kara finally said. “You do know who I really am. You’re the only person who does.”

Lena’s extension was fixed, intense, edging between a scowl and a pout, and Kara realized with a start that she was holding back tears of her own.

“You’re the only person that knows me as me. You know me without Supergirl, but without all the fake stuff I do so people won’t realize I’m Supergirl. I don’t have to pretend to be clumsy with you. You’re not always looking at me like I’m super strong or super fast. I can just be me when I’m with you.”

“You’ve lied to me so many times,” Lena said, after drawing in a deep breath. “Running away from our lunches, telling me wild stories about where you disappear to at work, and I just bought every bit of it. You must think I’m an easy mark.”

“No, never.”

“I’ve always had it in the back of my head. I always thought there was something there, something between us that kept you from really, truly being yourself with me. The way your touches are always so whisper-light and you’re always stealing glances at me. Like you were afraid with every word or movement that you’d give something away.”

“Lena,” Kara began.

“I knew you were hiding something. I had hoped it was something else.”

Kara licked her lips. She quickened her perception, a little trick of will that took her out of sync with the humans around her, processing the world at her natural speed, which made her peers seem almost frozen in place by comparison.

She took this drawn out instant to really look at Lena, truly take her in, savor what she was seeing because it might be the end. She was suddenly heavily, painfully aware that this might be the last time she ever looked on Lena in person.

Great father Rao, she was so beautiful. Not hot or pretty or even gorgeous or sexy, beautiful. She was dressed for the autumn chill in a pea coat and turtleneck and black leggings and her hair was down, letting itself soften into her natural waves. She was without makeup, and Kara suddenly realized that she only ever saw Lena without makeup when she meant to be alone with Kara. When she was her most pure, most true self.

Kara slowed herself again and as she did the world sped up, and she drank in the soft sadness in Lena’s blue-green eyes and all of those things she’d pushed deep down came bubbling to the surface: imagined sighs and the feeling of that lustrous inky hair slipping through her fingers, her name whispered on pillowy lips.

Human thoughts. Alien thoughts. Desires no Kryptonian should even apprehend, much less indulge. The very idea of the non-procreative act was shameful, and to develop these emotional entanglement…

Kara had once mourned her failure, for she had been charged with preserving the ways of her people. Her first command had been to keep Kal Kryptonian.

A task she had failed even within herself.

“You hoped it was something else?”

Lena looked at her so sadly and so sweetly and swallowed.

“Yeah,” she said in a thick voice, “I kinda did.”

Kara smiled in spite of herself. When she sighed, it was as if the weight of a world slid off her shoulders.

“Can’t a girl have two secrets?”

Lena’s eyes widened.

“One day a long time ago, very very far away, a young Kara looked over her shoulder and watched the shockwave shatter the crust of her planet as its core exploded. She lost everything. Her world, her family, her culture, so many things. Tastes. Colors. Places. All gone.”

Lena wrapped her arms around herself, averting her gaze.

“I knew I’d lose you eventually. I just wanted to keep you as long as I could.”

Lena reached up and rubbed at her eyelids with her fingers.

“Do you remember when your mom’s goons threw you off the balcony?”

“Yes,” said Lena.

“Do you remember how I held you when I caught you?”

“I do.”

“I wish I hadn’t lied. I wish I’d never put you down.”

Lena said nothing and did not look up. Kara could hear her heart racing, practically feel the tension in her limbs across the room.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I lied. I’ve always known I could never keep you, I just didn’t want to make it end.”

Lena looked up with tear-wet eyes.

Then she lunged across the room, crossing the gap between them in long strides. Kara Danvers -Kara Zoe-El, Supergirl- was caught almost completely off guard. It wasn’t until Lena was practically charging into her arms, leaping into her, that she remembered to cushion the impact, catch her gently and make sure she didn’t slam herself into an unyielding wall of Kara.

She was so surprised, so shocked into helpless acceptance, that she didn’t offer the slightest residence when Lena reached, grabbed her neck in a firm hold, and pulled her into a kiss. Kara’s stomach did a backflip and she was helpless, undone despite all her strength. For a moment both their eyes opened and they looked at each other in a wordless exchange and Kara began kissing her back in earnest. Lena’s sharp breaths and soft moans instantly kindled a hot need inside her, thrumming like a plucked guitar string, and she effortlessly lifted Lena onto the kitchen counter.

“Holy shit, you’re strong,” Lena breathed.

