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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

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The Brush Off

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: 5 Times people flirt with Felicity and 1 time Oscar sees it happen.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂 Also, check out my new divider!

School Library, Haileybury

Felicity was tucked into her usual corner of the school library — second floor, far left, just behind the dusty shelf of outdated atlases no one ever touched. It was quiet there. Untouchable. Sacred.

Her legs were curled under her in a frankly illegal way that made the librarian twitch every time she passed by.

But Felicity didn’t care. She had more important things to worry about. Like finishing her own chemistry coursework, writing the conclusion to her robotics team report, and, most importantly, rescuing Oscar’s history grade from what could only be described as a stylistic disaster.

Her copy of The Selfish Gene sat open next to a packet of sticky notes and five highlighters arranged in rainbow order. Oscar’s essay draft was sprawled beside it like a corpse in need of resuscitation.

She was six pages in.

She had already marked five run-on sentences, circled three historical inaccuracies, and scrawled “comma splice?” in angry red ink on the header. Next to that, she’d added, in smaller print: “This is a run-on sentence and also a war crime.”(This was three lines after “I am not sure if child labour can be considered a “perk” of the industrial revolution, Oz.”)

She was muttering to herself about how Oscar consistently forgot the difference between a primary and secondary source when a shadow fell across the table.

“Hey,” a voice said. “You always sit here?”

Felicity glanced up — just barely — and immediately clocked the newcomer.

Mateo.

The Spanish exchange student.

Hair swoop. Too much cologne.

He had the vibe of someone who thought reading The Secret History made him profound. Like the kind of guy who bought Moleskines but didn’t write in them. Like a walking Instagram profile captioned “Fluent in Nietzsche.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Just scribbled a note in Oscar’s margin (“use a stronger thesis here or face the wrath of every historian who’s ever lived”).

“On Wednesdays, yes,” she replied eventually, eyes still on the page.

Mateo didn’t take the hint.

He leaned in a little too close. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and already regretted not bringing headphones.

“What are you working on?”

She lifted Oscar’s paper slightly, as if it were obvious. “This.”

He squinted. “You’re helping a friend?”

“This is my boyfriend’s essay.”

Mateo’s face lit up, but not with recognition — with opportunity. “Wow. You’re that good a friend?”

Felicity blinked. “I’m that good a girlfriend.”

He paused. Smiled like she’d just told a cute joke at a party. “Sure. But, like, if you ever wanted to… hang out? Or study together? I’ve been struggling with philosophy.”

She stared at him. “You’re struggling with philosophy?”

He nodded eagerly. “It’s so dense, you know?”

“You mean… reading?”

He chuckled. “I just thought it might be easier with someone like you. Someone sharp. Smart.”

She just stared at him.

Still, he didn’t leave. “I’m just saying, if you ever get bored of helping your boyfriend… I wouldn’t mind a little attention.”

That’s what made her pause.

Because for a moment, Felicity genuinely didn’t understand what he meant.

Attention? What kind? Did he want her to edit his essay, too? Help him structure his arguments?

Was this a mentorship request? A tutoring thing? Was he trying to hire her?

Because from where she was sitting — wearing one of Oscar’s sweatshirts over her school uniform with her hair up in a pencil-stabbed bun, ink smudged on her fingers… There was no way this boy was flirting with her.

She finally looked up, expression flat. “I’ve been with my boyfriend for two years. I rewrite his footnotes. I know the number of his racing sim’s USB ports by memory. You think I have time for recreational idiocy?”

Mateo blinked. He stammered something that might’ve been “Sorry” or “Your loss” or possibly just the start of a philosophy quote he didn’t finish.

Then he turned and slunk away, disappearing into the nonfiction aisle like a man who needed to Google what a footnote was.

Felicity exhaled slowly, turned back to Oscar’s essay, and drew a tiny skull next to a sentence about Napoleon.

Ten minutes later, Oscar appeared — bottle of water in one hand, hoodie sleeves half-pushed up, curls slightly mussed.

“Hey,” he said, flopping into the seat beside her and nudging her ankle under the table.

Felicity didn’t even blink. She just slid his paper across the table.

“Yours,” she said, tone dry. “Try not to get seduced by misused commas.”

Oscar grinned, leaned over, and kissed her temple.

***

Engineering Library, Imperial College London

The engineering library at Imperial had a very specific kind of silence — dense, utilitarian, and just slightly stressed.

It didn’t have the hushed reverence of a humanities space or the open nervous energy of undergrads cramming in a group. No. This room buzzed with tension.

It smelled like soldering fumes, pencil shavings, leftover caffeine, and the faintest echo of ambition-turned-despair.

Most students had packed up hours ago, but Felicity remained in her fortress of design textbooks, open CAD diagrams, three kinds of scrap paper, and a crumpled granola bar wrapper that she’d been meaning to throw away for at least forty-five minutes. Her water bottle was dangerously low, her laptop fan sounded like it was preparing for lift-off, and her cursor had been blinking in the same spot on her thermal stress simulation for the last twenty-seven minutes.

She wasn’t stuck. She was just… tired.

Tired in the bone-deep way only a mechanical engineering student in her second trimester could be.

She shifted slightly, legs curled beneath her, one hand resting absently on the curve of her bump. Not because it hurt — not tonight — but because Beatrice had just kicked her in the ribs again, like she was trying to crawl out through Felicity’s diaphragm.

Her phone buzzed next to her laptop:

Oscar: Don’t forget dinner. Please. You always forget when your sim models hate you.

She smiled faintly but didn’t reply. Not yet. She still had heat sink values to triple-check.

That was when it happened.

A voice—too close, too casual—sliced through the stillness.

“Hey.”

Felicity looked up, blinking.

A guy was standing across the table. Probably mid-twenties. Tall, in that I stretch for photos, way. Crisp haircut. Slim jeans. Water bottle with a “No Bad Vibes” sticker on it — ironic, because he was currently radiating intrusive energy like a malfunctioning microwave.

He didn’t wait for permission. Just slid into the chair opposite hers like this was a first date she didn’t know they were having.

“I saw you in Thermo this morning,” he said. “That fluid mechanics question you asked? Insanely clever. I was going to say something after class, but you ducked out too fast.”

Felicity blinked at him. “I had a tutorial.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “Should’ve guessed. You seem like you’ve got everything scheduled down to the second.”

“I also needed chips,” she added, because both things were true.

He laughed like she’d made a joke. “You seem intense. I like that. Women in engineering? You don’t see that every day. Rare combination of intimidating and hot.”

She stared at him.

The words rolled around her brain like loose screws.

What… did he want?

Was this a compliment? An insult? An offer?

She was six months pregnant, her knees hurt, her thesis was trying to kill her, and she was wearing Oscar’s hoodie with a faint grease stain across the front.

What exactly was the goal here?

“I mean—don’t get me wrong,” he rushed on, clearly sensing the silence and trying to recover. “You’ve just got that… serious vibe. Like the kind of girl who rewires her own dishwasher.”

“I did,” she said flatly. “Last week.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“And the kettle. And Oscar’s sim pedal when it failed under full brake.”

There was a beat.

“…Who’s Oscar?” he asked, smirking now. “Your roommate?”

Felicity paused.

And for a moment—just a moment—she considered laughing.

Then she closed her laptop slowly. Deliberately.

“Oscar’s my husband.”

The guy blinked.

Stood up slowly. Her hoodie shifted, and with it, the full curve of her pregnancy became unmistakably obvious. Not theoretical. Not ambiguous. Imminent.

The guy’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

She adjusted the hem of her sweater, not breaking eye contact, slung her bag over one shoulder, and smiled — cold, clean, efficient.

“If you’re gonna flirt with a mechanical engineer,” she said, “maybe do a better job at observational diagnostics.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked like he wanted to apologise and also vanish into the carpet tiles.

Felicity didn’t wait for a response.

***

Trinity College, Oxford

By the time Felicity Piastri was twenty-one, she had two things down to a science:

How to balance a toddler on her hip while rewriting entire sections of a doctoral thesis.

The exact number of times she could ignore the same man before it became a full-blown academic experiment.

Her Oxford doctoral project - Reinforcement Through Flexibility: Dynamic Adaptation in Composite-Structured Performance Environments. - had technically been finished for weeks. The simulations were done, the modelling locked in, her conclusions tight and triple-sourced. Now she was just revising. Editing. Wrangling footnotes into submission while Bee tried to paste glitter stickers into the margins of her printed draft.

She did almost everything from home.

The only reason she even stepped foot into Oxford was for fortnightly supervision meetings with Dr. Green, who was brilliant, terrifying, and the only person Felicity would willingly leave the house (and her toddler) for.

Which was, unfortunately, where Nathan lived.

Nathan — Dr. Green’s personal assistant — had been a PPE student once upon a time, which explained a lot. Somehow, he’d wheedled his way into a departmental admin role despite not knowing the difference between a torque curve and a coffee stain. His talents included:

Misfiling room bookings.

Brewing tea that tasted like despair.

Flirting with Felicity like it was something he was being graded on.

The first time he tried it, she’d thought it was just bad small talk. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed the type to flirt accidentally, the kind of man who said “babe” to baristas and thought it made him charming.

The second time, she was slightly annoyed.

By the fifth, she had moved on to anthropological interest.

How did he not see the wedding ring? The child’s drawings poking out of her folder? The exhaustion of someone whose idea of a wild Friday night was installing firmware updates for fun?

Today, she arrived two minutes early for her meeting. She’d barely stepped into the department lobby when he spotted her.

“Dr. Green is running a bit late,” Nathan announced, standing up from behind the reception desk like he was emerging for a curtain call. “But I can keep you company if you like.”

Felicity barely paused. “She’s not. She still has 2 minutes till our appointment time.”

He grinned like she’d just flirted back. “You know, I was thinking the other day… you never hang around after your meetings. You always rush off.”

“Yeah,” she said, expression unreadable. “Because I have a toddler. And a dissertation. And a husband. In that order.”

Nathan winced theatrically. “Oof. Brutal.”

She offered him a smile that wasn’t one. “Sorry. Was that too reality-based?”

Still, he pressed on, leaning against the desk like he thought he was on the cover of GQ.

“Still,” he said, “it’d be nice to talk about something other than drivetrain mapping sometime. Maybe grab a drink?”

Felicity blinked. Twice.

It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested it. But somehow, today, it caught her even more off guard.

“You’re asking me,” she said slowly, “a married mother of one, who is actively finishing a thesis and hasn’t eaten a full sit-down meal in two days, to go get drinks with you?”

He laughed, like she was being ridiculous.

“I didn’t think you’d take it that seriously. We could just talk—”

“About what?” she asked, genuinely baffled. “What, precisely, do you think I have in common with a man who once told me Elon Musk was just misunderstood?”

Nathan blinked.

Felicity continued. “Do you want help with your CV? Is this about office gossip? Are you confused and trying to network with me through reverse psychology?”

“I just meant—”

“I’m not trying to be rude,” she said, eyes narrowing in thought. “I genuinely don’t understand what outcome you’re envisioning here. Do you think I’m going to cheat on my husband with the guy who can’t pronounce ‘aerodynamics’ without swallowing the word halfway through?”

He flushed slightly. “You don’t have to be mean.”

“I’m not. I’m being efficient.”

The door to the inner office opened before he could reply. Dr. Green appeared, breathless and balancing two takeaway coffees in one hand and a folder in the other.

“Felicity, I’m so sorry. The grant committee meeting ran over. Here—” She handed over one of the cups. “Decaf oat, right? And I pulled the new journal submissions for you. There are a few I thought might intersect with your secondary chapter on hybrid systems.”

Felicity smiled as she took the coffee. “Thanks. I already reviewed the three most relevant ones and emailed you a summary chart with citations.”

Dr. Green blinked. “Of course you did.”

Nathan blinked, too, but for entirely different reasons.

Felicity turned back to him just before following her professor inside.

“Oh, and Nathan?”

“…Yes?” he said, still — somehow — hopeful.

She raised her left hand and tapped the wedding band with one finger. “This wasn’t a joke.”

And then she shut the office door behind her like it was a verdict.

The Door Handle Aisle of Homebase, Woking

Oscar was off racing.

Felicity was elbow-deep in a bathroom renovation.

Not the Pinterest kind.

Not the “new towels and scented eucalyptus and a little bamboo ladder for the aesthetic” kind.

No, this was the “rip out the vanity with a crowbar and discover the wall behind it had been sealed with hope and duct tape” kind.

The kind of renovation that required full battle gear: dust mask, gloves, safety goggles, and the controlled fury of a woman who had read the plumbing manual twice and did not need a man explaining pipe fittings to her.

And because she was who she was — stubborn, competent, and wildly intelligent— Felicity hadn’t hired anyone.

She could do it herself.

And she would.

Which meant… many, many trips to the hardware store.

The staff had started to recognise her by mid-April. A couple of them even learned to duck when she walked in, in case she asked for a specific size of tap washer they didn’t carry. But one guy — the guy from the sealant aisle—hadn’t learned that lesson.

Late twenties, overly friendly, perpetually wearing a toolbelt he definitely didn’t need, like he thought it made him look rugged instead of unconvincing. He hovered near the caulk and grout displays like they were a dating pool.

The first time, it was casual.

“You here again?” he’d asked, smiling like he was in a rom-com. “You must really like DIY.”

Felicity didn’t look up from the tile grout chart. “I like doing things properly.”

The second time, it was more confident.

“Doing a kitchen too?” he asked, spotting the tile adhesive in her basket. “You ever need help—”

“I’ve got it, thanks,” she said, already walking toward checkout before he could finish.

By the sixth visit, he had apparently decided they were bonding.

She was in the handles aisle, comparing brass finishes, when she heard him again — that telltale sneaker-squeak on linoleum, the voice turned up a little too loud, too performative.

“Wow,” he said, appearing at the end of the aisle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you keep coming in just to see me.”

Felicity didn’t look up. She held one cabinet pull in each hand and considered which one better matched the art deco lines of the mirror she’d thrifted.

“I assure you,” she said, tone even, “my interest in you begins and ends with your stock of brass hinges.”

He laughed, undeterred. “Come on. You’re always here. I figured, maybe you’re one of those cool builder girls. You don’t wear a ring or anything, so…”

That’s what finally made her pause.

Not the tone. Not the implication. But the logic.

She looked at him.

“You think I keep coming in here because… what? I’m lonely?” she asked, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “I’m literally holding blueprints and a door handle.”

He shrugged. “You just seem like the kind of girl who could use a little—” (God help him) “—company.”

Felicity blinked. She wiped a smudge of pencil from her chin, set the handles back down, and reached into her tote bag without breaking eye contact.

She pulled out her phone.

“I’m going to walk you through something,” she said calmly, unlocking the screen. “Because clearly, you didn’t do any preliminary research before launching this… ill-conceived outreach attempt.”

She turned the lock screen toward him.

A photo.

Felicity, curled up on a sofa in a hoodie. Oscar was beside her, kissing the top of her head. Bee sprawled between them in footie pyjamas, holding a spoon upside down like a trophy. The lighting was soft. Domestic. Unmistakably intimate.

“This,” Felicity said, “is my husband. He is currently in Azerbaijan, driving a car at three hundred miles an hour. That’s our daughter. She is two. I do renovations during naptime.”

The man paled. “Oh. I—uh. I didn’t know—”

“No,” she agreed. “You didn’t ask.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else — possibly to dig the hole deeper.

But Felicity wasn’t done.

“I come in here to buy tile primer. I don’t come in here for unsolicited analysis of my marital status from men who think a toolbelt is a personality trait.”

Her voice never rose. It didn’t have to.

It was calm. Steady.

The voice of someone who had personally rewired her fuse box and once installed a dishwasher while on the phone and dealing with a crying toddler.

She smiled politely. Dangerously.

Like a woman who kept zip ties in her car and knew how to use them.

“I’ll take these, thanks,” she said, lifting the cabinet handles. “Don’t need help carrying them. But if you’ve got any more of that tile primer from last week in stock, that would be helpful.”

He mumbled something about checking the back and fled like a man pursued by the consequences of his own choices.

Felicity watched him go, then picked up the nicer brass finish.

She didn’t even roll her eyes. She was too tired.

Felicity just wanted her tile primer and to go home.

***

Rooftop Bar, Melbourne

Felicity didn’t go out much.

Not because she couldn’t — Oscar insisted she take breaks, even booked her massages that she always forgot to attend — but because she liked her life.

She liked being home with Bee. She liked sanding doorframes and painting walls and mapping out the next renovation with a pencil stuck in her messy bun. She liked curling up on the sofa with her laptop, trading stock options at 1 AM. She liked Oscar reading over her shoulder, pointing out line graphs he didn’t understand but wanted to. She liked the steady rhythm of their days. Naptimes and quiet dinners and Bee’s loud commentary on the existence of pigeons.

But they were in Melbourne over the Winter break, and Nicole had insisted.

“You’re getting out of the house,” she’d said, practically pushing Felicity toward the wardrobe. “You’ve been in Australia for five days, and the only places you’ve seen are the beach and Bunnings.”

And so here they were — rooftop bar in Melbourne, warm summer air, glass of chilled white wine in Nicole’s hand and a lemon-lime mocktail in Felicity’s.

Their dresses fluttered in the breeze; Her hair was up. Her arms were bare. She looked, Nicole thought proudly, like the kind of woman men write songs about.

Which was, unfortunately, the problem.

Because a man at the bar had noticed, too.

He made his way over with the swagger of someone who once played rugby in uni and still referred to it as “his prime.” White linen shirt. Too many rings. Hair with more product than structure. And that thing men did when they leaned on a table like they were presenting a TED Talk on their charm.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said smoothly, eyes only on Felicity.

Nicole didn’t blink. “You are.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows, mildly surprised, but didn’t say anything. She just sipped her drink and let the lime catch on her tongue.

The man chuckled — the low, confident kind that assumed he was being flirted back with.

“I just thought I’d say—you’ve got a great smile,” he continued. Still to Felicity. Still convinced. “You local?”

“No,” she said. “Just visiting.”

He nodded toward Nicole. “With your sister?”

Nicole’s mouth twitched.

Felicity opened her mouth to clarify, but Nicole got there first.

“I’m her mother-in-law,” she said, swirling her wine.

That gave him a moment’s pause. But not enough.

“Well, she’s clearly not married—” he gestured vaguely to Felicity’s left hand, bare in the way most hands are after a morning at the beach with a toddler and too much sunscreen.

Felicity smiled. Slowly. Like a summer storm deciding whether to ruin your picnic or level your whole house.

“I took my rings off before swimming this morning,” she said, amused. “Didn’t want to lose them in the ocean.”

He still didn’t give up. “No offence, but… a girl like you? You don’t need to be tied down so young.”

Felicity furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, you could have fun. Live a little.”

“I’m married,” she said again, a little slower. “I live a lot.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, grinning.

She genuinely didn’t understand.

What did he mean by that?

Was she supposed to say thank you? Defend her marriage?

Debate the merits of early commitment like she was on a panel?

“No,” Felicity replied honestly, “I actually don’t. What exactly do you think is going to happen? I abandon my family because you complimented my teeth?”

She had a three-year-old who could build better arguments about bedtime.

Before Felicity could figure out what to say, Nicole gently set her wine glass down.

“She’s not tied down, darling,” she said, tone perfectly pleasant. “She’s adored.”

She reached into her purse like she was pulling a weapon.

“Would you like to see a photo of her husband holding their daughter on the beach this morning?” she asked. “Or maybe the one where he flew eight hours just to make it to her thesis defence?”

The man’s face did a visible three-second software update.

“No, that’s okay,” he said, already backing up a step.

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “You sure? My son is very photogenic. His job likes to post him shirtless sometimes. It’s a whole thing.”

Felicity had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“Right. Uh—have a nice night,” the man muttered, vanishing like a bug under bright light.

+1 — The One Time Oscar Noticed

The garage was buzzing with that high-voltage energy unique to a U.S. race weekend — louder music, brighter cameras, fans pressed against every fence line like they were at a concert instead of a motorsport event. McLaren’s VIP list was stacked with influencers, sponsors, and the usual parade of celebrities trying to look like they knew what a downforce map was.

Oscar didn’t care about any of them.

He cared about the girls in the denim jackets with PIASTRI stitched across the back in big, white glittery letters. Their arts and crafts project for Silverstone.

Felicity was standing near the back of the garage, Bee balanced on her hip, and a pair of toddler-sized headphones slipped over her curls. The two of them had matching jackets, homemade and loud and perfect. Bee’s even had a sparkly iron-on chicken. Felicity’s had glitter stars. Oscar had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

He was mid-chat with one of the engineers when he glanced over again.

And froze.

Because some guy—tall, tanned, fake-smiling, and clearly trying to look famous—was leaning way too close to Felicity. His teeth were too white. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He held a drink, and worse, he had sunglasses on inside. Oscar didn’t even know where he’d come from — but there he was, leaning against the garage railing like it was a club bar and Felicity was the drink special.

He was saying something. Laughing too loud.

Felicity frowned politely. She shifted a sleeping Bee on her hip and took a half-step back.

The man followed.

“I’m just saying,” he drawled, gesturing to her jacket, “if you’re gonna wear another man’s name on your back, he better be worth it.”

Felicity blinked. “He’s my husband.”

That didn’t deter him.

“Bet he doesn’t even know how good he’s got it,” the man said, still smiling, his gaze dropping briefly to her legs. “You ever get tired of being someone’s plus-one, let me know.”

Bee stirred a little, nose twitching, and Felicity rubbed her back automatically, like muscle memory. Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

The guy tilted his head. “C’mon. You’re clearly the type who plays the sweet wife in public. But a woman like you?” He dropped his voice. “You need real attention.”

Oscar took a step forward, but someone else moved faster.

“Alright,” said a voice, sharp and Australian and impossible to ignore. “Let’s try that again — from six feet away.”

The man turned, surprised, and saw Mark Webber.

Mark didn’t need to raise his voice. His presence alone was enough to freeze a room.

He gave the man a smile that could cut glass. “You’ve got five seconds to back up before I make this very awkward for everyone.”

“Sorry, mate—”

“No, see, that’s the problem,” Mark said, stepping forward slightly. “You’re not her mate. You’re a stranger talking to a woman who’s clearly married, clearly holding a child, and clearly not interested. So unless you’re trying to get blacklisted from every paddock hospitality list from now until eternity, I’d walk away.”

The guy opened his mouth. Closed it. Then turned and slinked off like a coward in designer shoes.

Oscar finally got to them, face tight, fury in every step.

Mark nodded. “Handled.”

Oscar exhaled slowly. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Mark looked at Felicity. “You alright?”

Felicity still looked baffled. “What was that?”

Oscar looked her over, checking Bee, checking her, like reassurance was the only way to keep his hands from shaking. “That guy was harassing you.”

“What? No. Was he?” She squinted after him. “He was just being weird.”

Oscar stared at her. “He was flirting. Badly.”

“He was being rude,” Felicity said. “And creepy. But flirting? Why would anyone flirt with someone holding a sleeping toddler and wearing a juice-stained T-shirt? Why does this keep happening?!”

Mark rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re wearing a custom denim jacket with your husband’s name on it in glitter. Holding your kid. And you still have men sniffing around. That’s not on you — that’s on them being idiots.”

Oscar exhaled hard.

