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reiding-writing · 10 months ago

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

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

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

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

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

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

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

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

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

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

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

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

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

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

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

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

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

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

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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bruisedboys · 2 years ago

Text

underneath kitchen lights — james potter x reader

summary — james has a crush on you, lily’s shy and unbelievably sweet coworker. you nurse a crush of your own. (based on all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine!)

or .. you got a slurpee for free, I caught you looking at me, in the 7/11 under fluorescent lights. I spilled mac and cheese on my pants, and thought about kissing you underneath kitchen lights!

contains — shy!fem!reader, florist!reader, strangers-ish to friends to lovers, rugby player!james, modern au, flirting, mutual pining, fluff, james being a total sweetheart, sirius being a twat and a good friend, wolfstar because I couldn’t resist, kissing, lovesick!james, idiots in love tbh, and ummm lots of references to all my ghosts!!

notes — um I am very nervous to post this. but also please don’t let it flop.

fem!reader 8k words

James has an embarrassingly big crush on you. For someone he’s only met twice now, you’re very good at getting stuck in his head. It’s hardly his fault — you’re lovely. You always smell like flowers (which is kind of a given, he supposes. You work with Lily at Harriet’s, the florist’s down the road). You’re very pretty. You’re quiet and a bit shy but you’ve spoken enough that James at least knows you’re polite and friendly.

He’s talked to you a grand total of one time. You’d exchanged a few words and James had been very very quick to fall in love with everything about you. Your hands as you wrung them in front of you — a shy tell, he’d guessed. Your voice, pretty and soft, and how it’d sounded when you said his name. The way you dressed, your hair, the quirk in your mouth when he’d made a joke, the hitch in your breath when he’d shook your hand. He was a goner the second he’d met you.

“Prongs,” drawls Sirius, followed by a hard punch in the bicep. “You know you’re not as subtle as you think.”

James scowls in the general direction of Sirius’ voice. He’d been staring at you, he’s sorry to admit. You’re talking to Lily and you’re smiling about something she’s said and you just look so pretty.

He badly wants to talk to you properly, he has ever since the first time Lily bought you around to a party like this one, but he’s scared of embarrassing himself. He’s not exactly the best flirter when it comes to girls he actually likes. His tongue gets all tied and he can’t say two words without ultimately embarrassing himself. He’s not as much of a charmer as everyone thinks he is. He’s also scared you won’t like him, but he won’t get into that.

“Shut up,” he advises Sirius, rubbing his sore arm. “I don’t even know what you’re on about.”

Sirius, sprawled on the couch next to James, rolls his eyes and snorts. “Yeah, okay,” he says, all sarcasm. “S’not like you’re burning holes into Y/N’s face or anything.”

For a split second James panics. He whirls around to look at you so fast he almost snaps his neck in half. Have you heard Sirius? Do you think James is a total creep now? No — you’re still engrossed in your conversation with Lily. James breathes a sigh of relief but it’s cut short when he realises Sirius is laughing at him.

“Mate,” he guffaws. “You’re hopeless.”

It’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “Thanks a lot,” he says dryly.

Sirius grins with all his stupidly perfect teeth. “Y’welcome.”

James sighs and scrubs a heavy hand down his face. Maybe he is as hopeless as Sirius thinks. He’s certainly feeling quite hopeless right now. With you across the room and him sitting here unable to make himself get up and talk to you. As subtle as he can he twists to look over the back of the couch again to see what you’re doing. He’s just in time to see you disappearing into the kitchen by yourself, Lily now talking with the other girls by the ranch slider.

His heart rate spikes. This is his chance.

James is getting to his feet before he knows what he’s doing. He dodges another hearty punch from Sirius, pretends not to hear Lily when she asks him where he’s going, and follows you into the kitchen on clumsy feet like a puppy on a leash.

He stumbles into Lily’s kitchen and there you are. Standing with your head in the fridge, the bright white lights cast over your skin. And there’s a lot of skin to look at. Your shoulders, your upper back. There’s a beauty spot on your back, just next to your shoulder blade. Your dress floats just above the halfway point of your thighs. You’ve got really nice legs. James snaps his eyes back up to your head before he can feel too guilty and clears his throat.

You start and then whirl around, eyes wide as saucers, one hand curled around the fridge door.

“Oh,” you say, breathless. “James. You scared me.”

James is so busy melting over the way you say his name that he almost forgets to speak. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head and your big dangly earrings jingle like bells. “No, it’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”

You smile all soft and pretty and James really thinks he might pass out. He steps forward and leans against the kitchen island as casually as he can, when really he’s using it for support lest he keel over.

You’re looking at him like you’re expecting him to say something. He clears his throat again.

“Um,” he starts lamely. He braves through. “I, um— you look really nice tonight. I wanted to tell you earlier but Lily’s been stuck to you like a leech since you got here.”

You blink at him and James worries he’s said the wrong thing. Maybe this was the worst idea he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ideas. But then you beam.

“Oh,” you say, shocked like you can’t quite believe it. Which should be impossible, really, James thinks. You’re beautiful. It’s hard not to believe it. “Thank you, James.”

James smiles back. Your shyness at being complimented only fuels him. “You’re welcome. Just don’t tell Lily I called her a leech.” At this, you giggle, and James stammers through his next words, dazed from your laugh. “So, uh— are you looking for a drink?”

He gestures to the fridge, which you seem to have forgotten about, the door hanging wide open under your grip.

“What? Oh,” you say sheepishly, and suddenly you’re embarrassed and staring at your shoes. “No, I’m…” You lift your head and blink at him under your lashes. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”

James is perplexed, but he’s not gonna laugh at you if you don’t want him to. He licks his dry lips. “Yeah, I promise.”

You smile, then dip your head towards him like you’re sharing secrets. “I was cooling off,” you admit, sheepish. “It got too hot in the living room and Lily’s patio has mosquitos.” You hardly give him time to reply before you’re cringing, saying, “It’s weird, right?” Like you know he’s gonna think it’s strange.

He doesn’t think it’s strange. Well, maybe a little. But he’s been found in worse positions at parties. You look so embarrassed about it James is almost sorry he asked. Almost, because embarrassed you is adorable. You lean back and scrub your neck awkwardly, bracelets clanking on your wrist.

“No, I know,” he groans sympathetically, nodding vehemently. “Lily really needs a mosquito net or something, so we can open the damn door without getting eaten alive. Can I join you?”

You look baffled for a moment, and then shy all over again.

“You want to join me while I stick my head in the fridge?” You ask, an amusement to your tone that James adores.

James shrugs. “Why not?”

You smile outright then. “Okay,” you say, stepping aside so there’s more room in front of the fridge for him. “C’mon, then.”

James practically skips over to you. The moment he steps into your space he can smell your lovely scent. Flowery and sweet, something floral like hyacinth mixed with something sweet like honey. It’s intoxicating. He feels like he could drown in it. But there’s no time for drowning, not when your hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him into your side, your feet shuffling to accommodate him.

“Move closer,” you urge shyly. “You gotta get the full experience.”

James moves closer. So close his arm brushes yours and he could hold your hand if he wanted to. He very much wants to. He imagines your skin is as soft as it looks.

The coldness of the refrigerator washes over him and it’s actually really nice. Even though he can be a total party animal sometimes, he understands why you would be here instead of in there. It’s quiet in here. Nice and cool. No lingering scent of heavy wine. No Sirius to tease him and no Marlene to badger him with questions about his love life.

“This is nice,” he says quietly, over the gentle buzz of the fridge.

You giggle softly. James thinks he’d like to make you laugh a million times over. “Isn’t it?”

“Mm,” James hums. “I should do this at parties more often.”

You laugh again, delighted at his joking. “You should. Then I wouldn’t be so lonely when I escape to the kitchen.”

James laughs too. He can’t quite believe his luck right now, squished in front of Lily’s refrigerator with you, elbow to elbow, the rest of his friends and the party long forgotten.

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” he says, smiling big.

The next time James sees you, it doesn’t go quite as well as previously. To put it simply, it’s a disaster.

First of all, he’s late. Remus and Sirius are having a housewarming party at their new place and he’s had training all day so he’d forgotten all about it. It’s not until 9:30, an hour after the party was supposed to start, that he’s climbing in his car after training and his phone buzzes.

He picks it up, exhausted, expecting one of his teammates. Instead it’s a string of messages from Remus.

You’re late James!!!!

We started without u. Where r u????

Sirius is gonna wring ur neck

James scrolls through the messages with a mixture of confusion and dread. Confusion because at first he has absolutely no idea what Remus is talking about. Dread when he realises.

He speeds all the way home, showers at lightning speed, pulls on a rumpled shirt and a pair of jeans that he’s sure aren’t clean, and he’s out the door within ten minutes of getting home. Still, by the time he gets to Sirius and Remus’ place it’s almost 10. His hair looks a mess but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t even think about the fact that you could possibly be there. That is, until he’s finished apologising profusely to his friends and Sirius mentions you. James perks up from where he’d been slumping on the couch, feeling exhausted and sorry for himself.

“What?” He asks, too loud. He tries to tamp it down but honestly, it doesn’t really work. He’s still buzzing with nervous energy when he asks, “Is she here?”

Sirius grins, looking uncharacteristically cat-like. “Uh— yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. His stupid grin only grows and James thinks he’d quite like to punch his teeth out. “She came with Lily. Moons thought we should invite her. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”

James knows he’s teasing but can’t quite bring himself to care — the prospect of seeing you has demolished all other feelings of pathetic-ness. He leaps off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen, guessing that’s where you’ll be, a barely touched drink in his hand and Sirius’ teasing following him all the way. He’s so busy fixing his shirt before he sees you that he doesn’t see you. He walks right into you on the threshold of the kitchen.

“James!” You gasp, stopping short.

James’ drink, to his horror, has spilt all down your front. His glass, previously full, is now half empty, the rest of it splattered all over your white top.

You barely have time to be surprised before he’s apologising.

“Shit,” he curses, mind blanking. His hands go to fix the damage before he realises he probably shouldn’t touch your chest, where his drink is now seeping into your top and showing no signs of stopping. He pulls his hands back lamely. “Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N. Oh gosh. I’m so dumb, I—“

Your rush to forgive him is almost as quick as his apology. “No!” You shake your head and it’s awfully cute despite the situation. “No, it’s okay, James. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

James grimaces. He tries not to look at the dark red stain that looks like blood on your white blouse. It is quite possibly the worst thing he could’ve spilt on you.

“It’s okay,” you say again, softer, reassuring, probably clocking the pathetic look on his face.

“Don’t, angel,” James says, shaking his head. “S’my fault.” He grabs your elbow gently and starts to pull you out to the living room, seeking Remus, who he knows will have a spare t-shirt that’s at least clean. “C’mon, I’ll find you something else to wear.”

“Wait, James. Wait.” You plant your feet in the doorway of the kitchen and James stops walking. He looks back at you, feeling guilty, hopeless, confused, and a bit endeared by you still, all at once.

“What?” He asks as gently as he can when he’s feeling like such a loser.

“I don’t wanna cause any trouble,” you say, biting down on your bottom lip so hard James is sure it hurts. You’re shy, he remembers. Quiet and polite. You probably don’t like people making a fuss over you, even though you should really. You’re pretty enough that people should be making a fuss over you all the time. “I think I’ll just go home, s’only a ten minute walk. I was going to leave soon, anyway.”

James frowns. “I can’t let you do that,” he says, shaking his head. He also can’t let you feel uncomfortable. He conjures a compromise. “Look, how about you wait here while I go ask Remus for a spare shirt? And then I’ll walk you home to make it up to you.”

He knows walking you home isn’t near enough to make up for ruining your top. But it’s the best he can do right now.

“But you just got here, didn’t you?” you say, frowning yourself.

James shrugs. That’s hardly a problem for him. “Don’t worry. I see those two asshats every day of my life, sweetheart.”

You still look unsure but James isn’t changing his mind. He’s going to walk you home if it’s the last thing he does. But first, something for you to change into. He leaves you in the kitchen and finds Remus, whom he asks for a shirt, to which Remus says, “What’s that for?” too loudly.

James explains what happened dejectedly. He’s not exactly surprised when Sirius laughs at him for it.

It’s a quiet walk to your place. You live close, which is both good and bad. Good because it means every time James is at Remus and Sirius’s, he’ll know you’re only ten minutes away. Bad … well, for the same reason.

James tries his best to fill the silence with easy conversation. It’s not hard, especially when you’re so sweet and kind and answer his questions so pleasantly. You’re easy to talk to. You don’t laugh at him when he slips on his words. You don’t make him wait for answers. You ask him questions, too, timid as you are about it.

James finds he enjoys your company even more than he was expecting. You’re like a breath of fresh air. You’ve got the radiance of an early spring morning and the softness to go with it.

It’s safe to say he’s disappointed when you come to a stop in front of your place.

“This is me,” you say, fishing your keys out of your purse. You’re in one of Remus’ band tees and James thinks you look much better than Remus does in it. As much as he loves Remus. He realises he’s staring too late, his eyes following you as you walk up your front steps.

You unlock your door and then look back at him, timid.

“Did you want to come in?” You ask, sweet in your shyness.

James would very much like to come in. He also thinks he might fall on his face if he spends much more time with you. He’s already dizzy on his feet and he’s been with you all of fifteen minutes.

“No, no, that’s okay,” he says as kindly as he can. “I should probably get back, or Sirius’ll have my head.” At least he knows where you live now. In a totally not creepy way.

He steps forward to take your wrist in his hand, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. He can feel your heartbeat. It’s not quite as fast as his feels but pretty close.

“I’m really really sorry about your top,” he tells you. He spreads his fingers over your forearm, your skin warm as late summer under his touch. “Can I do anything to make up for it? Buy you a new one?”

He wasn’t joking, but you giggle, your face lighting up, your eyes crinkling at the corners. James feels something akin to a mad swarm of butterflies in his ribcage.

“No, James,” you laugh, breathless and lilting. Your free hand lands on his forearm and his skin burns under your touch. “It’s okay, really.”

“Okay,” James breathes. His head spins as you squeeze his arm. Your skin is impossibly soft. You smell so nice. “But, seriously, let me know if there’s anything I can do. It was such a nice top, it looked lovely on you.”

You flush like James knew you would. He’s slowly discovering he likes making you flustered more than he’ll admit.

“Thanks, James,” you say, and James imagines if he touched your face you’d be burning. “But, really, it’s okay. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See you around, angel.”

It’s only after you close the door and James is at the bottom of the steps that he realises he should’ve asked for your number. He really is as hopeless as Sirius says.

James Potter is on your mind most of the time. You can’t help it. You’re not above admitting you have a crush on him. You are above admitting how big said crush is.

He’s really one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Sure, you don’t meet a lot of people. But you’re sure if you did he’d still be one of the best. He’s kind, he’s funny, he’s unbelievably charming. He’s a bit awkward sometimes and you like that, it makes you feel better about your own social ineptitude.

It also helps that he’s very very handsome. You would look at him all day if you could. He’s all dark, velvety skin, inky curls that you’ve imagined weaving your fingers through more times than you can count. Deep brown eyes turned bright with his ever-present smile. Thick eyelashes, a lovely sloping nose, a quirk to his mouth that you think you could get drunk on. He dresses well, too, though you’re sure he’d look just as good in a hoodie and sweatpants. Or nothing at all. You’d squashed that thought before it could go any further.

You don’t even mind that he spilled wine all over your nicest top. Sure, the stain is never gonna come out. It’s sitting in your closet, ruined. Embarrassing as it is, you smile every time you see it. James had made up for it tenfold anyway, walking you home and telling you he was sorry about a hundred times. It would be hard to not forgive him.

“Y/N?”

There’s a call of your name from the office door. You’re in here on your lunch break, not really eating more than you are thinking about James. Margaret, the older lady who owns Harriet’s but only comes in Thursdays and Tuesdays, is poking her head through the door.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s a customer out here asking for you? I can tell him to come back later, if you’d like, but he seems quite insistent.”

He. Of course, your mind flies straight to James. Which is ridiculous, you know, but it was already parked and idle at James, anyway.

“He’s asking for me?” You ask, perplexed. You don’t usually get personally requested by customers. And if it is James, you’re sure he’d ask for Lily instead.

“Yes, dear,” Margaret smiles, and she looks amused.

You get up because it’s your job, not because you’re hoping like hell it’s James. You put down your barely-eaten sandwich, brush past Margaret with a small ‘thank you’ and emerge into the shop.

There, standing at the counter, is James Potter.

“Y/N!” He says as soon as you emerge. He’s bouncy. Frazzled. You would even say excited. “Hi, lovely. I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this, were you on your break?”

“Oh, um, no. It just ended,” you lie. You still had a good ten minutes left. Not that you’re gonna tell him that.

James’ smile makes the lie worth it. “Perfect. ‘Cos I need your help.”

You think you physically perk up. Like a cat when it smells food is near. You hope he doesn’t notice.

“Okay,” you smile. You’re happy to help if it’s James you’re helping. “With that?”

James explains that he needs a bouquet, your best work, better than a boring one you can get at the grocery store because he really really needs this person he’s giving it to to like it. Your smile fades at this. At the fact that he’s getting flowers for someone else. He won’t tell you who this someone else is. He also won’t tell you why he’s giving it to them. You’re sorry to assume it’s a girl he likes. Possibly Lily? Maybe that’s why he asked for you and not her. You wouldn’t be surprised, they’re close and she’s gorgeous.

Of course, you help him anyway. You recommend flowers that last the longest, colours that go together, which ones smell the best. He’s asks you what your favourites are and ends up going with those, saying he trusts your judgment.

You have to admit it’s all very endearing. And you have so much fun helping him that by the time he leaves, arms full of a huge bouquet made up of all your picks of flowers, you’re beaming. Despite the daunting fact that he’s walking out of your shop with a bouquet for someone else.

Margaret appears once he’s gone. She’s got this big smile on her face that you can’t quite make sense of.

“He’s a handsome one,” she muses. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Your cheeks go redder than the roses on the shelf behind you.

Much later, you’re in the comfort of your small home, a bowl of steaming hot mac and cheese in your lap while the TV drones on. It’s some sort of romantic comedy that you can’t say you’re very interested in. Despite the lead male being very attractive. You’re about to change programmes when there’s a knock on your door.

You start. Nobody ever comes over. You don’t have many friends, and the ones that you do have, you tend to go over to their places, rather than the other way around. You’re so busy worrying about who it is that you haven’t even stood up before there’s another knock.

You get up off the couch, mac and cheese forgotten on the coffee table. You give your outfit a once over. You’re in sleep shorts and a hoodie that’s too big for you. Not your best work, but it’ll have to do. You fix your hair with little to no care and then open the door.

It’s James. You gape. You definitely should’ve paid more attention to your hair.

“James,” you say.

He beams right back, seemingly unaware of your sleepy appearance. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You stare at him. He looks pretty as ever. It’s only just going on sunset, and the colourful sky casts streaks of orange and golden yellow over his pretty face. The last bits of sun tangle themselves into his curls and drown themselves in his eyes. He’s dressed casual, but he still manages to pull it off, like you’d thought. A hoodie and jeans, a pair of beat up converse. He’s hiding something behind his back and you think you hear cellophane crinkle when he moves.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he’s saying. He doesn’t have your number. But Lily does. Is it crazy to think he’s maybe asked her for it? “Is this a bad time?”

His kindness reminds you how to speak. “Uh— um, no. S’not a bad time, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Are you— um, did you want to come in?”

You’re rambling, you know. He hasn’t even told you why he’s here and you’re asking him to come in.

James smiles kindly and it makes it all better. He’s good at that. At making you feel okay for being a bit of an awkward loser (your own words, not his, of course.)

“I’d love to come in,” he says, all smiles. “But first, I have something for you.” He pulls whatever he’s been hiding out from behind his back and offers it to you between your chest and his. “To say I’m sorry about your top.”

You blink. It’s a bouquet. It’s the bouquet. The one you’d helped him put together. The one that has all your favourite flowers and colours and smells because despite you thinking it was for someone else, you’d still wanted the best for James. You blink again.

“James,” you say, a little breathless, a lot speechless. “They’re for me?”

James laughs and you feel dizzy for a moment. He’s got a really nice laugh. “F’course there for you, sweetheart. Who else?”

He makes you take them from him, one of his hands guiding yours around the stalks. His skin is warm and sets yours on fire. You’re surprised the bouquet doesn’t go up in flames when you take it from him.