“Of course I am,” she whispered into Lena’s kiss. “I’m Supergirl.”

And at long last, Kara found something she wanted to taste more than potstickers.

[rubyvhs]

── .✦ random texts with your boyfriend, toji

part 2

[lomltrentarnold]

someone — jude bellingham  ₊˚ෆ

contents: 1.6k words, fem!reader (she/her), fwb!bellingham is down bad, lil angsty but happy ending, they like each other so much SIGH

🍓 hana’s note: hi my loves!! hope u enjoy <33 i actually had fun writing this, please tell me what u think 🫶 sorry if nothing makes sense LOL

📞 main masterlist!

Jude was sure that the muscle on his wrist had gotten stronger in the span of three days. He moved to check his phone again for the hundredth time that day. The whole situation feels like a thirteen year old boy waiting for his girlfriend to reply to his text. 

The only difference is that he’s twenty one years old, and his ‘girlfriend’ is not actually his girlfriend. 

His gloomy mood attracted his assistant who was off clicking the keyboard computer.

“Whose text are you waiting for?” they asked, immediately bringing him out of his little pity party.

His heart stuttered, “No one.” he replies, shaking his head, before tucking the phone away into his pocket.

A skeptical look was thrown, “Yeah, sure.” 

Jude took a minute before he relented, “She’s…someone.” he sighed, not really in the mood to throw up his gut to his assistant.

He ran his hands through his hair down to his face, frustrated.

They were sure this ‘someone’ was not just anyone, “The same ‘someone’ who had you giggling and kicking your feet last week?” his assistant smirked, noticing the little smile that Jude always wears every single time he stares at his phone.

But not in the last few days.

Recently, he has been more sad when he stares at his phone.

Heat trailed from the back of his neck to his cheeks, “I was not giggling and kicking my feet.” tummy twisting with nerves.

“Oh, you so were. She has you wrapped around her fingers, Bellingham.” the keyboard clicking stopped, as a teasing smirk was sent his way.

Jude’s heart made a backflip–oh she definitely does– “She’s just.. special. And I really really like her.” his cheeks heating up more as your pretty face fresh flashes in his mind. 

“So? Why don't you ask her out on a date?”

He sighed, “I would, but she’s ghosting me.”

“Someone ghosted THE Jude Bellingham? Damn, your ego must be hurt.” they laughed.

Jude took a deep breath, “It's not about my ego, I just–” he paused, “I thought we were going somewhere, I like her and I thought that she liked me but I guess...” his voice trailing out as sadness coats his words.

His assistant noticed how Jude’s head dropped in disappointment, immediately feeling bad for him, and an idea lightbulb immediately went off, “Go to her place then.”

“What?”

The assistant shrugged their shoulders, “Go to her place. Ask her out.”

He coughed out, “She doesn’t wanna see me.”

“Ask her face to face, get confirmation. If she really doesn’t wanna see you then, fine. But try at least! Fight for her!” their encouragement send Jude into a full dedicated state. Already having a full plan in his head.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Screen lights from the tv illuminated your already dark room with a movie playing in the background. You really should be asleep right now. But your mind was too cloudy with a certain, seriously attractive, very sweet and nice footballer. 

What did you think was gonna happen?

Getting into a friends-with-benefits with someone you harboured a big fat crush on was not the brightest idea. 

Jude is a bigshot footballer, everyones’ starboy, all he needs to do is smile and all girls fall to his feet (including you). The strategy of pushing him away was pretty solid, considering that he might not even notice that you haven’t been replying to his texts. 

He probably has hundreds of girls on his phone anyways.

Not that you care, he can do whatever he wants, he’s not your boyfriend. 

Not your boyfriend. 

Then why does it still bother you?

A sudden knock, broke you out of your spiralling session, shooting your heart rate up. Who knocks at 2 in the morning?

A buzz from your phone alerted you.

—

bellingham :)

I’m outside your apartment

I need to talk to you

—

You contemplated opening the door, what do you even say to him? Another knock. 

Another buzz.

—

bellingham :)

Please.

—

The door swung open and Jude was met with the sight of you, with tired eyes and a scowl on your face. You don't look too happy seeing him, and he doesn't blame you.

“Are you insane?! What do you want, Jude? It’s two in the morning!” you huffed out, taking his wrist and pulling him inside. You do not want to get a complaint from your old cranky neighbours. 