Felicity, still gently rocking Bee, just sighed. “Maybe I should just get a flashing neon sign.”

Oscar stepped closer and kissed her temple. “You okay?”

She looked at him, tired but unbothered. “Yeah. Are you?”

“No,” he muttered. “But I will be once I get you both inside.”

***

They were tucked away in the quiet corner of the drivers' room now, post-session, Bee still fast asleep on the little sofa wrapped in one of Oscar’s hoodies. The chaos of the paddock had faded into muffled noise.

Oscar was sitting across from Felicity, one leg bouncing.

He was still rattled.

“What do you mean they keep flirting with you?” he asked, brows drawn together as he looked at her.

Felicity blinked up at him. “What?”

“You said it like it happens regularly,” he said, voice low and sharp with something he was trying to keep cool. “Like that wasn’t the first time.”

She paused. Shrugged. “I mean… it does? A little?”

Oscar stared at her. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Since Haileybury, probably? Or Oxford. And, like… in the hardware store.”

Oscar made a noise that might have been a groan or a growl.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he asked.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” she said simply, brushing a hand over Bee’s curls. “They’re not you. So they don’t have a chance.”

He stilled.

That one sentence — calm, sure, like it was the most obvious fact in the world — hit him in the chest like a perfect downshift.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You really didn’t know?”

“I knew people looked,” he admitted.

Of course, they looked. He was aware of how Felicity looked: Sunglasses pushed to the top of her head. Hair windswept from the open pit lane. She had juice on her shirt, no makeup, and still — still — she looked like something out of a dream. Breakable and brilliant. All porcelain and fire.

Beautiful.

“I’m not blind. But I didn’t realise they were… like that.”

“I don’t even get why they are doing it,” Felicity snorted. “I look like someone who hasn’t slept properly since Bee was born. I have crusted juice on my shirt. I literally threw Goldfish crackers at our daughter to buy myself ten minutes.”

Oscar leaned back, exasperated. “And you still look better than anyone else here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re just biased.”

“I’m jealous,” he corrected, then ran a hand through his hair. “God, I hate it. That guy didn’t even flinch when you said you were married.”

“He probably thought I was joking,” she said mildly. “People don’t really expect twenty-somethings to be married with kids.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “They should. You wear my name on your back.”

She shrugged. “They don’t matter. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Oscar was across the space in a second.

He kissed her — slow, deep, a little desperate — hand sliding around her waist, pulling her in close. His other hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek like he had to remind himself she was real.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breath shallow.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice low. “I know I don’t own you, but God, I feel it sometimes. Like you’ve always been mine.”

“I have. Since we were 15,” she whispered. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Even before you had a Wikipedia page.”

Oscar kissed her. Not rushed, not messy — but firm. Grounded. A kiss that said mine. A kiss that would’ve been indecent if she weren’t already wearing his name and carrying his child and his whole damn heart.

When he finally pulled back, she was breathless.

And across the room, Bee stirred, let out a sleepy sigh, and snuggled deeper into Oscar’s hoodie.

Felicity leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and muttered, “You’re ridiculous when you’re jealous.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “Yes.”

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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theodorenmyth · 3 months ago

Note

They have to end together🥹🥺🥹 but not without Theo literally begging for Reader's forgiveness and Reader being super mean to him 🥹🥺🥹

A Sky without You

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!reader

Summary ; You’re no longer the sweet, shining boy everyone knew. You shut down—silent, cold, and distant. The entire Gryffindor house and even professors worry as you isolate yourself, always disappearing to the Astronomy Tower with no light left in your eyes. Meanwhile, Theodore falls apart. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, and can’t pretend anymore. After a Transfiguration exam, he snaps—confronting his so-called friends for the cruel bet and finally admitting he loved you. To his shock, they feel the guilt too. All of them apologize, deeply, knowing they’ve broken something they can never fully fix.

A/N ; this is OFFICIALLY my longest fic yet.. ENJOY THOUGH :3 (if this flops I'm going back to writing 200 word fics.) I'll upload the continuation of this fic tomorrow because I'm actually so burnt out.

Warnings ; Emotional distress, guilt, lingering heartbreak, depression, isolation, emotional breakdowns, emotional confrontation, unresolved tension, lingering trauma, grief, guilt

Word count ; 7.3k+

It’s been weeks.

And not a single day passes where your name isn’t whispered like a fading ghost through the halls of Hogwarts. Once the boy everyone turned to—bright-eyed, always smiling, the sun in a red and gold tie—you’ve become a haunting. A memory people are too afraid to speak of too loudly.

You were the kind of person who remembered birthdays, even when others forgot their own. The kind who carried extra quills because “someone might need one,” who stayed up helping classmates study, who sat with crying first-years during meals and listened to them like their little fears mattered. You offered kindness like it cost you nothing. Because to you, it didn’t.

Now you walk the same corridors, but it’s like your footsteps don’t make a sound anymore.

You show up. You sit down. You leave.

That’s it.

No greeting.

No grin.

No helping hand when someone drops a quill or trips in the hallway.

You, who once walked slower just to keep a first-year company.

You, who once stayed behind after class to help erase the board for a tired professor.

You, who once twirled around in the snow just to see how many snowflakes you could catch on your lashes.

The portraits have stopped trying to greet you. The ones that used to cheer when you passed now fall quiet as you go by, like even they feel the weight pressing against your shoulders. The ghosts don't float near you anymore—not even the friendly ones. You don’t light up when you see friends. You don’t wave from across the library. You don’t laugh at Neville’s clumsy spills or Ginny’s sarcastic jokes.

You’re a shell. A hollow echo of the boy you used to be.

The castle feels colder.

Students murmur behind their hands, not with gossip but worry. “He hasn’t eaten in days,” someone whispers. “I saw him in the common room at four in the morning—just staring at the fire.”

Your name is now spoken with a frown. With hesitation.

“He used to help me with Herbology every Tuesday...”

“He gave me chocolate frogs once because I was homesick."

“He called the stars his best friends, remember that?”

“He hasn’t even looked at the sky.”

And it’s true. You haven’t.

You don’t go to the Astronomy Tower anymore. You don’t look up when the night sky reveals itself. You draw your curtains early and press your face into the pillow until it stops hurting—until it starts again the next morning.

Every smile you wore was carefully crafted, stitched from sincerity and softness. And it shattered so completely, no one even remembers what it looked like now.

You don’t cry. That’s the part that scares them the most. You don’t scream, don’t lash out, don’t even flinch.

You just exist.

Barely.

And the whole school feels the absence of your warmth like a cold draft no one can shut out.

You showed up to class, yes. Sat in your usual seat. Gave the right answers. Nodded at professors. But there was no life behind your eyes.

No spark.

No joy.

You didn’t greet anyone in the halls.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t wave.

You didn’t exist—not in the way you used to.

Even Peeves, who used to adore pranking you because of how dramatically you’d react, had stopped. He floated quietly past you now, expression unreadable.

Because whatever happened to you,

It silenced even him.

“Have you eaten?” Draco asked, sharp but quiet, sitting on the armrest of the common room sofa.

Theodore didn’t respond.

He sat slumped into the far end of the couch like he was trying to disappear into it. His cheek rested against the back cushion, eyes fixed on the fireplace but unfocused—glassy and hollow, as if he weren’t really there. The room flickered with golden firelight, shadows dancing across his pale face, but he didn’t even blink. His jumper was rumpled and too thin for the cold, sleeves stretched and chewed from anxious fingers. The collar sagged. His hair was a mess. He looked like a memory wearing itself thin.

Draco frowned. “Seriously, Theo, you look like hell.”

No answer.

Blaise groaned, walking behind the couch to toss a blanket over him. “You can’t mope around like this forever—”

“Yes, I can,” Theodore rasped.

That made them all stop.

Pansy looked up from her book. Astoria stilled mid-sip of her tea. Mattheo straightened where he sat by the window.

It was the first thing he’d said in days.

“You—what?” Lorenzo asked, like he hadn’t heard him right.

“Yes,” Theodore repeated, barely above a whisper, “I can.”

His voice cracked on the second word. Not with emotion, not yet—but with disuse. Like it had been tucked away somewhere dark and cold and forgotten.

“I can rot here,” he continued, sinking deeper into the couch. “And I will.”

“Theo,” Blaise said, quieter now, gentler, “this isn’t—come on, you need to eat something. Or sleep. You’re barely human right now—”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve been missing classes.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ve been skipping meals.”

“I don’t care, Blaise!” Theodore snapped suddenly, sitting upright.

The outburst startled them all.

Pansy jumped. Astoria’s cup clinked against its saucer. Mattheo looked alarmed.

“I don’t care if I’m failing, I don't care if I look like a goddamn zombie, I don’t care if I die in this fucking room,” Theodore snarled, breathing hard. “Because at least if I die here, it won’t be out there, where he can see me.”

His voice cracked for real this time.

The room was silent. No one moved. No one dared.

He dragged a hand down his face. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “I can’t even walk past the Astronomy Tower anymore without wanting to scream. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face when I—when I said those words. That moment. That exact second he realized…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

“He trusted me,” he said instead, voice shaking, “and I broke him. And for what? Six hundred fucking galleons? A laugh?”

The guilt rolled off him in waves, suffocating and bitter. He curled forward like he couldn’t hold the weight anymore.

“I haven’t seen him smile in weeks,” he croaked. “Not once. Not a flicker. I took the brightest thing in this school and I dimmed it. I killed it.”

Pansy covered her mouth. Astoria looked close to tears. Mattheo dropped his gaze.

“You should’ve seen him,” Theodore whispered. “Before me. Before the bet. He was like—like something out of a fairytale. He helped everyone. He’d stay up until four in the morning studying just so he could help a first-year through a test the next day. He knew the names of every constellation, every planet. He’d talk about the universe like it was magic. Like it was alive. And I…”

He finally broke.

The first tear slipped down his cheek silently.

“I told him I loved him under a sky full of stars and I lied.”

No one spoke.

Not even Draco.

Not even Mattheo, who was usually the first to crack a joke when things got too heavy.

“I haven’t been able to sleep since,” Theodore whispered, tears streaming down his face now. “Not when I know he probably cries alone every night and I—I did that. With my words. My mouth. My heartless—”

His voice choked off, and he slammed a fist into the arm of the sofa.

“I wish I’d never taken that fucking bet.”

Mattheo shifted uncomfortably, guilt etched into every line of his face. “We didn’t think it would… go this far. We thought you’d laugh it off. That he’d figure it out.”

“He loved me,” Theodore said, voice flat. “He loved me more than I’ve ever been loved in my life. And I crushed him. For all of you.”

None of them had anything to say to that.

Because he was right.

And they were just starting to realize how much it cost.

Across the castle, in Gryffindor Tower, things were just as broken—if not more.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls like memories refusing to fade. The chairs around the common room were half-occupied—students whispering quietly, watching you from the corners of their eyes but saying nothing. Not anymore.

You sat curled into your usual spot by the window, the one with the draft you used to complain about but secretly liked because it made the stars feel closer. You didn’t complain anymore. You didn’t speak. You barely moved. A blanket was draped around your shoulders, though you hadn’t pulled it there yourself. It was always there, every night—someone’s silent attempt to bring you comfort you couldn’t ask for.

“Please,” Hermione’s voice cracked. She knelt beside you, her hand hovering, not quite touching your knee. “Just one spoonful, love. Just one. You have to eat something. You haven’t even touched breakfast, and it’s nearly dinner.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t blink.

You hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of toast in days. And even those were forced down, dry and tasteless, with shaking hands and an empty stomach that didn’t growl anymore. It was as if even your body had stopped trying.

Ron sat on the floor behind Hermione, his brows drawn together, lips pressed in a tight line. “He’s not gonna answer, Hermione. He hasn’t said anything in days.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, and then immediately softened, her gaze flickering back to you. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

No one did.

Harry stood further back, near the stairs, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He hadn’t said much since that day. He was angry—but not at you. Never at you. Just at the situation. At the pain carved into your face. At himself, maybe, for not stopping it. For not being able to fix it. For not noticing that you were falling in love with someone who had only ever meant to break you.

You didn’t look at them.

You couldn’t.

Because if you did, you’d see the way their eyes shimmered. You’d see the way they looked at you like you were something fragile, something precious and cracked, and it would all become too real again.

So you kept your gaze on the sky, even though you didn’t see it anymore. Not really.

The stars—once your solace, your home, your peace—now felt like strangers. Cold and distant and cruel. You used to sit here for hours, naming constellations, tracing galaxies with your fingertip on the glass, yapping on about black holes and nebulae and planetary alignments until someone dragged you away.

Now your fingers were still.

Your mouth silent.

Your soul, lost.

It wasn’t just the heartbreak. It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the humiliation. The cruelty of it all. The laughter that had echoed through the Great Hall still haunted your ears. The way his voice, the same voice that once whispered “I love you” under starlit skies, had gone sharp, cold, hollow as he dumped you in front of everyone like you were some failed potion.

A joke.

A bet.

Just a name on a list.

And somehow, despite all of that, you still missed him.

You missed him.

Not the version that had laughed with Mattheo and Draco while you fell apart.

Not the version that walked away without even flinching.

But the version that had held you close under blankets in the Astronomy Tower. The one who whispered stories about the stars with you. The one who let you talk for hours and never told you to stop. The one who kissed you like he meant it.

You missed the Theodore who ran his fingers through your hair just to watch you fall asleep in his lap.

You missed the feeling of his arms around you, strong and warm and protective in ways you didn’t know you needed. You missed the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles when you were anxious. The way he’d press his lips to your temple like a promise, so soft and lingering it felt like he was memorizing you.

You missed his touch.

But you never said it out loud.

Not even to yourself.

You couldn’t.

Because that would mean admitting you still wanted him.

That you still loved him.

And after everything, how could you?

You hated yourself for it. For the way your skin still itched with phantom memories. For the way your body leaned just slightly to the left sometimes, as if expecting him to be there. For the way you still dreamed about him, still woke up with his name on your lips and tears on your cheeks.

And yet, every night, without fail, you curled into that windowsill. You watched the sky. You waited for something—anything—to bring you peace.

But it never came.

Your dorm mates stopped asking if you were okay. Seamus had tried to make you laugh with one of his awful impressions of Snape, but when you didn’t even blink, he sat down and said nothing else. Dean left a chocolate frog on your bed one morning. You didn’t touch it.

Neville looked like he was going to cry every time you passed him.

Even Lavender, who usually only cared about gossip, had stopped talking about boys and started leaving little notes of encouragement near your books. You read them. You appreciated them. But they didn’t help.

Nothing did.

You moved through the castle like a ghost—quiet, present, but not alive.

The professors noticed too. McGonagall, strict as she was, gave you extra time on essays. Flitwick excused you from practicals. Even Snape, of all people, narrowed his eyes when you walked into Potions late one morning and just stared at you before silently returning to the board without his usual cruel remarks.

They all knew.

Because you weren’t you anymore.

You were the boy who used to light up when someone mentioned a meteor shower. The boy who believed in soulmates and kissed like love was the only thing keeping the world spinning. The boy who gave everything—and got nothing back.

Now you were the boy who sat in silence.

The boy who flinched when someone got too close.

The boy who hadn’t smiled in twenty-nine days.

The boy who whispered names of stars under his breath at night, not because he wanted to share them, but because he was afraid he’d forget.

Because the only time you still felt anything at all,

Was when you closed your eyes and pretended his hand was still wrapped in yours.

Professor McGonagall nearly lost her composure in the middle of the staff meeting.

“He’s failing Astronomy,” she whispered to Flitwick, her voice thin and frayed at the edges. “He adored that subject. He breathed it. He stayed after every class, even when he didn’t have to, just to help clean up the telescopes or talk about star formations no one else remembered. He used to smile so brightly when he pointed at the constellations—smile, Filius.”

Flitwick’s ears drooped slightly as he folded his hands in front of him. “I know,” he murmured. “He used to come to my classroom during breaks and ask questions about star-related charms. Said he wanted to see if stardust could be replicated magically. His curiosity was… infectious.”

Professor Sinistra, normally so composed, rubbed her arms and shook her head. “He was the only student who’d ask to stay after class just to keep looking at the sky. He told me once that the stars made him feel safe. That no matter what happened, the sky stayed the same, and that gave him hope.” Her voice broke slightly. “Now he doesn’t even look up.”

“I tried to give him an extension on the recent charting project,” she added, voice quieter. “He just left the parchment blank. When I asked if he needed help, he told me, ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.’ Then he walked out.”

McGonagall’s hands trembled on the table. “That boy has never—never—spoken to a professor like that before. Not even during his worst days. He apologized once for being late when he was ill. And now he’s failing?”

There was silence for a moment—thick, heavy silence.

Then Slughorn spoke, eyes sad behind his spectacles. “I had him in third year for Potions Club,” he said quietly. “Brilliant young man. Polite, thoughtful. He used to make these beautiful little memory vials with constellations etched into them—gave one to me after a particularly long week. Said it reminded him of his mother. Always thinking of others. And now…” His voice cracked. “He didn’t even show up for the last two club meetings.”

Snape sat across the table, arms crossed, face blank. But his eyes were hard and sharp. “He’s late to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every day. I don’t deduct points anymore,” he said coolly, but the slightest furrow in his brow betrayed more than his tone. “He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t raise his hand. He simply exists.”

“You said he gave the correct counter-curse last week,” Flitwick offered gently, as if trying to find something good.

“Yes,” Snape replied slowly, “but he didn’t look at me once. Didn’t even react when the others applauded. It was like… it meant nothing.”

McGonagall leaned forward. “He doesn’t sit with anyone anymore. Not at meals, not in the common room. I found him asleep on a bench near the astronomy tower two nights ago. It was freezing. He’d been out there for hours.”

“That poor boy,” Professor Sprout murmured, dabbing her eyes. “He always helped my Hufflepuffs with Herbology, even when they didn’t ask. Always smiling, always kind.”

“I saw him in the corridor yesterday,” Hagrid added softly, his massive hands folded tightly on the table. “He didn’t even notice me. Just walked by like a ghost. I said his name—twice. Not even a flinch.”

Dumbledore had been silent this entire time, his hands steepled beneath his chin, expression unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, voice low but heavy with weight. “I spoke with Harry last evening. He’s tried everything. So has Miss Granger. So has Mr. Weasley. They said he doesn’t respond anymore. That he simply nods and walks away.”

There was a pause.

“Do you think… we should intervene more directly?” McGonagall asked, hesitant, as though even saying it was invasive.

Dumbledore’s gaze drifted toward the high window, where stars were just beginning to appear in the dusky sky. “There is a grief that burrows itself so deep into a person that no spell, no potion, and no lecture can reach it,” he said gently. “This is not just heartbreak. This is… loss of self.”

The staff exchanged solemn glances.

“Do we know what caused it?” Slughorn asked finally.

Snape’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Theodore Nott,” he said plainly. “It was him.”

“He broke up with Y/N in the Great Hall,” McGonagall said bitterly. “In front of everyone.”

“And it was part of a bet,” Snape added coldly. “Made by him and the other Slytherins.”

The room erupted in quiet gasps and soft curses.

Hagrid’s face turned red with anger. “A bet?! That poor lad gave that boy his heart—he was over the moon for him!”

“I believe,” Dumbledore said gently, “he still is.”

That silence came again—heavier this time. More suffocating.

“I should speak with Mr. Nott,” McGonagall said finally, standing.

Dumbledore raised a hand.

“No,” he said, voice grave. “He already knows what he’s done. He’s suffering in his own way.”

“So we just wait?” Flitwick asked softly.

“We wait,” Dumbledore said, “and hope the stars he once trusted so deeply… guide him back.”

Theodore stood outside the Astronomy Tower again that night.

Just like every night since the day he broke your heart.

Same hour. Same silence. Same ache that never dulled. He didn’t go inside—not anymore. He stood just outside the archway, where the wind howled through the corridor and the shadows swallowed him whole. The tower didn’t feel like his place anymore. It never truly had.

It was yours.

Yours, with your star charts and wide eyes. Yours, with your laughter that echoed like music between stone walls. Yours, with the way you’d twirl in the moonlight, pointing at constellations like you were introducing him to friends. The tower had felt warm once, enchanted even. Now it felt hollow. Like a tomb.

And yet, he came back.

Every. Damn. Night.

Maybe it was punishment. Maybe it was hope. Maybe he was chasing ghosts.

Maybe he just wanted to be close to you, even if only in memory.

The chill wind bit at his skin as he pulled your old star chart from his pocket. It was frayed at the edges, creased from his constant unfolding, but it still smelled faintly of you—like ink, old parchment, and peppermint. He clutched it like it was sacred.

He unfolded it slowly, fingers trembling.

The little doodles you'd drawn along the corners still made his heart twist. Tiny constellations with smiley faces, a stick figure labeled “Y/N,” one beside it labeled “Theo,” both lying under a cartoon sky filled with glittery stars. Your annotations were messy in places, but charming.

Beside the comet sketch, you had written:

“We’ll see this one together next winter. Promise me you’ll be there.”

He hadn’t even remembered the comet until now. It was due to pass overhead in December.

He wasn’t sure if he’d live to see it.

Not like this.

Every night he stayed in this spot, cold and hollow, his thoughts looping back to the same image:

Your face in the Great Hall.

When he’d said it. When he’d laughed. When he told you it was all a joke.

He saw it in every nightmare now—

Your bright smile faltering.

Your eyes going glassy.

The color draining from your face.

The way you didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even argue.

You just… looked at him like he’d killed something inside you.

Because he had.

And the others? His so-called friends? Mattheo, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Astoria, Lorenzo… They’d laughed like it was nothing. Tossed their galleons on the table. Cheered like it was a victory.

But even they had stopped laughing now.

Because it was affecting him, too.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t joke. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t feel like himself.

He wasn’t.

He was just a shell—full of regret, sick with guilt, and haunted by the sound of your voice whispering star facts to him in the dark.

And even they were starting to see it.

Even Snape had given him a strange look in class, as if recognizing something deeper—something broken.

But Theodore didn’t care what they saw anymore.

He only cared about the one person who no longer looked at him at all.

He held the chart tighter to his chest, his breath shaky as he glanced up at the stars above the tower. They sparkled like they always had—but somehow felt dimmer. Distant. Cold.

You used to make them feel close. Like they could be touched.

Now, they were just reminders.

Of what he had.

And what he lost.

His lips parted as he whispered into the night, voice raw, shaking.

“I miss you.”

It cracked through the silence like thunder.

“I miss your voice… I miss how you talked about Mars like it was your best friend. I miss how you held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. I miss how you looked at me like I mattered. Like I was someone worth loving.”

He stared down at the parchment again, eyes burning.

“You loved me like I was the stars, Y/N. And I loved you too. I was just too much of a coward to say it.”

A beat.

The wind whistled through the corridor.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall, letting his head fall against the stone.

“I ruined everything.”

His voice cracked.

“You gave me the universe… and I shattered it like it meant nothing.”

He paused—waiting. Hoping. Begging for a sign.

But there was nothing.

No sound.

No footsteps.

No familiar giggle from the stairway.

Just the cold, and the empty ache that he feared might never go away.

And the knowledge that he’d broken the only thing in his life that had ever truly been beautiful.

The Astronomy Tower stood the same, and that hurt more than anything.

Because everything else had changed.