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter. “I thought …” you don’t finish your sentence. You’d thought they were for some other girl who’d caught his eye. You change tactics mid sentence, “They’re lovely, James.”

“I know they are, dove. You picked ‘em out.”

You giggle then. He’s the sweetest boy on the planet, you decide. He let you pick out your own flowers, and you didn’t even know it. You’ve never properly been given flowers before, despite working at a florist’s. It’s a new feeling. Like a star burning in your chest that doesn’t seem to want to go out. It hovers in you ribcage and stays there, buzzing madly.

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your eyes to his. You find he’s already gazing right back at you. There’s a rogue curl falling over his forehead that you’d love to push out of the way. “Really. I love them.”

James flashes you a boyish grin. “Good, ‘cos if you didn’t, I’d have to have a word with the girl who chose them.”

You’re still beaming when he comes inside. He follows you into the kitchen, where you find a vase for the flowers. You set about taking them out of their packaging, cutting the stalks and putting them gently in the glass vase filled with water.

James watches you and you can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it all, about being in your space, but his eyes scan your kitchen like it’s a map he’s trying to figure out. Your mismatched mugs on the counter. Your magnets and Polaroids and receipts on the fridge. Your overgrown plants on the windowsill.

You carry your flowers to your small living room and put them in the dead center of your coffee table. The bouquet is so big it would block most of your view of the TV if you sat on the couch. You hardly care. You’d rather look at them than the TV, anyway.

Setting the flowers down, you spot your half eaten mac and cheese and hope James doesn’t take you for a slob. You’re lucky he didn’t catch you on a Friday night. You’d be drowning in ice cream, probably.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, half hoping he’ll say no, because who in their right mind asks their crush if they want macaroni and cheese? It’s so lame, but you can’t take it back now. “I have mac and cheese, but that’s about it, sorry.”

You cringe and wish you’d held your tongue, but James beams.

“I’d love some mac n’ cheese,” he says. “Unless it’s boxed, that shit tastes like cardboard.”

You get him some mac and cheese, glad you made it yourself, gladder you haven’t resorted to boxed food just yet. The two of you sit in the kitchen on your tall kitchen stools under your golden lights and eat. James is easier to be around than anyone you’ve ever met. He makes you feel special but not to the point where it’s too overwhelming. He’s kind and he’s golden, he acts like you’re the only person he ever wants to talk to.

Watching him eat in your home is more of a pleasure for you than you’d like to admit. He compliments your cooking. He says he likes the bowl he’s got, which is a white one with pink flowers all over it that you bought at a market ages ago. He gets a string of cheese dangling from his lip and makes a dorky face trying to get it into his mouth without using his fingers. You think you’d like to kiss him. His lips all puckered and eyes crossed as he attempts to scoop the cheese into his waiting mouth.

You’re so busy laughing at him that you don’t notice your own bowl balancing precariously on the edge of the counter. When you go back to take another spoonful, your hand knocks the bowl and it goes tumbling. Right into your lap.

“Shit,” you curse, gasping when a dollop of hot pasta lands half on your thigh and half on your shorts. The sauce spreads like wildfire over the fabric of your sleep shorts. Why do things keep spilling on your clothes when James is around? It’s becoming a theme. Your horror grows when the bowl clatters to the floor and while it doesn’t smash, it spills mac & cheese everywhere. “Oh, shit, that’s embarrassing. Um.”

You bend to clean up your mess but James beats you to it.

“Here, let me,” he says. He slides off his chair and is quick to start scooping up the ruined pasta.

“Sorry,” you stutter, standing helplessly as James cleans up your mess for you.

“Don’t be,” James shrugs and looks up at you, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles kindly. “Go change, I’ll sort this out.”

You feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and affection for him that makes you want to kiss him stupid. You don’t. Instead you go down to your room and find something to change into. Seeing as he’s already seen you in your sleep shorts, you suppose your checkered flannel pyjama pants aren’t really much worse. Nothing can be more embarrassing than what’s just happened, you decide.

By the time you’ve changed (plus spent a lot of extra time staring at yourself in the mirror, practicing your smile), James has cleaned up the spill and is washing your bowls in the sink. You decide then and there that you like him a lot more than you’d initially thought.

You emerge into the kitchen on light footing. You feel like a magnet being drawn to him like this. It’s bizzare, how much you want to be around him, no matter how shy he makes you. It’s something you’ve never experienced before. A rip in the ocean calling your name. You know of the danger but you don’t really care. You ignore the signs because he’s James and you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. The warning signs basically don’t exist.

“Thank you, James,” you say, standing on the threshold of the kitchen.

James flashes you a big smile, up to his arms in soap and suds, scrubbing away at a bowl. He looks like a house husband. It’s almost more than your heart can take. “That’s okay. Hey, nice pyjamas. Y’look good.”

You can tell by his tone he’s not teasing. He’s being genuine, which is somehow worse than if he’d been teasing. Your smile is so big it hurts.

James is gonna kiss you tonight. He’s sure of it.

So far, all of his advances have gone well. Perfect, even. Unless you count the drink-spilling incident, but if it hadn’t been for that he’d probably never have found the courage to get you alone again.

He’s taken you out to lunch once. He’s been into your work twice, not including the first time. He’s invited you to his rugby game tonight, to which you’d said yes more enthusiastically than he’d expected. It’s not exactly a date, per say. But he’d wanted to see you today and he had a game and his coach would blow his head off if he’d missed it for a girl. No matter how lovely said girl is.

He’s waxed poetic about you to Sirius and Remus more times than he can count. He’s yet to kiss you. Sirius thinks this is beyond absurd.

“So you haven’t even kissed her yet?” He asks, incredulous. He’s in his rugby kit, hair up in braids, chugging a Gatorade though the game hasn’t even started yet. “What’s the hold up, mate?”

James groans. Sirius is yet to understand that some people don’t like to jump into the deep end before they’re ready. “I don’t want to scare her off,” he explains, straightening up from where he’d been tying his laces.

“Oh yeah, you’re reaaally scary, Prongsie,” Sirius drawls, dripping in sarcasm. He rolls his eyes and then clasps James’ shoulder. He’s surprisingly and uncharacteristically genuine when he says, “Look, I think she likes you enough that kissing her won’t scare her off.”

James blinks and looks up at his friend. “You think she likes me?”

Sirius makes a face. “Are you kidding? What other girl would want to watch you eat shit in a field with a dozen other sweaty guys?”

And he’s back, James thinks. Trust Sirius to be a sweetheart one second and as asshole the next.

Soon enough James is out on the field and he wants to say his mind is on the game and not you but he’d be lying.

For the first five minutes he’s distracted trying to spot you in the stands. Then the next ten minutes are spent trying not to stare at you. You’re with Remus, whom James is hoping isn’t relaying anything he’s ever said to him about you.

You look as though, to James’ extreme delight, that you’ve dressed up for this. In a pretty dress and a jacket that borders on being so big on you it swallows you up. Sure, you’d still looked pretty drop-dead in your pyjamas the other night. But this is another level of gorgeous.

The first chance he gets he bounds over to you, ignoring his coaches instructions to ‘stay with the team’. Most of the team has scattered for half time, anyway. James makes a beeline for you.

“You came!” He shouts as soon as you’re in shouting distance.

You grin and wave at him, brilliant and dazzling and so damn pretty in the early evening sun. You’re not far up the stadium and James is grateful he doesn’t have to climb too many steps — though he’d definitely climb all the way to the top row to see you if he had to.

“Hi, James,” you say, looking happy as a clam to see him.

James beams back. He wonders vaguely if he looks as lovesick as he’s feeling. He can’t even bring himself to care if he does. He’s lucky Remus is nowhere to be seen — probably loving on Sirius somewhere.

“Hi, angel,” James says, smiling around his words, which come out all sticky-sounding and fond. “I’m so glad you came.”

You beam and rock on your heels, looking one part shy and two parts delighted, your hands clasped in front of you like you’re not sure what to do now.

“Can I give you a hug?” James asks. “I’m so happy to see you, I might explode if you say no.”

He’s joking, of course. Or maybe not so much. You nod, a tad vehement, James notices smugly.

“Yes, please,” you say, breathless.

James steps into your space, heartbeat a mile a minute. You smell like flowers again. Lavender, he thinks. He definitely doesn’t smell anywhere near as good. “You’re sure I’m not too sweaty and gross?”

You shrug. “I don’t care, James.”

“You should. You look lovely.”

You make a noise that sounds half pained and half pleased and it makes James’ heart skyrocket.

“Can you just hug me?” You ask, a hint of desperation in your tone that’s actually much more than a hint but James is trying to be a gentleman. “Please?”

James thinks if you keep this up (by this, he means, acting as though maybe you like him as much as he likes you), he’ll die on the spot. He hugs you. For his own and your sake. Wraps you up in a big strong hug that’s so passionate he accidentally lifts you off the ground slightly. You don’t seem to mind. Your arms weave around his neck like they were meant to and you hook your chin over his shoulder and go all melty.

James almost moans. He can’t believe how perfectly you fit in his arms. How your body melds into his so nicely. He’s big and firm and loud and you’re quiet and small in your own way. But it works, and James is so glad it does.

“How was work, lovely?” He says into your hair. Your hair, which smells like coconut and something sweeter.

“It was okay.” Your voice is quiet but you sound just as pleased as he does to be wrapped in each other’s arms. “Lily says good luck.”

“Hey!” This is Sirius, jogging towards the stands and the, for want of a better word, lovefest. “Why don’t I ever get hugs like that?”

James releases you but keeps a good hold on your waist, twisting to meet Sirius. “What? You want one too, Pads?”

He lets go of you and holds his arms out for a hug, half joking but also half serious.

“Not from you!” Sirius scoffs, backing away from James like his hug will give him an incurable disease. “From your pretty cheerleader over there.”

Sirius plants his hands in his hips and nods his head towards you where you’re standing behind James. James doesn’t need to look to know Sirius has probably made you embarrassed.

“She doesn’t want to hug you,” he says dryly, in an attempt to save you from his obnoxious friend. “Where’s your boyfriend? You can hug him instead.”

Sirius scowls but it doesn’t last long. You brush past James and it takes him a second to realise what’s happening.

“I’ll hug you, Sirius,” you’re saying sweetly. “C’mere.”

And to everyone’s surprise, you hug Sirius. James finds it both endearing and highly annoying. Annoying because Sirius is smirking at him over your shoulder, his hands on your lower back. Endearing because it’s apparent you’re trying to make friends with James’ friends and he couldn’t be happier. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as yours and his, though. And Sirius doesn’t quite lift you off the ground like James did.

James watches, reluctantly fond, as Sirius pulls away and smiles at you all kind and un-Sirius-like.

“Thank you, m’lovely,” he says, swooping down to kiss your cheek. James shouldn’t feel jealous, because Sirius kisses everyone on the cheek, but he does anyway.

His jealousy quickly fades when you practically skip back over to him, all smiles.

“Sorry about him,” James says quickly. He’s very used to apologising for his friends.

“No, that’s okay,” you shake your head and then take James’ forearm in your hand unthinkingly. Heat licks all up James’ arm.

“Y/N,” he says, sounding more confident than he feels. “Do you—?”

The shriek of his coach’s whistle cuts him off. Time to get back on the field, it says. James groans, long suffering, throwing his head back like he’s been resigned to the worst fate in the world. You giggle and it makes it all better.

James’ team loses the game. It’s embarrassing and then it’s not, because you bound up to him afterwards and give him a hug even better than the one at half time, gushing about how good he was, telling him it doesn’t matter that he lost because he played amazing, anyway.

He sure feels like a winner as he walks with you to the parking lot, his duffel bag swept to his wrong side so he can walk as close to you as possible.

“I didn’t know you were so good.” You’re still gushing and James thinks he’s never blushed more in his life. “I mean, not that I didn’t expect it. You just never told me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Sirius,” James murmurs, feeling overly feverish.

“What? What’s that mean?”

James gestures vaguely with his hands. “I don’t go around bragging, is what it means. And I’m not that good. We’re just a local team, babe.”

It’s your turn to flush. Head to foot you go all shy. He thinks it’s the pet name that did it. And maybe the fact that he’s pointed out your gushing.

“Right,” you say to your shoes. “Well, I think you should play for the country, is all I’m saying.”

James laughs, delighted and a bit startled at your joking, but mostly just sick as a dog in love with you. “Really? Wow, you should tell my coach that, sweetheart. I think he’d totally agree.”

You pick up on his sarcasm and burst into giggles that make James’ chest want to explode. He realizes you’ve almost reached his car and puts his plan into action.

“Hey, did you drive here?” He asks.

You look up at him and James thinks he sees an inkling of hope in your pretty eyes. “No, I caught the bus. Why?”

“Did you want to go get Slurpees with me? I saw a 7/11 near your place the other night.” Then, because he really wants you to say yes, “I’m paying.”

Maybe it’s James’ wishful thinking but he’s pretty sure you light up like a Christmas tree. He really thinks if you keep doing things like this his head is gonna get too big for his body. You beam, looking like an angel on earth in the last fragments of sunlight, skin painted in an array of bleeding golds and pinks and oranges.

“Yeah, okay,” you nod. “Except you don’t have to pay for me, James, I have my card.”

James shakes his head, grinning as he fishes his keys from his bag. “Nah, don’t worry. Pretty girls get slurpees for free.”

He’s ninety-eight percent sure you freeze up like a block of ice as he unlocks his car. He has the generosity to not mention it.

The drive to the 7/11 closest to your place is quiet. But good quiet. James puts on the radio and is delighted when you start humming along like he’s not even there, your fingers tapping along the window where you’ve rolled it down, the wind brushing over your pretty face. He can’t quite get enough of you. Even just driving in silence with you feels like cloud nine. He’s enamored. Totally lovelorn. He’s surprised he can even drive straight.

When you get there he parks the car and then tells you to wait so he can open your door for you. He holds your hand to guide you into the 7/11. It feels like walking on air.

You both greet the guy at the cashier, you much more shyly, but James is learning you’re nothing if not polite. It’s practically empty inside, which James is glad for. How is he supposed to kiss you if there’s a bunch of strangers around? He leads you over to the slurpee machine with the excitement of a kid in a candy store.

“What flavour do you feel like?” He asks, grabbing a cup for you.

“Um,” you lick your lips and James wonders, not for the first time, how it would be to kiss them. “Grape, I think.”

“Grape?” He wrinkles his nose in pretense. “I’m more of a cherry guy, but I’ll let it slide ‘cos I like you.”

You giggle and flush, to James' extreme delight. He lets go of your hand to fill your cup for you, all the way to the top. He pops on a lid and a straw and passes it to you, cold condensation dripping over his fingers like raindrops.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the cup from him, your fingers soft as they brush his.

James gives you a big smile in place of a you’re welcome, then preoccupies himself with filling his own cup. He can feel your eyes on him all the while. Practically burning holes into the side of his face. His face, which feels like it’s on fire. He finishes filling his cup and shoves a lid on.

“Have I got something on my face?” He asks without looking at you, definitely teasing but he thinks you can take it.

You groan and punch him in the arm. Punch isn’t really the right word. It’s more of a brush of your knuckles. James hardly feels a thing. “James.”

James laughs, delighted at your reaction. “What?” He chuckles, picking a straw and turning to look at you. “You were—“

But you’re gone, turning into the candy section just in time for James to see the back of your jacket disappear. He follows you, grinning like mad.

“Y/N,” he says, sing-song.

“James,” you copy, with half the enthusiasm but twice the sweetness. He can almost hear you rolling your eyes.

James can’t help it, he snags your jacket in his fingers and pulls. You squeal as he twists you to face him, his hand coming to hook around your waist. Your slurpees get crushed in between your chests. James can feel the coldness of his soaking into his shirt but he hardly cares. You’re so close he could kiss you. He’d like to. It’s what he’s been trying to do all evening.

You’re gasping, breathless from the closeness and his sudden attack. “James,” you say again, panting. “What are you doing?”

James shrugs. “Nuthin’. Did you want some candy?”

You swallow and adjust your grip on your cup where it’s pressed to his chest. You’re staring at his lips. He’s staring at yours, too.

“No,” you say, your pretty eyes flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “I don’t want candy.”

James licks his lips, partly because he thinks he’s about to kiss you, but mostly to tease you. “Then what do you want?”

Your eyes follow the slow movement of his tongue. “Um.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, softer now. Less taunting. More sincere.

You stare at him. “We’re in the middle of a 7/11, James,” you chastise. But you don’t turn him down.

“So? There’s no one in here but us.”

He inches closer. His slurpee is probably spilling over with how much he’s squashing it but he can’t bring himself to check. He’s too transfixed by you, the hopeful look on your pretty features, eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted.

“Okay,” you breathe, hardly a word at all.

“Okay, what?” James says back, just as quiet. “I can kiss you?”

“Yes,” you nod once. Your hand ghosts over James’ elbow and he hopes you’ll grab it when he does finally kiss you. “Please.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. He kisses you, and the very first thing he thinks is that he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Thrown himself in the deep end, chum for the sharks. Because it’s glorious. It’s better than he ever imagined, better than anything he could’ve conjured up in his mind. You taste like grape slurpee, sugary and sweet. You’re tentative like you always are, but it doesn’t mean you hold back. You let him kiss you as hard as he pleases, tilting your head up to meet him, gripping his elbow with your free hand like you never want to let go.

He kisses you firm but careful, passionate so you know how much he likes you but soft enough so you know he’s okay to go slow if you need to.

Soon enough the moment is ruined — James shouldn’t have expected anything less. The guy at the cashier is wondering aloud if James is planning on ever paying for the Slurpees now dripping condensation into both of your clothes and hands.

James sighs and goes to pull out his wallet, but not before pressing another kiss to your smiling mouth.

feedback and reblogs are very very appreciated! please please lmk if u liked it (but not if u didn’t ahahah) xx

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ma1dita · 7 months ago

Text

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.3k

summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. split povs: pollux, annabeth, your depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint

(posted 5/14/24)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking.

In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why… why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be fine. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, Dad, not children. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere.

There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎#pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

hey :)) first off, i love the hozier caption in your bio. second, I’ve been reading so many of your fics recently and i think you’re sooo talented! i wanna be like you when I grow up (im 20 almost 21 lol)

anyways, I’ve never really requested anything but i wanna give it a try. I was wondering if you could do a poly!marauders x reader fic or a just remus x reader fic where’s she’s driving and accidentally hits an animal and is really upset about it but they’re there to help to her move it and comfort her.

i just hit a cat and im not taking it well. we think it was just a stray cause I left my number with it in case but no one has called. my family kinda, but not really, made fun of me for being so sad about it and i kinda just need something with the guys being so affectionate and loving with her after everything.

it’s totally okay if youre not up to it! I understand that it’s such a hard topic so I won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable writing in this.

thank you again and im sooo looking forward to youre future work!! you’re talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before (lady gaga)

Mwah mwah mwah <3<3

-aves

(sorry this is so long)

Hi sweetheart, thank you so much! (Is your username a Lizzy McAlpine reference? I love that) I'm really sorry you went through this, I've been fortunate enough to have never hit an animal but I've seen it happen and it's so horrible, I'm really sorry you've been dealing with this :(( I think you did the right thing by leaving your number with it, and I hope the weight of that trauma and grief is starting to lift off you my love. Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of killing an animal, reader feeling guilty

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.8k words

James hears the door and is up instantly, bounding down the hall to greet you and Sirius.

“Hello!” he calls ahead, eager for company after being left alone in your flat for over a half hour. “You guys took your time today, I thought even Remus might beat you home. Was traffic a riot, or…”

Sirius is looking at him with panic in his blue-gray eyes, clearly trying to convey one of those telepathic messages James has never been great at interpreting, and you…you’re looking at nothing. Your gaze is distant as you work off your shoe, the area around your eyes puffy and gray with smudged mascara.

“Hey,” James breathes, then feels stupid. It sounds like he’s accusing you of something. He tries again. “Is everything okay?”

Sirius gives him a look that says What do you think? and crouches beside you to help with a stubborn knot in your shoelace. Your hands are trembling, James notices. Dread settles like a stone in his stomach.

“I’ve got it,” Sirius murmurs to you, fingers gentle as they intercept your own, but the alarm doesn’t leave his expression as he watches your face. Ah. As much as it kills James to see you upset, Sirius will have no idea what to do with you in this state. Tears have always set him on edge.

James squats, joining the two of you on the floor. “Hi, sweetheart.” He does his best to keep his own anxiety out of his voice as his hand finds your ankle, fingers wrapping around the bit of skin between the hem of your jeans and your socks. “Has something happened?”