Both of your hands tingle the second it touches, fingers twitching as you hope the other doesn't notice. You move to pause the movie, hands gravitating towards the blanket on your couch before draping it around your shoulders. Trying to cover up your well-loved worn pyjamas.

You look like a mess. 

Jude’s hand sweats in his pockets, his heart was pounding after finally being in your presence. With your messy hair, pretty droopy eyes, paired with your profile being highlighted by the tv. His heart rate shoots up when your eyes meet his. 

You look really pretty.

Focus, Bellingham!

He awkwardly coughs, trying to cut the thick tension in the room, “You still watching that show?” he voiced out, hand gesturing to the tv behind you. 

It was a show recommendation from him. You had made fun of it at first, but then the plot was too good to be ignored, you needed to know how it ends. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, I was curious.” voice small as your hands tightened around the blanket, bringing comfort to you.

A beat of awkward silence went on.

And Jude has had enough of it and decided to go for it, head first, no thoughts.

"Why are you ignoring me?" he finally said, saddened brown eyes met yours. You can feel your defence chip away the more you look at him.

You avert your eyes immediately, trying to formulate words, "I'm busy."

"That you ghosted me for three days straight?" he scoffed.

"Jude-"

"I don't think you understand how much you’re in my head." his voice shook, heart trembling in his chest, “I wake up and my first thought is to check if you have texted me back and you know how embarrassing it is to not see anything?"

You scoffed, “So this is about your ego?”

“No! I didn’t say that–“

Another scoff, "Jude don’t lie, you get messages every single day. Your notifications are always flooded! Don’t act like I’m suddenly special!” you rolled your eyes, lungs burning with anger.

His face contorted into confusion before turning into hurt, “Did I give you that impression? That I don't care because you’re not special?” Jude’s voice cracked, maybe it was your head playing tricks but you swore his eyes were glossy with tears. 

Anymore second looking at him than you might just break. 

“Jude-” you started.

“Because I do! I’ll buy you more flowers, pick up your favourite coffee, watch those reality shows that you love so much, we can have a picnic or even a fancy dinner!” he rambled, hands animated as his feet started to move towards you, eyes pleading. “I really want this to work. I want to be in your life, as your boyfriend.” 

The distance between two got so small that you can feel his warm breath hitting your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

He smells like mint.

Did he chew one before he got here?

The call of your name hits your ears, his voice soft and sweet. You really like how he says your name. You miss it. You like him. You miss him.

“Please say something.” Jude whispered, eyes involuntarily dropping to your lips, cheeks warming under his gaze.

“I really really like you.” you softly said, nothing but a whisper but it sends just into cloud nine.

His eyes shined, mouth already opening to say something before you cut him off.

“But-“

His heart dropped.

“But?”

“Jude, you can literally have anyone you want in the world!” you raised your voice. Tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. Why does he have to be so complicated? Why won’t he understand that you will never be enough for him?

By now, he can have a general sense on why you ghosted him. You have been insecure and worried ever since this little relationship started. Jude partly understands it, his popularity is intense and the media is poking at every nook and cranny of his life. Judging at the littlest things he does.

But he also doesn’t understand because-

“But, I want you! Don’t want anyone else!” he exclaimed, big calloused hands move to the sides of your face, thumb softly running on your cheeks. “I want you.” he added, softly pressing a kiss at the apple of both of your cheeks.

A lovesick smile broke out on your face before you can even control yourself. “I want you too.”

Jude eyes twinkled at the sight. His heart elevates in the process. Was this a dream?

“Pinch me.” he snickered.

Your hands move around his waist to pinch his skin, “Dork.” you giggled, his smile getting wider at the sound.

A comforting silence blankets over you both. Smitten eyes staring at each other with heavy yearning. Hearts fully enamoured with the other.

A soft kiss was planted on your lips, tender and gentle as his hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He can’t get enough of you.

Your whole body was on fire. It has been so long since you both got together.

“Jude-“

“Mhm.” he hummed, lips still pressing against yours. His hands wander to wrap around your waist. It feels like he wants to eat you whole.

He definitely does.

You carefully pull away, chuckling at the small whine that leaves him as he chases you again, “It’s late.” you affectionately scolded.

“Let’s go to sleep then.”

“Together?” you teased.

“Yes, please.”

Well, how can you say no to that?

reblog for a kiss <3

[lov3notts]

rewritten

theodore nott x reader

summary: part 3, can Theo fix things between you two? after so much heartbreak can you give him a second chance?

a/n:im sorry this took so long, I got hit with writers block and discouragement, hope you guys like it!!