You walked slowly, your hand brushing the familiar stone wall. You could feel the ghosts of what had once been—his hand clasping yours, your laughter echoing into the sky, the way the stars looked brighter just because he was beside you.

And now?

Now it felt like a tomb.

Your chest ached with every step. You hadn’t been back since that night. Since the night everything inside you died and turned to something quiet, cold, and bitter. It had taken every ounce of your remaining will to drag yourself up here again.

But something called to you.

Maybe it was foolish hope. Maybe it was grief.

Maybe it was the part of you that still whispered his name in the dark.

When you pushed open the heavy door, the wind hit you first—chilly, but familiar—and then the stars, blinking quietly, as if waiting for you to return.

You took a deep breath, stepping onto the balcony. The stone railing was cold under your fingertips, but grounding.

It was just you and the sky again.

You closed your eyes, lifting your face to the stars.

“Cassiopeia’s crooked again,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You always hated that.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I told you the stars didn’t care about symmetry. You told me I talked too much. But you never stopped listening.”

Your voice cracked. “Why didn’t you stop listening when it mattered?”

Silence answered you.

At least for a moment.

Because then—footsteps.

Soft. Careful. Familiar.

Your heart sank, and you didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

He always walked like that around you—like he was trying not to wake you from a dream.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed.

“…Y/N?”

His voice hadn’t changed.

But you had.

You turned, slowly.

Your eyes met his—and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

He looked…

“God,” you whispered without meaning to, “you look…”

You couldn’t finish.

Because he looked awful.

Theodore Nott had always been pale, sharp, elegant—but now he looked fragile. Like a single gust of wind would knock him over. His cheekbones were sharper, his eyes rimmed red. There were dark circles under them, the kind that didn’t come from lack of sleep alone. His robes hung looser on him. His hands were shaking, even though he tried to hide it.

And his eyes—those haunting, sea-glass eyes you used to love so much—looked empty.

“I didn’t think you’d come back here,” he said, voice rough.

“I didn’t mean to,” you replied softly, still shocked. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

He took a step closer, cautious.

You didn’t move away—but you didn’t get closer, either.

You couldn’t.

“Why do you look like that?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “What happened to you?”

He swallowed, eyes flicking away. “You.”

You flinched.

“Don’t say that,” you said harshly.

But it was too late.

You both knew it was true.

“You haven’t been eating,” you murmured, eyeing him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

You stared at him for a long time. “Why?”

“Because I miss you,” he admitted, barely a whisper. “Because I hate myself. Because I keep hearing your voice in my head and it hurts more than anything else ever has.”

He took another step closer.

You let him. Barely.

The wind swirled around you both, tugging at your robes.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t be looking at you. I shouldn’t care.”

“But you do,” he said quietly.

And gods help you—you did.

“Why are you here, Theodore?” you asked, voice shaking. “Why now?”

He blinked slowly, as if every word he was about to say was a struggle.

“Because I’m sorry.”

Your hands curled into fists.

“Too late.”

“I know.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because I never got to say it before,” he whispered. “Not when it mattered. Not when you were breaking. Not when I should’ve thrown the bet away and fallen to my knees in front of you.”

You stared at him, lips trembling.

“You want to say sorry now?” you asked, voice brittle. “After you made me a joke? After you humiliated me in front of the whole school? After you laughed with them like I was a fucking—toy?”

“I didn’t laugh,” he said, voice cracking. “I never laughed.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t stop them.”

“I should have,” he admitted. “I should’ve grabbed your hand and told them all to go to hell.”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

“Because I was stupid. And scared. And weak. I cared more about what they thought of me than I did about how I was hurting you.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I told you about my parents,” you said, voice soft. “I told you about being alone. I told you how scared I was of being someone’s pity project. And you—you used that against me.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.”

The silence between you grew sharp.

You took another step forward, now inches away.

“You killed something inside me, Theodore.”

He looked ready to break.

“And you know what’s worse?” you whispered. “I still love you. Even now. Even after everything. Even when I don’t want to.”

His lips parted, eyes wide.

You laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that pathetic?”

“No,” he said, voice urgent. “It’s not. It’s not pathetic, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And I—I ruined you.”

“Yes,” you whispered. “You did.”

He reached for you—slowly.

But you stepped back.

“I can’t forgive you,” you said, choking on the words. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”

He froze.

“I need you to understand something, Theo,” you said, voice breaking. “I would have given you everything. I did. I would’ve walked through fire for you.”

You looked up, eyes glassy.

“But you set the fire yourself.”

Then, quietly, “And you watched me burn.”

His breath hitched.

You stepped past him.

He didn’t stop you.

But this time, he turned too. He watched you walk away.

And when you looked back—just once—you saw it.

Tears. Real ones.

He collapsed against the balcony the second you disappeared down the stairs, shoulders trembling.

The stars above both of you blinked down in sorrow.

And neither of you noticed that the brightest one flickered out.

Theodore Nott was a haunted boy now.

There were nights he couldn’t sleep, so he just laid on his back in the cold green haze of the Slytherin dorms, watching the shadows from the Black Lake dance along the stone ceiling. His hands trembled. His thoughts did not.

Because every single thought was you.

Your voice. Your laugh. The way your eyes shimmered when you looked up at the sky and started yapping about Sirius or Mars or that little cluster of stars that supposedly looked like a cat you always insisted that one existed.

He would’ve laughed at you once. Thought you were ridiculous. Too bright for your own good.

But then you had kissed him.

And suddenly, stars had felt real.

────────────────

You weren’t laughing anymore.

You weren’t talking about constellations.

You weren’t… you.

Everyone noticed.

Gryffindor tower had turned somber. The usual energy was gone. No more jokes. No more harmless explosions from Fred and George. No more friendly morning bickering with Ron, or walking with Hermione to breakfast, or teasing Harry for being the “chosen one” with a crooked grin that made people smile just watching it.

Now?

Now you barely left your bed.

You stopped eating unless someone forced you to.

You didn’t go to Astronomy class anymore—your favorite class. Professor Sinistra even visited McGonagall personally to let her feelings out of her chest.

And she wasn’t the only one worried.

Even Snape asked.

He called on you once during Potions, something he rarely did, and when you didn’t respond—just stared blankly at the board with bloodshot eyes—he paused for a moment.

His voice wasn’t sharp. Not like usual.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” he said, quieter. “You’re excused for today. Leave your things. Go back to your common room.”

You didn’t argue. You just left.

The whole class went silent.

Because everyone had heard the rumors by now.

The whole school knew what Theodore had done. The bet. The humiliation. The way your face had cracked in front of every house like a mirror shattering in slow motion. You hadn’t said a single word to Theodore since that day.

But he hadn’t stopped looking for you.

────────────────

“Where is he? I haven't seen him all fucking day.” Theodore snapped, slamming his hands on the table in the Slytherin common room.

The others flinched.

Blaise glanced up from his book. “Still being dramatic in Gryffindor tower, I imagine.”

“Don’t,” Theodore warned. His tone was darker than they’d heard in weeks. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

Mattheo exchanged a glance with Draco. “Mate,” he said slowly, “we didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” Theodore snarled. “You didn’t think. None of us did.”

The common room went quiet again.

Theodore raked a hand through his hair, pacing.

“I—I thought he’d bounce back,” Lorenzo offered weakly. “He’s Gryffindor’s golden boy. Always so… cheerful.”

“He’s not,” Theodore said, voice hollow. “Not anymore.”

Astoria finally spoke, soft but sharp. “We did this.”

No one argued.

Because it was true.

And the worst part? It wasn’t just you that had changed.

Theodore was unraveling right alongside you.

He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He skipped more classes than he attended. He carried your astronomy notebook around like a damn talisman, flipping through it every night like it would summon you back.

There were notes in the margins about him. Tiny doodles. Scribbled hearts. One page even had his name next to a constellation you made up—Theodon, the “prickly lion star.”

He had laughed when he saw that. Now it made his eyes burn.

He missed you so much it hurt to breathe.

────────────────

Back in Gryffindor tower, you sat curled in a blanket on the windowsill, journal unopened in your lap.

Harry watched you from across the room, arms folded.

“Talk to me,” he tried again. “Just a word. Anything.”

You blinked slowly, like you were underwater.

“Y/N,” Hermione whispered from behind you. “You’re scaring us.”

And you were.

Your hands didn’t tremble anymore.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t throw things.

You just… stared.

And that silence was worse.

Because you had never been silent.

You had always been the one to talk through your feelings, ramble about them. Even when things were hard, you lit up the room with useless facts about constellations or reminded people to breathe, smile, take care of themselves. You were light.

Now you were fading.

Hermione knelt beside your seat, placing a wrapped chocolate frog on your lap. “I saved this for you.”

You didn’t take it.

Ron shifted uncomfortably near the fireplace, staring at the floor. “He doesn’t deserve you, you know,” he mumbled. “Not after what he did.”

You flinched.

“He doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

“I know,” you finally whispered.

The three of them froze.

It was the first time you had spoken in two days.

You set the chocolate frog aside gently.

“Then why does it still hurt?” you asked, voice hollow. “Why does it feel like the stars stopped shining?”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears.

Harry reached for your hand and squeezed. “Because you loved him.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I really did.”

────────────────

That night, you returned to the Astronomy Tower for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t tell anyone. You just climbed the steps quietly, hands shaking, heart aching. The door creaked open. The wind whispered like a ghost, cold and biting.

You stepped out into the night.

The stars greeted you like old friends.

You stood there for a long moment, just breathing, letting the wind whip through your robes. You remembered where you’d sat with him. Where he kissed you. Where he looked at you like you were the only thing he could see.

You knelt down and opened your journal.

Your quill trembled.

But you wrote.

You drew every star you could see. Every one you remembered. Every one he made you forget.

And for the first time in weeks…

You cried.

Not from heartbreak, but from relief.

You were still here.

The stars hadn’t gone anywhere.

And maybe—just maybe—you could find your way back to them.

────────────────

Far below, Theodore sat in the courtyard, your notebook pressed to his chest like a shield.

He stared up at the tower window, wondering if you were there. Wondering if the stars had taken you back.

Wondering if he’d ever be enough to stand beside you again.

And for the first time in his life, Theodore Nott felt like the loneliest boy in the universe.

The halls had grown quieter when you passed.

Not out of awkwardness. Out of worry.

Professors had stopped asking you questions directly. Neville tried to sit next to you in Herbology, but you barely acknowledged him. Even Lavender and Parvati, who once couldn’t stop teasing you about “your moody Slytherin boyfriend,” had learned to keep their distance. You were polite. Distant. Untouchable.

But slowly, you were reclaiming little pieces of yourself.

You returned to Astronomy class regularly, always sitting near the back. You still never spoke, but you were there. Present. Listening.

And you were writing again.

A few Gryffindors had noticed. Hermione peeked at your parchment once and saw it—pages and pages of stars, sky maps, invented constellations. She cried about it later in the common room, but didn’t let you see.

Even Professor Sinistra took notice.

She left you small things after class. A note. A paper star folded from map pages. A diagram of lunar phases that included your birthday marked with a tiny, golden moon. Her way of saying, I see you. You’re still here.

────────────────

Theodore had grown pale.

He still walked the halls with that same cool expression, that perfect posture, that quiet air—but he was hollow now. Glass-eyed. Slower. The shadows under his eyes had turned permanent.

He avoided his friends, the Slytherin common room, the Quidditch pitch.

He was grieving, even if he couldn’t admit it at first.

But guilt was a loud, living thing.

And it clawed at him every day.

────────────────

It all happened after a Transfiguration exam.

Theodore was the last to leave the classroom, trailing behind with his hands buried in his pockets and his head low. He hadn’t slept. Again. He was lingering behind while others rushed out into the corridor, buzzing about how hard the written section was or how McGonagall’s stern gaze could petrify you harder than any spell.

His footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, the usual hum of students long since faded. But then he heard them. Laughter. Familiar voices that made his stomach twist with guilt.

Mattheo. Draco. Blaise. Pansy. Astoria. Lorenzo.

They were leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t shattered something unfixable. The laughter stopped when they noticed him. Mattheo's grin faltered and pushed off the wall.

“Theodore,” he called, catching his sleeve. “Oi—what’s got you in a mood? We haven’t seen you in weeks. Did the Gryffindor go all dramatic on you again?”

Theodore yanked his arm away, eyes flashing with something colder than anger.

And for once, he didn’t walk away.

He turned on his heel, slow and deliberate.

His voice was razor-sharp when it came. “What the fuck do you want?”

They stared at him.

Draco raised a brow, amused. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Theodore snapped. “Or has all that hair gel finally seeped into your ears?”

Mattheo laughed again, but it sounded forced this time. “Holy shit, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Theodore took a step forward, his voice a bitter cocktail of fury and heartbreak. “You’re all what’s wrong with me. You, this stupid bet, and every single time I let you make fun of him.”

Pansy blinked. “It was just a joke—”

“No, it wasn’t.” His voice cracked. “It was him. It was someone who trusted me. Someone who smiled like sunlight and helped every person he met—including you. And I let you turn him into a fucking punchline.”

The silence was crushing.

He was shaking now—shoulders tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into trembling fists.

“I loved him,” Theodore whispered, barely holding himself together. “And I destroyed him because I was too much of a coward to say no. You think I’m upset because the bet ended? No. I’m upset because I wake up every night wishing I’d never taken it. Because now he won’t even look at me. And he shouldn’t.”

His voice dropped even lower. “Because I don’t deserve it.”

None of them spoke.

And for the first time since the bet started, Theodore saw it—guilt. Real guilt. The kind that sinks into bone and never lets go.

“I can’t sleep,” Theodore said hoarsely. “I can’t breathe in our dorm because I hear him laugh. I walk through this school, and I can’t go ten fucking feet without remembering him. And you think this is funny?”

Mattheo’s smirk wavered. His usual bravado slipped away, bit by bit, as Theodore’s words hung in the air like poison.

No one had ever seen him like this. Broken. Raw. Honest.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his shoes. Blaise’s arms were crossed over his chest, but his expression had gone pale. Pansy’s lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say. Not yet.

Finally, Astoria stepped forward.

“Theodore…” Her voice was soft. Guilty. “We didn’t think it would end like this.”

He scoffed bitterly. “What? That I’d actually care? That I’d fall in love with him?”

“We thought it was a crush,” Blaise muttered. “A laugh. A way to get under the Gryffindors’ skin.”

“You used him.”

Silence again.

Pansy cleared her throat, voice shaking now. “He used to help me in Potions. Every week, even when he had his own homework. He brought me Pepper-Up Potion when I was sick last winter.”

Theodore’s jaw clenched. “And you still watched me break him.”

“We didn’t know,” Mattheo said, quieter than he’d ever spoken before. “We didn’t know you were serious.”

“I wasn’t at first!” Theodore shouted. “That’s the worst part. I wasn’t. I was just like you. Laughing. Lying. Pretending it meant nothing. But then… then he started showing me stars. Telling me about the universe like it was a love letter. And I—” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I started seeing myself in the sky.”

No one spoke.

Until Pansy stepped forward, tears prickling at her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We’re all sorry. We didn’t just hurt him. We hurt you. We made you into someone you're not.”

Lorenzo nodded, voice hoarse. “We were cruel. And we deserve whatever comes from it.”

Draco’s lips pressed together tightly. He gave a single, solemn nod. “We were wrong, Theodore.”

Theodore stared at them, throat tight, chest aching.

“You don’t deserve forgiveness,” he said coldly. “But you can start by never mocking his name again. Ever. And if you really want to make it right… start by remembering the kind of person he is. Not the one we turned him into.”

Mattheo ran a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath. “You’re right.”

“We’re sorry,” Astoria repeated, voice almost too soft to hear.

Theodore didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

Because the damage was already done.

But at least now, they knew it.

471 notes · View notes

prythianpages · 3 months ago

Text

Ooh-la-love | Cassian x Reader

cassian x love witch reader | summary: just some scenes of you helping Cassian with his love life, completely oblivious to the fact that you are the love of his life. aka idiots in love (Think of this of like a little montage of 'scenes')

warnings: fluff, both reader & Cas are pretty dense in this lol, mentions of Cas puking

a/n: This has been in my drafts since last summer. I had hoped to post it for valentines day...but better late than never right? This is approx 6.1K words. I tried to write this as a stand alone but it may need some further context from the other parts.

The Love Altar Mishap

“Oh, this won’t do.”

Nothing was working your way. Your coffee this morning was too bitter, you stained your pink satin shoes with some strawberry jam and you forgot the keys to your shop, forcing you to walk back to your apartment. Not that it was a far walk but you never forgot your keys!

It was all the aftermath of last night’s ritual–the one Maeve led again. Had it been anyone else leading your coven’s monthly rituals, you wouldn’t have minded it. Sure, you’d still be a little upset.

For years, that has been your role.

But the other witches wouldn’t have been as cruel as Maeve. She enjoyed rubbing salt to your wounded heart, reminding you of what you could no longer deny. Your magic was no longer the same. It hasn’t been since your fall, since…

A knot formed in your stomach and you took a deep breath, forcing the dark memories of those starless nights out.

As you gazed up at the bright neon sign in your shop, you couldn’t help but wonder if Maeve’s chaotic energy lingered within you. What once proudly proclaimed “Love This Way” now sputtered and flickered, the neon light barely illuminating the jumbled message of “Loe This Wa.”

With a determined frown, you lifted your hands towards the sign, your fingers trailing pink stardust that drifted towards the bulbs.

Instead of tightening the loose bulbs, a sharp, discordant crack echoed from the sign. You tried again, willing your magic to align with your intent…only for it to leave you with the bitter taste of failure. One worse than the coffee you had this morning.

The pink magic dwindled from your fingertips like a candle being extinguished. You took a step back. Just in time as one of the bulbs broke free from the sign, shattering on the floor and causing you to wince. You glared at your hands and then up at the sign. It continued to sputter and flicker but louder.

“Guess, I’ll have to do this the mundane way,” you huffed, turning your head toward where your lovely apprentice was. Moxie sat on a stool near the counter, absentmindedly swatting at the air.

“Are you sure this is safe?” She asked after you summoned her for help, holding onto a wooden step ladder skeptically.

You had pulled it from the dusty corners of your storage room. It wobbled precariously and you shot a stern look down at Moxie as you slowly climbed up the steps. “It’s safe if you help hold the ladder steady.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, her face etched with unease. “These pesky love bugs have been taunting me all morning. I do not want to get bitten.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice strained from the way you were reaching up with your arm. The sign had originally been hung using your magic and never imagining your magic to wane, you had hung it way up high. Even on the ladder, reaching those bulbs in the cursive letters was a stretch. “A bite from them is a–is a blessing.”

“So you say.”

“So I say and everything I say…” your voice trails off as the tips of your fingers twisted one of the bulbs, successfully tightening it. “Goes. Ha! Look at that!”

“I refuse to believe they are blessings when they left red, angry bumps all over that customer’s skin last week.” Moxie pressed on with a grimace.

“Those are love bites, they–”

The sound of bells chiming and Honey’s curt “meow” cut through the air, causing you both to pause. You didn’t turn around, intent on finishing the job, instead calling over your shoulder, “We’ll be with you shortly!”

A sudden shriek from Moxie made your heart leap. You felt the ladder sway violently, a dangerous tilt threatening to send you crashing down. You moved with haste, hoping it’d stay steady long enough for you to descend but gravity worked quicker.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you prepared for the worst, your body instinctively curling into itself. The ladder clattered against the floor, echoing through the shop but you did not meet the same fate as the ladder.

A strong arm wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you flush against their chest.

“I’ve got you.”

If the voice did not give it away, then the scent of sandalwood and leather overwhelming your senses did.

You blinked up at him, breathless. Hazel eyes scanned you with open concern, assessing for any injury. Relief flooded you, making your limbs weak, and you found yourself leaning into the warmth of his embrace.

“Cas,” you murmured, offering a breathless smile as you tilted your head back to look at him. Placing a hand over your hammering heart, you teased, “My hero.

A deep flush colored Cassian’s cheeks. It was endearing how you could easily make him blush. It seemed no one was immune to your charm. Not even the Night Court’s general.

It wasn’t until you gently pushed away that he seemed to realize he was still holding onto your waist. “Are you okay?” He asked as he let you go so you could turn and face him fully.

“Yes,” you answered, then frowned, glancing toward the flickering sign. “But also, no. My magic is… well, it’s not magic-ing.” You winced at your own phrasing but were relieved when Cassian didn’t laugh. You only found concern etched onto his face. “And so I thought I could just fix it myself…”

You motioned toward the ladder and Cassian’s gaze dropped down to it. A frown creased his brow when he noticed the splintered wood scattered around. “The fact that you had so much faith in that ladder is horrifying.” Cassian commented, lifting his gaze to meet yours once more.

“I had faith in Moxie.” You corrected him, sparing a glance your apprentice’s way. She was swatting at the air and had now caught Honey’s attention, your cat’s eyes searching for those pesky little love bugs too.

“I can help.”

“Great!” Moxie beamed, clasping her hands together with an overly enthusiastic smile. “I’ll go back to sorting the candles in the back!”

You glared at her retreating back as she walked away. Honey trailed after her. So much for her help…or his…

Once Moxie was out of sight, you turned your attention back to Cassian. “How? I just broke my one and only ladder,” you said, nodding toward the broken wood lying not far from your feet.

Cassian crossed his arms, the motion making the muscles of his biceps flex beneath his fitted leathers. The movement was effortless, unintentional, and yet you couldn’t help but stare.

“Have a little faith in me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a jolt through you and your gaze perked back up to catch him sending you a wink. Even the red siphons wrapped around his wrists seemed glimmered, as if they, too, were winking at you. Had he caught you staring?

“Right…” you huffed out, fighting the blush threatening to take over your features. Since when were you flustered?

“You forget I’m not vertically challenged like you.”

“Excuse you?” Your jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief, regretting not wearing one of your many platform shoes. “I’m not vertically challenged. You’re just vertically…blessed.”

Cassian raised a brow at you. “Blessed,” he echoed in an amused manner. “I was referring to these,” he said, flexing his wings with a lazy stretch.

“Oh,” you breathed and you were left flustered. Again. Crossing your arms, you tried to appear to be unimpressed. “Well then, Mr. Winged Tall and Mighty, show me what you got.”

“Lovely!” You said with a small, excited squeal as you gazed up at the fully functioning sign. “I’m so happy, I just might kiss you!”

Cassian’s cheeks tinted. He descended with a satisfied but slightly sheepish grin, the red forcefield from his siphons giving out as soon as his feet met the ground. He had placed it to shield your shop from the gusts created by his wingbeats, not wanting to break any of your antiques or potions. As he tucked his wings behind him, a light breeze tousled your hair that you just knew was done on purpose. Most likely in retaliation for your comment.

However, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when the flickering sign was glowing steadily once more. That wave of warmth fluttered through your chest, full of gratitude and content. It spread through your veins, radiating out to your fingertips, where it ignited the long match you held, setting it ablaze with a vivid pink flame.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile, extending the match toward him. An act of kindness could go a long way in your world. Cassian took it with a curious look. “No kiss as payment—unless you absolutely insist—but since you’ve helped me out, let’s see what the love gods have to say today!”