Your eyes meet his already full of tears, and James braces himself. Sirius does too, by the look of it, his shoulders tensing as he watches your face like you’re about to crumble away to nothing right here on their doormat.

“I—” That’s all you get out before you have to bite down on your lip to keep from crying. A tiny whimper escapes, and spider web cracks spread across James’ heart. A sluggish tear leaks from your right eye.

“It’s okay,” he swears, though he has no way of knowing it. You press the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to quell the sobs that shake your frame even with no air to feed them. “Oh, honey.” James leans forward, wrapping you in an awkward but very heartfelt hug, your knees between his chest and yours but your head crossing the distance to wet his shoulder with your tears.

A sympathetic pressure builds in James’ sinuses, but he does his best to breathe through it. Stability tends to help you more than sympathy in these situations, and since Remus isn’t home yet, it’s left to James to be the reasonable one (Sirius would have all sorts of jokes to make about that, but he doesn’t seem to be feeling up to them either).

He gives you a few moments of reprieve, a few passes of his palm up and down your spine, before trying again. “What’s going on?” he asks, gently as he can. “You guys are scaring me. Sirius?”

Sirius’ brow pinches like he almost doesn’t want to say it either, and the anticipation in James’ chest heavies. “We were driving home,” he says slowly, keeping a wary eye on you lest he worsen your upset, “and a rabbit ran in front of the car.”

Relief nearly chokes James at the same time as a sympathetic sorrow takes ahold of him. He pets the back of your head. You tremble with the force of your crying, leaning into his touch greedily.

“She was driving?” he asks quietly, though he’s nearly sure. If your reaction isn’t enough to go off of, he already knows that you usually pick Sirius up from work and drive the both of you home.

Sirius nods.

“It doesn’t sound like there was anything you could do,” he murmurs to you, cupping the back of your neck to encourage you to look up at him. You do, sniffling as your lip quivers, and James uses his thumb to brush a wet streak of mascara from your blotchy cheek.

“It must have been so scared.” Your voice breaks on the last word and James’ heart along with it, leaving a throbbing wound in the center of his chest.

“I doubt it had time to be scared, honey,” he tries to reassure you, but his own voice is fraught. He looks to Sirius. “Did you…do you know if it…passed?”

Sirius is half hiding behind his hair, a sure tell of his disquiet, and it brushes his shirt collar when he nods again. “We weren’t sure at first, so I got out to move it off the road. It was dead.” He winces at his wording, and you bite down on your lip harshly. His tone softens as he addresses you. “I really don’t think it felt any pain.”

You look nowhere near ready to believe him, and James is preparing to offer to make you a cup of tea and let you sort out your grief at your own pace when the front door opens again, stopping when it hits Sirius’ side.

“Oh.” Remus pokes his head through. “Hello. Why are we all sitting on the floor?”

Sirius scoots the rest of the way out of the door’s path before deciding to stand instead. He speaks to Remus in a low voice while James runs a hand up and down your side in an attempt to soothe you. He locks eyes with Remus over your shoulder, watching as the taller boy’s gaze takes on the weight of understanding.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Remus wraps Sirius in a half-hug, kissing his surprised boyfriend on the temple before stooping beside you. “That must have been awful to have to see. Let’s get you up, yeah?” He wraps a spindly hand around your forearm, more encouragement than anything, and James grips your other hand as he stands to pull you up with him.

Neither of them seem quite willing to break contact with you, walking you over to the couch like a newborn fawn despite your murmured I’m okay. Sirius follows close behind. The both of you look like you’re perching rather than sitting, unable to completely relax even now that you’re home.

“It must have been quite a scare,” Remus sympathizes, sitting on the edge of his favored armchair.

“A bit,” Sirius mutters, and your throat bobs.

Remus cocks his head. “What’re you thinking, darling?”

James almost wants to look away at the rawness in your expression as you raise your eyes to meet Remus’. “I just…I can’t believe I killed it. I’ve never” —your voice pitches, and you swallow again— “I’ve never killed anything before.”

“It was an accident,” James tells you, beseeching.

“You couldn’t have stopped,” Sirius says. His voice has an odd, desperate quality to it, and James sees Remus notice it at the same time as he does, both boys leaning forward to see Sirius better. For the first time, James notices—had he missed it before, or has it only just started?—that Sirius is trembling slightly too. James’ free hand twitches instinctively toward him, but his dark-haired boyfriend is only touchy when he’s in a good mood. He’s not keen on physical comfort; no matter how many years James has worked on him, Sirius has always preferred to keep his struggles internal. “Or avoided it,” he goes on. “It happened too fast.”

Remus nods at you. “As awful as it is, these things happen sometimes. Hopefully,” he adds when another tear slips down your cheek, “never again to you, but selfish as it is, I’m glad you didn’t slam on the brakes or anything else that could have gotten you and Sirius hurt instead.”

You glance at Sirius, and he gives you a weak smile, taking your hand and squeezing gently.

“Nothing you could have done,” he whispers.

Your lips tremble again. James watches as panic flashes in Sirius’ eyes, but he keeps it together. “I’m really sorry,” you tell him, voice wavering. “I shouldn’t have made you take care of the bunny by yourself.”

James' chest aches as Sirius takes a steadying breath. “You were frazzled. Understandably upset,” he corrects himself, squeezing your hand again. This time you squeeze back. “It was a one-man job anyway.”

You make a soft sound, leaning your head on his shoulder, and James has the sense something has settled a bit in each of you. He raises your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of yours as Remus’ eyebrows furrow.

“Have you had a chance to wash your hands, love?” he asks Sirius, who blinks.

“No. I forgot.”

Despite the heavy atmosphere, James actually feels the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips as he watches Remus forcibly quell his horror. “Right, then. Why don’t we go do that in the kitchen now, and I’ll make us all some tea.”

“Good idea,” James says heartily, swiping his thumb back and forth over his own kiss on your hand. “Hey, could we take out the good cookies as well?”

Remus hums what James chooses to interpret as assent, shepherding Sirius into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” you say to James once the other two are out of hearing.

He looks down at you. “What for, sweetheart?”

You shrug, your shoulders remaining just a tad too high after the motion. You’ve stopped crying, and James is grateful, but he doesn’t think this shameful look is a vast improvement. “I feel like I’m being dramatic. And Sirius is the one who had to see it. He had to drive home too, I was too upset.”

James’ battered, broken heart wells for the both of you. He forgoes his attentions to your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders instead to tuck you against his side. “You’re not being dramatic,” he promises, “okay? You and Sirius were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you both had to witness something awful.” Your head sinks onto his shoulder, and he rubs your upper arm. “I think it’s alright to be sad for a while. For yourselves, and for the bunny. Just, don’t torment yourself, alright?” He withdraws enough to see your face, and you tilt your gaze up to his. “Please. You don’t deserve the guilt.”

Your eyes cast down, contemplative and a bit shy, a moment before your head comes back to its spot on his shoulder. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“No thanks necessary, babe. You can cry all night if you need to, I’ll be right here. Just do me a favor,” he lowers his voice, glancing toward the kitchen, “let me sit between you and Sirius if you do. Many more tears and I think he’ll have a heart attack.”

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lyxzeun · 4 months ago

Text

"IF YOU'D HAVE STUCK AROUND."

— a dainsleif x reader short fic.

contents . . . reader dies. like, a lot of times. five times at best, no implied timeline (can be read as modern or normal teyvat), angst, doomsday by lizzy mcalpine reference.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

To be with Dainsleif was mundane. It wasn't pompous or eventful, but it was alright.

It was okay because you never really minded being stuck in a routine— a loop, if you will, because you were stuck in it with the man you loved the most in all of Teyvat.

Being with him for ten years– nearing eleven, felt like forever.

You've known him for that time being, and it's always been feeling so much longer than just a decade.

But in Dainsleif's head, the length of your time together was more than just ten years. You two were running strong together in 150 years.

It always had a year gap of 20 years, and he meets you when you're twenty. You fall in love, and ten years pass, you're now thirty.

Thirty years of your life, and you'd always die in the same way.

Of an expedition, you'd go and head to a Regisvine.

Dainsleif follows, retrieves your body, lays it on a bed of grass, his gloved hand caressing your cold skin, the other tangling in your hair, before he pulls away, closing your eyes and pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead before burying you into the ground.

As the grass grows, he waits and he waits, placing a flower in the exact same spot where he placed you.

He can't even bother to shed tears or to stop the Regisvine. He's tried once, during the third time you've died.

But it all ended up the same.

Dainsleif doesn't think to stop you from your expedition, because you'd still continue— no matter how many warnings he would give you.

So he stops and lets that mundane loop go around and around.

Because he knows that it's for the better.

After all, he'll meet you again. In twenty years, whether if he'd meet you at the lake, in the streets, sitting on the curb, crying after a day of work, at a hotel, where he stumbles upon your drunken figure, sitting on the floor beside the stairs, leaning on the wall after you break up with an ex.

Till this day, he keeps the ring he was going to propose to you to the first loop of this mundane routine.

That was the funny thing, wasn't it? He would've married you—

If you'd have stuck around.

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nolita-fairytale · 1 year ago

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don't want to walk alone | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter five: the honeymoon pt. 2

summary: you and carmy enjoy the last few days of your mini-moon.

warnings: light smut, husband!carmy who comes with a warning label of his own, swearing, lots of tooth rotting fluff, marriage, no use of y/n, second person pov, she/her pronouns

wc: 3.2k

listen to: the official don't want to walk alone playlist (mentioned song - lizzy mcalpine's 'dancing queen' cover)

a/n: hi cuties. here is part two of the honeymoon in chicago. i will be writing an epilogue to finish out this series, then my focus will be back on the world of 'burn your life down.' please enjoy all of this fluffy, lovey dovey content because these two deserve.

part four | masterlist | epilogue

This feels right, you think to yourself, stretching out in the abnormally large bath tub that overlooks the Chicago River. This being the bath, your honeymoon, the non-stop sex between you and your insatiable husband.

You’re up to your shoulders in bubbles, the temperature of the water just the right amount of hot, and you’ve got to admit that you need a recovery bath from the last night or so.

“You gonna join me in here or what?” you ask Carmy, a flirtatious smile on your face as you steal a glance his way.

He sits facing you, a few inches away on the floor of the bathroom, the sketchbook that you got him as a wedding gift laying in his lap as he continues to make furious strokes with one of the wildly-expensive-yet-worth-it pens that you purchased in addition to the sketchbook.

“Nah,” Carmy exhales, the corners of his lips curving up into a smile as he looks at you like you might disappear. “I just wanna look at you a little longer.”

“I know it’s kind of our thing now. But maybe tomorrow night?” he offers up, half apologetically. You shake your head, as if to let him know it’s no problem, and Carmy returns his attention over to what he’s sketching.

“Watcha workin’ on over there?” you ask, curiously, in reference to the broad strokes of pen on paper that you can hear.

“It’s a surprise,” he answers almost too quickly, his focus unbroken as he keeps his head down, buried in whatever it is he’s drawing.

You inhale deeply, letting out your breath on an even deeper exhale and it feels as if you’re melting into the warm bubbles that surround you.

“I’m just glad you’re drawing again. You always seem to light up when you do it,” you sigh, settling into the comfort of your bath, even though you now have to accept that Carmy won’t be joining you tonight.

You close your eyes, listening to the sound of your bubble bath playlist that plays over the speakers of your phone – the easily recognizable voice of Leon Bridges filling your ears as your shoulders relax.

“Why don’t you draw something? For our next tattoo,” you suggest, your eyes beginning to close.

“God, I love you so much,” is Carmy’s reply, without missing a beat.

Opening one eye, you sit up slightly to get a good look at Carmy, shooting a quizzical look his way.

“Well, yeah. But are you referencing anything in particular this time?” you giggle, peering over the edge of the tub in hopes of getting a look at what he’s sketching. Carmy tuts, clutching the sketchbook close to his chest so that he’s sure you can’t see.

The two of you exchange a look, then a laugh, before you resign yourself, sinking back into the tub. Carmy can’t take his eyes off of you, watching you close yours. He looks down at his sketchbook, the image of you in the bathtub, your hair tied up in a messy bun on top of your head beginning to take shape on the page. With deep blue eyes full of love, he finally answers your previous question with:

“You encourage me to dream, baby.”

A beat.

“It’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

You inhale again, peeking one eye open just for a moment as you grin.

“I love you too, Bear. So, so much.”

You take another breath, and a beat, before reiterating, “And I meant what I said. You should draw something for our next tattoo.”

“You really want my scribbles on your body forever?” he asks, skeptically, completely discrediting the talent that you know he knows he has.

“I married you, didn’t I?” you shoot back with a shrug.

He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head incredulously.

“Don’t know if that’s the same.”

“Seriously, Bear. I know we talked about maybe adding some ink to mark this chapter of our relationship… but I really want you to draw it. You don’t have to make up your mind now but, just think about it, okay?” you continue, this time opening both of your eyes to look at him – just so he knows that you mean it.

“Sure,” he nods hesitantly. “Uh… yeah. I’ll think about it.”

You hum along to your playlist as the song changes, and Carmy returns his attention to his sketchbook, stealing glances your way as he continues to work on his drawing of you. You swear you’ve slipped into the kind of relaxed state that yogis traveling to an ashram for the first time can only dream of, as both you and Carmy settle into a comfortable and quiet rhythm.

Carmy hasn’t felt this inspired in a long time – noting that he hasn’t felt this relaxed in a long time either – and he’s more than willing to admit that it’s all the love (and all the sex, because it’s certainly not hurting) that’s sparked this creative kick. He was nervous before, before checking into the hotel earlier today, that maybe he wouldn’t be able to relax – the idea of going to the spa with you tomorrow is still absolutely terrifying – but it’s moments like these that remind him that he may not be so bad at this whole relaxing thing after all.

It could be minutes, hours, days when you decide to get out of the tub – having lost track of time entirely since you checked in at the Langham hotel. Without saying anything, you pull the plug on the bathtub, allowing it to drain as you stand up, grabbing for the fluffy, plush white hotel towel.

And you know that you could put on a robe, just like Carmy, but you have a better idea.

You’ve been saving the little white slip dress that Natalie bought you for just the right moment, and you think this might be it. You can feel Carmy’s eyes on you as you disappear from the bathroom, leaving him where he sits on the floor, and back into the bedroom in search of where you hung the slip dress earlier this evening.

You wonder how long it will take – if he’ll follow you back into the bedroom – but he doesn’t, so you take your time drying off. The white slip dress slides off of its hanger easily. You pull it over your head, allowing it to settle gently over your frame, noticing just how softly it drapes over your figure.

Nat really nailed it with this one, you think to yourself, the pads of your feet hitting the ground as you head back into the bathroom to hang up your robe.

Carmy’s gotten up off the floor, having carefully set his sketchbook down on the long counter, confident in the way he stands, waiting for you. He watches you like a hawk as you begin hanging your robe on the back of the door, a smirk beginning to form on his face.

“What?” you ask, because you know exactly what he’s thinking without even having to look at him.

“Nothin,” he answers, cheekily.

As you turn around, Carmy’s taking a step towards you. You busy yourself with taking your hair back down, watching your reflection in the mirror as Carmy approaches, coming up behind you. You can feel his hands slide along your hips, pulling you towards him as he begins to leave soft kisses on the tops of your shoulders.

“Jus’ wanted to let you know how beautiful you are,” he mumbles in between kisses, pressing his hips against your ass. “That’s all.”

“That’s all? You’re insatiable, Carm. You know that?” you ask him with a giggle, watching him in the mirror this time.

“Oh come on,” he counters you. “You knew exactly what you were doing.” You moan as soon as you feel one of his hands bunching up the material of your dress, his lips curving into a smile against your skin as he hears you. “Putting this on for me.”

“Baby,” you sigh happily, beginning to understand just how fun a honeymoon is supposed to be.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” he begins to tease you, moving your hair to one side of your neck.

“Remember when we snuck into a dressing room…” he continues you, his piercing blue eyes bearing into your soul through the mirror image – just like that night. “... during the James Beard Awards…”

“How could I forget?” you gasp, his teeth nipping at the soft skin of your neck. “It was Syd’s first win and neither of us could wait till we got home.”

You remember it well, especially now, as Carmy begins to grind his hips into your ass, his eyes pleading with you in the reflection, begging you to let him fuck you.

“Friday night and the lights are low…”

You smile, as soon as you recognize the lyrics to one of your favorite songs. Only this time, it’s nothing like the version you and your best friends sang at karaoke night, this version done as an intimate, acoustic singer-songwriter cover. Carmy’s hands are patient, slowly exploring your body as you turn around to face him, surprising him as you wrap your arms around his neck.

He sends you a questioning look and you smile back as you lean in, placing your mouth over his in a messy kiss.

“I love this song,” you whisper against his lips, pulling him in for another kiss as you press your body closer to his. “Dance with me, Carm.”

“Yeah?” he asks, with a single, amused raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smirk. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Instead of answering (or protesting, considering he had his sights set on fucking you up against the bathroom counter), he just embraces you, holding you close to him as the two of you sway back and forth to the song, exchanging heated kisses. It’s here, in the midst of a push and pull of desire, dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe and the slip dress his sister bought you, that you and Carmy have your first dance as man and wife.

It’s exchanged kisses, teasing remarks, and eager hands till the very end of the song, both of your feet coming to a halt, too consumed with the passionate makeout that Carmy’s engaged you in this time. Your hands travel to where his robe is tied closed, beginning to open it as your breathing picks up.

“Think we can count that as a first dance?” Carmy asks, in between kisses, his lips moving at a feverish, more desperate pace this time.

“Definitely,” you reply, the softness in his eyes matched so well with the softness of the music. It’s then that you kiss him again, your mouth beginning to trial south every time you return to him.

“Baby,” he moans, as he watches you kiss lower and lower, anticipating what comes next.

“Said I’d make it worth your while. And right now, I want to go down on my husband,” you rasp, your voice low and sultry as you drop to your knees.

Carmy moans as soon as he feels your mouth on him, your tongue coming out just to taste the tip of him. His right hand tangles in your hair, beginning to grasp at the back of your head as he lets out a:

“Fuck.”

———————————

Your vintage lace slip dress, plucked from the ground where it was carelessly thrown the night before, and Carmy’s denim jacket draped over your shoulders.

That’s what he wakes up to, Carmy, your husband, as you climb back onto the bed, having left your brown paper bag filled with all kinds of goodies on the nightstand next to him.

It may seem silly, bringing his denim jacket considering you barely planned on leaving the room, but he brought it for moments like this, when he knew you’d inevitably want to wear something of his while heading down to explore the rest of the hotel.

“Think you’ll even need that?” you’d asked as you watched him pack his bag for this weekend.

“Gotta be prepared, babe. You’ve been stealing my clothes since day one,” he had pointed out, making it clear that he was only packing options at this point. You’d giggled, making a comment about how considerate your then-husband-to-be was and a declaration that you were nothing if not consistent.

“Good morning, my love,” you say as you climb onto the bed, settling at the foot.

Carmy just smiles dreamily, his curls a wild, beautiful mess, as he sits up, reaching for your hands so that he can pull you over him. You smile, leaving a quick good morning kiss on his lips as you mutter something about morning breath.

“Fuck off. You love me,” he teases in response, laying back down.

“Fuck off. I do,” you parrot him, nodding happily, as you settle over him, straddling his hips.

With your hands still in his, Carmy brings your conjoined hands up to his lips, leaving a kiss to each knuckle, his eyes fixed to yours, his focus unbroken. He smirks, seeing you in his denim jacket, just like he predicted. It looks damn good on you and there’s something so primal about the way he feels when you wear his clothes – the fact that you’d showcase to the world that you’re his stirs something inside of him that feels intoxicating.

“I went downstairs to the hotel cafe. Got a few pastries and coffee for us,” you say, as you run your hands up and down his chest.

“Thanks, baby. But I’m not hungry yet,” Carmy replies, something in his voice that tells you he’s got something else in mind. You quirk an eyebrow in his direction, letting out a loud laugh as he flips you over, rolling you onto your back.

“Think we should work up an appetite first.”

“Again?” you giggle, heat pooling between your legs as you think of how he fucked you up against the bathroom counter last night – after you went down on him.

Instead of answering, he captures your mouth with his, groaning into the kiss as he lays his body over yours. You could care less about the morning breath as Carmy winds you up with the way he kisses you, the way he touches you, and you’re sighing out in pleasure as his hand slips between your legs.