Navigation; masterlist; request rules; part 1; part 2

Mattheo had seen Theo at his lowest before. After brutal duels, after fights with his father, after sleepless nights filled with too much firewhisky and not enough self-preservation. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t anger. Wasn’t recklessness.

This was nothingness.

Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had the answers to all of his problems. His dorm was a disaster—papers scattered, books left open, untouched meals sitting cold on his desk. The only movement in the room came from the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Mattheo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed."Mate."

No response.

"You look like shit."

Still nothing.

Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping further into the room. "Alright, fine. You wanna sit here and wallow, go ahead. But you do know this isn’t sustainable, right?"

Theo didn’t even blink.

"Skipping class, not eating, shutting everyone out—what’s the end goal here?"

Silence.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, patience wearing thin. He walked over and grabbed a book off Theo’s desk before chucking it at him. It hit his shoulder, but Theo barely reacted.

That pissed Mattheo off.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" he snapped. "What, you’re just gonna waste away in here? That’s your big plan?"

Finally, Theo shifted. Slowly, he looked up, his face pale and hollow. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "What do you want me to do, Mattheo?"

"Oh, I don’t know—anything but this?" Mattheo gestured around the room. "You’ve made some stupid decisions before, but this? This is pathetic, even for you."

Theo let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Pathetic. Yeah. That sounds about right."

Mattheo exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer and sitting across from him. "Listen, I get it. You fucked up. Big time. But wasting away in here isn’t gonna change that. You want her back? Fight for her. You want to move on? Then do it. But don’t just sit here acting like your life is over because she walked away."

Theo’s eyes darkened. "It is over."

Mattheo froze.

It wasn’t the words that shook him—it was the way Theo meant them.

"You don’t get it," Theo muttered, voice raw. "She wasn’t just some girl, Mattheo. She was everything. And I ruined it. I ruined her." His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles white. "So tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do now?"

For the first time, Mattheo didn’t have a quick response. Because fuck—he didn’t know.

He had never seen Theo like this before.

But he did know one thing.

"You need to talk to her," he said finally.

Theo scoffed, shaking his head. "She won’t listen."

Mattheo leaned forward. "Not if you keep sulking like a bloody ghost. But if you really love her? Then you have to at least try."

Theo swallowed hard, his walls cracking just a bit.

Mattheo sighed, standing up. "Look, I can’t force you to get your shit together. But I can ask for help." He glanced toward the door. "If you won’t go to her, maybe she’ll come to you."

Theo’s head snapped up. "Mattheo—"

"Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle," Mattheo said with a smirk, but there was no humor behind it. "Just sit tight, yeah?"

And with that, he walked out, leaving Theo alone with his demons.

The days after your fight with Theodore Nott were oddly quiet. Not because the world had stopped moving, but because a part of you had. No matter how much you tried to push forward, his words still echoed in your head.

“it was just a bet!”

Now, you were sitting in the Great Hall, trying to focus on your breakfast when a presence loomed over you.

"Can we talk?"

You glanced up and met Mattheo Riddle’s gaze. His usual smirk was absent, his dark eyes serious. That alone sent a chill down your spine. Mattheo never looked serious.

You hesitated. "Depends. What about?"

He exhaled sharply and took a seat across from you without invitation. "It’s Theo."

Your stomach twisted, but you masked it with indifference. "Not my problem."

Mattheo scoffed. "Yeah, well, that’s the thing. He’s not exactly making himself anyone’s problem anymore. He’s barely eating, hasn’t been to class in days, and I haven’t seen him leave his room since—" He stopped himself, but you knew what he was about to say.

Since you left him on his knees in the library.

You forced yourself to take a bite of toast, despite suddenly losing your appetite. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"You don’t have to do anything. But maybe… just talk to him?"

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "You do remember that he completely shattered my trust, right? That I was just some game to him?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I know, okay? I know he screwed up. And if you never want to see him again, I get it. But…" His voice lowered. "I don’t think he’s okay. I don’t think he will be if someone doesn’t pull him out of whatever the hell he’s drowning in."

That made your chest tighten. No matter how much Theo had hurt you, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t care. But did you care enough to reopen old wounds? To look at the person who betrayed you and risk getting hurt all over again?

Mattheo must have seen your hesitation because he leaned forward, his voice softer now. "I wouldn’t be here begging if I thought he could fix this himself. But he can’t. And like it or not, you’re the only one who can get through to him."