You were already making your way toward the section of your shop dedicated to the altars, where the air hummed with the enchanting energy of love. Honey, now nestled comfortably in his heart-shaped bed by the counter, lifted his head at the sound of your movement. With an excited purr, the fluffy white cat stretched languidly before following after you, brushing affectionately against Cassian’s leg as he passed.

With every step Cassian took toward the five love altars, the magnetic allure in the air intensified, wrapping around him like a warm, invisible thread. The altars, each representing a different aspect of love—self-love, familial love, platonic love, romantic love, and erotic love—had been carefully arranged in the shape of a five-pointed star. The star itself was outlined in bright pink paint, glowing faintly with the very essence of love magic.

Cassian placed a protective hand around the match in his hand, though he suspected the flame would not go out until its purpose was fulfilled. To light one of the candles on one of the altars.

You stood right outside of the star, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Honey, ever-attuned to the energy of the space, brushed against your leg, his fluffy tail curling around you as he looked up at Cassian. He let out a curious, “meow.”

In the center of the star stood an older fae female. She, too, held a match, but its flame was kindled by the eternal candle that flickered on a small table beside you. After a moment of deep contemplation, the fae female approached the altar dedicated to erotic love, surprising Cassian.

He looked toward that altar. It was a vision of passion and desire, draped in deep reds and lush pinks. A chalice of what smelled like the sweetest red wine was in the middle, surrounded by silver charms and chains. Rose petals, soft and fragrant, were scattered across its surface. The flame of her match danced brightly as she extended it toward one of the waiting candles.

As the candle ignited with a bright, unwavering flame, the match in her hand extinguished, its purpose fulfilled. The older fae gave a small, reverent bow before turning to leave, her eyes suddenly widening as her gaze landed on Cassian, and then on you.

“May your desires be fulfilled,” you said sincerely. Your smile matched the brightness of the candle she had just lit.

The older fae returned your smile, her expression softening with gratitude. As she stepped aside, you turned to Cassian, giving him a gentle, playful shove. “Your turn.”

Cassian took a deep breath, attempting to calm the flutter of nerves in his chest. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He was just lighting a candle. He approached the center of the star slowly, his eyes drawn to the altar dedicated to romantic love. It shared the passionate reds and tender pinks of the erotic love altar, but where the latter exuded raw desire, the romantic love altar was adorned with heart-shaped charms, rose quartz crystals, and answered love letters.

His reflection caught his eye in the small, framed mirror at the back of the altar. For a fleeting moment, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror's reflection. There was a glimmer of hope in your eyes, but when you realized he had caught you watching, a reassuring yet slightly bashful smile played on your lips. You offered him an encouraging nod and he concentrated on his deepest desires.

With determination, Cassian stepped forward, intent on lighting one of the candles from the romantic love altar. But just as he raised his match, Honey darted toward him, curious eyes focused on the red siphons that began to glow. The cat weaved swiftly between his legs, the unexpected movement catching Cassian off guard. He stumbled, struggling to regain his balance as his arms flailed slightly.

A collective gasp rippled through the shop, and Cassian’s heart sank as he realized what had happened. He had lit the wrong altar. The candle’s wick flared to life, the flame swirling into a vivid heart shape before his eyes. He instinctively stepped back, his wings twitching in response to the sudden surge of magic in the air.

“By the Cauldron, I’ve been blessed!” the older fae female, who could easily be his great, great grandmother, exclaimed.

Before Cassian could react, she threw her arms around him. He glanced down at Honey, who was now blissfully licking his paw, completely untroubled by the chaos he had just caused. Then, Cassian’s head whipped toward you, hazel eyes pleading.

“Oh my,” you couldn’t help but giggle before rushing to his aid.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗

The Butterfly's Kiss Mishap

Your reflection was bathed in a celestial glow as you gazed into the grand, full length mirror before you. The Mirror of Veiled Hearts, its glass enchanted to reflect your deepest desires when the right incantation is spoken. An heirloom entrusted to your family for generations. Due to its power and significance, you kept the mirror in the private room of your shop.

It’s surface was a perfect expanse of polished glass framed in silver filigree, its design woven with patterns of entwined hearts and vines. Clear quartz and moonstone draped over the top of its frame. The crystals glowed faintly and you sensed it was time to charge them.

As you reached out for them, something caught your eye.

Confusion etched onto your face and you took a step back. A glimmer of hope sparked. Because as you looked at the mirror, you found hazel eyes staring back at you.

“y/n?”

You blinked, turning around and realizing that those hazel eyes were literally right behind you. How silly of you to think so, considering you needed to charge the crystals and say the incantation that gave life to its magic...

“Simmering Cauldron, Cas,” you breathed, hand flying to your chest as a blush crept up into your cheeks. “You made my heart flutter!”

Cassian grinned sheepishly, his presence filling the room with warmth and air with his scent. He was dressed in casual pants and a snug black t-shirt that accentuated his muscular build. Your gaze lingered on the way the muscles in his arms shifted as he gestured toward the door. “I did knock, by the way.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, his expression growing more sheepish. “Moxie said you didn’t have a client so after the third knock, I just let myself in…”

“I see…,” your voice trailed off awkwardly…wait a minute, since when were you awkward?

“What is that?” Cassian asked, nodding toward the magic mirror behind you. His siphons, reduced to two glowing crimson bands around his wrists, gleamed in response to the mirror’s energy.

“The Mirror of Veiled Hearts,” you replied as you turned to face the mirror once more. You reached for the purple cloth you kept nearby, hesitating for a moment before stealing one last glance at the mirror.

A shiver coursed through you, and you quickly covered the mirror with the cloth. “Perhaps, when it’s charged, I’ll let you gaze into it.”

When you turned back to Cassian, your usual, charming demeanor returned. A warm smile lit up your face. “But I have something else in store for you today!”

Cassian leaned casually against the counter of your shop, his eyes tracking your movements as you approached the shelves lined with colorful potions. The last potion you had given him had left him feeling all warm and giddy and giggly. “Glee brew,” you had called it. “A feel good potion.”

The potion worked in a similar way to alcohol. It held the power to make you feel light and release your inhibitions without the consequences of losing your balance or feeling hungover the following day. You even claimed it brought good luck.

Tapping one finger against your lips in deep contemplation, your eyes scanned the array of vibrant elixirs. Cassian watched as your eyes brightened, lingering on a vial filled with a shimmering blush-colored liquid.

“This one’s called ‘Butterfly’s Kiss,’” you said as you reached for it and made your way back to him. “It’s said to awaken the butterflies in your stomach, guiding you toward love. It’s one of my most popular—and potent—potions. I just brewed this batch this morning!”

Cassian glanced down at the potion you held out to him. The cork was fashioned into a dainty butterfly, its wings spread as if caught in mid-flight. He examined it for a moment before uncapping it with a crisp pop that startled Honey from his nap. The little feline’s white tail twitched as he blinked open his sleepy eyes and Cassian eyed the cat in a wary manner, remembering the last time he had piqued Honey’s interest.

“The nice thing about this potion,” you continued, drawing his attention back to you, “is that it smells different to everyone, according to what they find most attractive. The stronger the scent, the more potent the potion.”

Cassian brought the vial to his nose, his brows furrowing slightly in a curious manner. He frowned slightly and looked back at you. “All I can smell is you,” he said, though the scent of rose and vanilla seemed to have wrapped itself around him since he entered your shop.

“What?” You exclaimed, a look of disbelief crossing your face. You took the vial from him, leaning in to sniff it yourself. “I’m getting the same thing—just you,” you murmured, puzzled. A small frown tugged at your lips as you set the vial down on the counter. “Why didn’t I–Cauldron above, my magic has never failed my potions…”

“I can still try it,” Cassian offered. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could utter a word, Cassian had already lifted the potion to his lips.

“Cas…” you gasped, your hand freezing mid air, your eyes widening.

Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as you watched him take a tentative sip and then a large gulp. The atmosphere in the room thickened with anticipation. Honey’s tail had gone still, and even Moxie, who had been restocking crystals, peered around the corner.

Cassian felt hot.

His face flushed and he felt short of breath as a violent flutter tore through his stomach. It quickly escalated into a nauseating churn that spread through his insides and began to rise and rise and–

He set the vial down with a trembling hand, his knuckles white against the counter as he leaned heavily on it for support.

“Oh, Cas,” he heard you murmur.

You disappeared from his side with a sense of urgency and returned quickly. Moxie had brought a chair for him to sit and you placed a trash bin in front of him just in time. Cassian barely had a moment to react before he was doubled over, the effects of the potion manifesting violently.

“I’m so sorry,” you continued to apologize profusely as you brought Cassian some water.

He had wanted to help you in gathering all of the Butterfly’s Kiss potions but you insisted he remained seated, worried any movement would provoke his nausea again. You could only hope he spewed up all the potion he had drunk, worried about the lingering effects of a faulty potion still in his stomach.

Moxie and Honey had helped you instead, the young fae holding out a box as Honey nudged the faulty potions off the shelves with his paw. The clattering sounds of the vials made you wince, a deep frown settling over your features.

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Cassian said, offering you a smile as if he hadn’t just thrown up moments ago. “Truly.”

Your pacing came to a brief halt as you looked at him with tear-brimmed eyes and though he seemed genuine, you refused to believe him. “No, this isn’t okay. I made you sick and this has never happened before,” you said, starting to pace again.

With a resigned sigh, you brought your hands to your face. “Just burn me and carry my ashes to Day. High Lord Helion will know what to do.”

Cassian’s gaze shifted to Moxie and Honey. The young fae looked just as perplexed as he felt, while Honey blinked at him with mild indifference. He walked over to you and gently placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to a stop. Then, he reached for your hands, slowly prying them away from your face.

Seeing the guilt and fear in your eyes made him feel worse than the potion he just drank. “I’m okay,” he repeated, hoping that if you couldn’t see the sincerity in his eyes, at least you could hear it in his voice. “You tried to warn me about the potion but I didn’t listen.”

“I’m still sorry…” Your lower lip wobbled, and Cassian had to resist the urge to soothe it with his thumb. “Are you sure you feel alright? I can call for a healer.”

“Sweetheart,” Cassian said, his voice warm and reassuring, “I’ve faced far worse than a faulty potion. I’m perfectly fine.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. There was a spark of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Actually, you know what?”

“What?” you asked, your eyes wide and earnest, filled with a desperate need to make things right. The sight made something in Cassian’s chest tighten and soften all at once.

“I’d like to rinse my mouth.”

“Of course.” You nodded quickly as you motioned for him to follow you, leading him towards the bathroom at the back of the shop.

“Oh and y/n?”

You paused. “Yes?”

“I’m feeling quite famished.”

You blinked, the frown on your face slowly dissolving into an expression of disbelief. “You’re hungry…?”

Cassian’s response was a simple pat to his stomach, a grin spreading across his face. “Okay,” you shook your head, determination flaring in your eyes. “What would you like to eat? My treat.”

As you led Cassian through the shop, Moxie’s curiosity got the better of her. She peered into the box where you had hastily gathered all the potions, her fingers itching to explore. She picked one up, the glass cool against her skin, and uncapped it with a soft pop. Bringing it close to her nose, she inhaled deeply, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips.

“It smells like cardamom and parchment to me,” she mused aloud. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as realization slowly began to dawn on her.

Honey, ever the watchful companion, blinked knowingly at her, his bright blue eyes seeming to glow.

The bell above the door jingled as Cassian, Moxie, and you walked into the cozy crepe shop. The rich scent of fresh batter and sweet fillings filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of brewed coffee and vanilla.

Cassian led the way to a corner booth. Moxie slid into one side, her eyes wide with excitement as she picked up one of the menus, eagerly looking through it. You, on the other hand, trudged along behind him like a sad little raincloud, your mood still heavy from the earlier mishap in the shop.

You slumped next to Moxie and Cassian slid into the booth opposite you, the forced cheerfulness on his face doing little to lighten your mood. Their voices blurred into the background as your thoughts took over. Your magic faltering was one thing but now your potion making skills? Had you been cursed? Had the stars lied to you??

You hadn’t realized Cassian had ordered for you until two crepes were gently placed before you. One savory, filled with ham and cheese, and one sweet, filled with berries and dusted with powdered sugar. Your favorites. You blinked, staring at the plates. Then at Cassian.

He was already halfway through his own plate, devouring his crepes with such eagerness (as if to prove a point) that it was almost comical. But the twitch of his lips let you know he had noticed your gaze.

Moxie, sitting across from you, nibbled on her own crepe, glancing between you and Cassian with a curious expression.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t a fan of blueberries,” Cassian commented mid-bite, noticing the way you pushed them around with your fork.

“S’okay,” you said with a shrug, not bothered. How would he have known? The fact that he knew you well enough to order something with berries was enough. “I’m just already feeling too blue…”

Moxie let out a snort, almost choking on her crepe. Cassian speared a strawberry from his own plate and dropped it onto yours. “Here—eat up.” He gave you a lopsided grin. “Can’t have you feeling blue. Red suits you better, anyway.”

Cassian watched with satisfaction as the light returned to your eyes, the earlier heaviness melting away. And when you finally smiled back at him, he felt something flutter in his stomach.

But this time, there was no nausea. Only happiness.

He really liked your smiles.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗

The Blind Date Mishap

“I look ridiculous.”

Cassian groaned, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. It was a deep emerald green, a color he seldom wore. But a color you and Maurice, the shop’s ever-charming owner, meticulously picked out for him, claiming it “complemented the warm undertones of his tanned skin and brought out the different flecks of colors in his hazel eyes.” Whatever that meant.

From where you sat perched on a velvet chaise, legs elegantly crossed, you let out a dramatic gasp. “Nonsense! You look absolutely radiant!”

And you were right. Cassian did look good. The deep green fabric stretched perfectly over his broad chest, the expertly tailored cut emphasizing his build. Still, Cassian couldn’t help but reply, “you say that about everything.”

“That’s because you are handsome, darling,” you said matter-of-factly, waving a dismissive hand before hopping up from your seat. You made your way toward him, the soft rustling of your rose-colored skirt and clunk of your platform heels accompanying your every step. “But trust that I would let you know if something does not look good. Such as that faded flaxen yellow shirt you wore the other day...yuck!”

Cassian grimaced, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. The look of utter horror on your face at his poor choice of fashion was one for the books. He turned back to the mirror, rolling his shoulders. Fine. Maybe the color did bring out the golden and green flecks in his hazel eyes, but something still felt... off.

And he was starting to realize it had nothing to do with the shirt and everything to do with the fact that he didn’t want to be here, picking an outfit for a date he wasn’t particularly excited about.

What if his date didn’t like him? He hadn’t gone on a proper date in months. What if he was out of practice? What if the conversation felt forced, each topic stretched thin until there was nothing left but awkward silence? What if she liked all the right things but didn’t get him, not in the way that you did? What if–what if he spent the whole evening searching for a feeling that wasn’t there?

Stop, he told himself. It’s just nerves. Anyone would feel the same after being out of the dating world for so long. It didn’t mean anything. And he wasn’t about to let a little nervousness stop him. Especially not when you had gone out of your way to set this up for him. He owed it to you to try. He owed it to himself, too.

“If you don’t feel confident in it, we can find you something else,” you said, resting a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “Something that makes you feel more like yourself.”

“No, I’ll take this one,” Cassian responded a little too quickly, standing rigid. He had no desire to spend another minute in this shop.

Your eyes met his through the mirror’s reflection, searching. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Great!” You beamed, stepping in front of him. There was a brief pause as you tilted your head, studying him with a look of deep concentration. Your lips parted slightly, eyes trailing over him, and Cassian felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest.

Then, without a second thought, you reached up and—Mother above—unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, the backs of your fingers lightly grazing his collarbone as you did so. Cassian’s breath faltered, willing himself to stay still. You didn’t seem to notice or were polite enough to pretend not to. Instead, you moved on to smoothing his hair.

“There,” you declared, taking a step back and grinning with satisfaction. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

Cassian barely heard you over the hammering of his own heartbeat. You tossed out compliments as effortlessly as breathing, so often and so sincerely that no one ever doubted their truth. And yet, no matter how many times he reminded himself of this, it still made his cheeks warm and his chest tighten whenever you said things like that to him.

From behind the counter, Maurice let out a delighted chuckle. “You two make an adorable couple.”

Cassian choked on his own spit, coughing as he scrambled to regain composure. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with clearing his throat, he might have noticed the flicker of nervousness that crossed your face beneath your giggle. “Oh! No, no, we’re just friends. This outfit is actually for a blind date I set up for him.”

“Oh,” Maurice said, perking up. And then, as if the idea had just dawned on him, he turned to you with a wolfish grin. “Well, if you’re not taken, my dear, I know quite a few eligible bachelors who would love to court a beauty like you. Such as my son. He seems about your age.”

Cassian’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His stomach twisted in a way he didn’t quite understand. An odd mix of irritation and something dangerously close to panic. His jaw tensed as Maurice turned his full attention to you, flashing that all-too-eager grin.

He suddenly hated this conversation. He hated the way the shopkeeper was looking at you—as if he had already decided you would be his daughter-in-law. He also was not fond of the way you were blushing.

Blushing??

Why were you blushing?

“Oh, that’s very sweet, but—”

“She’s very particular,” Cassian blurted out.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

Maurice arched a brow. “Oh? And do you know what she likes?”

Cassian opened his mouth—then closed it just as quickly. Not because he didn’t know what you liked. Of course, he knew. He knew your favorite shade of pink, your favorite dessert, your favorite candle scent. He knew the way you twirled a strand of hair around your finger when deep in thought, the way you practically melted when eating strawberry tarts.

But if he said any of that, he’d sound more like a boyfriend.

And he wasn’t your boyfriend. He was just your friend. A friend you were currently trying to set up with someone else. A date he was now actively dreading. Cauldron, save him.

Maurice smirked, his eyes flickering between the two of you, far too entertained. “Well,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, “if you ever lower those particular standards, I'd be happy to set you up.”

Cassian’s scowl deepened.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

Cassian sat at the candlelit table across from a beautiful fae woman with such warm and kind brown eyes. She was nice—sweet even—but as she spoke, he found himself only half-listening, his mind constantly drifting elsewhere.

Or rather, to someone else.

His gaze flickered toward the bar, where you sat nursing a glass of rosé. Sensing his gaze, you looked up and sent him a thumbs-up. He let out a small exhale, trying to focus on his date, but then someone approached you. A tall, handsome golden-haired male. He sat next to you and then, he leaned in, murmuring something that made you smile.

Something in Cassian’s chest twisted. He straightened in his seat, his wings tensing at his back.

“Everything all right?” his date asked, amusement lacing her tone.

Cassian cleared his throat, feeling a bit of guilt. The date had been lovely—held at one of Velaris’s most upscale restaurants. The appetizers were phenomenal, the wine the smoothest he’d ever tasted. And the female across from him was stunning, turning heads the moment she walked in. Yet he’d already forgotten her name. Petunia? No, but it was something with a P or maybe some other type of flower...

“Yeah. Just—uh, the wine’s strong," he managed to say.

She seemed to smile knowingly, eyes drifting between him and the bar. “Or maybe it’s a lovely someone at the bar?”

Cassian stiffened, ready to deny it, but she only chuckled lightly. “It’s all right. I see the way you look at her.”

Heat rose to his face. “I don’t—” He sighed, almost defeatedly, shifting in his seat. “She’s my friend.”

“She’s the one who set up this date,” she pointed out, swirling her drink thoughtfully. “And yet, you haven’t stopped looking at her all night.”

Cassian had no response to that, his eyes involuntarily drifting back to you. You were still smiling with that stranger, and Mother above, it irked him more than he liked to admit.

“I get it,” his date said softly, and Cassian blinked, surprised by the warm admiration in her voice as she followed his gaze. “She’s… lovely. There’s this energy about her—it's I don't know, it's irresistible. She almost swept me off my own feet when we first met."

Cassian let out a small chuckle. “Yeah,” he murmured, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. “She kind of does that.”

Meanwhile, you sipped your wine, engaging in light conversation with the male beside you. Every so often, your eyes drifted toward Cassian—just to check that he was doing alright, of course. You truly hoped the date was going well for him, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling twisting in your gut.

Maybe tagging along had been a mistake, even if you’d kept your distance. Still, he’d been too nervous to go alone, almost backing out last minute, and that’s exactly why you came.

The feeling settled a little when you saw Cassian and his date now engaged in some conversation. You couldn’t deny the tiny pang in your chest at the sight then. But this was what you wanted—for Cassian to find someone, to be happy. And yet, something settled over you, an ache you didn’t understand...

Jealousy? No, that couldn’t be it. Could it…?

You turned your attention back to the male beside you, forcing yourself to stay engaged.

But a commotion at Cassian’s table immediately drew your gaze.

“Shit—” Cassian cursed, suddenly pushing back from the table. Your gaze narrowed in concern, following his own as he looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers as if they burned. His date blinked in confusion.

“You okay?” You heard her ask.

“I—I think I’m allergic to something,” Cassian muttered, standing abruptly. He looked at his date with some guilt. “I’m so sorry. I think I need some air. I'll be right back."

Without another word, he strode toward the exit.

Alarmed, you set down your drink and hurried after him. Cassian stood near the restaurant's entrance, shaking out his hand as if trying to rid himself of some invisible ailment.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, reaching him.

He turned his palms toward you, and even in the dim glow of the lanterns, you could see the faint redness blooming across his skin. “My hand,” he muttered. “It's tingling and feels like its on fire.”

You grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand closer to inspect the redness. And then—you saw it. A tiny mark, flushed red like lipstick on skin, near the pulse point of his wrist.

You gasped, a flutter in your chest and pupils flaring into hearts. “Cassian, you got bit by a love bug!”

He blinked. “A what?”

“A love bug!” you repeated, excitement creeping into your tone, despite his growing confusion. “It means your soulmate is near!”

Cassian stared at you, dumbfounded. “You’re joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” you said, deadly serious. “This is a good thing, Cas! The love bug only bites when you’re close to your true love, whether it's physical proximity or the right time. I knew Viola was a match!"

He frowned, rubbing at the mark like he could erase it. He conveniently ignored the part about Viola. His eyes met yours instead

“Have you ever been bitten?” he asked.

Your smile faltered, just slightly, a shadow flitting across your expression, as you quietly admitted, “no.”

The single word hung between you, heavier than it should have been.

If the love bug only bit when someone’s true love was near…

Cassian's heart stuttered. Why now? Why here? Why did the bite come when he was on a date with someone else?

When all he'd been able to think about...talk about...was you?

a/n: I feel like it's still lacking it's zazz but idk if that's just because I've read this over so many times. I hope y'all still enjoyed these two idiots that are falling in love with each other.

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon,

@talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa, @breadsticks2004, @chicken-fifi, @bxtchopolis

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette,

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian fluff #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #cassian fanfiction

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whisperedmeg · 5 days ago

Text

SOFT ANIMAL ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part xiii

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: spencer comes in from the rain, soaking wet and holding soup and endless apologies. after everything, love arrives as quiet belonging — a lazy day, a soft question, a future that happens not all at once, but surely.

genre: hurt/comfort, FLUFFFF, smut | w/c: 3k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, aftermath of the fight from pt 12 (picks up exactly where it left off), then a time jump (3 months), morning sex (p in v), cuties on their anniversary, happy happy ending, inspired by the poem “wild geese” by mary oliver, tbh not much plot after the time jump but i just wanted it to feel like a soft cushy landing after all the hard stuff

a/n: the final part of the soft animal series is here and I truly cannot believe I just typed out those words. see the end for my full author’s note this time 🫶🏼

series masterlist

The sky was dark before I heard the knock.