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby,” he spits through gritted teeth, as soon as he realizes that you’re not wearing any underwear.

“You go down to the cafe like this?”

You smirk, letting out a devious chuckle at his discovery.

Before you can properly answer, Carmy’s fingers are dancing over your wet heat, earning well deserved gasps from you as you buck your hips into his hand, a sudden possessiveness taking over.

“Fuck, Carm,” you groan, knowing exactly how to wind him up. “Yeah. Might have to punish me for it.”

“Think so, sweet girl,” Carmy mutters, before his mouth is on yours again.

———————————

It’s your last night at the Langham hotel and you and Carmy have barely left your room – save for the trip to the pool downstairs. You find yourself curled up with your husband, your head buried in the book you're halfway through in a cozy silk PJ set as Carmy works on something else, a few pages deep into his new sketchbook.

“How’s your book?” he asks, his focus still on the page before him.

“Good,” you answer quietly, looking for a good place to pause. You look over at him, smiling as you notice the very cute face he makes when he’s concentrating.

“Watcha workin’ on?”

A light blush runs across Carmy’s cheeks as he prepares to show you.

“Uh… just been sketchin’ up some ideas… you know. Ever since you asked about, you know… the tattoo,” Carmy answers, suddenly feeling shy about showing you his work.

“Yeah?” you ask, only to be met with a nod as Carmy hands you the sketchbook.

You take it, your eyes eagerly scanning the page, considering it’s the first time since you gave him the gift that he’s let you see anything he’s been working on. You smile, a look of awe in your eyes as you take in all of the little food-related tattoos that he’s drawn up.

“I like this one,” you say, pointing to the nest of spaghetti he’s drawn, clearly meant to be a single portion of carbonara. “I mean, I like all of them… but I like this one.”

“Yeah?” he asks, only a little surprised that you like any of them really.

“Yeah,” you nod in response. You look down at his work, then back up to Carmy before gesturing towards the page. “May I?”

“Uh… sure,” he answers anxiously, the sound of the page turning only magnifying his nerves.

He’s so incredibly talented that it hurts, and it’s not till you get back to the very first page, the one where he's drawn you in the bathtub that your heart stops.

“Carmy,” you gasp, looking down at the sketch.

“You hate it,” he’s quick to say, offering up a way out, almost too eager to beat you to the punch if that is how you feel.

“Baby, of course I don’t hate it. I-,” you shake your head, marveling at the drawings below as you trace your fingers over the broader strokes of the pen. “It’s just… no one’s ever drawn me before so. I’m kind of… in awe right now.”

Carmy inhales, then lets out the breath on a deep exhale, because he’s drawn you before – considering he’s barely made time for his art in the last five years anyways – and that they just aren’t things he’s shown you yet.

“What do you think?” is all he asks, his eyes searching your face for a reaction.

“I think,” you say, returning his gaze with yours. You can tell that he’s nervous, that this feels extremely vulnerable, and you know exactly how to pivot. “... that you’re incredibly talented… and it’s really, really not fair.”

He laughs.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies, brushing off the compliment.

“No, I mean it, Bear,” you harp, making sure he hears you.

“Okay,” he nods, and you know it’s the best you’re going to get when it comes to him accepting your compliment on the spot.

You take a beat, before handing him his sketchbook back, returning your attention to your book as the two of you settle into a quiet rhythm of spending time with each other. This is exactly how you pictured this weekend going – spending time together, doing absolutely nothing, and fucking all day long. You’re not quite ready to go back to real life yet, but you also miss Aioli, and you know you and Carmy have another shot at this when you go on your real honeymoon in a few months.

“Maybe I should bring this with me… you know… on our honeymoon part two,” Carmy says, gesturing towards his sketchbook. It warms your heart to see him so excited, so inspired and relaxed.

“Definitely,” you reply with a smile. “Let’s do it all over again in a few months. When we go to Japan.”

“You wanna take a bath?” you ask, an implied, ‘you said you would join me’ in your voice as you ask the question.

Carmy licks his lips, a small smile threatening the corners of his mouth as he answers,

“Deal.”

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daisyswift3 · 2 months ago

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The Elevator 🌔

I think I know what this message from 🌋 is referring to. Lizzy McAlpine just released the deluxe version of her album Older today and she titled it Older (and Wiser). I’m pretty sure Older is related to Gracie’s song Older on TIWIFL (see this post for more on the Gracie Lizzy connections). Lizzy’s Older and Gracie’s Older are both related to the Peter Pan metaphor. I think the deluxe album being titled Older (and Wiser) indicates that Peter is getting ready to grow up -> “I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser.” Taylor is no longer going to be an anti-hero, she is instead going to be a hero.

(x)

The first track on Older is The Elevator and the lyrics of this song match perfectly w Labyrinth (and Labyrinth is related to the Bejeweled mv bc Taylor takes an elevator from the 1st to the 13th floor):

“It wasn’t slow it happened fast” -> “You know how scared I am of elevators, Never trust it if it rises fast, It can’t last”

“And suddenly the only thing I (Peter) saw was you (Wendy)” -> “Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love, Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again”

Also, the plane -> The Tortured Poets Depart 🛫🛬 -> “I thought the plane was going down, How'd you turn it right around?” -> LWYMMD mv where Taylor clips the wings of her TS6 plane (karma the lost album) -> Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (which is referenced in the Karma mv) using the same plane metaphor: “When are you gonna come down? When are you going to land?” This song is abt Elton choosing to walk away from fame which is also what the Bejeweled mv is abt (Castles Crumbling).

If you look at the Spotify canvas for The Elevator, a calendar is shown w several dates and this is where the math comes in. Some of the dates are 11/10, 10/28-10/30, 11/6, 11/7-11/10, 10/24, and Oct 28. 11/10 mirrored is 10/11 like @lyricstoojesus said, and 10/11 is the first quarter w 58% illumination which is mentioned in the 🌋 message. The waxing gibbous phase 🌔 starts on 10/12. The Elevator calendar has some very interesting things written on it. One of them is “Piano Taylor” which is on 10/11-10/12. This could be what that 🌋 message was trying to point us to. Perhaps this is a hint that we should pay attention to Taylor’s next piano surprise song. Plus 12 mirrored is 21 which is one of Gracie’s songs (see this post for more on the 12 and 21).

Another thing that caught my eye was “Richter.” This could be referring to the Richter scale which measures the magnitude of earthquakes. Gracie just recently played Fault Line as a surprise song on Oct 2. This song uses an earthquake as a metaphor for a relationship falling apart. “I know you're a fault line, but I'll break too, Crackin' at the same time, does it shock you?” Interestingly, Aaron Dessner described the song “us” as “an earthquake of a song.” So putting these easter eggs together, they could be saying that “us” (that is the tortured poets + us true fans, "you + me = us") is the earthquake in the song Fault Line; the relationship that's falling apart in Fault Line is the one between Peter/James (the tortured poets) and Wendy/Betty (us true fans). It could also be saying that this relationship will be the thing that burns the lover house to the ground and starts the revolution, the "volcano." The Elevator calendar may be foreshadowing when the first cracks from this earthquake will start forming, 10/10. Ginger anon mentioned the cracks in the facade that turn into a chasm.

The last thing I wanted to point out is “Codesmith” which is written under “Monday, Wednesday, Thursday” and next to “Oct 28” which is a Monday. The wk of Oct 28 is the same wk as Halloween which is on a Thursday. I have no doubt sth big will happen this wk since this was the whole purpose of the 🎃 messages.

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trblsvt · 2 years ago

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★ my favorite lyrics + seventeen

pairing | ot13 x fem!reader genre | angst, hurt comfort (?), fluff (if you squint?) warnings | references to sex/suggestive, swearing, situationships! ALSDKJ, toxic relationships, actual breakups, heartbreak, and relationship angst, cheating/infidelity (?) in one section (it’s a first date, but someone gets distracted), alcohol consumption min | lowercase intended. and honestly i say fem!reader but i don’t think i used any pronouns that indicate gender identity. (keeping the tag to stay safe). some (most if not all) of these songs came from my top 100 songs of last year. and most of these are kind of sad... sorry

choi seungcheol “you're scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night. i'm scared that i'll miss you, happens every time” - die for you by the weeknd

you just didn’t get it, he thought to himself. you were looking for something that he couldn’t give you, or something he didn’t know how to give you. he couldn’t stop thinking about the way your eyes were welling up after he told you that he wasn’t trying to gain anything else from the relationship.

“so this is all i mean to you? just a thing to use when you’re bored?” you asked, quietly. it appeared that had taken every ounce of fire out of you.

of course not, he thought. i’d do anything for you.

“yes,” he confirmed. why did i say that? he thought again.

“get out of my house, choi seungcheol.”

ouch. you knew he hated being called his full name, especially by you. he remembered when you did it jokingly and he held that stupid pout on his lips for almost two hours. (that is until you went over to him and planted kisses all over his face).

he didn’t understand what was so wrong with what the two of you had going on. he thought you were happy. it worked out great. together, but not actually together. after the first time he spent the night, he realized how strong his feelings for you were. they were so far beyond anything he had ever felt before. now how was he supposed to explain that to you.

“no,” he said simply.

“i don’t want to see you anymore, seungcheol, so leave!” you yelled at him. “i’ve wanted more from you ever since i met you, but now i can see that’s something you’ve never wanted.”

“that’s not true.”

“then tell me, seungcheol! what am i missing? because you just told me i’ve been nothing but your plaything while i was putting my heart in your hands.”

“i’m scared that i’ll miss you too much.”

you froze.

“i’m so scared that if i give myself to you, the way you deserve, it’ll just hurt more when you realize that i’m not the one for you. i can barely think when i’m away from you. i don’t think i’ll be able to breathe if i’m actually with you. i miss you so much just when i leave after every night. i don’t know how to give you what you want. i don’t even know where to start. i’m sorry.” he didn’t know when he started crying, but he was. he diverted his gaze to the floor. his heart wouldn’t only hurt more if he looked at you. his heart would hurt and he’d only miss you more when you told him to leave again. so he was surprised when he felt your hands come up and wipe his tears away. “then try,” you mumbled softly. “try.”

yoon jeonghan “and the funny thing is i would've married you if you'd have stuck around” - doomsday by lizzy mcalpine

there you were. as beautiful as the day when he last saw you. you were just sitting there reading at a table in the local cafe the two of you frequented when you were together. “jeonghan?” you asked, standing up from your place.

shit. was he staring?

“hi, ___,” he finally responded.

“i knew you looked familiar,” you laughed, and he wished he could keep it forever. “i see that you’re growing your hair out again, it looks nice.”

“thanks.” he would never change his hairstyle ever again.

“come sit, it’s been a while.”

so he sat.

he sat and he listened as you talked. how you finished your degree. how you finally bought an apartment that you actually liked. how you got that dog you always wanted. how you got promoted at work. and how you had a great new boyfriend, and that said boyfriend was meeting you in the next fifteen to twenty minutes. “so what about you, jeonghan? how’s work? how’s joshua? i bet you have all the ladies after you,” you joked.

he could say it. he could say that he was still so deeply in love with you. he could say “i love you” over and over again to make up for the times when he didn’t. he could say that he wanted you to break up with your boyfriend. he could say that he hasn’t been able to find someone else without comparing them to you in every way possible. he could even say that he wished every night that he was the one in your dreams in the same way you were in his.

yet, he didn’t, not after what he did. it would be wildly inappropriate to tell you that, especially when you seemed so happy without him. so all he said was, “oh you know me, pretty average. it was really nice to catch up with you.”

you gave him a look, and he somehow knew he was busted. “i don’t hate you for what you did, jeonghan. know that, alright? we were both a bit too immature for one another. i would’ve married you in heartbeat though, even if it meant you left me with all your broken pieces,” you sighed. “i loved you, jeonghan.”

loved.

“and i’m certain you will find someone who loves you as much as i did you.”

but i love you.

“thank you, ___. truly,” was all he said, but wasn’t what he wanted to say.

hong joshua “and i'd leave you, but the roller coaster is all i've ever had. yeah, it's one step forward and three steps back. do you love me, want me, hate me?” - 1 step forward, 3 steps back by olivia rodrigo

“clearly i’ve wasted my time my time on you,” you finally said. that shut him up. “you can’t possibly mean that,” he stammered, but the blank look on your face told him otherwise.

“i can’t be the only person invested in this relationship, joshua!” you sighed.

“who said you were?” you scoffed at that. joshua had been wildly absent from your relationship, opting to hang out with friends playing basketball, eating out, watching movies. really doing anything except be with you. “well it sure fucking feels like, joshua,” you grumbled.

“what did you say?” he sounded angry, but the look on his face looked more confused than anything. damn his face. damn that perfect smile. damn those kind eyes that kept you crawling back to him even if he stood you up for the third time that week. “i said it feels like i’m the only person putting anything into this relationship. when you told me that you wanted to go beyond just fucking i really believed you, and i was actually excited about getting to put an actual label on whatever we had. but now, i don’t fucking know how to act around you. you stood me up at least three times last week, and i-”

“what do you want from me, ___? i showed up tuesday night and we watched all the movies you wanted, didn’t we?” he interrupted.

unbelievable.

“yeah, and then when you said we could hang out on friday night you suddenly ditched me. not only that, seungcheol told me you guys went to play basketball on friday and proceeded to go out to dinner afterwards,” you huffed. “it’s like we make some sort of progress in this - this - whatever this is - and then you do something that sets us back!”

“god, do you need to be with me all the fucking time. you’re so clingy,” he grumbled under his breath, but you heard him.

“clingy? i’m only upset because you said you were going to be there. you said you were free and that you wanted to hang out. i’m upset because you don’t even give me the simple courtesy of saying ‘oh hey i’m sorry something came up’ or ‘i actually can’t, i had plans with the guys.’ but no, i don’t hear anything from you. to think i actually love you. fuck you, hong,” you spat, grabbing your things and heading out his door before he could stop you.

“wait! love? you love me? ___!” he called after you, but you were over it. despite how much it hurt your heart to leave behind his stupid laugh, his stupid music taste, and his stupid eyes that you’re quite sure you probably won’t get over.

ironically enough, that was the first time you said “i love you,” and probably the last.

wen junhui 请快回来想听你说说你还在 “please come back quickly, i want to hear from you that you are still there” - unbreakable love by eric chou

he knew you were sick of waiting around for him. work was hard and so was maintaining a relationship. a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. when he began going away for extended periods of time you always called or texted when you were about to go to sleep or when you woke up in the morning.

then he started going away more.

he was around less.

couldn’t call you back as often as he once did.

then you started contacting him less.

the messages that held the run-downs about your days became infrequent and then rare. he reached out too, but calls and messages were brief. he began wondering what he was even trying for anymore. his friend, minghao, began to notice this. he noticed jun frowning at his phone more, or he looked more anxious by the end of the day like he was running late to something.

he knew you were probably busy. he couldn’t expect you to wait around for his calls, but his brain told him otherwise. it told him that maybe you were tired of waiting around for him.

he was sitting in minghao’s hotel room eating some lame takeout for the nth time this week. minghao could tell that jun was not focused on his meal or in the conversation they were having. “you should probably just call ___,” minghao suggested.

“what if, what if it’s a bad time?” jun countered, a weak defense.

“just call, wimp. worst case scenario: leave a voicemail,” minghao shrugged.

“fine. see you tomorrow.”

“you owe me for the food.”

“yeah, yeah.”

jun made his way back to his own hotel room and pulled up your contact. “just do it,” he grumbled and pressed call. he sat down on his bed as he listened to the ringing. on the fifth ring you picked up. there was loud music in the back with muffled voices. “jun? hey, babe,” you yelled.

“hi, ___. i was just checking in to see how you’re doing. i’m coming back home next week,” he sighed, feeling a bit more at ease.

“that’s great, junnie! i’m looking forward to it.” you sounded absentminded. “am i interrupting something?” he asked.

“oh, well, it’s my friend’s birthday party and she’s going a bit off the rails. can i call you back later?” you explained as lightly as possible. you knew how he got about this kind of stuff. “oh yeah, totally. you should’ve told me earlier, i don’t want to interrupt your fun. have fun,” he said pulling the phone down from his ear, not hearing how you paused and tried to call out to him.

so you do have better things to be doing. he understood. you were your own person, but it had been so long since he had even spoken to you. maybe you didn’t want to wait around anymore. then he saw all the posts that you shared of you out having fun, without him. you looked happier. he dwelled on it for longer than he should’ve.

he dwelled on it for another three hours and then his phone rang. he picked it up without looking at the caller id. “hello?” he answered.

“jun, are you okay? you hung up so abruptly back there. i just got back home,” you asked, you sounded concerned.

“do you still want to be with me?”

“what - yes. why would you ask?” you sputtered. never once did you have a doubt in your relationship with jun. you understood that it was hard, with him being away and all, but you would always be around to wait for him. “i don’t want to make you feel like you’re waiting for nothing. i leave for weeks, come back for one, and leave for three more,” he sighed. “i don’t want to weigh you down.”

“do you think a little distance is going to break us, jun?” you chuckled.

“i don’t know! just either be there when i get home or tell me you can’t wait around any longer,” he cried. it was disheartening to hear him like this. you never wanted anything more than him. the type of love you had with jun was beautiful and it would cross seas if necessary.

“i’ll be here for as long as you want me, jun. now, come home quickly. i miss you.”

kwon soonyoung “you only call me on the weekend. you only love me when we freakin'” - the weekend by bibi

you were trying to slip out unnoticed. soonyoung had passed out essentially right after the two of you cleaned up. he had insisted that you should stay the night. you tried to refuse, but the way he looked so tired and sweet when he basically begged you to lie down in his arms.

and you were weak, so you did.

except, when he fell asleep in the crook of your neck you were still wide awake. you heard his phone going off and being nosy you looked to see notification after notification from his other hookups, and you were suddenly reminded why you were in the first place. you needed to leave.

you tried your best to maneuver your way out of his grasp. you were slipping on your socks when he stirred. “where are you going?” his voice worn.

“i have an early day tomorrow, i need to get back to my place,” you lied.

“liar.”

“excuse me?” how in the world could he possibly call you on something when he was half asleep?

“you’re running. just stay the night. it can’t hurt.” oh, but it could. the question was: would it hurt more to tell him or to just keep the arrangement as is? before you could weigh your options, your mouth had already taken over. “it would hurt,” you said. “it already hurts.”

“what hurts? did i- did i do something wrong?” he asked, sitting up suddenly interested. you knew what he was thinking. “not in the way you’re thinking, soonyoung,” you smiled. “it hurts because throughout this whole agreement i accidentally caught feelings for you and it fucking sucks. because while you’re out hooking up with other people, i can’t even bring myself to hookup with another person because i think you’ve ruined me.”

“___-” he began, he looked apprehensive.

“i know. i know this wasn’t what we agreed on, and i know you’re not looking for anything right now. i just like you so much, and every time i look at you, i just wonder why you can’t just like me back. i’ll just go. i can’t do this anymore, soonyoung. i’m sorry.” you sighed.

“i am too,” he replied quietly, and he genuinely was.

jeon wonwoo “one day i will stop falling in love with you. some day someone will like me like i like you” - let you break my heart again by laufey

you often borrowed wonwoo’s things. from hats to jackets to random necklaces you found around his apartment, everything was fair game. sometimes you would forget to return them and wear them out. wonwoo never complained or tried to steal the clothes back from you. he liked them better on you anyway.

one day his friends noticed. it was just a house party where you had been teasing wonwoo all night about his less than average kart rider skills. you had taken his glasses off and placed them on your nose. “look at me i’m wonwoo and i suck at kart rider,” you imitated his voice puffing out your chest and bumping into his shoulder.

“hey, i need those,” he chuckled, squinting at the tv in front of him.

“yeah, yeah, i know. they look better on you anyway,” you grumbled, delicately placing the glasses back on his nose. “i’m going to get a drink, you want anything?” he shook his head, and you got up.

“wonwoo, isn’t that your coat?” mingyu casually asked as he sat down next to wonwoo on the couch. wonwoo didn’t even really process what mingyu was asking, but answered, “oh, the one ___’s wearing? yeah.”

“so, does this mean you two are finally together?” mingyu pressed.

“uh, no. it just means i like sharing.”

“just like how you like sharing your glasses,” mingyu scoffed. “bullshit.”

mingyu got up and walked over to where you were chatting with some of your friends. wonwoo wanted to act like he was paying attention to seungcheol absolutely demolishing him and chan at kart rider, but he was only focused on you.

he knew he didn’t stand a chance against the other guys you had been going out with for the past few months. he knew that you were probably better off with a guy like mingyu or something, and when he saw you chatting with mingyu he knew he couldn’t even begin to compete. in your eyes, he was just your cute best friend that did you favors all the time.

“you know, i think you should really un-friendzone wonwoo,” your friend giggled.

“i agree,” mingyu piped in.

“please, wonwoo’s just my friend,” you chuckled, glancing over at the dark haired man sitting on the couch. “plus, i already have a date this weekend.”

it was true. you did have a date lined up. it was about the fourth new guy this month. none of the people you’ve been meeting had actually clicked after the first date. which was a bit disheartening since you’ve been trying to date for a while.

the only constant in your life was wonwoo. he’s been with you since high school, and the two of you quickly rented an apartment together when you two decided to attend the same college. it was a nice set up, and you appreciated his companionship. he was there for every high and low of life, and didn’t complain if you were a mess most of the time. he was just there. a great friend.

as wonwoo and you walked home, he admired the way you looked at everything around you. the stars in the sky or the flowers that lined the windows of some apartments. it was comfortable with you. “you have a date later this weekend?” he asked quietly. you hummed in response.

you were a little too busy watching your surroundings to see wonwoo’s face fall a bit. he would watch you go off on these dates every so often, and nothing came to fruition for most of them. if they did, they were quite short lived. although it broke his heart every time you overlooked his hinting gestures, he would always be there to help you get ready and pick up any broken pieces. he’d be there at your door with a cup of coffee for you in the morning or he’d give you the space you needed if you asked. whatever you asked of him, he would do because he’d let you break his heart as many times as you wanted and he’d still come back. after all, he was your best friend.

he just wished that someday he would finally leave the feelings he harbored for you behind, and he could find someone who loved him the same way that he loved you. even if it wasn’t you.

lee jihoon “feels like we had matching wounds, but mine's still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now” - the exit by conan gray

jihoon was jihoon. you were you. there wasn’t any way around it. you had met him at a bad time, that’s all you could say about it. it probably wasn’t the best idea to start hanging out as much as you did. you knew that, and so did he. yet, you two did, and it was nice while it lasted.

“i just thought- i just thought we could continue seeing each other,” you grumbled. you weren’t sure what you were expecting out of jihoon. he was always a bit, emotionally reserved.

“i mean, why would we?” he asked, blinking slowly at you. of course he would ask that. “you didn’t think we were actually like dating, right?” he asked.

well no.

you and jihoon had established a mutual distaste towards labels, but now you regretted not putting one on what you had with jihoon. “i mean, i didn’t. i just thought-” you trailed off. what did you think? that maybe by the time he figured out his shit, you would have figured yours out too. or maybe that he would’ve noticed your growing feelings towards him.

“look, ___. you have been a greater help than i could’ve ever asked for. i was, well you know, just out of a long term relationship that ended well, badly. you were with me through every step of the healing process, and i will forever be grateful for you,” he said, taking a step closer to you.

“yeah, you- you really helped me too,” you mumbled, you couldn’t help the tears that were forming in your eyes.

“___? why are you crying?” he asked.

“no reason, jihoon,” you sniffed. there was a perfectly good reason why you crying, it was just a bit too embarrassing to tell him when he obviously didn’t reciprocate your feelings. maybe you got attached to jihoon to easily, someone who was obviously emotionally unavailable. maybe you had a type.

things had ended badly with your ex, and you feared that things would end horribly with jihoon before they could even begin.

maybe he would say you were too clingy, too needy, too this that and the other thing. was wanting to be loved such a bad thing?

all you really wanted was for him to notice you, but it appeared as though he was too focused on healing himself that he had left you behind without as much as a band-aid.

lee seokmin “and though it's fading with time, i remember the warm nights with love in your eyes. passing the days, watching rains as it dries, staring at your eyes i know it's the time” - less and less by matt maltese

a ball of sunshine. that’s how you described lee seokmin. you always grabbed his face in your hands and just looked at him, and he’d let you. then he’d giggle or something and you’d smile while you memorized every aspect of his face.

but now, but now, he couldn’t even look you in the eye, not after he heard that you didn’t really care to see him anymore. it was weird to overhear from one of his friends who still kept in touch with you. apparently he would be too much of a distraction or something to that effect. he knew the chances of reconciliation were already slim, but just knowing you didn’t really want to see him at all hurt. it wasn��t necessarily a bad or messy break up either.

a mutual friend of the two of you had just gotten engaged, and they were having a celebratory dinner. seokmin had the feeling that you were going to be there, but he couldn’t skip out on this just because his ex would be there. that would be - sad.

you were chatting casually with one of the other dinner guests, and you looked as beautiful as ever. “seokmin? are you even listening to me?” soonyoung whined next to him.

“you’re drunk, soonyoung. i probably shouldn’t listen to anything you say,” seokmin chuckled, pushing on his obviously drunk friend. soonyoung whined and threw his head back against the wall that was behind his chair. “___ looks nice tonight,” he commented. seokmin nodded in agreement.

he stole another glance at you, and that was when he met your eyes. god, those eyes. the same kind ones that he looked into every night before you said your goodnights and i love yous. you offered him a small smile and he reciprocated it as best as he could without it hurting his chest too much.

he found himself stealing glances at you when you didn’t even bother to look over. he wished he could sit next to you and hold your hand. kiss your cheek like he used to. should he profess his undying love for you even though you had broken his heart over six months ago? would that be appropriate?

by the end of the dinner, seokmin had slung soonyoung over his shoulder and was bringing him out to his car parked nearby the restaurant. “seokmin, why don’t you ask ___ out again?” he grumbled as seokmin dragged him into the passenger seat. the smell of alcohol reeked on his breath as seokmin buckled his pouting friend in. soonyoung continued, “you two were so good together. so cute. you were so down bad for ___.” seokmin sighed. he knew that already.

he looked at you like you hung the moon, and he genuinely believed that you did. your soft kisses on his cheeks and warm hands around his were nice, but they weren’t enough. as much as he wanted them to be, they just couldn’t be enough.

“seokmin?” he heard your familiar voice float into his ears and shot up instantly, hitting his head on his car as he tried to escape the clutches of soonyoung. “oh, are you okay?” you giggled.

“yeah,” he said, standing upright and rubbing the back of his head. and there the two of you stood in silence. oddly enough, it wasn’t as awkward as he thought it was going to be. there was a dull pain in his chest when he looked at you. “look, i just wanted to say it was nice seeing you tonight,” you said. his heart soared, but the pain hurt. “it was nice seeing you too,” was all he seemed to muster before he turned around to check on soonyoung.

you must’ve thought he was trying to get out of the conversation because the next words you said sounded rushed. “i want you to know that i don’t hate you,” you said.

he froze.

“i mean, i know you heard about what i said about not wanting to see you. that’s not what i meant,” you sighed.

he nodded dumbly.

“i just- i know we didn’t end things badly at all. it was actually quite nice. i said that after we broke up and i was still a bit upset, i guess. i thought that if i saw you, i would just hurt all over again. i just wanted to stop hurting. i should’ve considered that you might hear about it and misunderstand, and i’m sorry about that.”

silence.

“i’ll always want you in my life, seokmin.”

“i’ll always want you in mine too,” he finally said, and he felt like he truly meant it. he knew that he wouldn’t be in your life like the two of you had planned, but just hearing that you wanted him - needed him - to just be there was enough.

he had all those times that you looked at him with such love and affection that he didn’t care how he was in your life. he just needed to be in it. he had the memories how you kissed him. how you hummed songs while lounging around the house. how you would wrap your arms around him while he was cooking. how you held his hand when your car broke down in the rain.

you would remember the way he just admired you at a distance. how he cried when he forgot to water your plant when you left town for a trip. how he brought you flowers when he knew the ones you had were dying. how he sang in the shower. how he laughed at all of your jokes. how he grabbed your hand and kissed it just because.

now you stood so close to him, but so far. he wanted to hold you close to him, feel your hands on his face, hear your laugh, kiss your lips, anything and everything. all it would take would be a couple of strides and he would be close enough to smell the perfume you put on for the evening.

but something in him kept him from doing that. he looked at you. the look in your eyes wasn’t the same as when the two of you were together. something else was there. admiration, respect, unconditional love. something in your eyes told him it was time to let you go. he would always remember you and all the moments you shared, but he needed to let go of what he had. let it fade until all that remained was the dull ache in his heart.

“i’ve missed you, ___,” he said meeting your gaze.

you smiled, “i’ve missed you too. please don’t be a stranger.”

“i won’t.”

the pain in his chest was still there as he watched you leave, but he supposed that it would always be there.

kim mingyu so i can't love you even though i do 밀어내 봐도 난 너를 못이겨 “so i can't love you, even though i do. i try to push you away but i can't beat you” - invu by taeyeon

this was wrong. he knew it. you knew it. he was on a first date with mutual of one of his friends, and he only agreed because he needed to get his mind off of everything, off of you. it should be easy, nice laid back dinner date. it had been a while since he had been on first date, but he couldn’t be that bad at this whole first date thing.

apparently he was pretty bad at it.

“mingyu,” you gasped, as he grabbed onto your waist. “where are you taking me?” he didn’t say a word. something in his blood boiled when he saw you sitting with your friends at the same restaurant he was at. he quickly excused himself from the table and made his way to your table. your table was conveniently located on the way to the bathroom. he turned his head to make sure his date wasn’t looking, luckily his date’s chair was facing the other way, so he could get away with snatching you away from your friends.

you barely had time to process what had happened. you sensed someone rushing toward you, but you figured it was just a waiter. suddenly you were pulled out of your seat and there was a familiar arm wrapped around your waist. “mingyu, what are you doing?” you demanded as he pulled you into the single-bathroom and locked the door. “i was having dinner with my friends.”

“and i was having dinner with a date, but here we are,” he scoffed.

“you’re on a date, and you dragged me in here!” you yelled. “mingyu, you’re unbelievable. you should be on your date. this is incredibly rude of-”

“do you miss me?”

“what?”

“do you miss me?”

“not in the way you want me to.”

that seemed to do it for him. he pressed you against the bathroom wall and kissed you in the way that took your breath away. “mingyu,” you gasped in between his kisses. you felt the way he was holding onto you, it was pure need. “mingyu, we- we can’t. your date,” you breathed as your hands found purchase on his shoulders.

“fuck my date. i’m only on that date to stop thinking about you,” he admitted.

“mingyu-” you began to pull away from him.

“stop calling me that,” he pulled away and looked you dead in the eye.

“what? your name? it’s your name, mingyu. what else am i supposed to call you?”

“please, ___. you know.” it sounded pathetic and you practically melted. “gyu,” you caved. he didn’t realize how much he missed you until this moment. well, he had been missing you since the two of you parted ways several months ago, but now that he had you so close to him, that he had just kissed you, he missed you more than ever. you were so close. he could just go back to kissing you. he really wanted to go back to kissing you.

you don’t know how you could let this happen. mingyu was always very nice to you. he was sweet, caring, attentive, all the things you could want in a boyfriend, but you just weren’t ready for the type of commitment you knew he craved.

he wanted to move in, settle down, get married, live life. it was all too real to you, so you ran.

sure it hurt to break up with him. to tell him that you didn’t want to move that fast, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever marry at all. it was all just too confusing. but now, that you were here with him, you knew that you had made a mistake.

but you had missed your chance.

he tried to move back in to kiss you again.

“gyu, stop,” you whispered. he did, but he didn’t back away. “go back to your date, gyu,” you sighed. “it isn’t fair to your date. it isn’t fair to you.”

“what do you mean, ___? i want you. i’ve only ever wanted you,” he complained, he couldn’t let you leave again. “i’ll wait for you, for as long as it takes for you to realize that it’ll always be you. that you’re the only one for me,” he rushed.

“don’t say that stuff, gyu,” you smiled at him resting your palm on his cheek. “i missed my chance with you. you deserve someone who will appreciate you from the start. you don’t deserve someone who makes you wait around.”

and with that, you pulled away from him, took a quick glance in the mirror and fixed your hair, and left.

and he had no choice but to let you.

xu minghao “oh, simple thing, where have you gone? i'm getting old, and i need something to rely on. so, tell me when you're gonna let me in. i'm getting tired, and i need somewhere to begin” - somewhere only we know by keane

“what do you want?” you asked, leaning against your door.

“can i, uh, get some books that i left here?” minghao asked not meeting your gaze. you squinted your eyes at him. this was so not minghao behavior. even though the two of you stopped hooking up a couple months ago there was still some sort of tension that made you want to claw your hair out. “yeah, i have work soon, so, uh, make it quick,” you mumbled, moving out of the way of the door. he nodded and quickly brushed past you.

your apartment was small and you knew what books he was looking for. they had been sitting on your coffee table for the past months. it wasn’t like you took time to read all five of them in his absence. it wasn’t like you ranked them by how much you thought he would like them. it wasn’t like you knew the book with the green cover would be his least favorite. but you knew you were never going to tell him that.

you picked up the stack of books and handed them to him. he took them and glanced around your apartment. he noticed that the painting the two of you made together as a joke was still hanging out by the window, and he couldn’t help be smile at that.

now there the two of you stood. saying nothing. being with minhao was always quiet, but never this type of quiet. this was stale and somewhat raw, you missed the times of soft comfortable silence.

“well, thank you for holding on to these,” he finally said.

“of course, i mean i’m not a monster who throws away books,” you chuckled. he laughed. you loved it when he laughed, especially since it took you ages to get him to stop stifling it around you.

“before i go, ___, i just need you to know that i don’t regret the things we had, and i don’t regret how things ended. i just need to know why.”

if you thought the air was stale before, you were not prepared for that. “i- i swear it has nothing to do with you,” you said. all he did was nod. “i don’t know,” you resigned yourself.

“yes, you do,” he shrugged. you stared at him, dumbfounded. yes you knew, but you were barely ready to admit it to yourself, how were you supposed to admit it to him?

“i understand that you’re lost, i am too. maybe you can’t tell me right now for whatever reason, maybe you don’t even know yourself, but i can’t stand not being around you,” he said finally.

you just looked at him. he wanted to be around you? after you broke up with him? he still wanted to be around you.

“look, i know it’s weird, but i’ve spent a lot of my time with you. i’ve genuinely enjoyed all the things we’ve done together, and i’m just at a loss for what to do. you were a huge part of my life and now that we’re not together i-” he rambled

“don’t know where to start again,” you finished for him. his eyes flickered between you and the ground.

you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same. leaving minghao had left some sort of void in your life that you weren’t prepared for. he had been a huge part of your life and then he was just gone. “i guess we could try to be friends again,” you suggested. “just to start again.”

he nodded.

deep down you knew you couldn’t just be friends with him, and he knew that too. yet, he agreed. he needed somewhere to begin again, and you did too. so like you always did, you would always come running back to each other even if it meant leaving each other for good in the future.

“hey, hao,” you called after him. he turned on his heel and looked at you expectantly. “don’t read the book with the green cover. you won’t like it,” you warned. he glanced down at the books he was carrying and back up at you. “noted,” he smiled. “i guess you’ll have to recommend me a different one next time.”

boo seungkwan “if i were a mountain, i'd stand my ground, and maybe i'd never listen. but if i were a mountain, i'd close my mouth and maybe i'd be forgiving” - i’m not a mountain by sarah kinsley

seungkwan tried. he tried his hardest. he gave his everything in every aspect of his life. he gave his all to you, yet for some reason it wasn’t enough. sure, he knew this wasn’t an official thing, but he still treated it as though it was.

“i just- i don’t understand,” he stammered. the look in your eyes was not one of malice or hatred, just sorrow. “i’m moving, kwan,” you sighed. “i can’t- i can’t make you wait for me. we can hardly make it when you make your trips.”

that was true. he needed you like oxygen and his job wasn’t necessarily very forgiving towards the health of his... friendships. “don’t you think we can work it out?” he questioned. “is everything we’ve done together mean nothing?”

“that’s the thing! everything we’ve done means everything to me,” you cried. “please just let me go. maybe if we meet again, it’ll be meant to be.”

he paused.

it meant everything? did that mean...

“i can’t just let you go. we are meant to be. us, here. right now. this is right. why can’t you see that?”

from his perspective, it was his fault.

did he not show you enough love? did he not text or call enough when he was away? was he not a nice enough friend for you to stay?

if he was stronger he would’ve stopped you, even though he knew you were right. some people say that couples who are meant to be together can last the test of time and distance, but that was the issue. you and seungkwan were meant to be together, physically, mentally, emotionally.

“seungkwan, please just - i’m sorry. i can’t play this game anymore.”

“then let’s stop playing, i’ll give you everything!”

“but i can’t give you everything.”

that would be fine, as long as you’re with me, he thought.

“i’m sorry, seungkwan. i- do like you, a lot. more than i should. and it isn’t fair to you to wait for someone like me who can’t love you in the way you deserve,” you sighed, making your way to the door.

if seungkwan was stronger, he would kiss you. he would hold you in his arms and tell you that you are the only person he’ll ever need or want. he would tell you that he loves you. he would ignore the things you said about leaving and make you stay. make you see that you were his world.

if seungkwan was stronger, he would stand there and forgive you for all the times you couldn’t give him your all. he would forgive you for ghosting him occasionally. he would forgive you for breaking his heart.

but seungkwan, wasn’t strong enough to do that. he was upset that you could walk away. he was upset that you were crying about this. he was upset that he couldn’t do anything about it. his facade was in shambles, and his world was crumbling around him.

instead of standing up and protesting anymore, he shut his mouth and bowed his head. tears were dotting the floor as he heard you make your way to the door. “i’m sorry, seungkwan. i love you,” you whispered.

he heard.

“i love you too,” he said as the door clicked shut.

choi vernon 어느 날 우연히 마주치면그건 우연이 아닐지 몰라 “if we meet by chance one day, maybe it’s not a coincidence” - one day by chance by ailee

“you have to meet him!” your friend giggled. “he’s so your type!”

“type? and what would that be exactly?” you entertained the notion.

“im not sure, but he’s for sure your type!” you rolled your eyes. you hadn’t dated anyone since high school, and even then it wasn’t that serious. “and what if he isn’t my so-called type?” you questioned.

“then you get to hang out with me at an awesome party,” she stated.

you didn’t even like going to parties, but you only went to entertain her (and to be her ride home). when you finally arrived at the party she slipped way saying that she was off to find the guy. you sighed and made your way the kitchen to find the bottled water. it was most likely going to be a long night and you were-

“oh hey, sorry,” the guy you just bumped shoulders with apologized instantly.

“no worries, i wasn’t watching-” you paused. “- where i was going.”

“___.”

“vernon.”

“there you are! oh! look you found him before i did!” your friend exclaimed a cup already in her hand.

right. this was the only person in high school that you had a relationship with and thought it was mildly serious. “you were looking for me?” he cocked an eyebrow at you.

“no.”

“yes! i think ___ is just your type!” you friend practically screeched.

“is that so?”

“i’m afraid not. i’ll be outside,” you grumbled to your now confused friend as you walked out the back door. you heard your friend calling after you, but you couldn’t be bothered. it wasn’t like you held a grudge towards vernon, but he was the first guy to break your heart. you knew it was just a stupid high school relationship, but there was something about him. something that was so charmingly awkward that you couldn’t help but enjoy his lame jokes and not as lame music tastes. you didn’t even announce to your friends that you were dating, you didn’t really announce it to yourselves either. it just started. and it just sort of ended. maybe the reason it hurt so much to see him here was simply because there wasn’t any screaming or crying or fighting when it all ended. just zero effort or care was behind the ending.

then something just happened and the two of you just stopped hanging out as much. you knew you couldn’t completely blame it on him. he started hanging out with a different crowd, as did you. and suddenly, it wasn’t. the breakup was as quiet as the get together. but it didn’t hurt any less to see him with his arm around someone else at lunch.

after high school you tried your best to move as far away from your hometown. you largely succeeded. new friends, new places, new experiences. you had it all while avoiding any contact from your previous life. but there was always that thought lurking in the back of your mind about what could’ve been.

it was just a stupid high school thing. then why was your heart beating so much?

you were too lost in thought to notice that vernon had joined you on the porch. “long time no see,” he said, taking a drink from his cup. you scoffed, but not so much in an unfriendly way. just a “that was such a you thing to say” scoff. he laughed taking a sip of his drink. and there you sat in silence. it was comfortable until it wasn’t.

“why’d we stop talking,” you asked suddenly. he shrugged. “not an answer, vernon,” you groaned.

“we grew a part, i guess.” the conversation topic obviously irked him. it was weird, because you had dreamt of this moment for as long as you could remember. reuniting with your high school boyfriend. it seemed far fetched, yet here you were. you were never one to believe in that metaphysical stuff, but maybe this meant something. maybe this was the universe saying something. no. it couldn’t. it was too good to be true.

“did you feel anything for me? i mean, back then at least,” you asked finally.

“yes,” he said, with a sort of certainty that scared you.

“okay, good.” you turned and you were about to go back inside as you muttered to yourself, “at least now i can move on.”

“what if i don’t want you to?” he called.

“excuse me?” you turned on your heel to stare at him.

“what if i don’t want you to move on?” he repeated.

“then you should’ve tried.”

lee chan “got to get it in my head, i'll never be 16 again. i'm waiting to live, and waiting to love” - when by dodie

some things never lasted, and that was a tough pill to swallow. an especially tough one for chan. he moved away, but he had his phone and your number (and address if he needed to resort to letters). there shouldn’t have been a problem. he promised he’d call or text at least once a day, as did you.

and for a while. it worked. things were just the same as they were. almost as if he had never even left.

yet as time passed, he wasn’t expecting to be so busy with his new neighborhood, school, and friends. so, he forgot to text and call quite often actually. just sporadic texts for holidays, funny things, “hellos” and “goodnights.” nothing like what you two were like before. and soon, that became the new normal - for the next four years.

that is until one day when he suddenly remembered the deal the two of you had. he felt guilty. every day turned into every two weeks to once every month, and even less frequent than that. he had promised you the bare minimum, after all, you two were best friends.

however, when he looked at your contact and messages, he realized that you never reached out that much either. just the same “happy winter break!” or “aren’t you so glad summer break is here?” or “we should visit each other soon.” those plans never came to be.

maybe if he had just told you how he felt before he left, the remnants of your relationship wouldn’t be in such shambles. you would have a reason to text and call him. you would have a reason to come and see him and vice versa. except, he didn’t. you two were better off as friends anyway.

and he thoroughly believed that himself. he really believed it when it was the summer and he wanted to visit his grandparents who happened to live a little outside your childhood town. he still loved you even if he couldn’t call you every day to show it. who knows, maybe he could pass through, see you, and finally get to tell you how he felt after all these years. just because you guys didn’t talk as much didn’t mean things would be awkward or weird, right? and it definitely wouldn’t be weird if he just confessed his feelings he had been harboring for you since the seventh grade, right? the feelings he concealed and tucked away just in case you didn’t feel the same. the feelings he didn’t want to risk a friendship over. the feelings that still made him dream of you.

so as he drove through his small hometown he parked along the street where the two of you would walk and window shop. he got out and strolled around greeting some of the older store owners who “oohed” and “ahhed” at him. he was finishing up his conversation with the baker when he heard it.

the undeniable sound of sunshine. the laugh he grew accustomed to throughout your entire elementary and middle school years. he bid farewell, and went searching for it. he walked down the street and looked for it, for you. then he came to the end of the sidewalk and saw you. you were sitting on a bench with some ice cream. you looked beautiful. your eyes bright and smile wide. so bright and wide that he almost missed the guy who was wrapping you up in his arms and kissing your forehead.

oh.

so things did change. chan didn’t recognize the guy, but he knew this guy was more than a friend. his heart was sinking to the bottom of his stomach. and it sunk even further when he realize he needed to walk right by you to get to his car.

shit.

just tear off the band-aid fast. maybe you wouldn’t recognize him. maybe you would be too immersed in the conversation you were having the guy to notice. he didn’t know what he would say to you. confessing wasn’t exactly appropriate now, not that it ever was. would he be awkward? oh please don’t be awkward, he pleaded with himself.

so he just went. he just walked. looked around at his surroundings. acted nonchalant. he was the closest to you he’d been in years, and he couldn’t even bring himself to wave at you, let alone look you in the eye. he ducked his head when he got closer to passing the bench where you sat. he kept his eyes to the ground and successfully made it past your table. there was approximately five beats of his heart when it dropped again. “chan? is that you?” you called after him, he heard you get up from the bench. he looked over his shoulder slightly, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully turn around. you stood in the middle of the sidewalk, ice cream melting down your hand, and your presumed boyfriend staying off to the side. he turned back around to keep walking to his car. “god, chan!” you shouted. “get back here! why didn’t you tell me you were going to be in town?”

“sorry, i- i have to get to my grandparents’ place by dinner. it was nice running into you, ___,” he mumbled, blinking his eyes to stop the tears from falling.

“chan, come on, it’ll be quick.” you were getting closer to him. he couldn’t let that happen.

“no, ___. i can’t. i have to go.” i don’t know what i was thinking. “i’m sorry. just text me or something.”

he really should’ve told you how he felt when he was sixteen.

min | mmmm sad foolish people in love.... i wanted to do one with ceilings but i already did doomsday so i didn’t want to go overboard with lizzy... it’s been a while since i wrote angst ALKDJ leave so feedback in the comments or in the tags (they’re all greatly appreciated) not proofread

#seventeen #seventeen reactions #seventeen headcanons #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #vernon x reader #joshua x reader #jeonghan x reader #minghao x reader #dokyeom x reader #seventeen fluff #mingyu x reader #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo angst

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kens-ramblings · 3 months ago

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Hello me with brain worms again (Tim version this time)! this is gonna sound insane so just hear me out right. per usual this can be whatever ship you want idgaf.

so tim is a singer who is in a situationship with whoever you prefer. he loves them, but feels like they only see him as a warm body yk. he writes ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine and preforms it at a concert that he knows his fwb will be at and then the fwb is like,,, “holy shit is this abt me??? no way he def doesn’t like me like that”(to add angst i like to think they have a no kissing rule in place bc it makes sense w/ the lyrics). some time passes but now the fwb is stuck on the song and is now like “shit maybe i like tim but there’s no way he likes me too” but then tim drops a double feature of once more to see you by mitski and you’re all i want by cigarettes after sex and maybe those songs include definite references to their relationship(you can also pick which lines are specific to them). so they are like “holy shit!! no way!!! i gotta go kiss this man rn!” but then when they see tim after the show and tim thinks that they are only kissing him to like appease him and not because they actually want to. and then a bunch of miscommunication and angst ensues. and yeah,, idk where it would go from there but i think it’d be very angst but eventually they do end up together and tim now gets to write cute and happy love songs.

this only even popped in my head bc those three songs randomly played one after the other on my playlist while i was reading tim angst so,,, yeah

if this rambling somehow inspires you please write a fic and tag me i love reading tim being put through a salad spinner

#tim drake #he needs a hug #i like to think he eventually gets one and also some smooches #red robin #no mask au #singer tim drake #jaytim #timkon #timsteph #timbart #this can be whatever ship you want #you get the idea #fic prompt #the brainrot is real #angst #tim angst

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butch-marauders · 5 months ago

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Last updated: 20.11.24

Intro

Hey I’m Alex or Joh, I use she/they/he pronouns and I’m a minor so don’t be creepy or something shit like that.

Pronouns, Sexuality and Name change depending on which headmate is fronting but those above are always fine

Here is the ask game I’m currently doing about my tics

I’m a butch lesbian, I’m autistic and ADHD, I have a chronic illness and a tic disorder but haven’t figured out what specifically they each are and I’m a dog therian

Kind of an explanation why I’m not so active on here anymore but also kind of a rant here

I don’t have my phone from 9pm to 9am everyday CET

Always happy to receive asks

But please don’t send me asks for donations, more to that here

I’m a gamer so if you wanna chat about a game just send an ask!

DNI the usual stuff just in general people who hate/discriminate others, people who don’t respect micro labels and neo pronouns and other weird queer identities or any kind of therians and otherkins, anti-endos

I am pro ship so if you have a problem with that don’t fucking harass ppl about it let everyone like whatever they want!!!!!! Here’s a post for every one who has a problem with it lo

Heartbroken, but not cause of a breakup but cause there was no one to break up with in the first place. Maybe that’s just called being lonely

We’re here, we’re queer, we’re weird, get used to it

My side blogs:

for sys stuff @moon-and-wolves-collective

for more fucked up and kinky stuff @butwhybloodkindahot

for gaming stuff @husky-on-pc

for therian stuff @butch-husky-boy

for shity poetry and feelings @feelingsarescary

My ao3 is 22JohMarauders12

On many days I heavily relay on my imaginary friends to function properly, I refer to them mostly as my if’s or headmates

We are a walk in system which means some days they feel more like a part of me then anything you could separate from me so we sometimes use plural pronouns to refer to ourselve. We’ll make a post explaining our plurality more soon but for now we just wanna make clear we don’t have DID and don’t claim we do in any way!

List of my headmates here

My tags

#alex’ silly thoughts

#alex’ rants

#alex talks to ppl

#my art/#alex’ art

#moodboards

#my mood boards/#my collage

#autismmmm

#my if’s

#der die das deutsch

#posts with important advice

#intro #my art #alex’ silly thoughts #autismmmm #slipping #my if’s #alex’ rants #alex’ tag games #my emo episodes 🖤#my collage #alex talks to ppl #Spotify

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sonolynn · 5 months ago

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writing prompts

If you'd like to make a request, but don't know what to request, here are some prompts!!

Use these prompts if you want to make a request!

PSA: I made all of these quotes, aka they came from my brain (if they didn't then I reference who they did come from). You are welcome to use any of these in one of your own fics, just make sure to credit me! (more directed at the fluff and angst section, smut is just general phrases).

____________________________________________

Fluff:

"You are the poem I will spend the rest of my days writing."

"If the world disappeared you would be the one I looked for."

"I love you as if it is breathing-instictively-not even doing it."

"Your existence is proof alone that generations of your face has been loved."

"Her smile is infectious and I want nothing more to be infected."

"I'll make death pry me away from you."

"You are the best sun any Icarus could ask for."

"I know we promised to not fall in love but I've never been great at keeping promises."

"If your heart were a skill, I would spend years perfecting how to make you fall in love with me."

"You're beautiful. More beautiful now than ever."

"I can't not look at you."

"Your eyes hold my heart."

"Can you feel that? Feel how my heart bangs against my chest, wising it would be free to sit in your hands?"

"You don't even know the most of what I feel for you."

"It's not bad, to be in love."

"Let me love you."

"You've always been more than enough."

"I can't get you out of my head. Even when I close my eyes you're in the back of my mind."

"Trust me! Happy, scared, angry-I don't care just trust me."

"I saved the best parts of me for you."

____________________________________________

Angst:

"She gave me something close to what I feel for you, but not quite there."

"Is she/he staring at the moon the same way that I stare at her/him?"

"You've won the heart I've spent all of my days trying to protect."

"My soul aches for your every word."

"If a man can't love you then who can?"

"Half of my heart is in your chest." (Mama's boy by Dominic Fike)

"Need me, even if it isn't as much as I need you."

"He didn't need anyone with me, but he needed someone after me."

Person A: "You never answered my letters" Person B: "You sent letters?"

"I was just a secrete to you?"

"My heart is not my own."

"It was just a dream."

"You don't exist!"

"I didn't ask for this-for us!"

"It's for the better then. Because I don't deserve this."

"Open your eyes."

"You can't just leave me after everything we've been through."

"You are a broken piece of glass. The more I try to fix you the more you hurt me."

"I can't love you."

"You're not who I feel in love with. You're not the same."

____________________________________________

Smut:

"Let me ruin you."

"Oh I intend to worship."

"Your body deserves to be ravished."

"Touch me like nobody else does." (Ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine)

"I can't not fuck you when you look at me like that."

"I need you."

"Let me take care of you."

"Shhh...I got you, love."

"You're going to drive me mad."

"I'm on my knees, what more could you want?"

"Let go for me."

"You're mine."

"Your body is mine to please, your brain is mine to fuck up."

"You look so pretty with tears in your eyes."

"Does your husband/wife know you're beneath me?"

"I know you want me."

"Show me how much you wish for me to ravish you."

"Don't stop on my account."

"You would be so much prettier with your lips wrapped around my cock."

"You can't possibly mean that after how I had you screaming my name last night."

____________________________________________

If you have any other ideas then feel free to send them! This is more of a guide! <3

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strvlveera · 2 years ago

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𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥.

pairing: royalty!oikawa x afab!reader

genre: royal au, angst w/happy ending, fluff

w/c: 10.7k (help me)

warnings: swearing (lmk if there should be more !)

synopsis: sick and tired of the looming castle walls, tooru decides to adventure outwards. somewhere he wasn't allowed to go. dressed as a young 'peasant' boy tooru comes across the delicious smell of fresh baked bread. considering he was starving he marched right in demanding a loaf of bread, forgetting he wasn't in normal attire. you, the daughter of the baker, found him a headache but also amusing. I mean what source of entertainment can you get when you're so poor?

"I am your prince!"

"...then why are you dressed like that?"

(lowercase intended)

slightly based on 'ceilings' by lizzy mcalpine

a/n: this isn't proofread so there may be careless mistakes! the synopsis doesn't comprehend how much angst there will be... I made this fic as an excuse to not sleep...got this idea at 2 am so T_T honestly since hq is coming back(?) soon I just want my home boy back...

I also apologise for not getting this done sooner i don't know why it took me so long.. anyways enjoy!

btw can you spot a manwha reference too?

NOT PROOF READ!

taglist: @tooruchiiscribs @qualitygiantshoepsychic @sillykawa @rukia-uchiha-98 @softcd @misfit-megumi @suzizanne

"sit here and reminisce about your actions. I have a lot of things to do today," the king calmly demanded tooru as he whined and grumbled, dragging him by the arm to his room.

"I just wanted to play, you're always so busy and nee-san is always holding tea parties with her friends!" tooru exclaimed, crossing arms.

"you'll understand in the future. when you’re king, you'll always be busy."

"what if I don't want to be king? I want to be a knight! I want to be free and keep my friends safe, as well as you and nee-san," tooru proudly said to his father, as if convincing him that taking the throne was what he wasn't destined for.

the king mockingly laughed, not taking tooru's words seriously.

"keep an eye on him, don't let him leave this room until I come back," stated the king to the guard outside who gave a quick nod.

"of course, your highness."

"i'll be off then tooru, behave."

with the creak of the closing door tooru sprawled his arms across the bed as he flumped down, a sour look on his face staring into the ceiling.

"behave tooru! oh, look at me being too busy being a king that I don't even have time for my son!" mocks tooru, reminiscing about his father's stern words rather than his own actions.

i mean, it wasn't his fault that he 'accidentally' hit his great-grandfather's statue. it wasn’t as if he was trying to catch anyone's attention. it wasn't his fault he was alone most of the day, except when the royal tutor came. it wasn’t his fault that the dreams of becoming a knight got disregarded as soon as he even said the word 'knight', as if it wasn’t an option.

tooru had to practically beg his father for swordsmanship lessons, even though he was so young, desperately clinging to his dream of becoming a knight. why? to be free from his fate, his destiny and yet his father still said no.

"king this, king that, why not knight this, knight that?" questioned tooru, still huffing from his father's words.

he doesn't even want to be king anyway. the responsibility of it seemed trapping as if he'd be a bird in a cage with everyone watching his every move.

silently staring at the ceiling with a blank face, tooru decides on an escape plan. except this time he'll escape to the city. the place where his father told him to never go.

"you'll catch a deadly disease! how will you train to be a knight?"

the memory passed through his mind.

"how am I supposed to be a knight anyway whenever I'm always confined in this boring palace?" tooru thought out loud.

knights are daring and dashing and most importantly loved by all. if tooru wanted to be a knight, he'd have to be a little adventurous and brave.

"if mother was here she'd let me go," says tooru, quietly reassuring himself that his decision was beneficial and ethical.

finding old clothes from the back of his wardrobe, he tried his best to make himself an unroyal attire. with a bit of tearing in certain parts tooru proudly stood in front of his mirror with his disguise, ready for operation: escape to town.

"soo original tooru.."

..·:*¨༺ ♚ ༻¨*:·.

tooru's ears perked up to the sound of the bustling streets of the city, his eyes lighting up with excitement as crowds of people strolled up and down the street. some frantically buying groceries from the local market, some sitting outside having a beverage of choice whilst talking with the person opposite, laughing at each other's comments.

this is way more fun than the palace thought tooru, as he gazed around.

alas, with the growl of his stomach, tooru then realised how he barely had any food that day as he was having too much fun causing chaos at the palace.

"i should've brought money for food, why am i so dumb?!," tooru whines, whilst ruffling his hair out of frustration.

the feeling of his empty stomach made tooru more impatient until he smelt a whiff of something delicious. following the scent like a delirious zombie, tooru came to a halt when he came across a bakery. as he opened the door a ding came from a bell and his eyes landed upon a girl, which he assumed to be his age, putting some sort of pastry in an oven until she realised the presence of tooru and quickly wiped her floury hands, rushing towards him.

"hello, sir, welcome to shokupan. unfortunately, you're visiting during our closing hours, would you like to leave in an order for tomorrow?" she asks with a click of a pen, smiling at tooru as he processes what she just asked.

"i need that loaf of bread," demanded tooru pointing to the freshly baked milk bread on the counter, ignoring the girl’s question.

following tooru's finger, the girl realised what he was asking for and nervously chuckled.

"o-oh! i'm sorry but that isn't to be bought by anyone except the man that ordered it earlier. may i ask again if you want to order anything for tomorrow?" she asks again.

by now tooru's patience was wearing thin. with an awful combination of an empty stomach and tired legs, he started to grow irritated but so were you. yes, you. the baker's daughter.

with your father off for deliveries, you had to look after the bakery; taking orders everyday, making the dough and baking most of the bread yourself. with a job like this, it can get very tiring easily. especially with ignorant customers but that was rare. until today, where you had the 'fortunate' opportunity to stumble across a hungry and grumpy tooru.

"i don't want or need anything for tomorrow. what i need is that bread - so would you just give it to me?" demanded tooru once again.

you sighed, putting a hand to your forehead being physically and mentally exhausted from the hard work and now him.

"as i've said before, sir, i can't just give you a loaf of bread. if you don't want to order anything i'll have to ask you to leave so that i can close up the bakery," and with that you began to head back to the kitchen.

"you don't understand, i need that bread now! i'm dying of hunger, don't you pity me?" pleaded tooru with furrowed eyebrows, desperate for a bite of that delicious looking bread.

"look, there are many people who wander in and out of the bakery looking for pastries but unfortunately i can't give you it without permission from my boss. it's just how business runs around here," you shrugged, used to the situation.

normally, you'd give him a loaf of free bread, however word got out that you gave out free bread to those who couldn't afford it and an upburst happened causing the bakery to be shut down for a whole week. your father was certainly not happy about what happened but was glad that you were charitable and sympathetic to the people.

of course tooru had no idea this happened, he never read the newspapers anyway as they were too boring to him. he'd rather run around the palace causing chaos.

with tooru in desperate need of food he decided to play his trump card.

he cleared his throat and proudly stated, "although i may not look like it, i am actually prince tooru of the oikawa family, ruler of this city and province. as of now i may not look like the part, because i am on a very special mission, but i can reassure you that this is your dear prince."

with a small hair flip and a smug smile tooru awaited an apology but instead found you laughing hysterically like a hyena.

offended, tooru immediately questions, "w-what's wrong? you should be cowering before me and asking for my forgiveness, why are you laughing like a maniac?"

obviously you couldn't reply, still holding your stomach as you try to catch your breath from laughing too much.

"b-because…." you began but immediately started laughing again.

tooru scoffed, flabbergasted at your behaviour and disrespect to him as a royal. you were just a commoner and he was royalty, how dare you mock him like this?

"i don't know why you think this is hilarious but i am not lying. i am your prince!" proclaimed tooru, tired of your actions.

calming yourself down with a shaky breath out, you look at (a very annoyed) tooru up and down.

"if you really are the prince, which is very unlikely considering that this is the west side of the city, then why are you dressed like that?" you questioned, suspicious of his manner and clothes.

confused, tooru stops glaring at you and begins to analyse his outfit and quickly realises what you meant.

"oh…."

you chuckle in disbelief and maybe even pity, thinking he's gone mad already as a teenager.

"yeah, oh."

embarrassingly, tooru took off the smug look off his face and cleared his throat.

"you're not doing a very good job at convincing me prince tooru," you mocked, cheekily smiling at him.

"maybe i need more time to enhance my skills," tooru replies with an eye roll.

what a pity you thought, he was really entertaining. you wondered if he did acting as a job.

“well, i guess this is the part where i go,” tooru awkwardly began as he slowly turned to walk out the door, mostly out of embarrassment and the need to get home. his father would be furious if he found him dressed like this.

"wait just a second," you frantically said, trying to catch up with him, after grabbing something from the counter.

he anxiously turns, not wanting to be humiliated even more. however, to his delight you handed him a paper bag filled with a loaf of milk bread. you could immediately see how his demeanour changed and how his eyes lit up, almost as if there were stars in them.

"c-can i really have this?" asked tooru, with saliva already threatening to drip from his mouth.

"of course, i'm not that cruel. plus, i saw you eyeing up the milk bread from earlier. you looked like you really couldn't live without it. i’ll just make another batch for the old man," you replied with a small smile, mentally reminding yourself to not tell your father about this. who knows what would happen.

relief spread across tooru's face.

"thank you…?"

"ah - i'm y/n."

"thank you y/n," tooru replies with a wide smile, grateful for the milk bread.

with a bright smile, you waved goodbye to tooru as the bell of the door rang once again, indicating he was leaving to your dismay.

"come back soon!" you called out to tooru, secretly wishing to see him again tomorrow.

happily chewing on the milk bread, tooru smiled to himself filled with content, glad of the encounter and his courage to adventure off.

his father certainly wouldn't be pleased if he found out.

..·:*¨༺ ♚ ༻¨*:·.

it was the following day and you couldn't help but secretly wait for a certain someone to come through the door. most of your customers were regulars so it was usually the same people saying the same things that you already knew about even when you'd make conversation asking,"anything new happen?" and with them replying with,"it's always the same old y/n."

it was pretty boring in the west end, except for all the crime that's been lurking around. the ring of the bell came and you turned around, only to be met by the same boy from yesterday. you were ecstatic to see the brown haired boy again. swiftly walking over to him you greet him with another milk bread you made just for him.

"well if it isn't the prince tooru, gracing me with his presence again," you sarcastically say, with a little courtesy.

it wasn't until you got a proper look at him that you realised how he was panting, trying to catch his breath and the plum bruise on his face.

tooru saw how fast your reaction to the bruise was, as your eyes started to fill with worry and concern. with furrowed eyebrows you hesitantly touched his face and he backed away.

"i'm so sorry tooru I didn't mean to-"

"no-no it's fine y/n don't worry, I don't know why I backed up in the first place," he reassuringly said.

although, in reality he backed away because he got nervous when you touched him. it felt comforting, which was a foreign emotion to tooru ever since his mother passed away.

"are you okay? how'd you get the bruise? did something happen?" you asked, bombarding him with questions, wondering how he ended up like this.

tooru found it really heart-warming how you only knew him for less than twenty-four hours and yet you showed so much concern for him. most of the maids in the palace only cared about his safety so that they wouldn't get fired by the king. to have someone genuinely worry about him made him feel as if he was valued as a human being, instead of "the king's son" or "the heir to the throne".

he actually got the bruise by accidently bumping into a gang that didn't look very pleased with him. he ran as fast as he could, screaming his lungs out.

"not very knightly of you tooru," he thought.

he made sure to not tell you about this.

he softly smiled at you as he said, "nothing, don't worry about it,"

not wanting to pry anymore, you let it go although you were still sceptical about the ordeal.

"well, if you say so. how about we enjoy the milk bread i prepared for you? it's a slow day today so we can sit down and have a chat outside," you insisted, leading tooru outside.

..·:*¨༺ ♚ ༻¨*:·.

throughout the next few months you both continued to meet each other. with tooru sneaking out the palace more often and you already having freshly baked milk bread just for him. your father would get suspicious, catching you smiling to yourself at random times of the day whenever he was at the bakery but brushed it off as he was glad to see you happy rather than tired from all the work he gave you.

with your father starting to help more at the bakery than doing deliveries, you decided to pick a new meetup spot with tooru so that you two could talk with as much freedom as possible. without your father glaring at tooru as he did with his first encounter with him.

you showed him your hidden gem, a place where you would run to when the world would overwhelm you. your safe haven. urging tooru to go in first, his eyes were blessed with a charming peaceful meadow, secluded from society which was a good thing, as its beauty was preserved for you to see and now tooru. surprisingly you haven't even shown your father this heaven but you willingly led tooru here.

there was something about this milk bread obsessed boy that made you feel as if you could trust him. you've had male friends before but they would always tease you that you were a one trick pony as you could only bake but barely cook to save your life.

“ugh! I keep burning the bacon….” you grumbled, looking over to the pile of burnt bacon on the counter.

"just stick to baking y/n, it's the only thing you're good at," matsukawa slyly said, with the classic smirk of his which resulted in a loud smack to his head. he deserved it.

they never took you seriously. until tooru came along and changed your perspective. yes, he would be very arrogant at some points but alas that was just how he was and without it he wouldn't be as charming. it also brought out a new side of you, where you would make snarky remarks to him which would end in the both of you hugging your stomachs from laughing or tooru pouting.

relaxing down on a light patch of grass, you began talking about the future, a common topic in your conversations to tooru's dismay but it ended up helping him release his bottled up problems.

"i feel bad," you began, in a soft tone.

"why? you've done nothing except give me happiness," he questioned, confused by your sudden statement.

flustered by the choice of words that he used, you averted your eyes. clearing your throat you continued,”i always complain about my life and talk about my problems and yet you never get the chance to talk sometimes, when we talk about the future or anything serious in general.”

realising how insensitive you sound, your eyes widen and turn to tooru to apologise.

“i didn’t mean that-i mean I did but not in that context. of course you don’t have to talk about touchy subjects in your life if you don’t want to,” you paused for a second, trying not to panic and calmly collect your thoughts.

“I guess what i'm trying to say is, you can talk to me. you can talk about anything, other than your love for the milk bread i give you,” that earned a chuckle from tooru.

You grin, pleased that you received a positive reaction from him.

“i know we’ve only been friends for quite a while and i whole-heartedly understand if you feel a bit uncomfortable with all of this. just know I’ll always be here tooru,” you concluded, slightly embarrassed by what you said.

"aww….y/n, you care so much about me huh?" teased tooru, although he secretly soaked up all your words.

you sulked, embarrassed at your actions and mostly how tooru reacted to what you said but also not very surprised by his antics. tooru was busy laughing at your demeanour.

"sorry y/n, i didn't want to ruin the moment by laughing but i am really touched I swear!" tooru explained.

"i poured my heart and soul into that and you're here making fun of me!" you grumbled, purposely exaggerating your words so that he'd apologise soon.

tooru's laugh rang in your ears and he quickly apologised for teasing you.

"don't worry y/n, i listened very carefully. you have no idea how much I appreciate you."

just as you were about to say "thank you", tooru continued.

"mostly because of the milk bread you bake for me but don't worry i also appreciate the company just not as much as the bread," he cheekily said, earning a smack in the back of his head from you.

"ouch! what was that for?" he whined.

"i’m not give you milk bread anymore," you replied with a stone face.

tooru gasped and started pleading for your mercy, trying to flatter you with compliments as you got up from the dented grass and started walking away from him.

"y/n you're an angel, you know that right?"

"yes tooru i know i am. now stop clinging onto my cardigan or else I'll feed you raw dough instead."

you only gave into his pleas when he started bowing down to you in the middle of the street when you were trying to ignore him.

"almighty y/n, i am a sinful man begging for your forgiveness. please give me a loaf of milk bread."

"tooru people are starting to look, please get up," you hurryingly pleaded.

he gave you one last glance and in return you gave him a dirty look, already fed up with his act.

"almighty y/n, please listen to my prayer-"

"fine, fine! i'll give you free milk bread again…"

"oh thank you! almighty-"

"i'm seriously going to punch you."

--- ⁠✧

the day ended with tooru beaming with happiness as he ate his milk bread, and you sat across from him once again with your hand resting against your chin gazing upon his figure. you never understood why your milk bread was so special to him but you were glad that you could make him happy in some sort of way.

"maybe I should start charging you, we might just go bankrupt from all the free bread we've given you," you teased, already knowing what he'd say.

"well it isn't my fault that they taste so good!" tooru whined.

you giggled and went back to staring at him, appreciating his beauty. the way his smooth skin glistened against the withering glows of the sun, the way his lips parted to take a bite of the bread, the way his brown eyes would melt into golden rays as the sunlight hit his face. how on earth could this boy in front of you be a commoner when his looks alone could help him get a job easily?

"you know you're really pretty tooru, even when you have a lot of crumbs on your face," you randomly said as you focused on specific parts of his face.

tooru almost choked on the milk bread, surprised at your sudden statement.

"of course i'm pretty. i am a prince after all," he nervously chuckled trying to cover up his flustered expression.

"are you still acting as if you're a prince?" you questioned, amused that he’s still keeping up the act.

with a smug face, tooru replied,"when the time comes and you see that i am a prince, you will be so shocked and i'd laugh right in your face."

you rolled your eyes as you thought,"yeah right. as if a prince would be sitting right in front me, stuffing his face with the milk bread that i baked. tooru is seriously unbelievable."

it wasn't until a year later that it became believable. specifically, on his eighteenth birthday.

..·:*¨༺ ♚ ༻¨*:·.

"be careful with those plates!"

"which colour would you like your highness? celeste or baby blue?"

"would you like chocolate or vanilla frosting on the cake, your highness?"

the palace was clearly bustling with noise and excitement. why? because it’s tooru’s special eighteenth birthday tomorrow.

tooru hadn't realised it until a while ago but his heart started to soften more and more at every encounter you two had.

maybe it was because of the countless amounts of milk bread you would prepare for him which made tooru question if you were making it with the intent of seeing him (probably not). sure, all the chefs and maids in the palace prepared the most luxurious food for him but it just felt the same with every meal but it was somehow different with you.

maybe it was because of the uplifting conversations you would have, where you both could voice your thoughts and opinions on a variety of subjects with no worries of being judged. tooru swore at himself, wondering what he'd gotten himself into and yet he still consciously ventured further, wanting to learn more about you, other than you being a baker's daughter. you didn't know his true identity and yet you were so thoughtful towards him.

although, it felt selfish as he couldn't truthfully tell you his identity, he continued to pursue a growing friendship whilst walking home with a guilty heart each time he saw you. he was addicted. now that he was turning eighteen, tooru couldn’t hide it any longer. he had to tell you, one way or another. before it was too late and before he’d have to go back to the life he had without you. a boring, uneventful life.

--- ⁠✧

“why didn't i sleep early last night?” you questioned yourself, yawning for what felt like the hundredth time.

honestly, you stayed up last night because you knew it was tooru's birthday tomorrow and you were crocheting a scarf for the first time, even though it was the middle of summer. you couldn’t just bring him to the meadow and eat ice cream and milk bread all day like all the other years you spent celebrating his birthday. no, it had to be something different, something that no one else could give him and something that you've never done before especially since he was now getting to the age of marriage.

you were in the middle of putting the classic milk bread that you’d make for tooru in the oven when you heard the ring of the doorbell as it opened. you didn’t recognise the person making his way towards you but he looked oddly familiar.

with another yawn you groggily said,”hello welcome to shokupan, what can i get for you?”

“uh- y/n?” he spoke, as if he was confused.

you lazily smiled and looked up to the man, “yup that’s me, what can i-,” it was only then that you realised that this stranger knew your name and only then you realised who exactly it was.

your tired eyes quickly shot open, as if you got electrocuted. it was tooru, but he was dressed so magnificently. a bright, shining suit adorned his figure; gold shoulder pads showing off his broad shoulders; perfectly combed hair that would usually be messy and unkempt.

"t-tooru?" you whispered, wondering if you were still dreaming. was this really your tooru?

he chuckled,"yes n/n, it's really me," whilst sarcastically posing for you. however, you couldn't respond. you were speechless.

"y/n? are you okay?" tooru asked, concerned but also amused at your unresponsive state.

as tooru's words went in one ear and out the other you got out of your tranced state and started firing questions at tooru, "why are you dressed like that? where'd you get the money? did you loan the money? tooru you can't use all your savings on a suit, what about food?"

tooru couldn't contain his laughter any longer and bursted out laughing.

"what's so funny about spending all your money on something you don't even need?!" you exclaimed, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of tooru's actions.

as tooru's laugh died down, he gazed at you with a smug smile.

"i told you before that one day i'd show you that i'm a prince and that you'd never believe me. so here i am y/n, prince tooru of the oikawa family, inviting you to attend a ball tomorrow to celebrate my birthday," he gracefully bowed down whilst holding out an envelope towards you which you hesitantly took from him.

carefully, you observed the envelope, wondering if tooru was actually a prince or if he was just playing one of his silly games on you again. you knew your answer as soon as you flipt the envelope to shockingly fix your eyes on the royal seal, a four leaf clover crest. anybody could recognise as the city was adorned with the symbol. in disbelief, you lifted your head to tooru with wide eyes.

“you…” you started, trying to comprehend everything with your already jumbled mind.

“i’m?” tooru replied, anxious to see your reaction.

“you’re a prince,” you whispered, not believing your own words.

slowly, the cogs were starting to work in your brain, the pieces of the puzzle were connecting. why haven't you noticed? tooru always implied it even in your first encounter. there were many other reasons too on why he’d be a prince; he always had to leave early or he was late; the amount of times you’ve patched him up without you knowing that it was because of his swordsmanship lessons last year; the way he was able to read sophisticated words and write with very neat handwriting, which commoners couldn't do simply because they didn't have the money for the education; the way he never showed you where he lived or where he was from; the way he never talked about himself during your conversations. it all made sense and yet you were too dense to even realise it. you were angry and disappointed with yourself.

“why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you questioned, wondering if he thought of you as a person who couldn't be trusted.

“well, i guess i just…” he paused and took a breath in.

“i was scared, y/n. maybe even terrified, that you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore or that you’d hate me, and i completely understand if you do now because i just basically lied to you throughout our whole friendship which is so stupid and idiotic of me and i’m so, so sorry y/n. i cherish you so much and i don't want to lose you, so please don't ever think that i never trusted you because i do, wholeheartedly.”

tooru finished and waited for you to talk or say anything, but you just stared at him in disbelief.

"y/n, please say something," tooru pleaded, his fist tightening against his chest as he grew more anxious.

"does your father know?" you asked.

"what? of course not he'd go crazy if he did-"

"oh my god tooru, you're unbelievable," you muttered, with your fingers pressing on your temple.

"what? y/n i just told you why i didn't want to reveal my identity, you know my father would go crazy if he found out i was sneaking away," tooru reasoned, trying to calm down the situation by reaching out for your hand but you slapped it away, still not comprehending the situation.

"yes tooru, and i understand that, if you weren't a prince. this completely changes everything, you know that right? what if someone saw us and reported it to your father? you'd be in great trouble and don't even get me started on how i'd probably be the talk of the city. a laughing stock. i mean, a commoner being friends with a prince? ha! how ridiculous," you rambled, looking away and staring down at your feet.

"y/n, look at me," tooru softly asked, gently lifting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. your breath hitched as he stared right at you, as if he could read your every thought.

"it doesn't matter if i'm a prince or if you're a commoner. even if my father finds out, I won't let any harm come to you. i'll do everything in my power to make sure you're safe."

"tooru-"

"i'm not done. just because you're a 'commoner' doesn't mean you aren’t worth anything less. you're y/n, my y/n and that's all that matters. i don't care about titles. fuck being a prince, it doesn't matter as long as i'm with you. as long as you're here."

you both became silent as tooru awaited a response and you were still processing what he just confessed to you. tooru sighed and let go of you, turning away and hiding his face from you, embarrassed at himself.

"tooru," you started, still finding the right words to say to him.

"if i have to be honest, i'm disappointed not only in you but for myself. it feels as if you just used me as a way to escape from your own life. i really, really enjoy your company tooru and you made my life so much more exciting and enjoyable, and even thinking about what we’d have in plan to do helped me get out of bed in the morning but now, i do not know what to think anymore. not only that, but the fact that you’ve hinted at it all this time and yet i was too dumb to even realise it. was this all a joke to you?" you questioned, your chest tightening at your own words, hoping he’d contradict with you.

“y/n…none of this was ever a joke and i can’t even truly express my gratitude to your very own existence with just simple minded words. from our first encounter to even now, the only person i’ve wanted to see was you. you’ve never once left my mind,” his eyes softened before his mouth came to a fine line, you could physically see his lips quiver as he awaited your response.

you finally let go of the breath you’ve unconsciously been holding and came face to face with the boy who made you feel an array of emotions that you couldn’t comprehend and simply gave him a gentle hug, with your head resting on his chest hearing his quickened heartbeat drumming in your ear.

with an awkward smile you looked up to him,”you really are scared huh?”

“god y/n, you have no idea how many times i was planning on telling you, but i would just end up getting lost in the moment and keep putting it off, until now, i really thought i screwed things up,” tooru frantically explained, letting out a sigh of relief.

although, to his horror you pierced his ears, saying, "you kind of did."

the atmosphere shifted to a chilling silence, with tooru’s bug eyed expression processing the words that you just announced and you fidgeting nervously with your hands.

“what?” tooru meekly asked, needing affirmation.

”look tooru, even if we remain as friends and keep meeting up, we’ll never go back to normal. you have to understand that. even if titles don't matter to you, they matter to everyone else. in their eyes, i’ll always be a ‘lowly’ commoner and you will always be a prince, hell maybe even king!”

“don’t you dare say that about me, i will never be king nor will i ever want to,” tooru defended, slightly raising his voice over the sensitive subject but that didn’t stop you from continuing.

“come to terms with reality tooru, this isn’t some fairy tale where i randomly get gifted a fairy godmother for christ sake. sure, it was okay when you were younger but now, really? you’re turning eighteen tomorrow, you can’t just keep skipping out on your duties as a prince,” you continued, pleading with him to see your point of view.

tooru scoffed, ”what do you know about being a prince? you’d never understand how shit i felt every time i get told off for every little mistake i made and how i know everyone secretly wished my mother survived instead of me.”

you stood still with a withering expression, your mouth parted and heart clenched with tears pricking your eyes. he never talked about this before.

“tooru, i didn’t know-”

“i was suffocating in there y/n, and you were the only one that made me feel like i wasn’t drowning with responsibilities and yet now i’m getting reminded of it again by the only person i could rely on,” he painfully expressed, solemnly looking at you, catching your watered eyes.

alas you stood your ground,

“well, as the person that you can rely on, i'm only telling you this for your own sake tooru, and yes i’m not a prince and i’m sure as hell not educated enough to understand what a prince does. however, i do know that you’ll have to get married soon now that you’re turning eighteen and i can’t keep distracting you tooru and you can’t keep running away. you’re going to have many people wanting to speak with you and important meetings to attend and you won’t have time to see me. we both know that,” your heart breaks at your own words.

tooru stood still with a pained expression. he couldn't argue with you, knowing that everything you said was true.

“wake up tooru. we aren’t fifteen anymore.”

silently, tooru sets down a wrapped box on an empty table and walks to the door without a word. all you could do was watch his doleful figure. before he stepped out into the street he stared at you without his warm brown eyes with a disappointed smile and said, ”you’re still invited you know? i already booked a carriage for you, so please come.”

The ring of the doorbell came at last, indicating his presence was gone and with that you burst out in tears with you crouching down against the counter recalling the argument between you two. were you too harsh? did you even consider tooru’s side? were you being insensitive? all these questions left your mind swirling like a spinning wheel to the point where you just laid lifeless with stinging eyes from all the salty tears.

finally finding the strength to get up, you dust yourself off the floor and spotted the clean and elegant box tooru left for you. carefully, you raised the lid upwards and you gasped surprised. sitting in the box before you was the most luxurious dress you’ve ever laid your eyes upon. sophisticated patterns adorned the purple gown with numerous delicate jewels stitched on, where if one was sold you’d no longer be a baker but instead living more comfortably.

“i’ve never seen a gown this shade before,” you astonishingly admitted, surveying the gown in your hand gently touching the rich fabric. unbeknownst to you the shade was specifically tyrian purple, a shade only the royal family wore.

peering inside you see a little rectangle note. you delicately placed the gown down on the table and opened the note.

“you’re royalty too.”

slightly grinning at the sentence you let out a light hearted sigh, letting it convince your tender heart.

“i guess i’ll be going to a ball tomorrow.”

..·:*¨༺ ♚ ༻¨*:·.

it was the day that everyone anticipated for and yet tooru wasn’t excited at all. he lost sight of all hope as of yesterday, after the argument he had with you. even his best friend iwaizumi hajime tried comforting him, in his own unique way.

“oi, it’s your own birthday try to lighten up. you look like a rotting zombie,” he pointed out.

tooru gave iwaizumi a sour look at him and miserably said, ”she isn't coming so what’s the point?”

“she? oh, you mean y/n?” iwaizumi asked, tooru gave a small nod.

“she’ll have to come, you prepared a gown and a carriage for her. how could she refuse? won’t most girls like that?”

“maybe the fact that i screwed everything over plays a major part,” tooru explained.

iwaizumi gave a puzzled look to tooru, clearly not informed of the events that happened yesterday morning. with a heavy sigh, tooru began to catch up with iwa on the unfortunate argument that occurred.

“oh i see now.”

“yeah, you’d think she’d still come?”

“after what you did? no way. i reckon it’ll take a miracle for her to attend,” iwaizumi blatantly replied, making tooru hopeless as he let out another heavy sigh with a blank stare at the floor.

“but, you’ll never know tooru. miracles can happen,” with that iwaizumi stood up from the cold cobblestone step and gave tooru a pat in the back, his steps echoing behind tooru as he continued to remain alone with his thoughts.

don’t lose hope, he thought.

it was definitely easier said than done.

--- ⁠✧

thankfully, you weren’t alone while you were getting dolled up. your trusted friend yachi was here to help. you were fortunate enough for her to stumble upon your bakery as a middle class girl visiting the city and you both instantly connected, although you both barely saw each other as she lived outside the city but you both kept in contact with letters. as of now you both were struggling on putting on the corset.

“y/n you have to breathe in just a little bit more so i can tighten the corset fully!” yachi exclaimed, while tugging the strings to the best of her ability.

“i know yachi i’m trying my hardest!” you cried out, in pain from holding your breath in for so long.

“and…done!” yachi cheered, clapping her hands.

“how can girls wear these things everyday? i’m about to pass out,” you said, exhausted already trying to reach for a chair.

“wait y/n we aren’t done yet, you have to put the petticoat on and then the actual gown,” yachi explained, encouraging you to keep standing.

with a groan you got up and yachi assembled the gown with a blink of an eye.

“oh my god y/n you look so pretty!” yachi praised, admiring you with stars in her eyes.

you bashfully smiled at her and asked,”you really think so?”

“you’ve always been pretty y/n, oh i’ve got something for you,” she said, going into her purse to fetch an object of some sort.

“what is it?” you aksed, curious of what she prepared.

yachi hid the object with both her hands behind her back sneakily and began by saying,”well, in the letter you said that you had been given a purple gown…”

“so..?” you questioned, urging her to continue.

“so i thought i’d glamour you even more,” she explained before showing you a white sapphire necklace with a wide smile. you stared at it, mesmerised by the sheer shine it gave.

“what do you think?” yachi asked, lifting up the necklace.

“i-it’s gorgeous yachi. are you sure i’m allowed to wear it? where did you get it in the first place?” you said in disbelief while yachi laughed at you with your gaze transfixed on the necklace.

“of course you can wear it, that’s the whole reason why i brought it anyway and don’t worry about where i got it from, just be excited to wear it,” she said with a mischievous giggle that worried you, and before you could even reject her offer she was already putting it on you.

thinking you were finished you went to sit down but to your dismay yachi was in front of you holding hair pins and a comb with an ecstatic expression.

“we’re only getting started y/n!”

you nervously gulped, getting ready for the amount of pain you were about to go through.

--- ⁠✧

chatter filled the ballroom as it continued to fill up with hundreds of guests from around the nation. tooru was trying his best to answer all the questions from all of the women surrounding him in a polite manner. although, they all were obviously there for two main reasons: status and power, as they wave their fans at him with a leering expression. however, he was solely looking for a certain someone to walk through the grand doors and for a certain someone to apologise to.

“do you have someone already in mind prince tooru?” one of the ladies asked which made the rest of them quiet, anticipating tooru’s answer.

he knew he couldn’t say yes without upsetting them all and causing a scene so he chuckled and declared, ”no, i don’t. not yet,” which caused them to erupt in ‘oohs’ and giggles, clearly glad with tooru’s response and the chance they all had to court him. although he knew in his mind that he definitely had someone he wanted to court himself.

unfortunately, that certain someone was running late. the carriage was already patiently waiting outside the bakery when you were trying to find the invitation tooru gave you yesterday but you somehow lost it. if it wasn’t for yachi’s help you probably wouldn’t have made it out the front door.

“have fun y/n! don’t forget to say yes when the prince asks for your hand in marriage!” yachi shouted to you in a cheery tone.

“oh be quiet yachi,” you jokingly said, your face heating up at her joke, embarrassed.

“i’m so sorry i’m late, i just couldn’t seem to find the invitation,” you explained to the coachman who gave you a small nod whilst helping you into the carriage.

you’ve never been in a carriage before but you’ve seen many travel back and forth from the palace at the city centre. you’ve always been in awe of them and dreamt of being in one someday and here you are now, admiring it in all its beauty. in contrast to the outside it was much smaller than you’d imagine but the seats were very comfortable for your already sore feet as they weren’t used to high-heeled shoes you were wearing.

i wonder what tooru would think.

--- ⁠✧

it was getting further into the night and there was still no sight of you. tooru looked over to iwaizumi who was trying to communicate to tooru.

“is she here yet?” mouthed iwaizumi, as he stared at tooru still being bombarded with women.

tooru gave him a frown and shook his head. were you ever going to show up?

it was time for the first dance as the string orchestra began playing a waltz for the guests and tooru to dance to. he immediately had a line of ladies encouraging him to dance with them until one troublesome women decided to ‘accidentally’ trip into tooru’s arm into a dramatic pose that wasn’t impressive, but before he could ask if she was alright the orchestra suddenly stopped playing at the sound of the grand doors abruptly opening and everyone’s attention was averted.

“y/n, from the l/n family!” declared the attendee.

as you slowly emerged and came into everyone’s view. they all gasped and started murmuring to each other at the site of the colour of your gown.

“does this girl not have any idea what crime she’s committing?”

“she’s clearly mocking the royal family, how disrespectful!”

“who does she think she is?”

“i’ve never seen her before.”

fortunately, you couldn’t hear them as you were trying your best not to trip as you descended down the flight of steps, holding onto the railing for dear life, but you could feel all the judgemental stares they were giving you in the corner of your eye.

tooru’s heart began pounding in his chest as he saw your descending figure. muttering a quick,”i’m sorry,” to the woman he caught and helped her onto her feet and swiftly began to approach you with haste. he couldn’t let this chance slip from his fingers. not when he has a million things on his mind to say to you.

finally, you stepped down onto the polished marble floor and let out a sigh of relief and glanced up to find a pair of familiar brown eyes with a million hues, belonging to the man of the night, growing larger until they were right in front of you. not once did your eyes break contact with his.

“you made it,” he gawked, astonished at your arivial.

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you beamed at him, forgetting how much you’ve wanted to see him again.

he bowed down. “would you grant me the greatest honour of joining me for my first dance of the night? only if you can handle it,” he teases, thrilled to be in the presence of you.

“you may, only if you can handle having your toes stepped on,” you tease back whilst curtseying, causing the both of you to erupt in laughter.

as tooru led you to the dance floor, all eyes were on you both as the orchestra began to play a waltz again. realising how nervous you must be, tooru gently placed his hand on your waist and held your hard reassuringly.

“just focus on me y/n. let me lead you.” you nodded, trusting in tooru to guide your inexperienced self.

tooru was true to his word as you both glided gracefully around the dance floor. he led you effortlessly, not even flinching when you would accidentally step on his foot for a brief moment. he just kept smiling at you with his gaze transfixed on your face. you couldn’t help but feel bashful.

“you look breathtaking,” tooru began, causing your face to heat up from his compliment.

“oh stop it tooru, you don’t have to say things you don’t mean,” you said, smiling down, still grateful for the compliment.

“it’s true y/n,” tooru affirmed, looking at you with a caring gaze that sent your stomach into a whirlwind.

“well, thank you. you don’t look bad yourself,” you admitted, wanting to compliment him too.

“of course, i am a prince after all,” he jokingly said, making you chuckle.

“did you plan this? us wearing matching colours,” you asked, realising the way he had the exact same shade of purple on his suit as your gown.

“and what if i did? it’s all part of my master plan,” he replied.

“your master plan of what?” you wondered, curious on what he was planning.

“you’ll see~” he retorted, causing you to sarcastically roll your eyes.

you both continued to dance in a comfortable silence until tooru abruptly broke it when he cleared his throat, getting ready to speak.

“i’m sorry y/n, for everything. i’m sorry for the lies i’ve told you about why i was always late to our meetups and why i was always getting bruises and cuts. i’m sorry for not opening up about my life sooner like you did, that wasn’t fair for you and i’m truly sorry for being the reason you cried,” he apologised.

“you saw me?” you asked, surprised that he knew.

he smiled and gazed at you,”how could i leave without taking one last glance at you,”

his words had a way of lifting an invisible weight off your chest. it felt surreal. the way he was able to enchant you with a few meek words that anyone could say, but he had his own unique charm that made you euphoric.

with a pause, tooru closed his eyes for a second, getting ready to say something.

“y/n…i-“

“tooru.”

a sudden rough, deep voice caused both of you to stop dancing and turn to see what you assumed to be tooru’s father. his demeanour sent chills down your spine as he looked at you with a stone cold expression. tooru looked irritated and turned around to face the king with a serious face as if he just switched personalities.

“father,” tooru said, in an expectant tone.

“come with me,” he demanded, turning around with his royal cloak following as it fluttered in the air.

tooru gave his father a small nod, his palms starting to become mildly sweaty. before he followed his father, he promptly turned around and held both of your shoulders and whispered,”there’s a side door near the back of the hall, exit from there and you’ll see a small stone shelter. go there and wait for me. i’ll try to be quick.”

the smell of a faint rosemary scent grew stronger as he leaned closer, his breath tickling your skin and an unexpected warmth resided on your cheek. with that he left, with you looking at his figure slowly fading away. you placed a hand to your left cheek where he laid his soft lips and rigidly exhaled. you’re full of surprises tooru, you thought.

you made haste, trying to ignore all the eyes that were on you. to your demise the same girl that tooru caught stood in your way, not moving an inch.

“excuse me ma’am, i have to get through,” you politely asked, starting to become impatient.

"you're not royalty," she accused, looking at you up and down.

"what?" you asked confused, just wanting to get out of the hall.

"you're clearly not royalty. your manners are ridiculous and you certainly don't know when to be on time, you attention seeker," she taunted, causing the crowd around you to gasp and snicker at her accusation.

to say you were peeved was an understatement. she irked you in a way no one has before. her voice was like a nagging child throwing a tantrum. it made your ears bleed. you wanted to grab her fake hair and strangle it around her neck. you would’ve if you had the chance. alas you sadly had to remain calm and collected.

“you’re just being hypocritical, miss. i’m sure everyone here saw the way you desperately threw yourself at the prince,” you retorted with a smile. the woman’s cocky expression quickly dropped to a glare.

“you lowly bitc-”

“i think that’s enough lady ayame,” iwaizumi cut in, his words silencing the crowd as he stepped out into the open.

you turned around to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice walking towards the two of you. he stopped and looked down upon the ayame with cold eyes.

“l-lieutenant iwaizumi,” she cowardly said in fear, curtseying while avoiding his gaze.

he then turned to you. you slightly jumped, scared that he’d glare at you too for causing a commotion. you were frozen in place.

“see lieutenant, she isn’t even showing her manners towards you!” ayame pointed out, trying to justify her actions.

iwaizumi didn’t bother wasting his time by talking to her. instead he raised his hand in a way to silence her in which she immediately stopped talking as he kept his eyes on you. at this point you were sweating bricks, trying to not move an inch. this isn’t what i was signing up for.

“go,” he sternly said, nudging his head to the direction of the door.

all you could reply with was a nod then you grabbed a handful of your gown and ran out, not daring to look back. i’ll have to thank him later, i almost got into a cat fight.

you were amazed at the scenery in front of you when you frantically left the hall. you suspected it to be the royal garden. you stepped down onto the footpath, hearing the therapeutic sound of flowing water from the fountain surrounded by an abundance of radiant flowers. from the dim street lights illuminating the garden, to the warm summer breeze brushing against your skin you felt ethereal and nostalgic at the same time. finally, you entered the stone shelter, still admiring the scenery in front of you as you patiently waited for tooru to arrive.

--- ⁠✧

it must've been more than five minutes now and slowly the rain droplets began pattering against the cobblestone paths and yet it wasn’t cold at all. the summer night prevented it. you hated the humid air as it clung onto your skin, feeling sticky.

you speculated on what kept tooru so back. did his father need to talk to him about an important matter that they had to speak about in private? a thousand questions began to swirl in your mind as you started to worry.

in deep thought, you saw a tall figure approaching through the heavy rain. you stood up, squinting to make out who it was. it was tooru. you immediately started shouting his name whilst waving your hand, encouraging him to run faster. you couldn’t help but beam at his presence, excited to what he was going to tell you. he stood in front of you panting, his hair covering half his face as water dripped from his hair and clothes. he shook his hair like a dog, trying to dry himself. you screamed as you tried to backed away from the water droplets attacking you while tooru evilly laughed trying to get closer to you.

“ugh, tooru get away from me!” you shouted with a light hearted laugh, running around in circles from the small space of the shelter.

tooru laughed in response, catching you from behind with a hug. immediately, your gown started getting wet. you tried hitting his arms so he would let go but he didn’t budge.

“come on tooru, let go of me!” you whined, attempting to pry his arms open.

“hmm, i don’t think i will,” he teased, resting his head on your shoulder.

you huffed and roughly turned yourself around so you could see him, and lifted his damp hair up trying to clearly see his face until you saw a harsh red mark on his cheek. your lips parted at the realisation of why he took so long and cupped his face. this time he didn't flinch or back away.

“tooru…” you painfully started. how could he just stand there and smile at you?

“yes y/n?” he asked, gazing at you with a warm smile, not bothering to hide what you saw.

not finding any words to reply with, you just gave him a warm embrace to which he accepted. you cried deeply inside. why did you always have to see him bruised and battered?

“you don’t deserve this tooru,” you sighed.

“don’t worry about it y/n,” tooru reassuringly replied, stroking your hair.

“ it’s all my fault,” you began.

“if i hadn’t showed up none of this would’ve happened. you would still be in the hall celebrating your birthday, having the time of your life with everyone. but instead you’re stuck with me and now your reputation is most likely ruined. i mean, did you see everyone ogling us? they definitely didn’t enjoy seeing me dance with you,” you concluded with a heavy heart.

“if the world were to suddenly end in the next minute, i wouldn’t regret being stuck with you,” he professed. you couldn’t help but let out a breath of unbelief, marvelled at his statement.

“well tooru, as the next heir wouldn’t you think that you should be spending your time wisely?” you sarcastically asked, eyebrows dramatically raised trying to make him laugh.

“well y/n, i’d be glad to tell you that i’m not the heir to the throne anymore,” he retorted, mocking the same face you made to him.

“yeah sure tooru, nice joke,” you rolled your eyes at him smirking but he kept a straight face.

“that wasn’t a joke y/n,” he claimed, causing you to furrow your eyebrows.

“you’re pulling my leg,” you said dumbfounded.

tooru hysterically laughed at your expression while you stood there wide eyed.

“tooru, please tell me i heard that correctly,” you asked, wanting affirmation on the words you processed.

“what do you think i said?” he teased smirking at you.

“i think you’re lying,” you retorted.

“and why would i ever lie about that?” he asked, enjoying your flabbergasted state.

“y-you’re really not lying?” you questioned, not wanting to fall for another joke. tooru gave you an honest smile. you knew he wasn’t lying anymore.

“holy shit,” you swore out of disbelief. tooru laughed at your reaction.

“is that how you got that?” you pointing to his cheek, looking at him with empathy.

“maybe,” he teased.

“I’m being serious tooru,” you sternly said, having enough with his antics.

he sighed,”well, father called me out to talk about you first and foremost. he scolded me about inviting you and giving you that gown but i didn’t care. that wasn’t the reason why he did this though. i said that i didn’t want to be king and that i was going to leave the palace to join the army like iwaizumi and was the result,” he bashfully said scratching the back of his head.

“does this mean you’re no longer a prince?” you wondered.

“i still am by blood. i'm just not going to be king. i never intended to stay anyway,” he explained.

"then who's going to step up in your place?"

"that's where my sister came in and explained how she's already prepared to be a queen since she's older than me and smarter too. father just never shown her favour because of mother. he wanted her to live a calm and peaceful life. it's quite a twist of events that all came out to my fortune," he smiled to himself, thankful his sister stepped in for him.

"i wish i met your sister," you said, thinking of her as a role model already.

"you really wouldn't. she gets mad at me all the time for the littlest things," he grumbled, remembering all the times he got scolded by her.

"i can understand why, you are like an annoying little pest," you teased with a giggl, to which tooru pouted and whined.

as the two of you died down, a comfortable silence took over as you two listened to the pitter patters of the ongoing rain. i've missed this. what a coincidence that you both thought it at the same time. tooru looked over to your calm figure as you gazed out onto the garden.

"y/n?" tooru called, seeking your attention.

"mhm?" you responded, turning around to face him. he was closer than before.

"remember before i left, I wanted to say something to you?" he asked nervously.

"hmm, oh yeah, you were about to say something to me. what was it?" you recalled, curious onto what he was going to say.

"well, the sole reason i wanted to be a knight was because i couldn't protect my mum. of course no one was able to save her, but the burden and guilt that was left held me accountable from my perspective. it has always been my goal to protect everyone i love," he stopped, catching his breath. you gave him a nod, motioning him to continue.

"y/n, my heart aches everytime we depart. every goodbye you say to me makes me want to come running back to you. every lingering touch made me yearn more from you. i only experience the goodness of life through every second i get with you. truth be told when i say i live now to serve you," he expressed, pouring his heart and soul into every word he said.

"w-what are you getting at tooru?" you hesitantly ask, your heart racing for an answer.

"i love you, y/n. i'm not trying to force you to love me. i just…" he momentarily paused gathering his thoughts before continuing, "i won't ask you to love me, so please just give me permission to love you."

you had the utmost authority right now. he was pleading to you. he loves you. with all these realisations, you stood there, opposite a lovesick tooth, filled to the max with mixed emotions. good ones, where one of which swayed you to leaped into tooru's arms as you held him tightly close.

"is this a yes?" tooru asked with a grin as he gazed at you longingly.

what followed, your weren't entirely too sure. your brain fogged as the proximity between the two of you came to a close. tooru's soft, puckered lips collided gently against yours. you both could exhaled at the contact, releasing all your tensions as the world came to a stop for both of you. sparks of joy leaped from tooru's chest as he cherished the moment. this was his reward for waiting so patiently for you. the strong scent of rosemary intoxicated your lungs as you breathed him in. your hands found its way to his hair, your fingers carding through his locks. you were each others addiction, craving for more, not letting go until you were both satisfied. pulling away, you both took deep breaths whilst gazing at each other fondly. tooru still holding you close.

"that was…" tooru began between small breaths.

"amazing," you finished, a wide smile forming on your heated face.

"of course it was, aren't i a great kisser?" tooru praised, returning back to his charming self.

"oh stop it," you rolled your eyes as you tried to turn away from him.

"look at you becoming shy because of me," he teased, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you towards the rain. you decided to just let him take you, knowing you wouldn't have enough strength to defy him.

"i've always wanted to do this with you," he shouted through the booming sound of rain.

"do what?" you shouted back, trying to block the rain from your view with your hand.

he took your hand and placed it on his shoulder, intertwining his remaining hand with yours. a familiar scene playing out again. instead, this time you both looked ridiculous. clothes soaking wet that whenever tooru would twirl you around your gown would project droplets of water like an umbrella. but you both didn't care. laughing carefree, acting childish, knowing you'd be sick the next day and yet you both had no regrets. the rain began to disperse and you both came to stop, finally tired from all the dancing.

smiling up at him you greeted, "happy birthday tooru," before pulling on his collar and giving him one final peck on his soft pillowy lips, as the summer breeze flowed by and the cicadas buzzed in the trees.

it didn't feel real. it felt heavenly.

#haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #oikawa torū #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa fluff #oikawa angst #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa #tooru #royal au #*⁠.⁠✧ " it's not real

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