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

But deep down, you already knew what you were going to do.

You stood in front of his dormitory door, your hand hovering over the doorknob, the air thick with uncertainty. You’d come here, but now that you were standing here, the doubt crept back in. Was this the right choice? Could you really face him? Could you even talk to him without everything you felt rushing back—without everything he did rushing back?

You knocked softly, but there was no response. The quiet only made the pressure in your chest grow. Hesitant, you slowly turned the knob, and to your surprise, the door creaked open.

The room was dim, only a few rays of light slipping through the curtains. And there, in the middle of the room, was Theodore Nott. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His body was curled into itself, as if he were trying to shrink away from the world.

A pang of guilt surged through you. You wanted to turn away, to run, but you couldn’t.

Your feet moved before you could stop them, one step at a time, until you were standing beside his bed. You swallowed hard, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "Theo?"

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice, his eyes wide with shock. His expression froze as he stared at you—like he was afraid, as if seeing you might be some cruel trick. His eyes, so full of confusion and fear, shimmered with unshed tears.

"Y/N?… You came?" His voice was barely a whisper, like he didn’t believe you were really there.

A wave of emotion washed over you, but you pushed it down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mattheo said you weren’t doing well.”

Theo didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, as if your words hadn’t even fully registered yet. His eyes searched your face, every line of his body tense, too afraid to even move, like any sudden movement would make you disappear. You could see how broken he looked, how much he wanted to believe this wasn’t just some dream.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, as if trying to find the right words, or maybe wondering if words even mattered anymore.

You glanced past him into the room. It was a mess—books scattered, clothes thrown carelessly, a tray of untouched food on the desk. It smelled like stale air and something heartbreakingly lonely.

You hesitated before speaking. "This isn’t you, Theo."

"I don’t know who I am without you," he admitted, voice raw.

You turned to him sharply, something inside you cracking at the sheer honesty in his voice. "Theo…"

"No, let me say this."He exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I know I don’t deserve to ask for anything from you. I don’t deserve to stand here and beg, but—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together like he was trying to hold himself together.

And then, quietly, "I don’t know how to exist without you."

Your breath hitched. "You were the one who broke us, Theo. You made that choice."

"I know." His voice cracked. "And I hate myself for it. Every second of every day, I regret it. The bet, the lies, all of it—it was the biggest mistake of my life."

You swallowed, arms tightening around yourself. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was a coward." He let out a bitter laugh. "Because I had you—this brilliant, beautiful, impossible thing—and I was terrified that you were too good to be real. That I would love you and you would leave, so I ruined it before you could."

His confession left you breathless.

You had spent so long believing you were never enough for him. That you had been nothing but a game. But hearing this—hearing that he had been just as scared as you had—made your chest ache.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Theo whispered. "But I did. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I need you to know that I loved you. That I still do."

You blinked, eyes burning. "Theo…"

"I would move mountains just to be with you again," he continued, voice shaking. "Even if it takes years. Even if you never look at me the same way again. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you were never just a bet to me."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden, and Theo’s breath stuttered like the sight of your pain was physically hurting him.

He reached out instinctively but stopped himself, his hands hovering inches from yours. "Tell me there’s still a chance." His voice was barely a whisper. "Even if it’s not today. Even if it’s not soon. Just tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You stood there, heart hammering, torn between the pain of the past and the boy in front of you—broken, vulnerable, real.

This was the moment.

The moment where you could walk away, close the door, leave him to his regret.

Or you could stay.

You took a breath.

And then, finally, you spoke.

The first few days after you left his dorm were the hardest.

Theo had promised you he’d fix himself, that he’d become better—not for you, but for himself first. But promises were just words, and words had never been enough. Not when he had already shattered your trust once.

So, for the first time in weeks, he forced himself out of bed.

It wasn’t easy. The weight of his mistakes clung to him like a sickness, making even the smallest things feel impossible. Eating felt pointless. Attending class felt meaningless. But he did it anyway. One step at a time.

At breakfast, Mattheo raised an eyebrow when Theo sat down at their usual table, his plate only half-full.

"Didn’t think I’d see you out of that damn room anytime soon," Mattheo muttered, nudging his shoulder.

Theo didn’t respond right away, just picked at his food before finally saying, "I need to fix things."

Mattheo huffed out a short laugh, though there was no malice behind it. "Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?"