Not his key in our door — a knock. I felt that knock in my spine.

I dropped my phone on the couch beside me in the middle of drafting a long-winded text and bounded towards the door. I opened it, and there he was. Spencer. Rain-damp hair curling at the edges. Dark circles under his eyes. A wilted paper bag in one hand, clothes dripping as if he’d been walking in the storm sans umbrella for hours — and maybe he had been.

“Hey,” he said, voice rough.

“You knocked.”

“I… I thought I should.”

His eyes flicked toward the floor, like he wasn’t sure if he’d be let in. Like he’d shown up prepared to leave again. I didn’t move.

“I brought you soup. And tea. And mini M&Ms. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for.”

I sighed and stepped aside, and he walked in quietly.

He put the bag down and turned. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Leaving. You deserve so much better than someone like me dragging you down.”

I swallowed. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Spencer. That’s up to me.”

His voice cracked. “I know. I just… I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know that’s what you thought, but you weren’t. You were protecting yourself from the idea that someone might love you, even like this.”

He stared at me.

“I do, you know,” I said. “Love you. Even like this. Especially like this.”

He blinked, and the air between us trembled with everything he wasn’t saying. That he hadn’t believed it. That maybe, still, part of him didn’t.

He stayed quiet for a long beat before responding. “What I said to you… that night. Accusing you of wanting to play nurse and fix me — that wasn’t fair. I know you were coming from a good place, because you love me and want me to be okay. I know you don’t see me as a patient. It was wrong of me to say that.” He paused and steadied himself before continuing. “And calling you the woman I’m sleeping with…” He swallowed, jaw tight. “That was cruel. And reductive. And I knew it the second it came out of my mouth.”

I stood still.

“I was angry and ashamed and spiraling,” he said. “But none of that excuses saying something that small about someone I love more than anything.”

My breath caught.

His voice was raw now, stripped down to the bone. “And that’s not how I see you. You’re not a warm body in my bed. You’re… you,” he said. “You’re the person who made my life feel like it was worth living again. Who taught me how to breathe after I forgot how. You’re not even just my girlfriend — you’re my partner. My future. You’re my entire world, honestly. I love you, and I’ve never, ever seen you like that. I can’t take back the fact that I said it, but I’m so unbelievably sorry that I did.”

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I swallowed. “I didn’t mean to push you so hard.”

“I know.” He stepped forward, slowly, then added, quietly, “But you were right to push me. I do need help, and I am scared.”

“I know, Spence.” My voice broke, and he reached up instinctively, brushing his thumb along my cheek like muscle memory.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t actually think we aren’t ready for this. I don’t actually want to break up,” he said quietly.

“I was never going to let that happen anyways. When you knocked, I was halfway through drafting a text to Penelope asking her to hack your phone’s GPS so I could come confront you, wherever you’ve been hiding.”

He let out a quiet sound almost resembling a laugh and closed the remaining distance between us, pulling me in. We stood in the kitchen, his rain-drenched clothes soaking mine as he held me, his arms around my waist, my face in his shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I choose you. Even when I’m a mess. Even when I’m not okay.”

“I choose you too,” I whispered back. “Every version.”

”I missed you every second,” he murmured. “JJ and Will’s couch might’ve permanently realigned my spine into an S-shape.”

I huffed out a breath of laughter and buried my face deeper against his skin. “I missed you too. Every single second.”

He pulled back to look at me, eyes soft and finally looking like his own again. Then, tentatively, achingly slowly, he began to lean in. I tangled my fingers in his wet curls, pulled him down the rest of the way, and kissed him, soft and true.

There’s no tidy solution to trauma or grief. No final answer you can circle in ink and get a gold star for. But this was how we found our way back: with honest conversation and rain-soaked embraces.

Later, in bed, skin still warm from where we’d found each other again, he traced numbers and shapes along the bare curves of my body. Fibonacci spirals. Möbius strips. All the patterns that don’t quite make sense until you stand back far enough.

“I’m going to try therapy,” he said quietly. “Not just because you asked, but because I want to. I think I need to.”

I kissed his forehead, his temple, the corner of his mouth. “I’m proud of you.”

He looked at me then — really looked — before speaking again. “And I think I want to spend the rest of my life figuring out how to be with you forever.”

Tears burned, but I smiled. “I’d like that. A lot.”

I let myself imagine our future: slow mornings, stupid arguments, soft reconciliations, nights spent knowing his body better than my own, and all the quiet moments in between. Not perfect, but perfectly ours.

—

3 months later:

Rain fell softly outside, a quiet insistence — not mournful, not loud, just steady. Like something true repeating itself. It sounded the way belonging feels — that was the second thing I thought of when I woke up. The first was Spencer. It was always Spencer. My Spencer.

He was curled beside me, one arm slung over the blanket we shared, hair damp with sweat at the temple, breath slow and even. His limbs were gathered close, body curved toward the center like a sleeping cat in a patch of light — a soft animal. I watched the rise and fall of his shoulders and let the weight of the moment settle.

Today marked one year since the night he called me. That first night after his release, when he asked — quietly, hopefully — if I’d come see him. We hadn’t been anything official then, not in name. But we’d already been something real. Spencer and I had never really settled on a proper anniversary, but that night always made the most sense in my mind. It was the beginning of the life we had now built together.

It had been a few months since the worst of it — the fight and distance that felt like the beginning of the end. Since then, things had softened. Spencer was teaching a little more and traveling with the BAU a little less, and he’d started therapy, quietly but consistently. The weight he carried began to lighten and shift in ways I could feel more than I could see. And every few sessions, I joined him. It was good for us — we’d learned how to argue better. How to step away and come back. How to hurt each other less and heal each other more.

Beside me, I listened to Spencer breathe. I didn’t want to move — not yet. The air was cool, the light was golden, and Spencer — safe and warm and mine — had that expression he only wore in sleep. A kind of innocence, but deeper. Like trust. Like a peace, hard-won.

I felt a soft ache in my thighs, ghosted reminders of last night’s closeness — hands, mouths, bodies. He stirred with a sigh, lashes fluttering, mouth twitching in a sleep-dumb smile. “Hey,” he mumbled in that gravelly morning voice I adored so much.

“Hi.” I shifted closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He hummed.

We didn’t say anything else for a while. There was no need. Our legs tangled like instinct, and I tucked my head beneath his chin while his hand found the curve of my waist. The window blurred with rain. A few birds called in the distance. And the world, impossibly, kept going.

His hand slid up beneath the hem of the t-shirt I wore — his t-shirt, the one with FBI Academy across the chest in faded screen print, the same one I’d worn that very first night — fingers dragging slowly along the bare skin of my thigh. A quiet question.

I turned to face him fully, brushing the hair back from his forehead, and nodded.

We didn’t rush. There was no urgency, no script. Just the slow unfurling of touch, of breath, of want. His mouth found mine with reverence, and the heat that bloomed between us was steady and sure.

He undressed me like he was unwrapping something fragile, not because I’d break, but because he wanted to savor it. I did the same. He whispered my name like it was the only word he knew. I kissed the scar on his palm, the one I’d first seen when he was still learning how to sleep with the lights off.

We moved together like we’d done it a hundred times, because we had. But this time felt different — softer, deeper, threaded through with memory and meaning.

He always touched me like he was still a little in awe that he was allowed to. Like every pass of his hands over my skin was both permission and prayer. His hand cradled my hip as he slid inside me, and we both stilled for a moment — just breathing, just being. His forehead rested against mine as we started to move, lazy and deep, like we had all the time in the world. Like we’d made it, finally, to the soft middle of our story.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, letting my legs fall open around him. Our bodies moved together like a tide, steady and slow. Every rock of his hips made my breath catch, made my hands grasp for more.

He kept whispering things — my name, yes, but also small, ridiculous things that made me smile or laugh and then moan or gasp. “Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” and ��I miss you even while I’m inside you, like I can never get enough,” and “I think my IQ drops at least twenty points when you do that,” and “I never want this to end.” His voice broke on that last one, and I kissed it back together.

When I came, it was with a soft cry against his shoulder, my hands buried in his hair, my whole body arching up to meet his. He followed seconds later, gasping my name like it was the only word he remembered, burying himself deep as he spilled inside me.

Afterwards, we didn’t move for a while. Our legs tangled, our chests rising together, our skin slick with sweat and love and everything we hadn’t needed to say out loud. He pressed a kiss just under my jaw and I held him tighter, just because I could.

“I love you,” he murmured, eyes closed.

I kissed his shoulder. “And I love you.”

—

After we finally pulled ourselves out of bed and shared a shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed a book, and settled back against the headboard. His thumb dragged across the page as he read. I rested my cheek on his shoulder.

Eventually, I asked for a random fact to break up the silence.

“Sloths,” he said immediately without even looking up, “can hold their breath longer than dolphins. Up to forty minutes.”

I snorted. “Liar.”

“It’s true.” He looked over, eyes bright. “They slow their heart rate so much they barely use oxygen.”

“Survival through stillness,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “It’s efficient.”

But I didn’t see it as only efficiency. I thought about stillness as resistance. As hope. As the wild, quiet insistence that you deserve to be here — even if you move slowly, even if it’s hard.

—

The kitchen smelled like citrus and coffee. I wore his Caltech hoodie, sleeves swallowing my hands, and he handed me a mug with both palms like it was something sacred. In a way, it was.

Breakfast was slow. Toast. Fruit. A hard-boiled egg that refused to peel properly. He cursed under his breath and I pretended not to laugh until he caught me holding it in. His expression — affronted and mildly betrayed — made me want to climb onto his lap and kiss him right there at the table with jam still on my fingers.

He refilled my coffee without being asked. I handed him half my toast, and he gave me some of his grapes. We bumped knees under the table.

Later, he leaned against the counter while I sliced apples and tried to sneak one, only to flinch back when I playfully raised the knife in faux-threat.

“You’re ruthless,” he said, half-smiling.

“You tried to steal from the chef,” I replied, laying my weapon down.

He pulled me in by the hips and kissed my temple. “Happy anniversary, by the way.”

I looked up. “You remembered?”

“You know I remember everything,” he teased. “But even if I didn’t, I’d always remember that night.”

—

The rest of the day passed in pieces. Brushing our teeth together. Crosswords on the living room floor. A kiss pressed behind my ear when he thought I was dozing. I noticed him watching me like he still couldn’t believe this was real — that we were.

At one point, he touched my ankle under the blanket on the couch and said, “Do you think we’ll ever mess this up?”

I looked at him for a long time, then shifted until I was leaning against him.

“In some small, human way, maybe. But not in the ways we can’t come back from. We’ll always find our way back to each other, I know that much for certain.”

He leaned his forehead to mine. “You make it easier.”

“You make it worth it.”

He didn’t answer — just cradled my chin between his fingers and kissed me softly, slowly. Like we had time. Like we always would.

—

Later, while he diced carrots and celery and onion with absurd precision for the bolognese sauce we were making for dinner (Rossi’s recipe, of course), I leaned against the counter and watched his hands. And for just a moment, I remembered the version of him I first met — the one who flinched at loud noises and slept facing the door. The one who told me he didn’t need to be fixed, just carried.

He still wasn’t totally okay, but he was healing. And I got to witness it. I got to love him through it.

I stole a carrot from the cutting board, and he swatted my hand.

“You’re not as stealthy as you think.”

“Oh, I’m exactly as stealthy as I think.”

He said my name like it was a full sentence, and I said his back. We grinned at each other like idiots.

Once we finally stopped distracting each other long enough to finish cooking dinner, we ate with our legs touching under the table. He told me about a new academic journal he was reading. I told him about a coworker who made me laugh. He offered to do the dishes, then pulled me along to sit on the counter while he did.

I watched him with a full chest.

This life — soft, boring, beautiful — was one we built together. And it didn’t scare either of us anymore.

—

Dusk settled in cool and forgiving. The rain thinned a bit, so we cracked a window and let the breeze in. I lit a few candles. He curled behind me on the couch, tracing patterns on my back — sometimes spirals, sometimes words, sometimes nothing particular at all.

His voice was low. “Feels like it’s been longer, doesn’t it?”

I nodded. “In the best way.”

“Sometimes I can still picture you in the doorway that night,” he murmured. “The way you looked at me before falling into my arms. I think I knew right then and there that you were it for me.”

I leaned back into him. “I think I knew it, too.”

Outside, the sky darkened into bruised violet and deep indigo. The familiar sound of the calls of wild geese moving in formation echoed through the breeze — sharp and certain. The kind of movement you don’t question.

We didn’t talk about the past. We didn’t need to. It was all there in the shape of him beside me, in the way his body curved towards mine like I was his home.

And when he shifted to grab another blanket, I saw it — the unmistakable shape of a ring box outlined in the pocket of his sweatpants. Not quite hidden, but not flaunted, either. Just there, ready, waiting for the right moment. He didn’t seem to realize I’d noticed it. Just smiled, kissed my temple, and curled around me on the couch again like it was any other night. My heart skipped a beat, and I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to. But I knew.

Some promises arrive quiet and certain: like rain at the window, like breath in the dark. Like a love real enough to wear on your finger.

Together, we were exactly who we needed to be — soft animals, learning how to love what we loved.

the end.

ᝰ.ᐟ

author’s note: do you guys forgive me for part 12 now? lol. but on the real, I don’t even know what to say for this one. part 13, the end of the soft animal series, now belongs to you 🫶🏼. to anyone who came along this ride with me — I couldn’t be more thankful.

post-reading soft animal manifesto can be found here!

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

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spiderfunkz · 6 months ago

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BLOWN A WISH

pairings. cho hyun-ju x f!reader

cw. established relationship, fluff, kisses, hyun-ju forgets reader's birthday, this takes place long after the games (they all survive and get a fair share of the money yay).

author's note: i have two more fics for hyun-ju in my drafts, please keep requesting for her! she's such a dear i love her so much RAAAH

to be fair, birthdays weren't a big thing in your house.

it never bothered you, well, sometimes it does. only when you were little, you used to get invited to birthday parties, then, you realized how much it mattered at that age. but no matter how much you protested to your parents, they denied every single request.

you matured though. you realized that it was just a reminder of the time passing since you were born. ever since then you never mind it.

and well, as you got older, you had bigger things to worry about. school, classes, studies, college, jobs, work, bills, bills, bills.. so many bills. to be covered in debts you are unable to pay, the thought of your birthday never crossed your mind ever again.

but after some, not so pleasant events, you managed to get back on your feet. you managed to pay your debts, find a job, a nicer apartment, and a very, very, nice woman.

cho hyun-ju had her struggles as well. you talked to her only once throughout the deadly games, but soon you were reunited during a stressful night at a convenience store. you soon grew a bond together, sure it was bonded by trauma— but it was amazing to have someone close by.

you two grew closer everyday. after some time, she moved into your apartment. it was everything you could ever imagine. things were great. you went on dates, talked everyday, cooked together— hyun-ju is an amazing cook you noted, and everything seemed perfect.

everything is perfect. but recently, jobs have been piling up, specifically hyun-ju's. your time and her time kept getting disrupted by sudden meetings, paperwork, and nagging clients.

soon, the coffee table by the couch was filled with unorganized files. you could only shower hyun-ju with reassurance and motivating words, making her coffee from time to time, and giving her forehead kisses before going to bed early.

you respected her work. so you never bothered her. besides, you got your own things to settle.

not long after, your birthday came.

hyun-ju had planned everything beforehand. she'd come back from work earlier, she'd cook your favorite meal, and she'd give you a present she had already prepared (a handmade gift and a letter for you). she also bought a big bouquet of flowers that were meant to be picked up—

two days ago?

the date on her phone made her eyes widen. did she just miss your birthday? she couldn't believe it. surely this was some glitch in the matrix or something!

she realized you weren't home yet, right, you are currently out buying groceries. how much time does she have left to cook you dinner? she didn't care to check the time again, she went to the kitchen to cook a quick yet delicious meal. it was your favorite.

hyun-ju had become a witch running against time, your favorite meal was ready in no time. after plating it, she quickly called a shop to get flowers sent right away, then, she took a break to ease off for a bit.

the handmade gift and letter is in a box under your bed, she knew for sure. after inhaling a glass of water, she grabbed it and put a ribbon as a finishing touch. she was very proud of it.

she waits rather impatiently for the flower to arrive,

and almost in an instant, the doorbell rings.

she ran to open it, only to be met with your beautiful face, holding a bunch of paper bags filled with all kinds of needs.

"hyun-ju, ah, i forgot my keys, see." you gestured to your empty pockets. hyun-ju basically froze in place, "could you please help me with these." you laugh awkwardly, she grabs the paper bags immediately.

she mentally facepalms herself, "oh and. this came by the lobby, said it was for cho hyun-ju, so i grabbed it since i was going up. i figured you were still doing paperwork." you motioned to the bouquet of flowers that was hidden behind the paper bags.

you have to be kidding me.

hyun-ju sighs, "let me bring those bags in for you first." she puts the paper bags on the counter, you close the door with your feet, your arms holding the remaining paper bag and the bouquet of flowers, placing it beside the rest.

"so, um," hyun-ju starts, "that bouquet was actually for you."

you tilt your head in surprise, smiling. "really?"

hyun-ju nods. "see, it was supposed to be delivered two days ago, for your birthday. but gosh- i'm so sorry. i was so busy with work i forgot to pick it up. it's probably starting to wilt as we speak, so i bought a new one and called to get it delivered right away."

before you could respond she continues,

"and i know it is no excuse to forget your own girlfriend's birthday, i had everything planned out, you know. i was going to cook your favorite meal, and then surprise you with the flowers and the gifts i've prepared. but, i don't know what happened. time just flew by and i just realized earlier today," she catches her breath, "but do not fear, i cooked the meal just in time, it's right on the table ready for us. and well, you've seen the flowers so it's no longer a surprise but, there's one more thing."

she quickly runs off to grab the box under the bed before coming back to you in your confused state. "i made this. it's special, just for you."

she hands it to you, the words 'for my one and only :)' written neatly on it, sparkled with glitter and stickers.

"oh, hyun-ju! you shouldn't have," you smile widely.

"i'm really sorry for forgetting, i don't know how i can make up for it," she frowns.

"you know i don't usually do birthdays. this is the most i've ever gotten in my entire life. i'm very grateful for you, hyun-ju."

you give her a kiss, a very sincere one.

"thank you so much, i really mean it."

she smiles, brushing off how her cheeks are turning red. "come on, let's eat, the foods gonna go cold. i made you your favorite."

"my favorite's right here, what do you mean?" you tease, pointing at hyun-ju's now red face.

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wdcbug · 7 months ago

Text

pancakes for dinner ⠀⠀⋆·˚ ༘ *⠀⠀lando norris.

pairing. lando norris x gn!reader.

word count. 4k.

summary. after siking yourself out on a long plane ride to london, you finally have the courage to confess your feelings to lando, even if it ruins your friendship. inspired by pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine.

warnings. mentions of a possible plane crash, hurt + comfort.

ellis’ addition. i am sososo proud of this. since lizzy is my brand, i of course wanted to use one of her songs as inspiration for a fic, so here ya go. once again, inspired by pancakes for dinner by lizzy mcalpine. for the lovely @lechrts ♡

the hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin, steady and unchanging, but it felt louder than it should, pressing into your ears like static. you shifted in your seat, the vinyl sticking slightly to your bare legs as you glanced at the glowing seatbelt sign above you.

the plane was still climbing, the ground was long gone, and clouds had swallowed the view. all that was left was the pale blue light filtering in through the window and the uneasy flutter in your chest.

you weren’t afraid of flying. you told herself that again and again, even as your fingers tightened on the edge of the tray table. it wasn’t the height or the turbulence or the fact that the plane felt impossibly heavy for something that stayed in the air – it was something else.

no matter how hard you tried to claw the thought away, it stuck in the back of your mind, a looming idea that poisoned your brain. no, what scared you wasn’t the plane at all. it was the though of him.

you could see his face in your mind, as clear as if he were sitting beside you. the messy hair he never bothered to brush, the crooked smile that made you laugh at all the wrong times, and the teasing like it wasn’t a big deal that you had heard it in his voice and no one else’s.

you closed her eyes, trying to block it out, but it didn’t help. you could still see him leaning against the doorframe the last night you two had hung out, his hand in his pocket, his gaze holding yours for a little too long before he cracked a joke to break the tension.

lando was an enigma – sort of a fungus that clung onto you for dear life. through his teasing and his sarcasm, he was still your friend at the end of it all. yet barely at this point as you started to view him as more of a lover you pined for than a disease that would never leave.

your stomach twisted, and you opened your eyes again, fixing your focus on the napkin crumpled on your tray table. the airline’s logo was printed in cheap blue ink. you smoothed it out, your thumb tracing over the words, but your thoughts didn’t stop.

what if the plane went down? what if you never got to tell him? the question gripped you, sharp and sudden, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. your heart hammered in her chest as the idea rooted itself deeper, impossible to shake.

it wasn’t some grand declaration. you weren’t brave enough for that, not yet. but there were smaller things you wanted him to know. like how you had watched every single race no matter the timezone difference, how you had memorized the exact way he ordered coffee, or how you missed him when he wasn’t around, even when nothing in your life seemed to change.

you grabbed your phone, your fingers fumbling as you opened the notes app. the cursor blinked on the blank screen, waiting. you felt the need to type out your feelings if you could even somehow put them into words. you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with lando, ultimately resulting in him distancing himself if he didn’t feel the same way – you knew it’d happen. but you still couldn’t shake the looming thought as turbulence hit, causing you to quickly begin typing like you were shakespeare drafting his next play.

it was a dull confession compared to your grand feelings for him, and you knew you’d never even tell him these words as the pilot announced you’d be landing in london soon. the paragraph of word vomit information sat staring at you, and you let out a shaky sigh as you locked your phone and shoved it into your pocket.

the plane landed with a shudder that rattled your teeth. the sound of tires screeching against asphalt dragged you out of your spiral of thoughts, but it didn’t erase the tension sitting heavy in your chest.

you moved through the motions like an automaton, gathering your bag from under the seat, waiting for the line of passengers to shuffle toward the exit, stepping off the plane and into the chaos of the terminal. your head buzzed with exhaustion, but your thoughts refused to quiet. lando was there, waiting somewhere beyond the baggage claim, which only caused your head to spin even faster.

your heart thrummed as you approached the carousel, watching strangers reunite around you – families embraced, couples kissed, and friends called out in excitement. you scanned the crowd for lando, your palms clammy against the strap of your carry-on bag. and then you saw him.

lando was leaning against a column near the exit, his phone in one hand, his other shoved into his jacket pocket. his hair was messier than usual, like he hadn’t bothered to tame it before coming here, and his sneakers tapped against the floor in a distracted rhythm. when he looked up and saw you, his whole face lit up. his smile was lopsided, and he waved with his phone like an idiot. you wanted to laugh. you wanted to run. instead, you froze.

the car ride was quiet, quieter than usual. lando had turned the music on – some rap music with a fast rhythm – but you barely heard it over the thundering of your own heartbeat.

lando kept glancing at you. not obviously, just quick flicks of his eyes, like he could sense something, was off. normally, you’d make a joke, deflect, steer the conversation back into the usual rhythm. but now, you stayed quiet, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.