Theo didn’t have an answer yet. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t keep being this version of himself. The one who wallowed in his grief, who drowned in guilt without trying to swim to the surface.

So, he changed.

He stopped avoiding the world. Stopped shutting people out.

He went to class, even when his mind screamed at him to go back to bed. He studied harder than he ever had before, pouring himself into books instead of his own self-loathing. When his friends spoke to him, he actually listened instead of shutting them out.

He even picked up his journal again, spilling his thoughts onto paper in a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos inside his head. He wrote letters—ones meant for you, ones that would never be sent. Some were apologies, some were confessions, but all of them were real.

But it wasn’t about getting you back.

It was about becoming someone who deserved you.

Someone you could trust again.

Weeks passed before he saw you again.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fate. It was just life forcing their paths to cross like it always did.

You were sitting by the Black Lake, your nose buried in a book, completely lost in the words. He should’ve walked away. Should’ve kept his distance. But his feet betrayed him, halting a few steps away from you.

You must’ve felt his presence because you looked up, your eyes meeting his.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Theo braced himself for the worst—coldness, anger, maybe even indifference. But instead, you studied him, like if you were trying to figure out if the person standing before you was the same one who had broken your heart.

"You look… different," you said softly.

Theo swallowed. "I had to be."

your gaze didn’t waver. "Why?"

"Because the person I was before didn’t deserve you."

Something flickered in your expression, but you didn’t look away. You just nodded, your grip tightening around the book on your lap.

Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But something.

Weeks turned into months. Theo didn’t push, didn’t force his way back into your life. He just showed up.

Not in the obvious ways. He didn’t beg or plead. Didn’t bombard you with apologies. Instead, he proved himself in the quiet moments.

He helped first-years struggling with their potions when no one was watching. He started paying attention in class, excelling in subjects he used to neglect. He let people rely on him, let himself become someone trustworthy—not just to you, but to everyone around him.

And then, when the time was right, he left something for you.

A book.

Your favorite one, sitting on the library table where you used to study together. But inside, tucked between the pages, were letters.

Dozens of them. Some dated weeks ago, some written only days before.

You hesitated before picking it up, flipping through the pages. And then you saw the first note.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry One

Date: The Night You Left

I haven’t stopped thinking about the look in your eyes. The way you froze. The way your breath caught like I had knocked the air out of you.

I keep telling myself that if I had just shut up, if I had just walked away instead of letting my anger win, you’d still be here. But I didn’t. I let the worst version of myself take control, and now I have to live with the fact that the last thing you heard from me was a lie.

Because that’s what it was. A lie.

You were never a bet.

Not for a single second.

You were the first thing in my life that ever felt real. The first person who looked at me like I was worth something. The first person I ever truly, fully loved. And I threw that away. I let my pride, my temper, my own self-destruction take over, and I broke the one thing I never wanted to lose.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that what we had—what we have—is real, then I will.

Even if it’s too late.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 2

Date: One Week Without You

I see you everywhere.

In the empty chair across from me in the library. In the spaces between my fingers where yours used to fit. In the quiet moments where your voice used to live.

And I wonder—do you miss me at all? Do you hear my name in whispers? Do you reach for me in your sleep? Or am I just a scar you’re waiting to fade?

If you told me to wait for you, I would. I would wait for days, for months, for years—as long as it took for you to believe that I never meant those words. That you were never a game to me. That you were the only thing that ever made sense in my life.

But you haven’t told me anything.

So I wait anyway.

Because I can’t imagine a world where I ever stop hoping for you.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 3

Date: Two Weeks Without You

I should’ve told you how beautiful you looked in the mornings, when your hair was a mess and your voice was still laced with sleep.

I should’ve told you how your laugh could pull me out of my worst days, how it became the sound I searched for in crowded rooms.

I should’ve told you that loving you scared me. That it made me feel like I had something to lose for the first time in my life.

I should’ve told you that the night we had our first kiss, I went back to my dorm, sat on my bed, and smiled—just sat there, grinning like an idiot, because I knew, in that moment, that I was done for. That you had ruined me for anyone else.

I should’ve told you that I loved you more than I loved myself.

Maybe if I had, you’d still be here.

-theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 4

Date: three Weeks Without You

You probably don’t know that I still sit in the library, right where you left me. Not every night. Just the ones where I can’t breathe.

You probably don’t know that I reread our old notes, the ones we used to pass back and forth in class. I keep them in my bag like they’re sacred, like they’re proof that once, you laughed with me. That once, I wasn’t just a mistake to you.

You probably don’t know that every time I hear your name, my hands shake.

That I’ve started keeping a list of all the things I should’ve done differently.

That I miss you in a way that feels like it might kill me.

But the worst part?

You probably don’t care anymore.

And I deserve that.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 5

Date: The Day You Knocked on My Door

I thought I was dreaming.

I heard the knock, but I didn’t move. I figured it was Mattheo, coming to drag me out of this room again, to remind me that I’m still supposed to be alive, even when I feel like I’m not.

But then I heard your voice.

And suddenly, I was alive.

I was shocked to see you. Not because I didn’t want to see you—I ached to see you—but because I was afraid. Afraid that I had imagined it. Afraid that you were here just to tell me, to my face, that you were done for good.

But you weren’t.

You were there.

Standing in my doorway, looking at me like you didn’t recognize me anymore. Maybe you don’t. Maybe I really am just a shell of the person you once loved.

You didn’t say anything at first. And I didn’t either. I was too busy memorizing the way your hands twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted slightly like you wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start.

And then, finally—"Mattheo said I should talk to you."

Your voice was quieter than I remembered. Or maybe I had just forgotten what it was like to hear it so close.

I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to fall to my knees again and beg, to tell you that I haven’t slept, that I haven’t breathed right since you walked away, that I would do anything to rewrite the past.

But instead, I just nodded.

Because I knew this wasn’t my moment to fall apart. This was your moment to decide if I was worth saving.

So I stood there.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Daring to believe that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t given up on me yet.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 6

Date: One Month Without You

I don’t just want your forgiveness.

I want your trust. Your laughter. Your sleepy morning voice. The way you roll your eyes at me but secretly smile when you think I’m not looking. The way you say my name like it’s something safe.

I want you.

And I know I have no right to ask for that.

But if there is even the smallest chance—if there is even the tiniest sliver of hope that you still look at me and see something worth saving—then I will not waste it.

I will prove it to you. With every breath, with every action, with every single moment I have left in this life.

Because I love you.

And I will spend a lifetime making it right.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

At first, your hands tremble. The pages feel heavier than they should, like they’re carrying all the weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, of him.

You tell yourself you’ll just read one. Just a glimpse. Just to know if he even cares.

But then one turns into two. Then three. Then all of them.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because this isn’t just guilt. This isn’t just some empty apology, some desperate attempt to win you back with words. This is raw. This is pain. This is love.

This is a boy breaking himself open, spilling every ugly, unspoken truth onto paper because he doesn’t know how else to reach you.

And God, you feel it.

You feel it in the way his handwriting shakes in some letters but steadies in others, like he’s fighting himself, like he’s trying to hold on and let go at the same time.

You feel it in the confessions he never said out loud—the ones about how he saw you in everything, how he would’ve moved mountains to take it all back, how he doesn’t just want you to forgive him, he wants you to trust him.

And when you read the last letter—the one about how he would spend a lifetime making it right—you realize something.

He never stopped fighting for you.

Not once.

Not even when he thought he had already lost.

And then, with your chest so tight it almost hurts, you look up.

He’s already watching you.

Theo looks like he’s barely breathing, like the moment is too fragile, like if he moves too fast, you might disappear. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time—something that almost makes your throat close up.

Hope.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting. Letting you decide what happens next.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize…

He means it.

Every word. Every promise.

The silence between you stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The letters are still clutched in your hands, his words lingering in your chest, pressing against the pieces of your heart that you swore were too broken to be put back together.

Theo swallows hard. His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. "Say something," he finally murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. "Do you really mean it?"

He doesn’t hesitate. "Every word."

"And you’re not just saying all of this because you miss me? Because you feel guilty?" Your voice is careful, guarded—because this has to be real. If you give him your heart again, there’s no surviving if he shatters it a second time.

Theo steps closer. Not too close, but enough that you can see the raw desperation in his eyes. "I’m saying this because losing you was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Because I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that." He pauses, his breath shaky. "But more than anything, I’m saying it because I love you. I never stopped. And I never will.*"

Your heart clenches painfully. "Theo…"

"You don’t have to say it back," he cuts in quickly. "You don’t have to promise me anything. Just—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "Just tell me there’s a chance. Tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You look at him then, really look at him. He’s not the same person he was that night in the library. He’s not the boy who let pride and recklessness ruin the best thing in his life. He’s different. He’s trying.