“you sure you’re okay?” lando asked finally, his voice gentle. the streetlights illuminated his face, showing every freckle and curve of his skin, causing you to grow sick all over again. he was perfect and it made your stomach reel, your heart doing backflips like some olympic gymnast.

you nodded quickly, too quickly, and tried to force a smile, “yeah, just tired. long flight – jet lag and all.” you forced out a laugh as if you were trying to pry back your friendly banter, but in the end, it was entirely useless.

lando didn’t press, but the furrow between his brows stayed. he knew something was wrong. lando could have his stupid moments, but he was far from dumb. you prided yourself on being a half opened booked, but lando had read the whole thing.

when you pulled into lando’s driveway, the motion of the car stopping felt like a jolt back to reality. the headlights illuminated the front of his flat, familiar and safe, but it felt different now, like the air had shifted.

“c’mon,” lando hummed softly, cutting the engine, “i’ll grab your bag.” you smiled softly at his kindess, but part of you knew he was doing it out of pity. lando knew something was up, and despite the fact he didn’t push for an answer, you knew he would as the night passed on.

you followed him up the steps to his flat door, your stomach twisting into knots. the closer you got, the more real it felt. you had been here a hundred times before, sprawled on lando’s couch or rummaging through his fridge, but this time was different. this time, you felt as if you were about to ruin everything.

lando unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first. the smell of the flat was familiar, some stupid cashmere candle he had bought that was practically nearly out of wax, but it smelt like home.

“you want something to eat? i bet you’re hungry after snacking on plane peanuts. i told you i would have bought you first class, but noo, you’re too good for that,” lando teased, setting your bag by the door before advancing into the kitchen, “or maybe a drink? i think i’ve got—”

“can we talk?” you blurted out, leaning against the kitchen island for some sort of support as you felt dizzy. you didn’t mean to interrupt lando, burt your mind was swimming a mile a minute, your skin itching at the fact you needed to say something.

lando froze mid-step, his hand hovering over the light switch. the easy smile on his face faltered, replaced by something softer, more cautious, confused at the fact you didn’t rebuttal his words or even laugh. “yeah,” lando spoke slowly, “of course. what’s up?”

you glanced around the living room, at the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, at the coffee table littered with takeout containers and a half-empty mug. everything about lando’s place screamed him. familiar. safe. but your chest felt anything but safe now.

“can we sit?” you questioned, your voice quieter now as you already started to make your way to the couch without even a nod from lando. your hands shook at your side, immediately resting on your lap and fiddling with one another as you took a seat, the plushness of the couch consuming you.

lando nodded and followed behind you, a nervous chuckle falling from his lips, “sure. you’re kind of freaking me out, though. is everything okay?” his body sat down on the couch next to you, his knee inches away from yours as his eyes began to search your face for any idea of what was going on inside your head.

you hesitated, your feet rooted to the floor for just a second too long before you let out a soft sigh. lando’s body sank down onto the couch, one arm draped over the back, as his gaze never faltered.

you inhaled slightly. if you didn’t say it now, you’d never bring yourself to try to convey your emotions to lando’s face again. the idea of what would have occurred if the plane went down played over and over again in your head, snapping you back into reality.

lando shifted on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his gaze still locked on your nervous expresion. the concern in his eyes deepened, and you could see the wheels turning in his head.

“is something wrong?” lando questioned, his voice low and careful as his eyebrows furrowed, “are you okay? is it –” his jaw tightened softly, “is it your family?” his assumption shocked you at first, but it just came to remind you that lando cared despite what was about to happen.

you blinked, quickly collecting yourself, “what? no, it’s not –” “work, then?” lando cut in, his words coming quicker now, “did something happen at your job?” he tried to dig for answers, to push as hard as he could as if he was on track, and it barely gave you time to cool your mind.

“no! no, nothing like that!” you said quickly, your hands waving in front of you like you could physically push the idea away. lando exhaled a sharp breath and leaned back, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “okay, good. you were scaring me for a second there.” he let out a deep sigh, a chuckle interrupting his action.

you pressed your lips together, your stomach twisting. this wasn’t how you imagined this going – not that you had imagined it going smoothly, but still. “i’m fine,” you spoke softly, more to reassure yourself than anything else, “it’s not ... bad, exactly – it’s just hard to explain.”

lando tilted his head, studying you with that same careful expression he always wore when he was trying to figure something out, “alright, take your time, i guess. i’m listening.” the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. of course, he was listening, he always did. that was part of the problem.

you looked down at her hands, twisting your fingers together, your palms damp as if you were having a stroke. you felt lando’s eyes on you, steady and unrelenting, like he wouldn’t look away until he knew you were okay.

“you’re sure you’re okay?” lando asked again, softer this time – he was beginning to genuinely worry. you nodded, but the motion felt hollow. your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

“i just need a minute,” you murmured, and like he had in the car, he didn’t press on. instead, he leaned back into the couch, giving you space, but his gaze stayed fixed on your frame. the silence stretched between the two of you, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.

finally, he let out a quiet laugh, breaking the tension just enough to make you glance up at him with a hint of confusion. “you know,” he spoke, his tone light but his smile nervous, “if this is you telling me you’re moving to antarctica or something, i might actually cry.”

your lips twitched into a smile despite yourself, “what?” “i’m serious,” lando spoke, raising a hand in mock solemnity, “you can’t just drop a we need to talk bomb on me and expect me not to assume the worst. if you’re planning to disappear or something, at least give me some notice.”

you shook your head, a small laugh escaping her before she could stop it, “i’m not moving to antarctica or running away or anything – at least not yet.” your second attempt to bring back the usual friendly banter had began to work as you let out another chuckle. “good,” lando hummed, his grin softening, “because i don’t think i’d survive that.”

your heart twisted at the words, even though you knew he didn’t mean them the way you wished he did. lando was feeding into your jokes, trying his hardest to pry the confession out of you slightly, and you found it working as you let out another nervous sigh.

your sigh faded, leaving the air thick again. lando was looking at you, the teasing edge in his expression softening into something warmer, more patient. he wasn’t going to let this go, and you knew it. he never did.

you took a deep breath, your fingers now curling into the fabric of your shirt. “it’s not about antarctica,” you spoke, your voice quieter now, “it’s about you.” lando’s brows furrowed slightly, the easy grin slipping from his face, “me?” confusion filled the air and you couldn’t tell if he was oblivious or plain stupid.

“yeah,” you spoke, your gaze nervously dropping to your lap. you couldn’t look at him, not yet. “i’ve been thinking a lot about us. about all the things i want to do. not just, like, big things, but .. little things too.” the room felt impossibly still, your words hanging between the two of you. you pressed on before your courage dissolved completely.

“like .. i want to watch dumb movies with you – the ones you always tell me about but i never get around to watching. and i want to sit on your couch and argue about whose turn it is to pick dinner, even though we both know we’re going to give in and order pizza anyway.”

your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to keep going, “i want to have pancakes for dinner, just because we can, even though you’ll probably put too much syrup on them and make a mess. i want to watch a tv show together and if we’re too exhausted, we can watch it in bed.”

you glanced up at lando, your breath catching at the way he was looking at you. his expression was unreadable, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide like he didn’t dare blink as you began. “and i want ..” your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop, “i want all those things with you because they matter to me. you matter to me. more than i ever thought someone could.” the words felt like they had been wrenched out of you, leaving your chest hollow and aching. your hands gripped the couch cushion, waiting for lando to say something, anything.

for a long moment, he didn’t. lando just stared at you, his brows furrowed like he was trying to process what you had just said. “you want .. pancakes for dinner?” he asked finally, his voice so soft it made your heart ache.

you laughed, the sound weak and trembling, but it felt like a release. you couldn’t fathom that out of all of that, that’s what he was confused about. “yeah,” you spoke softly, “i want pancakes for dinner. with you, and everything else.”

lando’s lips twitched, and then, slowly, a smile broke across his face. a real one, not the teasing, lopsided grin you were so used to. this one was softer, warmer, like he was looking at you for the first time.

the smile on lando’s face lingered, but it quickly gave way to a softer, almost uncertain look. he took a breath, like he was trying to gather his thoughts, but he still didn’t break eye contact. “you have no idea how badly i want to say that sounds perfect,” lando spoke quietly, his voice carrying a weight of honesty you hadn’t expected. your heart skipped, but you swallowed the hope rising in your chest, unsure where this was going.

“but ..” lando hesitated, the hesitation enough to make your stomach drop, “but i’m not great at this kind of thing – saying my feelings and shit,” he continued, his gaze flickering away briefly, his hands fidgeting. “i’m a mess with timing, and i’m not always around, and, you know, i can’t be that guy who just shows up whenever, especially when we’re not always in the same place. it’s easier to say i want all those things, but actually ..” he trailed off, his words fading, and you saw the conflict in his eyes, the worry.

you bit your lip, your chest tightening. lando feels the same way, but he's scared. the realization hit you like a wave, pulling you under with the weight of it. you opened your mouth to respond, but lando beat you to it.

“i know it sounds like an excuse, and i don’t want to make it seem like i’m backing out of anything, but i’ve got this tendency to overthink everything,” lando spoke, his voice thick with vulnerability, “i don’t want to promise something i can’t follow through on, and i hate that i’m not better at being here – at being present. and i hate how much i want to say yes, but i’m scared.”

your heart clenched as lando looked at you, the rawness in his gaze making your heart ache for him. your heart was beating as fast as it possibly could as you tried to hide the overwhelming emotion on your face. you tangled your fingers together again, taking a deep breath.

“i just don’t want you to think that it’s you, or that i don’t care because i do – so much, too much,” lando reached out then, his hand hovering between the two of you for a moment before he placed it gently on yours. the contact felt like an anchor, grounding you in the storm of his words.

“i want all those things with you too,” lando whispered, his thumb brushing over your hand like he couldn’t help it,“pancakes for dinner. arguing over pizza. nights in – all of it, but i don’t want to let you down.”

you felt your breath catch in your throat, the mix of relief and uncertainty flooding you all at once. the long distance, the uncertainty, the timing – it all felt so complicated, yet here he was, laying it all out, just like you had.

you squeezed lando’s hand gently, your heart full of more than you had expected. “i don’t need you to be perfect,” you spoke softly, your voice steady now, as your confidence grew, “i don’t need every moment to be planned. i just need to know that you want it too – that you want me. even if it’s messy, even if we’re not always in the same place.”

for a moment, the two of you just sat there, the quiet between each other not awkward, but comfortable. your hand in lando’s, the soft weight of his fingers against yours grounding you, soothing the chaos you had been carrying.

“i want you,” lando spoke up, his voice so certain now it made your heart flutter, “more than anything. i just ..” he took a deep breath and squeezed your hand back, “i guess i was just scared you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

your breath caught, and you smiled, a soft, genuine smile that spread slowly across your face. “i do,” you hummed, your voice filled with the kind of certainty you hadn’t known you were capable of, “i feel the same way.”

the silence between both of you deepened, but this time, it wasn’t filled with uncertainty or hesitation. it was filled with the space where everything unspoken lived – the things you both knew, but hadn’t dared to say out loud until now. lando was still holding your hand, but now there was something more in the way as his fingers curled around yours. it wasn’t just comfort anymore. it was a promise.

“i don’t know how easy this is going to be,” lando spoke softly, his voice more vulnerable than you had ever heard it. “i don’t know how many times i’ll mess it up or how far apart we’ll be soemtimes, but,” lando paused, gathering his thoughts as if the weight of them were settling in, “but i know i don’t want to keep walking away from something that feels this real.”

your heart skipped once again. you didn’t realize how much you needed to hear him say that until the words were out. the words seemed all too poetically beautiful for lando, but you knew he was speaking his mind, even though his thoughts were complex.

“me neither,” you murmured, squeezing his hand tighter, “i don’t care how messy it gets, i just don’t want to keep pretending it’s not there.” lando’s smile was small but genuine, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “yeah,” he agreed quietly, “pretending just doesn’t work anymore, does it?” “no,” you spoke softly, “it doesn’t.”

the both of you sat there for a moment longer, both lost in the gravity of the decision you had just made – realizing that, despite the complications, despite the distance and uncertainty, you were choosing each other. even if it was hard, even if it didn’t make sense.

“you know,” you spoke up again, your voice hesitant but growing steadier with every word, “i think i’m okay with things not being perfect. in the end, nothing is really perfect, and i like it that way.” lando nodded slowly, a small smile christening his face, his hand still holding yours, “me too.”

you looked at lando, and for the first time, you didn’t see the nervous, unsure guy who’d been so cautious before. you saw someone who was ready to take that leap, even if it scared him, even if there would be highs and lows.

“i don’t want to waste any more time,” lando spoke, his voice breathy, “so, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. no more second-guessing. no more running away. no more hiding our feelings.” your heart swelled at his words, the promise behind the two of you feeling like everything you had ever wanted, but thought you couldn’t have. “yeah,” you whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “no more running.”

lando leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against your forehead in a soft, slow kiss. it was simple, but it felt like everything. the weight of all your unspoken feelings was there, in that moment, and you knew it wasn’t just about what you had said, it was about the choice you were both making.

“i don’t know what comes next,” lando spoke after pulling back, his voice still soft, “but i know i don’t want to do it without you.” your chest tightened in that familiar way, the warmth spreading through you like sunshine, “me neither.”

#ellis' works #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando imagine #lando norris smau #ln4 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 fanfiction #lando norris smut #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic

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ram-bles · 8 months ago

Note

Headcanons with Daisuke and Shy Reader? Thanks if you do :)

daisuke x shy!reader headcanons

[ requests/inbox: open ]

oh boy changing the mood with this one

fluff, gender neutral reader

⚠️ dude/bro used but in a gender neutral way lol

Sorry this took so long! I had to rewrite more than half of this since I forgot to save as draft the last time 😭

🌺 The first you've seen him was while processing your papers for the internship. He was busy double checking his own papers on his way out so he didn't notice you. The first time he sees you, was during the Tulpar boarding.

🌺 To no surprise, he approaches and greets you first, rambling on about how totally excited he was to work with you and the whole crew. You shook his hand with an awkward smile as you exchanged introductions.

Once the captain had given you both an overview of what you guys might do while on board, he immediately turns to you, jutting his hand out for a handshake. "Heya! I'm Daisuke!" You swore you were blinded by how bright this man smiled at you. "Dude, I'm like so so glad you're here. Everyone else here besides Cap' seems so— yeesh. Gloomy." You realized you've almost left him hanging and you almost dropped your bag trying to shake his hand. He laughs and you felt your face warm up in embarrassment. He switches topic immediately. "What's your name? What uni you from? - oh! What college are you in?"

🌺 You wouldn't notice it until later on that you'd often trail behind Daisuke, especially when you don't know what you're doing or how to help (he doesn't know how as well but he pretends he does).

🌺 Assuming that the rooms are very limited and can house two members per room (bunk bed icon by Curly's quarters door), you two got paired up since Swansea didn't want to be in the same room as Daisuke did.

🌺 A coin had to be flipped for the top bunk since Daisuke kept on insisting that you take it but you were also insisting that he takes it.

🌺 Even before the crash, he's either on his gameboy, magazines, or his iconic pink dumbbells when you guys have the free time.

🌺 Once comfortable enough, you two were inseparable. Always together by the hip outside intern work. The top bunk was useless since you'd both end up chilling at the same place, either sprawled against each other or claiming territories at each end of the bed doing whatever hobbies you two were into.

"Bro, you're kicking my faaaace. I can't see what I'm reading." You whined and tried pushing his leg away since you were scanning through one of the magazines he brought and he gives you a mischievous stare. "Daisuke, no." "Daisuke, yes." He pauses his game and throws it to the side, yanking your leg as you squealed and flailed around. You lose. But you both end up laughing as he locked you to his side, giving you a noogie, not long until Swansea busts in to scold you two for being too rowdy.

[might make a one-shot of this if you guys are interested?]

🌺 Hey, even if you guys are that close already and you don't chat as much, he'll be the one doing it for the both of you. I don't make the rules.

🌺 If you have inquiries with the other members, he accompanies you and asks the questions for you.

🌺 Daisuke pretty much drags you with him for whatever shenanigans he's up to. Don't worry, he takes the blame if you guys get caught and makes sure they think you're uninvolved.

#daisuke #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #mouthwashing #rambles #headcanon #hc #x reader #reader

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sweetbans29 · 30 days ago

Text

You've Lost Me - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You just weren't the priority anymore (based on THIS request).

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: pain

Sweetbans Masterlist

Everything is perfect.

You are entering into the last semester in college with graduation right around the corner. You are finishing up your undergrad degree and plan to take a gap year before starting your masters. The gap year was a battle that you ultimately won. You took the side of wanting to take a gap year because of all that was going on. And by all that is going on, you mean your girlfriend deciding if she is going to declare for the draft or not.

You met Caitlin during your freshman year at Iowa. It’s a funny story. At least now it is a funny story. Freshman year was a weird one because of Covid, not many students were actually on campus and the ones that were could only be around those there for the same reason. Caitlin was on campus for basketball and stuck with the team most of the time. You, on the other hand, were only on campus because you had a job that required you there because students were onsite. You worked at the bookstore and even though Covid was happening and a majority of classes were online, students still needed books. It was pure chaos, but you didn’t mind.

Back to how you met Cait. There was one day where everything around the sun went wrong. You were one of two people in the shop and were bombarded by requests. The last priority you had was tending to actual people walking in the store, most of the chaos was happening via email. You were running around like a mad-women and didn’t even notice the bell indicating there was someone in the store.

“Sam, did you already package up those Bio books?” You yell to your coworker in the back. Right as you do, you trip over a stack of books on the ground causing you to go flying to the floor. You hear someone yell something along the lines of ‘oh shit’ right before you hit the ground.

You groan in pain and just lay there.

“Are you okay?” A girl comes up, not close enough to really check you because of Covid, but close enough to see that you aren’t bleeding.

“Just leave me here to die,” you say dramatically, not looking up to see who is standing there. “It would be better than this shitshow.”

“Well if you die, then I wouldn’t be able to get my books,” the girl says and you finally turn over to look at the source of the voice. The first thing you notice is her hair. She has beautiful brown hair that looks so soft and shiny.

“Your hair is shiny,” you say. You don’t remember but you must have hit your head when you fell because there is no way you actually just said that out loud.

The girl laughs, “Thank you.”

You are still laying on the ground when your coworker comes out saying she left them in a pile, the pile you tripped over.

She ends up being the one to help you up since the two of you quarantined together prior to starting at the campus store. After you are up, you double check and immediately know several places that will have nice bruises show up.

“I can help you,” Sam says to the girl.

“It’s okay, I can wait for…” the girl says then trails off when she realizes she doesn’t know your name. Sam says your name and Caitlin repeats it.

“I got it Sam,” you say as you limp over to the section where the onsite students' books are housed before they are sent to their dorms. That was what a majority of people opted for since it meant less contact and was deemed the ‘safer option’ when ordering online. The girl in front of you was the only person you have seen actually enter the store.

“Name?” You ask as you try to cover up the pain you are in.

“Do you always tell people you like their hair or am I special?” The girl asks.

“Umm I think you forgot the part when I fell and most likely hit my head causing me to speak irrationally,” you say.

“But you didn’t hit your head,” she says.

“I am pretty sure I did,” you say.

“I saw the whole thing, you didn’t hit your head,” she says and you stand there staring at her. You try to suppress the rage that is beginning to boil inside of you. What is she getting at?

“Okay, I didn’t hit my head,” you say. “It was probably the lighting, don’t consider yourself special.” You let out a little forced laugh, not knowing why the two of you were still on the topic.

“So are you going to give me your name?” You say with a little bite to it.

“Someone is feisty,” she responds and now this girl is officially on your nerves.

“Do you want your books or not,” you say, proving her point.

“I think I’ll switch to getting them delivered,” she says and your eyes twitch.

“Dude, seriously?” All professionalism is out the window at this point.

“Chill, I am messing with you,” she says. You are anything but chill. You take a deep breath and try again.

“Name?” You ask again, taking the edge off your voice.

“Caitlin,”she says and stops. She likes messing with you, if anyone were to ask her, she would say she finds it incredibly cute when you get frustrated.

“Last name?” You ask. You should have been clear the first two times you asked.

“Well that is pretty forward,” Cailtin says and you are done.

You begin to walk away without saying another word.

“Wait, wait, wait” she calls after you. “I’m sorry. It’s Clark.”

You slowly make your way back and go to look at the shelf labeled with ‘C’. Considering there are only like 10 orders in total, her first name would have been enough but you were just following the process.

“Are you always this difficult, Clark?” You ask as you go through the process on your computer.

“Depends,” she starts in a joking manner, then gets more serious. “It’s been different lately, ya know? With how abnormal things are, I guess I am just trying to find something that feels normal.”

This softens you a little, you can’t knock her for that. You have been feeling the same way.

“Well, I can tell you, falling in front of strangers is definitely not normal for me,” you say as you hand over her books.

She laughs and you’re hooked.

“I sure hope not, I don’t know how you are still alive if it was,” she says and you notice how even though you can’t see her smile, it shines brightly through her eyes.

The two of you part ways. It is shortly after that Caitlin comes and bugs you again only this time she has no reason to be there except to bug you. She ended up becoming a friend - even if she annoyed you more times than not. Your annoyance only made her want to annoy you more. By the end of the school year, the two of you are closer than ever and she invites you to come home with her for a few weeks during the summer before heading home yourself. It is the time spent at her house that she confesses her feelings to you. You reciprocate them and it feels like the rest is history (aside from her bringing up how you two met to anyone and everyone that would listen - and she never fails to mention how you told her she has shiny hair).

When senior year rolled around, the two of you knew wherever the future took you, it would be together. So when you started talking about taking a gap year after undergrad before starting your master, Caitlin was against it. You knew it was all with good intention - she didn’t want you putting your goals on hold while she was still trying to figure out where she would be. She still hadn’t made the decision to declare for the draft or not yet but deep down you knew she would.

So when March rolls around and her team is getting ready for March Madness, you could see the conflict in her eyes every time the two of you were together.

The two of you are in her apartment having a movie night. By the way her hands keep fidgeting with anything in their vicinity, you know she is caught in her own head and not paying attention to the movie.

“Babe, this is your favorite movie and you haven’t quoted it once,’ you say, bringing her hands up to kiss the backs of them.

“Mmmhmm,” she hums, not realizing her response doesn’t make sense.

“Hey,” you say and pause the movie. “Talk to me, pretty girl.”

“Everyone is waiting for me to make a decision and I don’t know what to do,” she says. “The media keeps commenting, my parents keep asking. I know you are waiting to figure out what to do, it is just a lot.”

“Hey, the only person that matters is you. It is what you want to do,” you say and bring your hand to sooth her hair.

“But it’s not,” she says and you stop her.

“It is,” you fight back. She shuts up.

You bring her in your arms and hold her.

“What does Caitlin want to do?” You ask softly.

“She feels ready,” Cailtin says after an eternity of thinking. “I have spent 4 good years here and I feel like I have done what I wanted to do.”

“Aside from a natty,” you say, a smile peaking through.

“That’s on the way,” she says. “But I feel like I am ready to move on to bigger and better things.”

“Then there is your answer,” you say. “And I will be right by your side wherever that is.”

“When you are on break from school, yes,” Cait says.

“No, all the time,” you bite back. “At least the first year. I heard that is the most difficult.”

“You are not stopping your schooling for me,” she says.

“That is not your decision. And my mind was made up a while ago,” you say. “I want to see what life is like outside of school, I mean we have been nonstop at it for 16 years now, I deserve a break.”

“I don’t agree with you,” Caitlin says but buries herself deeper into you.

“You don’t have too,” you say as you squeeze her tighter. Her actions speak louder than she is in the moment. You know she wants you by her side, there was never any doubt. So when the time came and she got drafted to Indiana, you packed up and the two of you found a place to live in Indianapolis.

Caitlin’s rookie year was hard but you were by her side through it all and she could honestly not be more grateful for you. You were able to travel to all the games and be home with her after practices. You wouldn’t have changed any of it.

Her second year was almost as good as the first. It was a little less hard. You had started your masters program which you were excited for and Caitlin had been nothing but supportive in you going back to school. The only thing that got a little harder was time. But even with you being busier and Caitlin having more engagements, the two of you still made each other a priority.

It wasn’t until about a year and a half after you started school - you only have about 4 months left, did you start to notice a shift in your relationship. At first, it was miniscule and you didn’t think much of it. It was Caitlin, staying longer at practice or her forgetting to grab something at the store. Things that you didn’t think twice about.

It isn’t until you notice you start spending more time alone than with her do you ask her if everything is okay.

Caitlin comes home from practice one night and you stop her in the kitchen.

“Hey babe, I missed you,” you say as she comes over to hug you. You stay in her arms and exhale.

“How could you miss me?” She says with a smile. She did have a point in the sense that you saw her that morning, but that wasn’t what you were getting at.

“I miss us time,” you say and the second you say it, you feel silly for even bringing it up.

“I miss us time too,” she says as she leans her head on top of yours. You sigh in relief, the last thing you want is to be seen as clingy. Not that it has ever been an issue before.

“How about this, I have a few days off after our next game. Why don’t we get away for a day or two, just us,” Caitlin says and you nod.

“I would love that,” you say and look up to kiss her.

“I would also love that,” she says against your lips and brings you back into a hug.

“Whenever you miss me, just tell me okay?” She says. “Although my hope is to notice before you have to say anything.”

“I love you,” you say. She repeats it back and you feel secure again.

The following few weeks are great and you feel like things are back to normal. It is after the season ends when you start to notice her distance again.

This time it is much more noticeable and seems more intentional. When you ask her about it, she dismisses you - but she does it in a way that doesn’t have you questioning her. You know her schedule picks up in the off-season and that includes a lot of travel. The part that gets you is when she doesn’t ask for you to join. You don’t let it bug you because when you ask, she makes it sound like she doesn’t even want to go herself.

“I mean if you don’t want to go, I’ll join and we can spend a few extra days. It would be nice to go on a little vacation - you deserve it,” you say. If you were honest, you also deserved it. You are just about to graduate and could use a few days before diving into finishing all you have to do.

“I would rather just go and come home,” Caitlin says and you respect her choice. Maybe you should have pushed harder or tried a different angle but you know once she has her mind made up there is really no swaying it. So you drop it.

“It is probably better that you’ll have a few quiet days to finish up your school work and then we can celebrate your graduation,” she says and you believe her logic.

“You’re right,” you say, swallowing the slight disappointment. “I can’t wait until we are on a boat in Cancun, no worries in the world.”

Cailtin goes on her trip and you stay home and get all your work done so that when she gets home you can spend all the time you want with her.

The only thing is, Cait doesn’t come home when you expect her to and you get a text saying that she is going to be delayed a few days. You are bummed but have no reason to think anything bad about it. You tell her to be safe.

The first big riff that the two of you face is when she misses your graduation. You try to be understanding but getting your masters is a big deal and she had known about it for so long that when she called you telling you how sorry she was to not make it, it stung but you know she meant it.

From there, it just kept getting worse. Caitlin became distant, then would apologize profusely and would give you attention for a little before going right back to being distant. After a few months of the back and forth, you slowly fell into your own rhythm, without her.

There would be weeks at a time where your shared apartment didn’t feel shared. It felt like you were living alone in a city that you used to love.

It all hurt but what hurt you the most is when Caitlin stopped noticing when you showed up. Even though she had stopped showing up, you would always be there to support her.

Her next season started and there was one that had you questioning how much more you could take.

You get to Gainbridge Fieldhouse with Cait and hang out before sitting where you have season tickets on the baseline. The whole game, she doesn’t look your way once, not that you need her to but she usually does - at least once. The Fever takes the win and you hang out with a few other regulars, waiting for Caitlin on the floor.

After a little while, you notice that the crowd has thinned significantly and there was still no sight of Caitlin. You head to the tunnel where you run into Lexie.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were still here,” Lexie says as she comes over to give you a hug. Before you can ask she continues, “I thought I saw Cait leave a while ago.”

You try to hide as your heart falls on the floor, but you don’t do a great job.

“Oh, yeah. I - uhh, we drove separately,” you say. It’s a lie.

Lexie knows you are lying but doesn’t want to rattle you even more.

“I can give you a ride home,” she says softly. The team has noticed changes for a while now. It started when Caitlin started showing up to dinners and game nights without you. They would always ask where you were but she would come up with some excuse saying you were busy and couldn’t make it. It wasn’t noticeable at first but then Lexie jumped to post something to her story one game night and noticed you had posted a story. Caitlin has said you were visiting your parents and couldn’t make it but your story was you in your apartment with the caption ‘movie night 🍿’. Lexie didn’t mention anything about it, but noticed.

“Umm, yeah, that would actually be great,” you say. “I don’t think I should drive right now.”

She nods and drives you to your apartment. When she pulls up and you get ready to leave she gives you a little encouragement.

“Cait just has a lot on her mind right now,” Lexie says and you wish you knew what she was talking about. Cailtin stopped talking to you about how she was doing and kept it to small talk when the two of you had time together.

You nod and thank her for the ride.

When you get to the door of your apartment, you struggle to find the words you want to use when confronting Caitlin. How could she forget that you were there? You drove together, had one of the best conversations on the way there. Then she doesn’t look at you once and leaves you at the arena. How could you be so quickly forgotten?

You take a deep breath and open the front door.

“Cait?” You ask as you enter, there is no answer.

You walk in and see most of the lights are off. You walk around trying to find your girl and feel yourself break when you finally find her.

Cailtin is sound asleep in your bed.

She fell asleep without you there. No contact, no nothing. She just came home without you and went to bed. No questioning where you were. Did she even notice you weren’t there?

The next few months you went back and forth between making yourself small and unnoticeable to trying to get her to pay attention to you. The thing was, she was never annoyed with you when you did more. It would be normal and just as you felt like things are on the up and up, she would go away for weeks at a time or do her own thing. It got to the point where you needed to prioritize yourself, even if that meant leaving the girl you love.

It was a warm summer afternoon when it happened. You had spent weeks figuring out what you were going to do and the first step that would affect your decision is seeing if Cait would bail on your anniversary dinner.

You hadn’t mentioned it was your anniversary - never had to. The only thing you mentioned to Caitlin was that you made dinner reservations for the two of you at her favorite restaurant. She told you she wouldn’t miss the dinner and like every other time, you believed her. She had practice that she couldn’t miss and the two of you planned on meeting at the restaurant. That wasn’t unusual.

When you got there, you were seated and offered Caitlin’s go-to wine which you accepted but wanted to wait for her to pop open. You look at the clock and tell yourself not to panic when it’s 10-past your reservation time. You sit and enjoy the ambiance, waiting for her.

It is about 20 minutes after that you feel deflated. You check your phone, no message or missed call and you begin to draft a text when you go to check her location instead. When you see that she is at the restaurant, you feel relief take over your body. She is probably walking in.

You look towards the door as excitement builds, only to be crushed by the sight of Caitlin with several of her teammates heading in the opposite direction of the table that you are at. They are guided to a private booth in the back and you can feel tears welling in your eyes.

She forgot and left you sitting there, only to come to the same restaurant with a different group of people.

The waiter comes over and you can see in his eye, there is confusion but also sympathy. You tell him you’ll pay for the wine but will be heading out. He refuses your payment but you leave cash.

You get yourself a hotel room that night, not wanting to be in the same space as Caitlin when she gets home.

Over the next few days, you make one of the hardest decisions of your life.

It is quiet, you don’t have it in you to be loud. Slowly - unnoticeably you begin removing your belongings from the apartment. At first you were scared that Caitlin would notice and begin to question, but as the days passed you were reminded how forgettable you had become to her.

It’s a Tuesday when you're at the apartment to retrieve your final things. You do one last sweep over the space, thinking about all the great memories that Caitlin and you had made there - muted by the past few months.

One last deep breath as you put your keys into the bowl on the entry table.

A goodbye you never thought you would have to make and it isn’t even to her face.

You head to the apartment you found, it is much smaller and is month-to-month as you figure out where you belong. You really don’t know how long you could stay in Indianapolis - really the state of Indiana. But that is a task for you to figure out after you allow yourself to waste away for as long as you need.

Caitlin feels like she is just walking though life in a haze right now, not really feeling much, just trying to make it to the next day. She has found that spending time with the team has been the best help and has her feeling like herself, even if it is only for a few hours. She knows she has been neglecting you but you are always there and she knows you always will be even while she is in this funk.

She gets home and drops her keys off at the entry table as she automatically goes to the bedroom and gets ready for bed. Cait feels like there is something off but she can’t pinpoint it - she shakes it thinking it is just a part of her funk. She gets in bed and it is slightly colder than it has been. She closes her eyes and tries to sleep but there is this nagging feeling in her that has her sitting up.

The spot next to her is perfectly made, a space she is so used to you occupying. Her eyebrows furrow. She doesn’t remember you saying anything about not being home.

Cait grabs her phone and scrolls to your last message to see if she has missed a text you sent about where you would be and it isn’t until it takes her a minute to actually find your name in her messages that she realizes she hasn’t talked to you in a while.

When Cait finally finds your name, she opens it only to realize the last message you sent was over two weeks ago. It was a reminder that the two of you had dinner plans and that you would meet her there knowing she had practice.

Dinner? She didn’t go to dinner with you…

She opens her calendar app and taps on the event that clearly says ‘Dinner Date 🤍’. Her heart drops when she also sees the ‘7 year anniversary’ headlining that date. Caitlin mutters a string of curses as it comes back to her.

“I made us dinner reservations at your favorite place this Thursday,” you say as you make something for lunch. “I put it in your calendar.”

“Why would you do that? You know I won’t forget,” Caitlin says - she hasn’t looked at you once, eyes trained on her phone.

You don’t say anything because you have a gut wrenching feeling that she will, which has led you to setting up precautions so she won’t.

“It’s at 6,” you say.

“I have practice until 5,” she says.

“We can meet there,” you say, disappointment shown on your face but not heard in your voice.

That was the end of the conversation, Cait didn’t say anything to you after that.

Caitlin is now standing in her bedroom, pacing a little. She was worried that something had happened to you, you are always home.

But the more that she thinks about it, it has been quieter in the apartment. Caitlin enjoyed it and didn’t question it until now, when she can no longer remember the last time she has actually seen you.

She has been so caught up in her head and she has never had to worry about you. Now she is worried.

She goes to call you. It goes straight to voicemail.

When Caitlin thinks to go check your location, you no longer show up.

At this point, Caitlin doesn’t actually know what to do. She has been so removed from you recently that she doesn’t even know who to call to see if they knew where you are.

She beelines to the hallway closet that houses both of your luggage, thinking maybe you went on a trip she forgot about and you didn’t have service or wifi. When she swings the door open she notices it is half empty.

The jackets you had hanging in there are no longer there.

Caitlin swallows the lump in her throat as she runs to the closet in the bedroom. She flicks the light on and she feels all the air leave her lungs.

It is half empty, but not in the traditional sense. Yes, all your clothes were gone, but you had moved her stuff around to make it look like there wasn’t that much of a change. Why would your stuff be gone?

She begins searching every area of the apartment and after 20 minutes of finding the same thing, she has to sit with the fact that you left. She can’t wrap her head around it because you never said anything. There was no fight, no arguments. Everything was normal.

On the verge of a full on panic attack, she calls the first person she can think of and before she knows it, Lexie is there and bringing Cailtin into her arms.

“Breathe CC,” Lexie says as Caitlin allows the panic to consume her.

“Gone,” is all Cait can get out.

Lexie stands here holding her friend and teammate as Cailtin breaks down.

Once she has Caitlin calm, she guides her to her room and gets Cailtin to lay in bed. She promises she will be there when Caitlin wakes up.

Caitlin eventually falls asleep but Lexie doesn’t. She gets up and looks around - coming to the same conclusion that Cailtin did a few hours ago. Her heart sank for the girl but she would be lying if she said she knew you were in the wrong here.

Lexie’s mind goes back to that one time she drove you home after Caitlin left you at the arena. Lex remembers slyly bringing it up to Cait at practice the next day where Cait just said it was no big deal and that it was all worked out. And when Lexie mentioned to have Cait invite you to her engagement party but Cait came up with some excuse of how you were busy without even asking you. Lexie knew you would be there in a heartbeat if you knew about it.

The next morning, Caitlin wakes up and goes around the apartment thinking the night before was one big nightmare. It was a nightmare but she is very much awake.

Where did it go wrong? Where did she go wrong?

Caitlin knew you would always be there, she doesn’t remember anything else. You were her normal, you were her home.

But she has to think hard, really hard, back to the last time she can remember spending time with you and her heart feels like it is on fire when she can’t remember. All she can remember is spending time with the team and then when she got home, she would usually just head to bed.

Cait doesn’t know what to do, has no idea how to find you, has no idea if you want her to find you because if she were in your shoes, she would never want to see herself again. But Caitlin doesn’t know how to do life without you, she doesn’t know how to survive without you. The hard truth that just hits her like another wave is that you have been surviving without her because she didn’t give you a choice.

Cailtin sinks into the truth that you have had to learn to live without her for who knows how long while she just kept on going with her life. And now that she has to do it, she doesn’t know if she can.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn't and there is nothing Caitlin can do about it.

AN: I hope this is the pain you were looking for. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist #sweetbansummer

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asterafroditis · 1 month ago

Note

hiiii

ik your requests are closed rn so please ignore this until you have time :>

i just really need more of that forgetful reader fic, and i would forget about requesting this unless i sent it quickly lol.

but i'd like for it to either be with vice housewardens (+ruggie, platonic for ortho or no ortho) or just anyone you'd want to write for lmao

with a gn reader thx

Love-Anon

𐔌 . ⋮ memory markers .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Vice-Housewardens (+ Ruggie) x forgetful gn! reader

𓏵 1316 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff, (once again, like for every work I make with Rook, the French may not be totally accurate)

This has been rotting in my drafts for a very long while, and it's not exactly proofread and sticks to the idea of the original request/housewardens ver., so yeah; but I hope this fulfills your request!

feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Trey notices your memory troubles pretty early. He’s used to watching out for others, especially in a dorm like Heartslabyul. You forget small things often: if you turned off the oven, where you left your notebook, or what someone just asked you to do seconds ago. But Trey never calls you out in front of others or sighs in frustration.

Instead, he quietly adapts.

“Did you tap your ring twice before walking away? That’s how you mark when you finish something, right?” he asks, cleaning flour off his fingers during a baking session. You nod, a little embarrassed. He gives a soft, understanding chuckle.

“Hey, if it helps you remember, it’s not silly. Everyone’s got their own systems.”

Trey’s always gentle and straightforward. When he helps you in the kitchen, he’ll pause and ask, “Want me to say something out loud when you start the next step? Might help it stick.” If you're feeling overwhelmed or second-guessing yourself, he never rushes you—he just stands by, ready to pick up where you left off.

He encourages you to build consistent, repeatable patterns, not just for yourself, but so he can support you better. “You snap when you're done with the eggs. Okay. I’ll watch for that, and if you don’t do it, I’ll give a nudge. Sound fair?”

He never pities you, though. Trey is practical and calm, and he knows stress doesn’t help memory one bit. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You remembered to bring me that weird strawberry-salt combo I mentioned once in passing. That says a lot.”

He respects how observant you are in other ways; how you notice when he’s clenching his jaw whenever he's unsure, or how he adjusts his glasses twice when he’s thinking. You may forget instructions, but you remember people. Trey sees the effort, and that means more to him than perfection.

─────────────────────────

Ruggie catches on fast, probably because he’s spent his whole life working around other people’s messes. When you forget something the third time in a row, he doesn’t get mad; he just sighs and offers a solution.

“You do that snap noise every time you finish a chore, right? Kinda weird, but hey, it works,” he grins. “Wanna teach me your system so I can back you up?”

He jokes a lot, calling your forgetfulness “goldfish mode”, but the teasing is lighthearted and never cruel. If anyone else dares mock you, he’s quick to defend you with a sharp glare and a, “You ain’t perfect either, y’know.”

Ruggie starts building reminders into your shared tasks. “Let’s clap twice before sweeping. That way you’ll know it’s done. Boom. Efficiency.” He’s surprisingly clever at helping you make your memory tricks fun and quick— “Work smart, not hard,” he says, tapping his temple.

He especially notices that you always remember his favorite food, how he likes his tail scratched, and how he stashes bread rolls for later.

“Ha! You forgot which class we had, but remembered I hide stuff in the third drawer? You’re somethin’ else,” he says, shaking his head but grinning.

─────────────────────────

Jade is… a little too fascinated.

“I see. So, your memory retention increases when associated with physical or auditory cues. Intriguing.” His tone is polite, but you can feel the curiosity burning under the surface.

He watches your routines intently. You snap your fingers, then spin once to remember you watered the plants. Jade does not intervene—he observes. Quietly, thoroughly.

When he starts assisting, it’s subtle. You go to double-check something, and it’s already done. Jade did it after watching your pattern break.

“I noticed you didn’t make your usual snapping sound. I assumed the task slipped.” He smiles, eerie but sincere.

He offers experimental solutions, too: “Would associating smell improve recall? I could prepare small samples for you to test—harmless, of course.”

If you forget and panic, he never scolds. “Calm down. The mind is complex. Yours simply takes a different path.”

You once recited the exact way he brews his special tea— from timing to the tealeaf brand. His eyes lit up, impressed.

“Fascinating. So you forget where you placed your book, but recall my blend perfectly? Truly… selective memory is a marvel.”

─────────────────────────

At first? Jamil felt some frustration. Not at you, but at the situation.

“Didn’t I just say—ah. Right. You didn’t mark it.” He sighs and rubs his temples.

But once he understands your condition better, he adjusts. He’s practical, organized, and deeply perceptive.

“You remember sounds and movement? Then let’s make a checklist. Dance-step it, if you have to.” He even helps choreograph simple foot taps or claps for tasks.

“Brush teeth: clap and snap. Got it?”

He never babies you, but he always keeps track. You can rely on him to step in when your memory hiccups mid-way through something important.

You’re checking the doorknob for the fourth time? “It’s locked. You tapped the frame three times. I watched.”

You once mentioned the exact number of times he adjusts his collar when he’s stressed. He stopped mid-fidget.

“…You really remembered that?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. It’s one of your tells.”

That… hit him deeper than he let on.

“Even when your brain’s a mess, you notice that? Hmph. You’re something else, huh?”

─────────────────────────

Rook notices your forgetfulness right away— not just because you space out or repeat tasks, but because you use little actions to anchor yourself: tapping your knuckles, humming softly, or snapping your fingers after completing something.

He finds it fascinating.

“Ah, magnifique,” he murmurs the first time he watches you knock twice on the desk after finishing an assignment. “You remember the smallest details of those around you, but daily tasks vanish in an instant… how endearing.”

Rook never mocks you, never sighs. Instead, he picks up on your cues and gently reminds you when needed. If he sees you hesitate, he calmly says, “You tapped your fingers just now, non? That was your signal.” He’s observant enough to reinforce your system without making you feel embarrassed.

When you get frustrated, Rook reassures you with a warm smile. “Mon ami, do not let this trouble your heart. The memory of the soul is far more valuable than any fleeting errand.”

Around the dorm, Rook smooths things over when others get impatient, whether it’s teasing Epel to relax or reassuring Vil that you’re doing your best.

To Rook, your forgetfulness isn’t a flaw; it’s a unique trait that makes you even more intriguing.

“Life is full of moments we forget,” he tells you softly one evening. “But do not worry… I will remember for you.”

─────────────────────────

Lilia finds your memory lapses endearing.

“Ah, déjà vu! Or perhaps… you’ve simply forgotten again? Either way, it's charming!”

He playfully teases—“You asked me that three times, my dear!”—but he’s always gentle. And he offers solutions, often magical in nature.

“I once knew a knight who tied bells to their sleeves to remember chores. Want me to enchant something for you?”

You hum, tap, snap, and he starts joining in with your rhythms, dancing as he hands you reminders:

“Brushed your teeth? Tap twice and do a spin!”

“Fed Grim? Knock on the counter and hum a tune!”

He’s surprisingly good at helping you feel okay when you’re overwhelmed. When your voice cracks from forgetting something important, he just pats your head. “Even I forget things after these many years. Don’t fret, sprout.”

You once mentioned remembering the song he hummed under his breath in his room—something he hadn’t sung in a long while.

“…You remembered that?”

You nod.

“…My, my. Your mind holds treasure in the strangest corners.”

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on1knee4marksmen · 3 months ago

Text

Bundle of Joy

Old man Logan x reader

—☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎——☀︎—

Whew,finally!! I've been keeping this thing in drafts for like a week now, all because of school (😠)

This is originally a request from @fluff-lover (I forgot to answer to their ask) :

"I had this idea of Old man Logan and reader living a quiet life in a cabin, and a pregnant dog comes to their door. Reader takes her in and helps her until she's given birth and the puppies are ready for their forever home. Logan has to drive to the shelter with the puppies to drop them off, but knowing Reader got attached he decides to surprise them by bringing home one of the puppies."

I absolutely loved this idea when I read it, so I really really hope this is what you imagined 🤞

Pairing: Old man Logan x reader

Words: 1,6k ish

Description: Look at the ask above,pretty much that + Laura in the picture bc I love her 3000

Warnings: Not many. Couple of swear words + me rambling; excessive use of the word "and" (my bad)

Tags: Fluff, domestic Logan :), reader sees Laura as their daughter, reader gets referred to as Logan's wife (I don't think there are any other lady reader indicators), attachments being formed with puppies (I love animals), Logan being the dad that says 'I don't want any pets' but then being found guilty of snuggling with the dog on the couch💔

A/n: English isn't my first language and I absolutely hate tenses, so lmk if there's anything I should fix :)

—————————☀︎——————————

James Howlett. Jimmy. Logan. Patch. The Wolverine.

How did a man that lived long enough to get called all those names end up here? Driving a limo, owning reading glasses and having to deal with aching bones?

And he's not driving a customer around this time — on the passenger seat next to him is an open box. Full of fucking puppies.

What had happened to get Logan here?

Well, it all started a month ago. You'd just came back to the little cabin you and Logan had the privilege of calling a home – after Charles sadly passed, you'd offered Logan to cross the border along with Laura and build a home. Start anew. And God, who was he to deny you?

So anyways, you'd just come home after work. Logan was, for once, early, already hanging his coat. Laura was on a week-long trip with her class, which left you and your husband some time to spend together, just you and him..

Or so he thought. Upon going back to the front door to great you, he had heard your voice, soft and mumbly, almost cooing at someone. Or something. His usual wrapping his arms around you and welcoming you home with a kiss – he'd do anything to catch a glimpse of that sweet smile of yours, even after all these years – turned into an eyebrow raise and a soft look of curiousity in Logan's eyes.

"Hi, darlin'. ..Who're you talking to?"

Too swallowed up in trying to get the mystery.. individual to follow you in, your head had whipped around in surprise at Logan's words. ...And a tiny smile adorned your features the moment you saw him.

"Lo, you're back early!" You called out, and your arms immediately outstretched, as if it was an automatic reaction to catching his gaze.

Aaand here it was. A man that everyone convinced he was a weapon his whole life, that he was born to kill, was now getting flustered and giddy at the sensation of the beautiful woman he got the privilege to call his wife, planting soft little kisses aaalll over his face. And he wasn't grumpy about it either – he was smiling like an idiot.

But the smile dropped to a surprised part of his lips, his eyes widening, as they got met with a rather interesting sight. As you hugged him,he had the chance to look at whatever was behind your back. And now he realized why you were cooing.

A dog. A not so big, yet not so small dog with glossy eyes and an almost sad look on its muzzle.

And it was kind of..round, too.

And that's when it sort of clicked for Logan. He pulled back, wide eyes looking down at you with astonishment, interest and some disbelief. "Where did uh... Where'd the lil' guy come from?"

It had taken you a while to understand what he was talking about. But some confused looks and a long 'Ooooh!' later, you were already explaining. "The little guy's actually a girl - she's been in the neighborhood for a while now. I gave her leftover meat once, so I guess she came back for more."

A pause. "... She's pregnant." Yeah. Logan could see that. But with the way your voice had softened, he didn't dare tease. "I was.. hoping we could take her in. Help her with the cubs... I mean, she looks really pregnant."

At first, Logan had stayed silent. Stayed skeptical. A stray? And a pregnant one, at that? Who knew what kind of diseases she could be carrying?? And yeah,he couldn't get sick and neither could Laura, but what about you? He couldn't bare anything bad happening to you...

But then, oh, then, he saw that look in your eyes. It's like he couldn't decide which one of you was giving him sadder puppy eyes - you or the literal dog behind you. And then you had given one simple "..please?" And he couldn't resist - he caved.

And so, the one month of taking care of the stray doggo had begun. You'd taken her to the vet to make sure everything was okay, just to ease Logan's paranoia. It had been hard for him to get used to her in the house at first anyway, however - and that was without having Laura around and having to explain to her what she could and couldn't do in order to not scare the poor thing - loud music or yelling wouldn't be a treat for the poor pup, even if Laura didn't do those so often.

It was a change of pace, that's for sure. Having yet another mouth to feed, even if it wasn't that hard to mix dog food with some meat twice a day. Having a four-pawed, big-eyed pet walking around the house, laying on the couch, sleeping on your shared bed...

What he couldn't get used to was having your attention on the pup more than on him.

Some might call it jealousy. It definitely wasn't jealousy.

...It was totally jealousy.

At first,it had stunned you to see Logan more grumpy than the usual. I mean, yeah, he'd barely agreed and yeah, he wasn't used to a pet, moreso a pregnant one, but why was he looking at the damn dog so weird every time you gave it a scratch or cooed at it?

And then it had dawned on you. He wanted head scratches too. Wanted you to coo at him and coddle him. And oh boy, did he get teased.

After you figured out why he was being more of a grump than usual, you got a good laugh out of it, (and you got to see your husband as red as a tomato) but after that, you made sure to give equal attention to both the pup and Logan himself. You made up to him with a looot of kisses, cuddles, even a back massage.

And the problem was quickly resolved.

A week in, Laura got to know the pup as well. After a 5 or so minute talk about pregnant animals and dogs and whatnot, during the whole entirety of which the girl had been silent, Laura asked a pretty good question.

"Does she have a name?"

And it hit you - she didn't.

And then came the next question of your daughter's - "Can I name her?"

That's how the dog ended up with her own name - Bella.

The following three weeks were a new experience for Laura as well, but she seemed to love having Bella around, just as much as you did. She'd help you with her food, offer to come with you to walk her in the evenings, she even tried to get the pup to sleep on her bed once.

But eventually, the time had come for Bella to give birth. You had done all necessary research - whether or not to interfere, how to help, what was normal and what wasn't. When you'd recognised Bella's odd behaviour as going into labour, you immediately scurried to join her side in the corner of your bedroom, crouching down to be closer to her.

After you gained awareness on Logan's little... problem - and solved it - your husband began to warm up to Bella too. You'd begun finding the dog curled up close to him while he read when you came home, he, in turn, had begun to help with her food. He'd stopped complaining about the dog sleeping in your shared bed. He'd even began petting her more than he'd like to admit.

——————————☀︎——————————

What you hadn't expected was for Logan to join your side too.

Bella had given birth with little to no complications - and her pups were just so tiny and so cute! It warmed your heart just thinking about it - the stray you took in had just had eight healthy puppies, eight! And, with the way Bella herself was eagerly trying to lick at your hand when you went to pet her, despite the exhaustion that must've been seeping through her, told you that she was as grateful as ever, too. It made your eyes water, even if you wouldn't admit it.

You and Logan had gladly let Bella stay until her pups were at least four months old. But both you and your husband knew that after they were bug enough, you had to give them to a dog pound - you couldn't feed eight more pups, you couldn't assure they were living their best life.

That time you hadn't hidden the tears. And that time, Logan hadn't said a word as he hugged you. He understood. Because he'd grown attached to the doggo too.

Aaand, back to present - here he was, driving a box full of puppies, lined with newspapers to try and keep the little things as comfortable as possible. Bella was in there too, looking up at him with those big, glossy eyes. It hurt to turn to the right exactly because he knew he'd likely never see her again..

You'd never see her again, either. He knew how sad that made you, and it made him even sadder knowing it. He was going to come home to you, to Laura, to his house, but he'd no longer her the sound of long nails and furry paws hitting the floor. He'd no longer have soft fur to absentmindedly stroke while he reads.

He'd left home with nine bundles of joy in a box, and he'd come home empty-handed.

...At least that's what you thought. Until you saw your husband open the door with one hand. Smiling softly.

(Another) A/n: Thank you so much for the love on my recent fics! I love when you guys leave silly tags when you repost btw, so don't be shy <33

Because his other hand was too busy holding one of Bella's puppies, letting the little bundle of joy get accustomed to its home. Your little bundle of joy.

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine #logan howlett #old man logan x reader #old man logan #request #fluff #finally a full fic #domestic life #laura kinney #x men #x men movies #wolverine x reader #wolverine xmen #hugh jackman

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kisses4reid · 11 months ago

Text

vision | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

fem!receptionist!reader x spencer, fluff, est relationship

a little draft to tide you all over while i’m on my study break

There was a ringing on your left, which you recognised to be the receptionist’s phone and not your own, but it rang for about 7 seconds before you punched the accept button.

Everything was a blur, and on top of that, all the squinting you had done during the work day was bringing on a headache. Pinching your nose with your freshly manicured fingers, you answered the phone and transferred it as quickly as you possibly could, with all the buttons looking the same that is.

“You forgot your contacts?”

You jump, not even noticing Spencer had been watching you struggle over the desk. He had a smirk on his face, leaning his cheek in one of his hands.

“Jesus, Spence, you scared me,” you can only recognise him by his height and fluffy hair, “Yes, I did. And I left my backup glasses at home.” You whine, leaning back into your wheelie chair and crossing your arms. You can’t see it, but you can tell he’s biting back a chuckle.

As your boyfriend, he should be supportive and help you through daily struggles. But seeing you squint and press wrong buttons after wrong buttons was a sort of entertainment. You distracted him from his workload all the time, but this time it wasn’t to gawk at you.

He had the same affect on you though. Ever since you started working there you found yourself glancing at him whenever something funny happened, or subconsciously taking your breaks at the same time as him. His locks, his eyes, his nose and his jaw, his laugh, his breath, his whistle and his snores, they all lead you to where you are today. Basically blind but happily talking with your boyfriend over the elevated desk you can barely see.

“I can go home and get them if you’d like.” Spencer proposes softly, but you shake your head (butterflies spreading when he refers to your apartment as ‘home’). “I can’t believe you drove like this.”

You look up at him, “I didn’t. Took a cab.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I know you worked late last night Spence. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

Your heart warms as he shakes his head. You know he was about to complain about your choices, but your boss cut him off.

“Spencer, do you know if the precinct in Washington sent over their documents yet?”

“They said they’d send it tomorrow morning.”

Your boss snaps his fingers in disappointment and turns away, before signalling every one to leave. And you try to stand up and grab your handbag, but you accidentally grab the stem of a pot plant. “Oh.”

“Here, I’ll get it. Grab my hand and just follow me.” His hand is closer, so it’s easy to see and take it. You hear him take your bag as well as his own from the floor and feel his other hand wrap around your waist for easier control. It was true you could see absolutely nothing and it was true Spencer Reid knew it all too well. There were countless memories of tired mornings and blurry eyes, you trying to search for your glasses but instead slapping his sleeping face. And then his awake one. He found it cute and no doubt hilarious. It gave you a quirk, something that only he would know how to handle.

He insisted you would both leave last, as to not slow down anyone, and you smile at his thoughtfulness. Carefully, Spencer led you out of the office building and into the passenger seat of his 7 year old car, pushing down the urge to lead you into a pole or bush on the way.

taglist (open!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna

#criminal minds #spencer reid #cm #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #🍵 —☆ pia’s pages

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yuikomorii · 3 days ago

Text

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 7

// I can’t believe I forgot to post it, lol. I was genuinely shocked when I found it in my drafts, so… sorry, guys!!! June was super hectic for me, and I only just started my summer break, so my mind was totally in relaxation mode. Anyway, I hope you still remember what happened in the previous chapters. 🥲💕

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Yui: It’s raining…

— looks up —

( The subway entrance is still a bit of a walk away… and I don’t have an umbrella.)

( Uuh… I wonder when will it stop? It’s already late and I really don’t want to catch a cold. )

( Maybe I should just call a cab again… Yeah, I remember saving the number in my phone! )

— starts dialing —

Automated Voice: Due to widespread system failure, the number you are calling cannot be reached. Please wait for a while. Thank you.

Yui: Oh no…! Now what am I supposed to—KYA!!!

( W-What was that!? A thunder strike!? )

( I really need to get back to the hotel before it gets worse—)

— starts running —

( Why does everything have to go wrong today…!? )

Place: Hotel Room

Ayato: Haa... Of course they’re not picking up. This damn storm just had to happen tonight of all times.

Everyone else is probably back at the dorms, laughing it up and chatting like nothing’s wrong...

Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, in the dark, and without even any pajamas.

Fuck this shit for real.

— goes to window —

Ugh… even the view’s depressing in this weather.

— squints —

Wait… is that——

Place: Hotel Entrance

Yui: Haa… Haa…

( I finally made it… even if I’m wet. )

Receptionist: Good evening, miss. How can I help you tonight?

Yui: Ah, I’d like to rent a room for the night, please.

Receptionist: For one person?

— Yui nods —

Receptionist: Very well. Do you have any room or view preferences?

Yui: N-No, anything is fine… as long as I can rest.

Receptionist: Understood. That will be 83,000 yen. Will you be paying with cash or card, miss?

Yui: W-What—!?

( 83,000 yen for a single night!? That’s outrageous…! )

Uhm… actually, I’m part of a work exchange program here! I’ve been working at this hotel recently, so I was wondering… is there any way I could get a staff discount or something like that?

( This must be the evening receptionist… If it were the one I spoke to earlier today, I’m sure they would’ve recognized me and helped out… )

Receptionist: I see. In that case, I’ll need to see your employee ID or proof of employment.

Yui: Sure! I keep it in my wallet—

— pauses —

…!

( Wait a minute… My wallet…! )

( I don’t have it! )

( Don’t tell me… I must have left it behind in the onsen—— )

( And now that I think about it… wasn’t the lost onsen key probably inside too…? )

( Uhh… what do I do now…? )

Ayato: She’s with me.

Yui: Eh!?

— turns around —

( Ayato-san…!? )

Ayato: My company already paid for a room for two.

Receptionist: A-Ah, my apologies! Please enjoy your stay, sir… miss…

Ayato: Mhm.

— grabs Yui by the wrist and starts walking away —

Yui: ( What just happened…? )

( Am I imagining things or did he actually really help me? )

( I mean, he surely did, but… why would he even do that? )

Ayato: I bet you're wondering why I stepped in just now, huh?

Yui: W-Wha—!?

( H-He read my mind! )

Ayato: Heh. You're way too easy to read, you know that?

But for your information, I didn’t do it out of kindness.

I simply figured I might as well take responsibility… since I’m the one who kicked you out of the onsen earlier.

Because of that, you probably didn’t get the chance to look for your wallet properly, right?

Yui: When you put it like that... I suppose you're right.

However, even if you did it because you felt responsible, the fact that you helped me still remains. So, whether you want credit for it or not, I am grateful.

Ayato: Heh. Obviously.

You should feel honored. I mean, you get to spend the night in the same room as me.

That’s basically the dream of millions of fans.

Yui: ( Well… now that he mentions it, it does feel kinda embarrassing… )

Ayato: What, you got a problem with that?

— grins and leans closer —

Don’t tell me you’re not excited about sharing a room with a top idol.

Yui: T-That’s not it! I mean, it’s not like that—!

Ayato: Haa… Relax.

You’re just gonna sleep in the bed next to mine, not in it.

— opens the door and nudges her in —

Yui: ( Thank goodness… for a second, I thought he was going to... no, no, stop thinking weird things!)

Ayato: …Unless, of course, you want to do something more.

— suddenly pushes her down onto the bed —

Yui: E-Eh!?

— eyes widen —

W-What are you doing!?

Ayato: Heh… You sure get flustered easily. You were the one crawling on all fours earlier, remember?

It looked very suggestive from where I was standing.

Yui: W-What!? T-That wasn't…!

You told me to act like a dog and obey my "master’s" orders, and I didn’t know what else to do!

I wasn’t trying to be suggestive! I-I just took it literally!

Ayato: Yeah, yeah. I figured that much. You’re too clueless to be that bold on purpose.

— chuckles, then pulls her up —

Yui: ( I don’t know if I should feel relieved or insulted by that… )

Ayato: But just so we’re clear, you’re still gonna sign an NDA.

Yui: A… NDA?

What’s that?

Ayato: I— You seriously don’t know!?

It’s a nondisclosure agreement.

Yui: Uhm… I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before…

Ayato: Haa… Unbelievable.

You said you’re in some kind of work exchange program, right?

They didn’t teach you anything about contracts or confidentiality?

Yui: W-Well, not about this kind of thing…

Ayato: Hmph, of course not.

Anyway, an NDA is basically a legal promise that you’ll keep your mouth shut.

No telling anyone you were in my hotel room, no running off to gossip about the onsen incident, and definitely no posting dumb headlines like “Ayato spotted shirtless at Yume no Mori!”

Got it?

Yui: I’d never do that! I-I wouldn’t even think of it!

Don’t you remember? I already promised you back in the onsen that I wouldn’t say a word!

Ayato: Words are cheap.

People say one thing and do the complete opposite when it benefits them. Especially when they’ve got a juicy story involving a famous idol.

That’s why I don’t rely on promises. I rely on signatures~

— tosses NDA in front of her —

Yui: I...

( Wait a second… why would he already have an NDA ready if this wasn’t planned? )

( He didn’t bring me here out of responsibility… He had this in mind all along…! )

— frowns —

So that’s it, huh?

This wasn’t about guilt.

This wasn’t about making up for what happened in the onsen or trying to help me when I had nowhere else to go.

You brought me here just to trap me into signing this agreement. That was your plan all along… wasn't it?

Ayato: Plan?

You think I have time to sit around crafting some big master plan for a random girl who wandered into my bath by accident?

Pfft, please, you’re not that important.

Yui: Then… then why did you prepare an NDA for it?

Ayato: ‘Cause idols always carry those around? Do you think you’re the first person I gave one to? Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’re not even the first one this month.

Yui: ( So that’s how it is... )

( Just one person out of many... just another problem to be silenced. )

Then I won’t sign it.

Ayato: Hah!?

What the hell did you just say?

Yui: You heard me.

I said I won’t sign it.

Ayato: Are you seriously picking now to grow a spine?

— laughs mockingly—

You think you're in a position to refuse? After following me around, barging into the onsen while I was still there, sleeping in my room, and then throwing accusations like you're some righteous saint?

Yui: I never asked to be in your room! I never wanted any of this!

And you’re right, despite the coincidences, I did mess up too.

But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like some disposable liability you can trick and shut up with paperwork!

Ayato: Ugh... Don’t get it twisted. This isn’t about "tricking" anyone. It’s about protecting my life and my career.

Yui: Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before mocking me, humiliating me, and dragging me around like I’m some kind of pest!

I tried to understand you, I really did. But now you’re showing me exactly what kind of person you are!

Ayato: What kind of person I am, huh?

Heh… you know nothing about me, so you better shut up before it’s too late.

Yui: I do know enough based on this situation to form an opinion about you.

— sets unsigned NDA on table —

If you don’t trust me, that’s your choice. But I won’t sign something that treats me like I’m a threat just for existing.

— heads towards door —

Ayato: Oi! You… you can’t just leave now! It’s still raining, isn’t it?

Yui: I’d rather get drenched from head to toe than spend the night stuck with a selfish and arrogant guy like you!

— opens the door and bolts out —

Ayato: …!

( This bi— )

*Rign Ring*

( Huh, it’s working again? )

Yo, what’s up?

Manager: Ayato-san! Thanks goodness you’re alright! You’re still at the hotel?

Ayato: Well yeah, where else could I be?

Manager: Ah, that’s good. We’re heading your way now to pick you up. Please get yourself ready so we can leave as soon as possible.

Ayato: Got it. I’ll be waiting here.

*Mini timeskip*

— gets inside limo —

Laito: Hello~! Missed me, Ayato-kun?

Ayato: Hah? Laito, why the heck are you here?

Laito: Well, I thought you'd like your most charming and beloved group mate to personally escort you home. Am I wrong~?

Ayato: I would’ve managed just fine on my own. It’s not like I’d drop dead riding solo in a limo, you know?

Laito: Oh? But it’s much more fun this way, isn’t it? You looked like you had quite the eventful day, judging by your gloomy face.

Ayato: G-Gloomy!? Hmph, you wish! I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s not like anything happened that could actually bother me.

Laito: Mmm~? That defensive tone says otherwise. Come on, Ayato-kun, you know you can tell your bestie anything~

Ayato: Shut up already. The last thing I need is you running your mouth and making a big deal out of nothing!

Laito: Fufu~ I see, I see... So it is something after all.

Ayato: I swear, Laito, one more word and I’ll kick you out of the car myself!

Laito: Uwah! So scary~~! I’m shaking!

— Ayato rolls his eyes —

Laito: But for real now, why are you such a moody kitten today?

Ayato: ‘Cause a certain someone pisses me off.

Laito: And that certain someone is…

Ayato: You!

Laito: Fufu… liar, liar, pants on fire!

Ayato: ( The tension between my fist and his face is seriously high right now… )

Laito: You’re really selfish, Ayato-kun.

Ayato: …!

Wha— What do you mean by that?

Laito: You have juicy gossip but refuse to share it with me.

— pouts —

Ayato: ( Ah, for a moment I thought— )

Geez, you’re such a weirdo sometimes!

But if it’ll finally get you to stop pestering me, fine…there’s really nothing big. I just had a… rough encounter with a fan, that’s all.

Laito: ( Such a baby~ )

You’re acting like it’s the end of the world because of that.

You can’t let something like that get to you. As long as it doesn’t mess with your career or your image, who really cares what one person out of millions thinks?

People are always going to have opinions, some good, some bad. You just have to learn to ignore the noise.

Ayato: Heh… yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not worth getting all worked up over.

( But still… she didn’t sign the NDA, and she seemed pretty upset when she left. I don’t know what she might do next. )

( Not like I can tell anyone, though. I’d just worry them… and I’d get scolded too. )

( Ugh…! Fuck this! How did the situation go from bad to worse!? )

— limo arrives —

Manager: Laito-san, why didn’t you tell me you went to pick up Ayato-san!?

Laito: Guess I forgot to text you~ Teehee.

Manager: Haa… you’re impossible sometimes. Just get inside, both of you. We’ve got rehearsals to prep for tomorrow, and I don’t want any more surprises tonight.

— they step into the building —

Ayato: Where’s Subaru?

Manager: He’s in his room, as usual. Don’t worry, he’s completely back to normal. He even asked about you earlier, so you might want to check in with him tomorrow.

Laito: Phaa~ Today was exhausting for me too.

— stretches —

I just want to soak in a nice hot bath and relax every inch of me.

But now that you’re back, Ayato-kun, let’s go to the on——

Huh? Where did he go!?

Place: Dorms

Ayato: ( There’s no way I’m stepping foot in an onsen again! )

( Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl… What a mess. )

— enters room —

Ayato: ( As expected… Shu is sleeping like a corpse.)

( Well, fine. Not like I was hoping to talk or anything.)

— tosses jacket on chair —

( That damn NDA...)

( Seriously, I hand her a paper asking her to keep her mouth shut, and suddenly I’m the villain of the story!? )

"I tried to understand you, I really did."

( Woman, what is this… some sort of k-drama? You met me less than 24 hours ago. Let’s not pretend we had some epic romance that ended in betrayal and rain. )

— throws arm over his eyes —

( And then she had the audacity to call me selfish. ME. As if I'm the only one who wanted to keep things private. )

( This bitch… )

( She smelled like church incense and then acted like I was the one who needed salvation?? Where’s the logic? )

— groans into pillow —

( She didn’t sign. Great. So now she can legally say whatever crazy crap she wants. )

( And you know people online would believe anything, since a lot of them are stupid as fuck. “I always knew he had dark energy.” “Omg he gives red flag vibes.” “Cancel him!” )

— sits up in bed —

“SAKAMAKI’s Ayato: Vampire Concept or Genuinely Evil? My Night in Hell" by Random Friendless Church Girl

( Then… career over. I’ll be doing rice in the countryside by next week, ‘cause my parents will definitely disown me. )

— falls back again with a sigh —

( Anyway, maybe she’ll forget. Yeah… maybe she hit her head on the way out and thinks I’m a barista now. Who knows? )

( Haa... just sleep. If I’m lucky, the world will explode overnight and I won’t have to deal with this. )

— closes eyes —

*Timeskip*

Ayato: Zzz...

*Ring Ring*

Zzz... nn...

*Ring Ring*

Ngh... what now, the apocalypse?

— answers —

Manager: Ayato-san, we need to talk!

Ayato: ...!

( Fuck! This is the "get ready to cry in a press conference" call! )

#diabolik lovers #yui komori #dialovers #ayato sakamaki #ayato x yui #ayayui #admin #my fanfic

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