And that’s when you know.

You step forward, closing the distance between you. His breath catches as your hand brushes against his—light, hesitant, but enough to make his whole body go still.

"I’m still angry," you admit softly. "I’m still hurt."

Theo nods, his jaw tightening. "I know."

"But…" You take a breath, steadying yourself. "I believe you."

His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting those words. "You—"

"I believe that you mean it," you clarify. "And if you’re really going to prove it—if you’re really going to fight for this—"

You pause, feeling the weight of this moment. Then, finally, you say the words that make his breath shudder.

"Then I’m willing to try."

For a second, Theo doesn’t move. He just stares at you, like he’s afraid he imagined it. But then—

"You won’t regret it," he swears, his voice cracking slightly. "I swear on everything, I won’t waste this chance."

And when he finally, finally takes your hand—holding it like it’s the most precious thing in the world— you let him.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

tag list: @simp-for-fantasy @nottinmyheart

[livvymd]

okay i have a request !! maybe being on inside with george 👀 and a friends to lovers happens but also like drama??

Inside Trouble.

(A George Clarke x Reader fic set on Inside) notes at end of fic!!

You never expected reality TV to be this intense.

Sure, you knew Inside was about strategy, social manipulation, and surviving weeks locked in a house under 24/7 surveillance—but you didn’t realize just how personal it would get.

Especially with George Clarke in the mix.

You and George had been friends for a while before the show. Maybe even best friends. You always joked around, filmed videos together, and people constantly asked if there was something more between you. You always denied it.

But in here? With cameras watching, emotions running high, and George acting weird—it was getting a lot harder to pretend.

Day 8

"Y/N, admit it, you’d be lost in here without me," George teased, flopping down beside you on the couch.

You shot him a look. "Please. I’d be thriving without you weighing me down."

He gasped dramatically, hand on his chest. "That hurts. You love having me around."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. "Keep telling yourself that, Clarke."

Someone from across the room chuckled. "You two do realize the entire internet is shipping you, right?"

You froze.

George, on the other hand, smirked. "Yeah, well… they might be onto something."

Your stomach flipped.

But you laughed it off. Because that’s what you always did.

Day 13

Lately, George had been distant. Not in an obvious way—he still joked around, still sat next to you at dinner, still teased you in the group challenges—but something had changed.

And you weren’t the only one who noticed.

"He’s jealous," one of the contestants whispered to you one afternoon.

You blinked. "Of what?"

She smirked. "C’mon, Y/N. You’ve been spending more time with Matt. And George? He’s fuming."

You glanced across the room. George was talking to someone, but his eyes kept flicking over to you. And yeah, now that you were looking for it—he definitely wasn’t happy.

So, of course, you had to test the theory.

You laughed a little louder at Matt’s joke.

And that was when George stood up and left the room.

Day 14

You found him in the kitchen later that night, leaning against the counter, looking pissed off.

"Alright," you said, crossing your arms. "What’s your deal?"

George scoffed. "I don’t have a deal."

"You’ve been acting weird all day."

"I’m fine," he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

You stepped closer. "George—"

"Do you like him?"

You blinked. "What?"

His jaw clenched. "Matt. Do you like him?"

You stared at him, heart pounding. "Why do you care?"

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Because I—" He stopped, shaking his head.

"Because you what?" you pushed, stepping even closer now.

George’s eyes darkened, frustration flickering into something else. Something intense.

"Because I can’t stand watching you with someone else." His voice was low now, rough. "Because I’ve spent years pretending I don’t feel this way, and this stupid show has made it impossible to ignore. Because I—"

You didn’t let him finish.

You grabbed his shirt and kissed him.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant. It was weeks of tension, months of denial, and every single moment leading up to this one.

George groaned against your lips, hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer like he’d been waiting for this. Like he was desperate for it.

You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The kitchen, the cameras, the whole show? Gone.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless.

George swallowed, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes.

"Well," he murmured, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Guess that settles that."

You laughed, still catching your breath. "Yeah. Guess it does."

And just like that—Inside had never felt more dangerous.

notes:

i would be lying if i said that requests without much infomation don't freak me out HELPP. i kind of just assumed you were talking about that one show 'inside'

ily all

[slippyteas]

༉*.ﾟ𝙈𝙀𝙂𝙐𝙈𝙄 𝙁𝙐𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙂𝙐𝙍𝙊

♫ “𝘪’𝘮 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴”