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poemcal · 1 month ago

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helloo, I would like to make a request for Todd. where the reader is cheeky and flirts with him during breaks, but also leaves him small poems where she confesses her love. He feels the same way but she doesn't know it, and he confesses it to her one day when he hears her crying under a tree because she felt that he would never like her, and that she felt stupid trying to make him like her.

by the way, i love how you write and I fell in love the first time I saw Ethan Hawke in the movie😭😭💖

warning: none, too fluffy maybe!!

summary: how bad can it be having a crush on your classmate? Leaving poems in his desk, just as secretly as he is in love with you.

a/n: a long one, that's it, please clap for me A WHOLE THREE HOURS WRITING THIS 😭😭😭 hope you liked it!!! AND TY FOR YOU WORDS AND SAME I FELL FOR ETHAN IN THIS MOVIE TOO 😭😭🤍

✿ I LIKE YOU, YOU LIKE ME? : TODD ANDERSON

Every day you wait for Todd and his group of friends during breaks, since you didn’t share any classes with him. At first, you were friends with Pitts, and then you became close with all of them, except Todd. One day after classes, you saw him sitting alone. He always seemed like a bundle of nerves, but you liked that about him. You snuck up on him until you were right by his side.

“Writing for English?” Your voice made him jump in his seat, and he looked at you, startled.

“Y-yeah. I mean, no,” he stammered at first, closing his notebook and glancing around as if searching for help.

“I heard the classes are very... strange?”

Todd looked at you, almost offended, and shook his head. “It’s more than that. It’s like a lifestyle.”

“Wow. I’d like to be there, then,” you said with a smile, sitting beside him and glancing at how his hands were clinging to his pants, holding onto his comfort zone.

“You should. Why aren’t you? Aren’t we in the same year?” he asked with an honest curiosity that made you smile. It seemed like he was interested in you, in a way.

You nodded. “We are, but I got assigned a different teacher. Old-fashioned and boring, but he reads us beautiful poems,” you admitted, and for the first time, Todd smiled—just at you.

“You read poetry?”

“Of course! Although we read a bit of everything, it’s always Shakespeare.”

“Mr. Keating prefers Whitman, I guess.”

Since that conversation, you would find yourself approaching Todd during every break, taking the opportunity to give him small hints about your feelings toward him, which only grew stronger. The others could notice what you were doing, but Todd? Todd always seemed to be too caught up in his thoughts, never really in the moment, but still, you liked him more.

"Todd!" You shouted from across the campus and ran in his direction. Todd blushed at feeling so many eyes on him, but still, he stopped and waited for you. "Thanks for coming over," you said, laughing, and stopped by his side, letting your lungs take in a bit of air.

"‘I-I’m sorry!’ He would say, embarrassed to feel so clumsy just watching you run.

"It’s okay" you said with a smile, stepping closer. "On Monday, I’ll have a presentation" you started shyly, and Todd looked at you, confused. ‘I’ll have to recite a poem.’

"Do you want help?’" he asked, with a voice as delicate as always.

"No! I mean, I would loved that, but I already have one, I just... I don’t know, I thought maybe you could come watch me.’

Todd paused for a few seconds, then snapped back to reality and nodded. "Of course. I don’t think I have anything to do. J-just tell me the time, and I’ll be there." He never looked you in the eyes for long. For a few seconds, his eyes would meet yours, then he would find something less invasive to focus on. But you liked it.

"At four. Library. If you go, you should bring me some roses."

"I-i should?" Todd nervously looked around. "I'll have to grab some from here, then."

You laughed. "Bring some pretty ones."

"Aren't all flowers pretty?"

You nodded. "You're right. I should be more specific. Bring ones that won't make me sneeze all day."

"You're allergic? Then why would you ask me to bring flowers?"

You shrugged. "Because they're pretty. The gesture will be sweet, too," you said, winking at him, making Todd blush slightly.

After that conversation, you began leaving little notes with poems written for Todd under his desk every day without fail. You would hide behind the door, watching his reaction from the hallway. His pink cheeks, sparkling eyes, a shy smile he failed to hide, and his hands hurriedly stuffing the notes into his pockets made you completely happy. You wondered if he kept them for himself and hid them somewhere special.

Weeks went by, and your moment to recite in the library finally came.

When it was your turn to step up, you held the paper in your trembling hands, and your eyes instinctively searched for that blonde hair, but failed. Todd hadn’t shown up. You sighed in disappointment and recited your poem. The room filled with applause and cheers, and people praised you all the way back to your seat. As you walked back to your dorm, you saw him. Todd Anderson was sitting on the grass with the other poets laughing, and suddenly, it all made sense. He didn’t like you.

Todd looked at you, his eyes wide open, but you simply turned away and headed toward the solace of your dorm.

The next days, the notes on his desk stopped appearing, taking with them Todd’s excitement to arrive early to class just to read them. From then on, you also avoided Todd at all costs, not wanting to see his face, wishing to forget him. But he remained etched in your mind and heart, as important as a commandment and as necessary as the air in your lungs.

But you never cried, instead, you were angry at yourself for your foolish efforts to win his affection, which ultimately amounted to nothing. That changed one afternoon when you were sitting under a tree, far from Welton. The wind played with your hair, and the orange sunlight on your face heightened your emotions, and you ended up crying.

Footsteps startled you, and as you looked up, there he was. Todd. His face, worried and exhausted as always, but this time, his eyes held an unusual brightness.

He knelt in front of you, his face full of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hesitant hands hovering in the air, unsure whether to touch you.

You nodded. "Yeah, go away, Todd."

"No, you're not," he murmured, watching as you swallowed your tears and avoided his gaze.

"I am. It's nothing, okay?"

"Come on, you can tell me," he whispered, something inside him knowing it was his fault, yet still gathering the courage when he saw you crying under that old tree.

"Todd, just—"

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, interrupting you. "I didn’t mean to miss your presentation. It’s just that—"

"You don’t have to make excuses, Todd. Really. You could’ve just said no," you murmured, letting out a tired sigh.

"No! I wanted to go. It's just... I wanted to find flowers for you, but I couldn’t. I asked the guys for help. At three! But time passed, and we failed. I’m sorry," he stammered, his hands fidgeting in a silent war with each other.

"Todd. It was sweet of you to try. But it's okay, I forgive you. That’s not why I’m like this, so don’t feel bad," you said, your voice as strained as Todd’s, which wasn’t usual for you.

"Then what is it? Y-you can trust me, I promise," he said, sitting in front of you, moving a few inches closer.

"It's silly," you said, playing with the long grass beneath your feet. "I'm... scared?" you confessed.

"Scared?"

"Yes, you know. That feeling you get when you think about the future or the past or the dark or—"

"I know! I mean, scared of what? I’m scared of many things... too many," he murmured, looking at you expectantly

"Of love," you admitted, embarrassed. "Not love itself, but the absence of love, you know?" Todd nodded eagerly. "I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever be loved or if I’ll have something with someone! And it's scary."

You felt so small next to Todd, filled with fear, shame, and shyness. Todd, on the other hand, felt with so much power, more power than what he liked. He knew he needed to encourage you, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth, making the moment worse.

"Don’t say that. You will be loved, you already are."

"By my mom, maybe," you said with a chuckle.

"No, I mean, yes! But I mean romantically."

"Do you believe in that idea that the love of my life is destined and wandering out there?" you whispered as if sharing a secret.

Todd nodded. "Y-yes. They could be very close to you. Closer than you think. Right in front of you... trying so hard to be noticed. Failing. Always," he finished with a whisper, his hands ceasing their internal fight and gripping each other for comfort.

"Todd, what are you talking about?" you asked breathlessly.

"I like you! I like you..." For the first time in your life, you heard him speak so loudly and clearly that it startled you, leaving you unable to form any words. "You don’t have to say anything... Your eyes. They say more. Always," he murmured, looking into your eyes for so long that you feared feeling exposed.

But then you understood. You already were. Todd already knew you were the girl behind the poetry and that you felt as deeply for him as he did for you. His hands released their grip and gently touched your face, wiping away the silent tears streaming down your cheeks and caressing the flushed areas. Your crying stopped, and your heart raced. You felt his heavy breathing over you, and he felt yours. After a few seconds, Todd kissed you. It was short, rushed, and anxious. But it was the best kiss you’d ever had in your life.

"I like you too. A lot, Todd," you whispered without opening your eyes, afraid your eyes would say more than your lips.

"I knew it the second week the notes stopped," he said, and you opened your eyes. "That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one in love."

"Todd..." He silenced you with another kiss, this one slow, delicate, and patient, filled with unwritten poetry between the lines. Much better than the first, leaving you wanting more.

After that, the two of you began dating. You showed your love through physical acts, like kissing, hugging, or holding hands all the time. Meanwhile, Todd preferred to be more reserved. He now left you notes and preferred to kiss you in secret, feeling the intimacy of his love. And then, everything made sense.

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heliads · 11 months ago

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If requests are still open :) Something for dead poets society, just sth with the gang having a good time, maybe trying to stage a play in the woods? Tbh just a everyone lives and is happy AU with fluff and winter and hot tea! (while I love this book I havent read it in a very long time...)

ok consider an everyone lives au but they are not 100% happy. (i am incapable of not writing angst my apologies) also this is movie dead poets society not book because i have not yet read the books whoops. hope you enjoy xoxo

'and it's not tonight' - dead poets society

masterlist

Todd Anderson is looking out the window at a gray, blustery morning, when they ask him if he’s going to be alright. It wasn’t quite certain before then. It’s not quite certain now, either, even after he answers.

“Of course,” he says somewhat unconvincingly, “Why do you ask?”

Behind him, Charlie Dalton raises a dubious brow. For once in his life, he’s holding himself back, but the situation requires discretion, and who is he to mess up at a time like this? He’s already been warned about treating Todd like a glass doll rather than a paper mache target, but even Charlie can tell that now is the time to pull a few punches. The hollows under his friend’s eyes are far darker than they were a couple of months ago. He wears unease like a well-traveled coat, thin at the elbows and rubbed raw at the seams.

“Look at yourself,” Charlie answers at last, “You’re exhaustion walking. And don’t tell me otherwise, I’ve got eyes.”

“I should hope so,” Todd remarks, and permits himself a small curl of his lips up into a half-smile. Half-smiles are good, though. Almost there to the real thing. So he’ll tell himself, at least.

Even a half-smile can let Charlie know that he’s alright. The other boy breaks into a well-intentioned snorting laugh. “Hey, ask any girl in town and they’ll tell you I’ve got beautiful ones. ‘Sides, Anderson, you know everything’s alright. The stuff with Neil was cleared over, right? He came back.”

“He came back,” Todd repeats somewhat weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, he came back,” Charlie confirms, walking over to clap his friend on the shoulder, shaking him a little bit just to mess with him but mainly to get his affections across. “He’s a little more tired than he used to be, and we’re all plenty scared from what could have happened, but overall we’re glad to see him again. His parents realized they messed up in the nick of time, and even if they wanted him under watch for a little bit, he’s back and we’re back and everything’s alright. Capiche?” He asks dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows for a bit of flair.

“Since when are you Italian?” Todd asks doubtfully.

“Since the situation requires it,” Charlie answers him, and slings an arm around the boy’s bony frame. “Come on now. The snow’s cleared up, and even if all that does is remind us how little grass grows on our campus, it means we can go into the woods again. I’ve been talking to the boys and we all agree that it’s time to dust off our finesse with literature. What do you say, Todd? You up for another rousing poetic exchange tonight?”

Todd jerks his head up and down in a hasty agreement. “Yeah. Neill’ be there?”

“Yeah, and me, and Knoxie, and everyone else you forgot to mention,” Charlie says in a tone of mock outrage. “God, you live with the guy, don’t you? Can’t you spare some excitement for the rest of us, too?”

Todd rolls his eyes, and finds the grace to elbow Charlie in the ribs. “Spare me the self-indulgence, Dalton. I’m glad to see all of you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Charlie affirms. “It’s been a while since we were all together, yeah?”

Todd blows out a low breath as they walk back towards the halls. It has been a long time, or it felt that way, at least. After the– after the incident after the play, in which Neil was found in his father’s study with a gun in his hands about to blow the trigger, it was decided that all of the pupils of Welton Academy would go home for a short period of time to clear their heads and come back ready to face the end of term.

Mainly, Todd thinks it was so rumors couldn’t spread about just what happened with Neil Perry to take him out of school, and he’s glad for it. Neil doesn’t deserve to have everyone whispering about what happened to make him decide that the best thing for his life was to end it. Neil deserves the world, and none of them could give it to him.

That was the worst part of it all, Todd decides. The guilt, how it wrapped around him in wires as strong as the heaviest chains of iron. He couldn’t escape it. If he was really Neil’s friend, he would have known. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd could have stopped him. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd wouldn’t have found out about the attempt the next morning, quietly awoken from drowsy sleep by a Charlie Dalton with eyes like a stricken soldier as he lurchingly informed Todd that Neill Perry had tried to kill himself the night before. And none of them had known. And when his father had taken the gun away, Neil fought and screamed for it, worse than he did when he tried to convince his parents that he wanted to act, louder than he protested that he would be sent away to military school.

And then they were alone. At home. The worst place for boys to be. Should you grieve the friend who is not dead? Do you call each other on the phone, and ask if you have been playing any sporting games with other boys your age, or if you have given any thought to the fact that your friend might not have wanted to die if you had praised him more in class, or clapped louder when he performed, or said something– anything– to this beautiful, brittle boy?

They don’t say any of that. They think it quite loudly, but unspoken thoughts do not travel well over the telephone. The flittering ghosts of would-be words tend to get lodged in the coils of wire from receiver to housing, across the street and over the miles of terrain until they reach the abode of the boy on the end, who also has a lot to say but won’t. And then they both stay silent. And they both know exactly what the other wanted to say anyway. That is how friendship works.

They came back, though. Welton sent out a series of letters to usher back the pupils, even had its secretaries working overtime to call the people who never seem to answer their mail. There was another rush of cars and luggage to the dorms, and then they were settled in again. Todd had wondered if he might be assigned another roommate– anyone other than Cameron, God, but preferably Neil still– and then the door had opened quietly and Neil was there again, trying for a brave smile, and saying, “Todd?” in a voice that had once rung pure and true through a theater that loved him.

Todd loves him for it. He’d embraced Neill with open arms, felt the air punch out of his lungs in one strike, but it came back. He came back. They were alright again, sort of. They might be alright in time, but time is what they have.

Now they’ve all been waiting for the snow to melt, and treading on thin ice around topics they don’t dare broach. Neil has been a good sport, never making them feel awkward for wanting to treat him like a china doll. He was good before, too, though, and– It gets hard to tell sometimes, that’s all. Hard to tell when he genuinely is unbothered and when he’s superbly good at pretending otherwise. They stick to safer subjects anyway.

At last, though, the ground is firm, the weather not terrible, and Charlie’s gone and rallied the troops for a night out there. At first, Todd’s first instinct is to panic. They aren’t supposed to be having any more meetings of the Dead Poets Society, not since Keating was the scapegoat for all the trouble and everyone cracked down on what makes a good boy want to escape, but over time he realizes that it’ll be alright. Some things are worth the risk. Making Neil smile again is one of them.

They meet at midnight. Todd sits awake with bated breath, even though the act by itself isn’t even all that unusual. They’re teenage boys. Staying up until the moon hangs high and lofty in the sky is expected, not uncommon. Still, a delicious shiver of inherent wrongdoing whispers down his spine when Neil walks slowly into the center of their shared dorm room and says quietly, reverently, “It’s time.”

As if the others had been waiting upon that very proclamation, the remaining boys peer out into the hall immediately after Neil and Todd silently close their door behind them. Their eyes meet with shared secrecy, shared triumph, and they make their way down the wooden stairs and out into the bristling chill of night. The stars are out tonight. We are all out tonight.

They all start heading out into the woods. Charlie takes off like a flash at the end of a matchstick, hurtling at a runner’s sprint across the hills, and the others follow him at varying speeds. Todd begins walking at a normal clip until it occurs to him that he doesn’t see enough heads bobbing around him and he turns to see Neil hesitating by the door.

They lock eyes, and Todd sees a whole host of things swimming in brown irises, fear and apprehension and a sick sort of guilt that makes Todd’s stomach squirm in sympathy. He gives Neil one last moment over the threshold, then jerks his head towards the others, putting a little faux arrogance into the gesture in the hopes that an actor might appreciate an act in someone else and remember what it is like to trust oneself again.

Neil accepts the move and grins, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I’ll race you to the caves,” he calls, and begins to run, his footsteps sure and strong.

Todd stares after him, an astronomer watching his first comet, then takes off after him. The grass is dry and quick under his feet, spread out under each footstep like the wake of a speedboat. The wind, already coarse, pulls at Todd’s skin, his hair, his clothes, but not even the strongest gusts could keep him down. Somehow, he’s already to the edge of the forest, and he lets out a loud, delighted whoop. A barbaric yawp, if you will. Somewhere in the back of Todd’s mind, a dark-haired man in a comfortable brown sweater smiles indulgently, and chalks up another small victory to the wonders of poetry.

The second his war cry leaves Todd’s throat, the other boys swarm him like moths to a flame. Someone claps a hand over his mouth, and around him, laughs echo into the crunching of leaves underfoot.

“Don’t be so loud, you’ll get the professors on us in no time,” someone admonishes, but then a different boy cuts in, “Don’t be stupid, we’re far enough out that we can all be shouting,” and Todd’s punishment is lifted and he can yell once more. His defender– Neil, it must be, no one else can make their voice ring with glory like that in just a few words– joins in in the triumphant calls, and then they’re all shrieking up to the stars above, here we are, not boys and not men, bold enough to scream and young enough to never listen.

Todd thinks, as they run through the forest, that it’s been a while since he let himself go free. He hasn’t listened to his mind in a long time, hasn’t let the words roll around in his brain, loose marbles of similes and paraphrased poems. His musings are dusty, dark things most of the time, but sometimes the light catches them just right and they glow like sapphires. He could write a thousand stanzas if he wanted to, right now, and everyone would listen.

The Dead Poets Society reaches the caves and a hush falls among the crowd. Slowly, they edge inside, eyes wide. The rock faces and crumbling caverns should be different, Todd thinks, something should mark the passage of time and all the awful things that have twisted their fates since the last time they sat together and thought of prose, but the stones still look as they did the last time they were here. The moss grows in familiar patterns, albeit a little thicker in certain patches now that it hasn’t been scuffed by boots in a month or so, but one of Charlie’s magazines that he forgot to take back with him turns up under some spiderwebs, and Todd’s favorite place to sit is still just as inviting. Maybe, then, the only thing that changed was them. Maybe that’s all that needs to happen.

“So?” Meeks asks, settling into a seat, “What are we doing tonight?”

“Poetry, duh,” Charlie answers him, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’re the Dead Poets Society. What else would we do, peruse our textbooks?”

This earns him a vengeful swat on the shoulder from Meeks, but even Charlie can admit that the question was fair. They’ve read plenty of poems, they’ve written a few, they’ve even gone off and run some improv limerick challenges, although Todd notes that they haven’t brought nearly enough alcohol for that tonight.

After a few moments’ thought, someone suggests a play. It might be Todd. Instantly, the idea is accepted, and roles are divided out. They’ll be doing Hamlet, since there are plenty of long sticks outside and everyone is quite fond of the idea of pretending to run each other through. Pitts is already practicing his death rattles, except he’s not very good at it, and it sounds more like he’s hacking up a lung or two.

Neil, though, is glowing at the idea, and even though they haven’t got any scripts so everyone is mostly just planning on paraphrasing the hell out of one of William Shakespeare’s finer works, Todd gets the idea that Neil has a few memorized soliloquies rattling around in his head already.

Good, then. They’ll enjoy tonight, and the next night they’re out here, and the one after that, too. It has been a very long winter, but Todd has caught his first glimpse of new spring, and he gets the feeling that warmer, sunnier days aren’t the impossibility they seemed a few weeks ago. The days are healing, and they will too. And so the Dead Poets come back to life.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

dead poets society tag list: @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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alltimesos · 28 days ago

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#dead poets society #dps #dead poets fandom #dead poets fanfic #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #todd anderson #neil perry #anderperry #knarlie #steven meeks #gerard pitts #richard cameron

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jakegyllenbaalz · 2 months ago

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dead poets society, dir peter weir (1989)

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skarpetaspodnapleta · 3 days ago

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(I’m actually fattie so shhh)

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a-reverii · 9 months ago

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⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 + 𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒 ⭑

— 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑.

sirius black

tulips. ⇢ @amiableness

safe place. ⇢ @/amiableness

don't delete the kisses. ⇢ @that-bwitch

regulus black

time to pretend. ⇢ @delicrieux

the arranged marriage or regulus's dreams. ⇢ @ellecdc

see me. ⇢ @mmoonysgf

hold her! ⇢ @kquil

secret admirer. ⇢ @itsbuckytm

remus lupin

clandestine. ⇢ @spncvr

sirius the matchmaker. ⇢ @fishley

his girl. ⇢ @opalesquegirl

our band. ⇢ @wzrd-wheezes

james potter

boundary less. ⇢ @wicchyy

no boundary!james. ⇢ @ddejavvu

best friend!james. ⇢ @/ddejavvu

personal trainer. ⇢ @fourmoony

about you. ⇢ @ma1dita

and i love her. ⇢ @dilf-lover99

— 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘.

neil perry

if i fell. ⇢ @sorencd

two of us. ⇢ @/sorencd

art class. ⇢ @/sorencd

charlie dalton

orlando (first kiss). ⇢ @dearsnow

under the neon glow. ⇢ @augiewrites

secret admirer. ⇢ @/augiewrites

todd anderson

todd can't help the way he feels about you. ⇢ @writersmacchiato

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍.

peter parker

new york private life. ⇢ @astxroiid

← back to fic rec masterlist.

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your-stranger-halfblood-things · 4 months ago

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Neil grinned as he handed Todd's poem back to him. "You're really good at writing. So good. I like a person like that."

Todd's eyes twinkled. "Yeah?" he asked, hopefully.

Neil nodded. "You know, if you were a girl, I'd marry you," he said casually. "Because we get along well, encourage each other to keep going, and we could save money by doing that."

Todd stared at him. Neil brought up the "if you were a girl" a lot, but Todd always thought to himself, "You don't need to be a girl. I love you as a boy." But he knew he couldn't say that.

Instead, Todd just scoffed and said that Neil would have to do the cooking and laundry. Todd offered to clean the house and do dishes, so it evened out.

If you were a girl, I would marry you. Those words always played in his head.

But now, as he clawed at the dirt of Neil's grave, only one sentence echoed back- a reply to what Neil had said months before: If you were alive, I'd marry you.

#if you were a girl id marry you #okay and??? if you were alive that would be convenient #anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #todd x neil #neil x todd #dead poets fandom #dead poets society #dead poets fanfic #dps fandom #dps boys #dps fanfiction #dps #angst?#angst #or at least something similar to it

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neil-perrys-suicidal-tendencies · 1 month ago

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MY FAVOURITE DPS FICS (in the order they appear on my bookmarks)

Dog Days are Over by rubylaurus - Mordern AU where Neil is a successful actor and Todd is a intern writer for his show. It's adorable with a little bit of ambiguity in the end.

lick me like a flame by perksofbeingpoet - ANGST SO MUCH ANGST. THE BEST ANGST I'VE SEEN.

Let Me Wallow in Your Afterglow by Glittery_Bubbles - This could easily be the script of the 2nd movie if Neil hadn't died. LOVED the characterization and Keating's lessons.

I Read You for Some Kind of Poem by Glittery_Bubbles - A WIP but ADDICTED hello??? Like so sad, so so sad. Cry bitches

True Blue by PureCacophony - Another WIP which is updates pretty periodically. Very fluffy, very adorable. Mordern AU. Extremely well written. Mwah

I Crawl, an Animal to You by dirtbag_dyke - Amazing Characterization, it has smut.

how it is, how it was (how it has to be) by perksofbeingpoet - TEARS. ANDERPERRY BREAKUP. Phone call rituals. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Volta by suffragettecity - Neil meets Todd after med school.

White Walls and Blurry Eyes by lightswechase - four words - crown tattoo, ring finger

#add more recs please!!#THIS LIST WILL BE UPDATED HEHE #dead poets society #neil perry #dps #todd anderson #anderperry #dps fandom #dps fanfiction #ao3 #fanficton #dps fanfic #fanfic recs

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perksofbeingpoet · 2 months ago

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todd hadn't felt ready to enter neil's room because he was scared of its emptiness, but looking at the stuffed animal sitting on a dead boy's bed, he suddenly longs for blank walls.

it's a dog. floppy-eared. orange eyes. its fur is matted where neil must have pressed it against his cheek as a child, his chest, his neck.

it looks up at todd, big-eyed, glass-eyed.

its fur is matted where neil was alive.

todd wants to say something, something stupid like "i don't think he's coming back, buddy" or "oh look, there's two of us", but his throat feels sore and thick.

the dog looks up at todd, big-eyed, glass-eyed.

its fur is matted, and todd can almost see it- neil, a toddler, sleepily rubbing his eyes, running to the kitchen table barefoot, always carrying this dog. he can see neil asleep in a bed half the size of this one, rolling over in his sleep and reaching out for the comfort of this stuffed animal.

he can see neil- reaching out.

the dog looks up at todd, big-eyed, glass-eyed.

#inspired by my own stuffed animal and the thought of when would they clean out neil's room at home #dead poets society #dps fandom #dps #dead poets headcanons #neil perry #todd anderson #anderperry #dps fanfiction #dead poets society fandom #dead poets december #dead poets fanfic

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ash5monster01 · 4 months ago

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Hii! I’ve just seen a prompt that goes: “You don’t talk much.” — “I just really like listening to you, that’s all.” and it made me think of Todd Anderson ✨🥰 soo, if you could do something fluffy based on that prompt, it would be great

Enough For The Both of Us

Pairing: Todd Anderson x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, blabbing, minor sadness, mentions of being shy, lack of friends

Summary: When getting partnered up for class, you’re desperate to make this mystery guy your friend. Yet maybe things work out a little better than that.

word count: 1k

Masterlist

College was supposed to be fun. At least that’s what you thought. It had been two weeks and you had yet to make friends. Even your roommate had left you behind, finding a group she didn’t bother to include you in. It had become hopeless, that was until your English professor announced an assignment. An assignment that required you to partner up and work on for a full two weeks. A golden opportunity of guaranteed time to make a friend. Yet with just your luck the name placed beside your own on the list is not a female name. Instead you eye the suspicious lettering of a boy named Todd.

Yet you don’t falter, you take it with stride. Boys and girls could be friends right? At least not in your experience but you had also never tried. It didn’t help you went to an all girls school before this. Boys were new territory, something meant to explore once you made friends in college. You’d just have to do things out of order now, which you remind yourself of that as you start your trek to the school library. The very place you had agreed to meet this so called Todd.

He’s not hard to find, a blonde boy with shy eyes who raises a sheepish hand to flag you down. You shuffle towards him immediately, dropping your school books as you sit in the seat beside him instead of across from him. The action makes him blush while you pull out the assignment from class. “Hi Todd, it’s nice to meet you. I’m excited for us to start working on this project together”

“Y-yeah. Me too” the boy stutters, eyes never quite meeting your own as he turns to face his own work on the table.

“I was thinking we could be friends Todd. I need a friend around here and the person forced to work on a project with me is better than any” you tell him, filling in the conversation where he lacks. You figure with his shy nature he won't put up much of a fight. Perfect.

"Okay" he sounds uneasy but you don't give him much time to think about it as you finally organize all the papers in front of you.

"Not to say I'm not cool or anything. I'm really cool, I just haven't found the right crowd around here yet. If I'm being honest I was kind of upset I wasn't partnered with another girl. Not that a boy is bad but it would be nice to have a girlfriend first to talk to about all the boy stuff. Like you're cute, but I couldn’t tell you that" you ramble, not even a semblance of vulnerabilty as you speak. That's why Todd stares at you with such awe, shocked at how easy it is for you to communicate and not regret it after. He had been better, no longer the meek boy he once was, fading like a dying flame but he also was no where near the level of confidence you were.

"You just did" Todd points out, the tips of his ears burning red as he tries not to dwell on how pretty you are. He had thought it had to be some curse that the beautiful girl he couldn't stop staring at in class somehow got partnered up with him.

"I guess you're right, well either way I'm sure you have some guy friends and get what I mean. It's not like we can share every detail of our lives with each other, it's unnatural. We're so different" and as much as Todd wants to disagree, having only been surrounded by boys his whole life he would have to understand.

"Different how?" Todd inquires, other than the obvious gender difference he wants to hear what this gorgeous girl had already deemed of him in only five minutes of her blabbing and him sitting here and silently listening. If he had the confidence of Charlie or Neil he would’ve asked you on a date already, stopped this silly friend train because there was no way he could possibly be friends with someone who looked like you.

"Well you know, boy, girl. I'm outgoing and you're, well you're just sitting here" you say with a serious look that has a laugh escaping Todds lips and betraying him. The minute the sound reaches your ears his face is as red as a tomato, but she only finds the boy impossibly cuter. Curse you for all this rambling about being friends when you really should've been flirting this whole time.

"Okay" Todd agrees after a moment, nodding his head along and trying to look away before you could see just how red his whole body was from this simple conversation with you. To think you hadn't even started working on a project yet.

"You don’t talk much" you state, looking at him with suspicous eyes and trying to understand the entirety of him. What a mystery this boy was.

“I just really like listening to you, that’s all” he finally says with a slight confidence you hadn't thought him capable. The shock of his words makes your nerves buzz inside you. You knew you could talk to much but to have someone speak so fondly of it was different. Mainly you were picked on for never holding your tongue and instead a boy had complimented you on it. A cute boy at that.

"So I haven't annoyed you yet, scared you away?" You ask curiously, hoping he won't say he was just messing with you. It was possible he could still up and leave, request another partner, and you had humiliated yourself.

"The opposite actually. It's nice being around someone who talks enough for the both of us" the sentence reminds him of Neil, a sad smile painting his features as you let the words wash over you. The most he had said directly to you since you had sat in this seat.

"Than this partnership might just work Todd" you grin and he blushes again, liking you hadn't used the word friend. Especially now that he wanted to be much more than your friend.

"Agreed"

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sustiawan-author · 2 months ago

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I find it FUNNY how the boys in Dead Poets Society presumably (and so have been depicted) have not seen or interacted with the opposite sex properly before that the mere thought of talking to one gets them gaping and closing their mouths like a bunch of goldfishes.

Like hello?? Pull yourselves together

#dead poets society fanfic #dead poets society #dead poets fanfic #dead poets headcanons #dead poets fandom #dead poets aesthetic #dead poets society movie #dps #dps fanfiction #dps boys #dps headcanons #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton #steven meeks #dps x reader #richard cameron #gerard pitts #knox overstreet

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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 2 months ago

Text

The Tortured Poets Department

Charlie Dalton x Reader

Summary: You and Charlie were always more than just friends too bad Charlies too scared to admit it

Word Count: 9K

The cave loomed before her, its entrance bathed in soft shadows, while faint candlelight flickered from deep within. Y/N paused at the threshold, the cool night air brushing against her skin. The sounds of voices—laughter, snippets of poetry, and the occasional hushed murmur—floated out to her like a familiar melody. This place had always been her refuge, ever since Neil Perry had taken the chance and brought her into the fold. It wasn’t her school, and the legacy wasn’t hers to claim, but it didn’t matter. The poets had welcomed her as one of their own, and the cave had become her home in ways she hadn’t expected.

She shifted her weight, her fingers lightly brushing the rough surface of the stone. Inside, the group’s energy ebbed and flowed, alive with creativity and rebellion, each voice adding its own spark to the mix. This wasn’t just a gathering; it was freedom—the kind of freedom she could never find elsewhere. The words spoken here carried weight, every verse and line a quiet act of defiance against the world that tried to confine them.

And yet, as much as the society itself meant to her, there was one reason she couldn’t stay away. Charlie Dalton. He was the storm in this quiet sanctuary, the wild streak in the poetry, and the wildfire she could never ignore. His laughter rang out now, sharp and unrestrained, a sound that seemed to carry all the mischief and thrill he lived for. It sent a shiver through her, one that was as much anticipation as it was nervous energy.

Charlie had always been different. Where the others found solace in the safety of their words, he turned his into challenges. He pushed boundaries, dared authority, and refused to let anyone dictate who he should be. And yet, beneath that wild energy, there was something else—a passion, a brilliance, and a vulnerability he rarely showed. It was that combination that had drawn her in from the beginning, that kept her coming back to the cave night after night.

Her eyes scanned the group as she stepped inside, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating familiar faces. They turned to greet her with warm smiles and knowing glances, but her focus was already fixed. She found him easily—Charlie always had a way of standing out, even in the dim light. He sat perched on a rock near the back, his unruly hair catching the flicker of the candles as he gestured animatedly, no doubt telling a story or reciting a verse.

He noticed her almost instantly, his grin widening as their eyes met. That grin—so full of life, so full of trouble—sent her pulse racing. For all his chaos, for all the ways he drove her mad with his recklessness, Charlie Dalton had a gravity she couldn’t escape. And she didn’t want to. With his untamed energy and mischievous grin, had a way of drawing her in like no one else ever could. He was a wildfire, dangerous and beautiful, and she couldn’t help but get burned.

Y/N sank into her usual spot, the cold, uneven surface of the rock grounding her as Knox animatedly recounted the details of his latest victory: finally winning over Chris. His enthusiasm was infectious, and the group roared their approval, clapping him on the back and offering exaggerated toasts to his triumph. Y/N joined in with a soft smile, genuinely happy for him, but the ache in her chest persisted—a familiar weight she could never quite shake in moments like this.

Her eyes drifted across the flickering circle, landing on Charlie. He was sprawled out on his back, one arm tucked behind his head and the other holding a cigarette loosely between his fingers. The lazy grin on his face was pure Charlie—reckless, confident, and entirely at ease, like he had the world in the palm of his hand. He caught her staring and winked, a quick, casual gesture that set her pulse racing and her stomach twisting into knots. How did he do that? How did he always make her feel like the only girl in the room, even when he wasn’t trying? Even when he was chasing someone else?

She averted her gaze, biting down on the corner of her lip as Knox’s story came to an end. The group shifted seamlessly back to their poetry, the warm, familiar cadence of voices reading aloud by candlelight filling the cave once again. But no matter how she tried, Y/N couldn’t focus on the words. Her mind was elsewhere, drawn back to the boy across the circle—the boy who drove her mad in ways no one else could.

They weren’t together. Not officially, anyway. But sometimes, it felt like they were. The stolen glances, the late-night whispers, the way he sprawled across her lap during their quiet moments, tracing lazy patterns on her arm—it all blurred the lines. It was more than friendship, but less than certainty. And it was slowly tearing her apart.

Charlie was a flirt—always had been, probably always would be. His charm was magnetic, his boldness impossible to ignore. He’d flirt with anyone, and he made it look so effortless. It didn’t matter if it was a fleeting smile, a well-placed joke, or an offhand compliment—he always knew exactly what to say to leave people wanting more. Sometimes, that person was her. And sometimes, it wasn’t.

Her chest tightened at the thought, her smile faltering. Who else holds him like I do? she wondered bitterly. Who else deciphers the chaos behind his smirk, sees the cracks he hides so well? Who else knows him, if not me?

But knowing him wasn’t enough. Not when he turned those same grins and careless winks to anyone who crossed his path. Not when his attention, so intoxicating when it was hers, could so easily shift to someone else. It was a cruel game, one she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep playing—but one she couldn’t bring herself to quit.

The Summer Before, the memory came to her unbidden, vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Pulling her back to a warm August evening that felt like a lifetime ago. It was the last stretch of summer, the kind that tasted of freedom and endings all at once. The school year loomed just over the horizon, but for one fleeting day, none of it mattered.

She had spent the afternoon at the Dalton house, sprawled across Charlie’s bed as sunlight streamed through the half-drawn blinds, painting the room in a muted gold. The air was thick and lazy, and she’d made herself comfortable while he disappeared downstairs, claiming he needed to “liberate” something from his father’s liquor cabinet. His room was unmistakably his—a cluttered chaos of books, vinyl records, crumpled clothes, and scrawled notes on scraps of paper. It smelled faintly of cigarettes and cologne, a scent she could still recall with aching clarity.

When Charlie returned, triumphant and grinning, he carried two mismatched glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “The finest my old man has to offer,” he declared with a mock bow, pouring them each a generous measure. The whiskey burned her throat, making her cough and wince, but she drank it anyway, unwilling to let him see her flinch.

The hours passed in a haze of conversation and laughter. They dissected song lyrics like philosophers, debated poets like scholars, and mocked their own pretentiousness until they were doubled over with laughter.

“We’re not Patti Smith and Dylan Thomas, you know,” she teased, lying back against the pillows. Her fingers trailed absently over the worn quilt on his bed, the fabric soft and familiar under her touch. “This isn’t the Chelsea Hotel.”

Charlie snorted, settling beside her with a cigarette dangling from his lips. “We’re modern idiots,” he agreed, his voice warm and full of mischief. In his other hand, he clutched a half-eaten chocolate bar, and she watched as he absentmindedly alternated between taking a bite and flicking his lighter open and closed.

The afternoon melted into evening, the air cooling as the golden light gave way to a soft, dusky glow. Somewhere between their debates about the superiority of punk rock versus jazz and their shared musings about life’s absurdities, Charlie’s head found its way to her lap. She didn’t question it, didn’t hesitate, only smoothed his unruly hair with gentle fingers. His hair was soft, messier than usual, and tickled her skin when he shifted. He was unusually quiet now, his endless energy dimming as the day wore on.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and almost drowsy. The cigarette in his mouth bobbed slightly as he spoke, his words slurring just enough to reveal how tired he was. “You get me, you know that? Like, really get me.”

Her hand froze for a moment, mid-motion, as her heart stumbled in her chest. The simplicity of the statement caught her off guard. Charlie wasn’t one for heartfelt confessions, at least not ones that felt this raw, this real. She opened her mouth to respond, her mind scrambling for something to match the weight of his words, something that would let him know she felt the same. But before she could speak, his eyes slipped closed, the cigarette still loosely balanced between his fingers.

She eased it from his grasp and crushed it in the ashtray beside the bed, watching as his breathing evened out. His face was so different like this—peaceful, unguarded. Vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. She stayed there for hours, running her fingers through his hair, memorizing every detail of the moment, knowing she’d carry it with her long after the summer faded.

That night became a part of her, etched into her memory like an old photograph—beautiful, bittersweet, and impossible to let go.

Sitting in the cave now, the air thick with candle smoke and murmured poetry, Y/N’s thoughts swirled like restless waves. She stared at the flickering light on the walls, trying to make sense of the ache in her chest. The cycle with Charlie—the stolen moments, the blurred lines, the lingering looks that promised everything but delivered nothing—was wearing her down. It felt like chasing shadows, reaching for something just beyond her grasp.

She’d thought about walking away more times than she could count. Maybe if she distanced herself, the pain of wanting more than he was willing to give would finally subside. Maybe the hollow ache that followed her home after nights like this would stop gnawing at her. The idea of pulling away, of reclaiming her peace, had a kind of seductive appeal. But just as quickly as the thought came, it unraveled, replaced by the fear of what that distance might mean—for her, for him, for whatever fragile connection they shared.

Her resolve had wavered countless times, but there was one moment that kept her tethered, one confession she hadn’t been able to forget. It had come from Meeks, of all people, on a night when the Dead Poets Society had celebrated a little too freely. She remembered the slurred edges of his words, the glassy look in his eyes as he leaned toward her, his sincerity cutting through the haze of whiskey and laughter.

“Charlie told me once,” Meeks had said, his voice low and unsteady, “if you ever left, he wouldn’t know what to do.”

The words had stunned her, slicing through her doubts like a blade. She’d pressed him for more, her pulse racing, but he’d only shrugged, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. At the time, she’d dismissed it as drunken rambling, a loose thread of half-truths spun in the moment. But the memory had lingered, replaying itself in her mind over and over, as vivid and persistent as a song she couldn’t shake.

It had become an ember she couldn’t extinguish, no matter how much it hurt to keep it alive. It burned quietly in the back of her mind, a stubborn flicker of hope that refused to die. What if Meeks had been right? What if there was more to Charlie’s carelessness, his charm, his aloofness than she’d let herself believe? What if, behind the easy grins and bold declarations, he was just as lost as she was?

The possibility both thrilled and terrified her. Because if it was true, if there was something real beneath all the layers Charlie used to keep the world at bay, then leaving wouldn’t just be an escape. It would be a betrayal of something fragile, something she wasn’t sure either of them knew how to name. And if it wasn’t true? If she was clinging to a hope that didn’t exist? Then she’d only be prolonging the inevitable heartbreak.

The uncertainty was maddening, but still, she stayed. Still, she waited. Still, she burned.

The breaking point came a week later, during one of those evenings that felt deceptively ordinary. Charlie had invited her over, as he so often did, and they sat across from each other at the long, polished dining table, the soft clinking of silverware filling the spaces between their laughter. The Dalton house had always felt cold, more like a museum than a home, but Charlie’s presence had a way of softening the edges, making it bearable.

His parents barely acknowledged them, as usual. His father sat at the head of the table, eyes buried in a newspaper, while his mother moved in and out of the room, her focus elsewhere. It was always like this—a hollow kind of civility that Charlie seemed determined to fill with his wit and charm. Y/N had grown used to it, though it never stopped tugging at her heart. She knew how much he hated the emptiness of it all, even if he never said so outright.

They bantered easily, trading jokes and teasing each other like they always did. For a while, it was enough to keep her grounded, to remind her why she stayed, why she kept coming back even when it hurt. But then, in a moment so casual it felt almost unintentional, everything shifted.

Charlie reached beside her, his fingers brushing hers as he picked up her hand. His touch was light, almost absentminded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her breath caught as he toyed with the ring on her finger, sliding it off and holding it up to the light with a mock-critical eye.

“Nice ring,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, though there was an edge of something else beneath it. Mischief, maybe, or something quieter, harder to define.

He slid the ring onto his own finger, grinning as he wiggled it in the air. “Think it suits me?” he asked, his tone light, though his gaze lingered on her in a way that made her stomach flip. Before she could answer, he pulled it off again and reached for her hand. This time, he slipped it back onto her finger, but not where it had been. Instead, he placed it on her left hand, on finger one reserved for promises neither of them had made.

Y/N froze, her heart lurching into her throat as she stared down at the ring. It gleamed faintly in the soft light, impossibly small but suddenly heavy. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she looked back up at Charlie, searching for some kind of explanation.

He didn’t offer one. Instead, he smirked, his thumb brushing lazily against her knuckles, the gesture so casual it felt almost dismissive. But his eyes… his eyes held something else entirely. A flicker of something she couldn’t name.

Her heart exploded in that moment, a chaotic mess of hope and despair that left her breathless. Did he even realize what he was doing to her? Did he have any idea how much weight that single action carried, how it sent her thoughts spiraling in every direction?

It was Charlie in his purest form—effortless, infuriating, and entirely unaware of the havoc he wreaked on her heart. Or worse, maybe he did know. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing, and he just didn’t care. The thought made her chest tighten, the ache of uncertainty threatening to swallow her whole.

Y/N didn’t make the decision all at once. It wasn’t a grand epiphany or a sudden resolve to cut Charlie out of her life entirely. Instead, it came in quiet moments, in the spaces between his laughter and her silence. It was the ache in her chest after nights spent waiting for something more, the hollow feeling that lingered after he turned his charm to someone else. Slowly, she began to pull away—not enough for anyone to notice at first, but enough to protect herself.

It started the next time he tried to sprawl across her lap during one of their quieter gatherings in the cave. Normally, she would have let him, her hands instinctively finding their way into his unruly hair. This time, she shifted slightly, leaning forward just enough to make the gesture awkward. He paused mid-movement, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before he laughed it off, settling against the rock beside her instead.

“You’re getting stingy with the lap space, Y/N,” he teased, shooting her that boyish grin that used to undo her. She forced a laugh, light and unbothered, and Knox jumped in with a joke that shifted the group’s attention. She was grateful for the distraction, even as she felt Charlie’s gaze linger on her a second too long.

She didn’t stop coming to the cave, didn’t stop sitting beside him during meetings. That would have raised questions, drawn attention she didn’t want. But she started drawing boundaries—subtle ones that only she noticed at first. When his fingers brushed hers, she pulled away just a little too soon. When his touch lingered on her arm or her shoulder, she found excuses to move, to shift her focus elsewhere. She stopped letting him hold her gaze for too long, stopped answering his teasing remarks with the same soft warmth she once had. Her responses grew neutral, her smiles polite but distant, her laughter quieter, less personal.

The hardest part was changing the way she spoke to him. She started to choose her words more carefully, deliberately moving their conversations away from the intimate territory they’d once inhabited. She spoke to him the way she spoke to Knox, or Neil, or Meeks—warm but friendly, never crossing the line into something more. When he teased her, she teased back, but the softness in her tone was gone. When he leaned in close, whispering some private joke just for her, she pulled back, laughing lightly but keeping the space between them.

Charlie noticed, of course. He wasn’t oblivious, even if he sometimes pretended to be. At first, he brushed it off with jokes, playfully calling her “cold-hearted” or “aloof.” But as the days turned into weeks, his remarks grew sharper, edged with a frustration he didn’t bother to hide.

One evening, after the group had dispersed and the boys were walking back toward Welton, her the other way, he finally called her out.

“You’ve been weird lately,” he said, his voice more serious than she’d expected. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his steps slower than usual as they walked side by side.

“Weird?” she asked, feigning confusion. “How so?”

He stopped, turning to face her. The dim light from the nearby lamppost cast shadows across his face, making his expression harder to read. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N,” he said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. “You’re pulling away. I can feel it.”

Her stomach twisted at the raw honesty in his voice, but she held her ground. “I’m not pulling away,” she said, keeping her tone even. “I’m just... trying to make things easier. For both of us.”

“Easier?” He frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” she began, taking a steadying breath, “that I think we need to set some boundaries. Clear ones. You’re my friend, Charlie. That’s all we’ve ever been, and that’s all we’ll ever be.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and final. She saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes, quickly masked by a smirk that didn’t quite reach his usual bravado.

“Boundaries, huh?” he said, his voice tight with forced humor. “Didn’t realize you were such a rule-follower, Y/N.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this—not when it feels like I’m the only one who doesn’t know where we stand.”

His smirk faltered, and for a moment, she thought he might argue, might try to convince her to stay. But then he shrugged, his usual nonchalance sliding back into place like armor. “Whatever you say,” he said, turning and walking ahead without another word.

She stood there for a long time after he disappeared into the night, the ache in her chest sharper than it had ever been. But this time, it wasn’t unbearable. This time, she felt the faintest stirrings of relief beneath the pain—relief that she’d finally taken a step toward reclaiming her heart, even if it meant leaving part of it behind.

The shift was palpable, and everyone in the Dead Poets Society felt it. Where Y/N and Charlie had once been inseparable, now there was only a careful, deliberate distance. She no longer sat beside him in the cave. Instead, she found a spot near Knox or Neil, her focus firmly on the poetry or the discussions at hand. She laughed with the others, joked with them, even debated them—but with Charlie, there was only silence.

Charlie didn’t handle it well.

At first, he tried to keep things normal, filling the gap with his usual charm. He’d toss jokes her way, flash his signature grin, lean casually in her direction as though daring her to ignore him. But when her responses came clipped and polite, or worse, not at all, he started retreating too. His jokes turned sharper, tinged with bitterness he didn’t bother to hide. When she ignored those, he stopped trying altogether.

The quiet between them wasn’t hostile—it wasn’t anything at all. It was the absence of everything they’d once shared, and that was worse than any argument could have been. The others noticed, of course, though none of them dared to bring it up directly. Neil, ever the peacekeeper, occasionally tried to draw them both into group conversations, but it always ended awkwardly, with Y/N excusing herself early or Charlie storming off. Knox exchanged worried glances with Meeks and Pitts, but even they didn’t know how to fix something that had already fallen apart.

One evening, as the group gathered in the cave for another meeting, the tension came to a head. Y/N sat near Neil, her notebook open in her lap, the candlelight casting soft shadows across her face. Charlie was at the far end of the circle, sprawled on the ground with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wasn’t paying attention to the poetry being read, his eyes instead fixed on her, unrelenting and unreadable.

She felt his gaze but refused to look up, her focus firmly on the poem Neil was reciting. Her heart beat faster, her pulse loud in her ears, but she forced herself to stay composed. This was what she’d chosen—distance, clarity, self-preservation—and she wasn’t going to backtrack now.

When Neil finished reading, the group broke into soft applause, and the conversation turned to the next meeting’s plans. Charlie stayed silent, which was unusual enough that it drew attention. Knox nudged him lightly, murmuring something she couldn’t hear, but Charlie only shook his head, his expression dark.

Finally, he broke the silence. “So, what? We’re just pretending this is fine?” he asked, his voice cutting through the chatter like a blade.

The group froze, everyone turning to look at him.

“Charlie,” Neil said cautiously, “what are you talking about?”

Charlie’s eyes stayed locked on Y/N. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She felt the weight of his words like a physical blow, but she refused to rise to it. She closed her notebook slowly, meeting his gaze with a calm she didn’t feel. “This isn’t the time or place for whatever you’re trying to start,” she said evenly.

“Isn’t it?” he shot back, sitting up now, his cigarette forgotten. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding this conversation for weeks. Or avoiding me, more like.”

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances, clearly unsure whether to intervene or let it play out.

“I’m not avoiding anything,” Y/N said, her voice firm. “We’ve already talked about this, Charlie. There’s nothing left to say.”

His laugh was bitter, humorless. “Nothing left to say? That’s rich, coming from you. You used to never shut up around me.”

“That was before,” she said softly, her tone steady despite the ache in her chest. “Before I realized I needed to step back. For my own sake.”

“For your sake,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief. “And what about my sake, huh? Did you ever think about that?”

Her composure wavered for a moment, but she held her ground. “You don’t even like me like that, Charlie,” she said quietly. “You never have. And I can’t keep letting myself believe otherwise.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Charlie stared at her, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, she thought he might argue, might try to tear down the walls she’d built around herself. But then he laughed again, low and bitter, and stood abruptly.

“Fine,” he said, his voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t bother anymore.”

He turned and walked out of the cave without another word, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. The group sat frozen, the tension lingering like smoke in the air.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her notebook to her chest. She could feel the others’ eyes on her, their unspoken questions heavy with concern, but she didn’t have the energy to explain. Instead, she stood and followed the path Charlie had taken—not to chase him, but to leave the cave entirely.

Outside, the cool night air hit her like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her emotions. She looked up at the stars, their distant light a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart. She’d done what she needed to do, what she should have done months ago.

So why did it feel like she’d lost something she could never get back?

Y/N, once a vibrant and steady presence among the group, had grown quieter, more reserved. She still came to the meetings, still participated in the discussions and laughed at the jokes, but something in her had pulled inward. She became deliberate, careful, every word she spoke measured and free of vulnerability. It was as though she’d wrapped herself in armor, impenetrable and unyielding.

Charlie, on the other hand, was chaos. His laughter was louder, his jokes sharper, his need for attention almost desperate. He’d started flirting more—brazenly, recklessly—with anyone who would entertain him. Girls from other schools, waitresses at the diner, even strangers at the train station. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t lost on the boys, who exchanged worried glances every time he sauntered into the cave smelling faintly of perfume and cigarettes, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Where’ve you been, Dalton?” Neil asked one evening when Charlie arrived halfway through their meeting, his tie loosened and his shirt rumpled.

Charlie shrugged, leaning lazily against the cave wall. “Busy,” he said with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know me—always finding trouble.”

The others laughed uneasily, but Y/N didn’t look up from her notebook. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for some reaction, but she gave him nothing. Her pen moved steadily across the page, her posture calm and detached.

“You’ve missed three meetings this month,” Neil pressed, his tone gentle but firm. “That’s not like you.”

Charlie scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Relax, Captain. Poetry isn’t going anywhere.”

“Neither is your mess,” Meeks muttered under his breath, earning a nudge from Pitts.

Y/N’s chest tightened, but she didn’t lift her gaze. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? Distance. Separation. A clear, definitive line between them. She had no right to feel hurt by the way he threw himself into distractions, just as he had no right to demand anything more from her. They were nothing but friends now—or less than that, perhaps. Just two people occupying the same space, their connection unraveling thread by thread.

But Charlie was unraveling in his own way, too.

He stopped coming to the meetings altogether for a while, and when he did show up, it was always late, his energy frayed and restless. The easy charm that had once defined him now felt like a mask, a shield he wielded to deflect attention from the cracks forming beneath the surface. The boys tried to pull him back in, tried to anchor him, but Charlie only laughed and brushed them off, his bravado growing more transparent with each passing day.

And Y/N… she stayed silent.

She didn’t ask where he went or who he was with. She didn’t press him to stay when he left early or try to fill the space he left behind. She told herself it wasn’t her place, that this was the natural progression of the distance she’d chosen. But late at night, when the meetings were over and the others had gone home, she’d lie awake replaying every moment in her mind—the sharpness in his voice, the emptiness in his laughter, the way his eyes lingered on her even when he pretended not to care.

It wasn’t until one particularly quiet night in the cave that the weight of it all came crashing down. The group was smaller than usual—just Neil, Knox, Pitts, and Y/N. The absence of Charlie’s energy was stark, the silence stretching long between recitations.

“Have any of you talked to him?” Neil asked finally, his voice low.

Pitts shook his head. “He’s… distracted, I guess.”

“More like self-destructive,” Knox muttered, earning a sharp glance from Neil.

“What are we supposed to do?” Pitts asked, his tone heavy with resignation. “He won’t listen to us.”

The conversation hung in the air, fragile and unresolved. Y/N didn’t speak, her gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. She knew the boys were looking at her, waiting for her to say something, but what could she offer? She’d made her choice. She’d drawn her lines.

She told herself it wasn’t her responsibility to fix him.

And yet, as the meeting ended and the others began to pack up, Y/N found herself lingering, her notebook forgotten in her lap. She didn’t know what she was waiting for—an answer, a sign, or maybe just the courage to admit that no amount of distance could stop her from caring.

Because for all the defenses she’d built, for all the ways she’d tried to let him go, one truth remained: she wasn’t sure she could.

Charlie had always been the one who could keep his cool, who could laugh off anything and never let the weight of the world get to him. But now, as the boys confronted him, his carefully constructed walls were crumbling. They found him in his room that day, pacing back and forth, looking more disheveled than any of them had ever seen him. His eyes were bloodshot, his usually perfect hair was messy, and there was a distinct emptiness to his movements.

“Charlie,” Neil started, his voice firm but gentle, “this isn’t you. You’ve been avoiding us. Avoiding everything.”

“I’m fine,” Charlie muttered, brushing a hand through his hair in frustration, as if trying to push the emotions down. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

But the boys weren’t buying it anymore. They had seen it for weeks—the cracks in his facade. It wasn’t just about missing meetings. It was the way he was drowning in distraction, pushing everyone away. And they all knew why.

“You’re not fine, man,” Pitts added, his voice hard with concern. “We’ve seen how you’ve been acting. You’re hurting. You’re pushing Y/N away, and you’re not talking about it.”

At that, Charlie’s expression darkened. “Don’t bring her into this,” he snapped, his fists tightening. But it was clear the mention of Y/N hit a nerve, and Charlie couldn’t mask the raw frustration that bubbled up inside of him. “I don’t get it, okay? I don’t get why I didn’t just make it official, why I danced around it for so long. I liked her. I always did...”

His voice faltered. He sank onto the edge of his bed, his hands in his lap, staring down at the floor as though trying to find some sense of direction. “I kept thinking she would stick around, that it would just work itself out somehow. And now she’s gone, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, each of them uncomfortable with seeing their friend so broken, but it was clear that Charlie needed to hear this. He needed to hear what they were all thinking, needed to confront the reality of what he had done.

“You can’t just shut people out, Charlie,” Knox said, stepping forward with his usual calm voice but a hard edge to it. “You can’t keep running from your feelings. You had something real with her, and you messed it up. But you’re not beyond fixing things.”

Charlie didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the floor, the weight of it all pressing down on him. Finally, he mumbled, “I don’t even know if she’d want to fix it. I didn’t do anything, anything right. I just... I didn’t make it real. I let it slip away, and now she’s gone.”

He collapsed back onto the bed, his voice breaking as he admitted what he couldn’t say before. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I deserve to.”

The boys stood around him, all of them unsure of what to say. But Neil finally spoke, his voice softer than before. “You don’t fix things by running away, Charlie. You show up. You make it right. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll meet you halfway. But you have to do the work.”

Charlie’s gaze softened slightly, but he couldn’t shake the heavy weight in his chest. He had lost her. It felt final. And the thought of walking into that silence, of confronting the mess he had made, terrified him. But the boys wouldn’t let him off the hook. Not this time.

A few days later, Charlie started showing up to meetings again, his presence there a little less chaotic, a little less desperate. He was still messy, still a little broken, but there was an attempt to pull himself together. He threw himself into the work, into the distractions. But each time he looked around, there was something missing. And it wasn’t just his usual spark; it was her.

Y/N wasn’t at the meetings anymore.

At first, Charlie assumed it was just an off day. But then the days turned into weeks. Others tried calling her, but the replies were few and far between. She didn’t show up at the hangouts, didn’t respond to calls. Slowly, the silence between them grew louder.

He didn’t understand it. He hadn’t expected her to come running back, but he had hoped—hoped—that she would at least reach out. That she would be there. But she wasn’t. She had distanced herself completely.

The boys had no answers either. She was simply gone.

But Charlie couldn’t just sit idly by, pretending like everything was fine. He missed her. He missed her laugh, the way she used to tease him, how everything seemed lighter when she was around. He hadn’t known what he had until it was too late.

Still no sign of her. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. Charlie felt it in the pit of his stomach, the gnawing emptiness that had begun to fill the space where her smile used to be. He had lost his chance.

Meanwhile, Y/N was going through her own quiet spiral. Cutting off contact with the boys had been easier than she expected. She and Charlie no longer shared the same circles, and the distance between them felt... necessary. The absence of Charlie in her life was heavy, but it was also a relief. She had needed space, needed time to reclaim herself after everything had fallen apart. The constant reminders of him, the brief, desperate calls she couldn’t bring herself to answer, were all too much.

She didn’t show up to meetings, didn’t respond to group invitations. The boys didn’t know what to think, but they knew Y/N had made up her mind.

It hurt. It hurt more than anything she had ever felt before. But it was the only way she could breathe again.

Y/N’s mind had been racing for weeks. Every moment of silence, every unanswered call, every time she passed by their usual hangouts, it was like a weight on her chest. She had let go of so many things to protect herself from the fallout. But deep down, she couldn’t stop questioning everything. Maybe I’m the childish one—the thought had haunted her.

She couldn’t focus anymore. Her grades were slipping, her friends at school barely knew her, and the loneliness kept seeping in like an endless tide. She had lost more than just Charlie—she’d lost the version of herself that had been full of hope, that had been able to laugh through the awkwardness. Everything had been wrapped in him, and now that he wasn’t there, she felt like she was floating in a sea of nothing.

She couldn’t help but replay everything. Their late-night talks, the stolen glances, the laughter... but the part that stung the most was that she hadn’t gotten the closure she needed. She had cut off all contact, telling herself that it was the only way to move forward, but it had come at a cost. The truth was, she had never stopped loving him.

But moving was the final step. It felt like the only way out. Another prep school, in a different state, far enough from everything to finally heal—or at least, to try to. She hoped that the distance would give her space to breathe, to find herself again without the constant reminder of a love she couldn’t have.

Packing up her things felt surreal. It was like she was closing the door on so much more than just a school—she was leaving behind the girl who had once laughed with Charlie, the girl who had dreamed of what they could have been. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to go back, to talk to him again. But she had to do it. She had to move on.

Still, as she looked at the empty room, the reality of what she was doing hit her. She couldn’t deny it—leaving him behind didn’t stop her from still caring. And maybe, just maybe, it didn’t stop him from thinking of her too.

But for now, she was going to face the next chapter alone, hoping that the distance would help her forget the pain and allow her to rebuild herself from the pieces left behind. She didn’t know how long it would take or if she’d ever fully heal, but the decision was made. She had to move on, even if it meant leaving everything behind.

The moving van was parked outside the gates of the all-girls prep school, a stark reminder that Y/N was leaving. It had been a quiet afternoon, most students still milling about after classes. The air was heavy with the fading warmth of the day, and the bustle of Welton kids heading out was like a dull hum in the background. But there, on the far side of the field, Charlie stood frozen, his eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him.

Y/N’s parents were in the process of packing the last of her things into the van, a finality to the motion that seemed to pierce through the haze of everything else. Charlie’s chest tightened at the sight, his mind spiraling as his fingers ran through his already messy hair. His breath came out in short bursts, his heartbeat racing in anticipation.

What the hell am I doing?

He had been circling the field for what felt like hours, rehearsing his lines in his head. He had a plan, didn’t he? A speech. Something that would fix this mess he had made. He was supposed to be calm, collected. He was supposed to tell her everything—the truth about how he felt, how sorry he was, how much he wanted to make it right. But the more he practiced, the more the words seemed to slip through his fingers like smoke.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I should have told you how I felt rather than protecting my ego. I should have told you from the start that I was afraid of losing you... that I never meant to hurt you.”

It sounded so simple in his mind, but when it came to saying it out loud, it all felt so... impossible.

His eyes darted back to the van. It wasn’t just any van. It was the symbol of everything he was about to lose. Y/N was leaving, and he was just standing here, caught in his own head.

Why didn't I just tell her? Why did I wait so damn long?

His stomach churned with the realization that he hadn’t done enough. He had let her slip through his fingers. He’d taken too long to make up his mind, and now it felt like it was all slipping away, out of his reach, and he couldn't fix it in time.

His heart pounded as he moved closer to the edge of the field, his feet dragging like they were stuck in quicksand. He could see her parents now, their backs turned as they focused on the last few things to load up. Y/N wasn’t in sight, and that made everything worse. She wasn’t even there to hear him out, to let him try.

He reached the fence line and stopped, staring at the van. This is it. She’s leaving.

Charlie closed his eyes, shaking his head. He had to act. He had to move. There was no more time for hesitation.

And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approach—the unmistakable outline of Y/N. She was walking toward the van, her movements slow and deliberate. Every step she took made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth, but the words stuck, choked by the knot in his throat.

I can’t lose her. I won’t.

With a sudden burst of clarity, he pushed forward, determined to speak his truth before it was too late. As he crossed the field, the world around him seemed to slow, the sounds of laughter from other students fading into the background. There was only Y/N now, and the desperate need to make things right.

Charlie’s feet moved faster now, the space between him and the van growing smaller with each hurried step. His mind raced, the words he’d rehearsed countless times rushing through his head, but none of them felt right. He wasn’t prepared for this moment. He’d spent so long hiding behind jokes, distractions, and that perfect mask of arrogance, but now it was just him—raw, vulnerable, and completely terrified of what he was about to admit.

As he reached her, Y/N was just turning away from her parents, adjusting the strap of her bag. The moment she saw him, her expression faltered—just for a second—before the familiar walls went up, that guarded look he had become all too familiar with. It was that same look she’d been wearing ever since he’d distanced himself, ever since he'd messed everything up.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he approached her, stepping into her personal space without thinking. She paused, and for a brief, stupid second, he thought she might walk away again. But instead, she just stood there, silent, watching him with those unreadable eyes.

He swallowed hard, heart hammering in his chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been an idiot, Y/N. And I’m so sorry for... all of it.”

Her eyes flickered, but she said nothing, and it pushed him to keep going, to explain what had been gnawing at him for so long.

“I’ve always loved you. I know that sounds insane,” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head, “but it’s the truth. I’ve always known. Even when I was with someone else, or when I was being an asshole and pretending I didn’t care, it was always you. I was just... scared, okay? I was scared to change what we had, scared that if I admitted it, it would ruin everything. You... you were always there for me, and I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to mess it up.” He took a shaky breath, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt. So I pushed you away. And I got confused, and I lashed out.” His chest tightened, words getting harder to force out. “I was emotional. I didn't know how to handle it, how to handle you—what I wanted with you. I didn't know how to be the kind of person you deserve."

His hands, which had been shaking, curled into fists at his sides, but his eyes never left hers. "All I ever wanted was to be with you. But I kept screwing it up. And now, here you are, and I—" He stopped, frustrated. "I'm not good at this. But I need you to know, Y/N... I've loved you for so long. And I don't want you to go without knowing that."

His voice broke as the weight of it all hit him, all at once—the guilt, the pain of knowing he was losing her, and the overwhelming feeling of having waited too long.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his throat tight, his heart aching with every word. “I don’t know why I waited. But it’s always been you. And if I lose you now... I don’t know how to fix it. I’m so in love with you, and I’m so scared.”

Y/N’s face was unreadable. For a moment, she said nothing, her gaze flickering between him and the van. Charlie’s chest tightened as the silence stretched between them, and he could feel his heart pounding so loud he was certain she could hear it. She slowly turned away.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said, each word feeling like it took all of his courage to speak, but it was the truth. “I don’t expect you to just forget everything and come running back, but you need to hear this, okay?”

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’m not perfect,” Charlie continued, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ve never been perfect, and I was a damn fool to not see how much you meant to me. You were never just a ‘friend,’ and I know now that I’ve been holding onto something—stupid pride, fear of change, who knows—but it’s you. You’ve always been it for me. I was scared of what we could be, scared of losing you if I messed it up. But I messed it up anyway.”

Charlie’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as he took a step closer. “I’ve spent so much time telling myself I could move on, that I could just... distract myself with all this other nonsense. But no matter what I did, it was always you. Always.”

His voice softened, and now it was all that was left to say. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to be this person anymore—someone who hides from what he feels, someone who runs away from the one person who truly makes him feel like he belongs somewhere. Y/N, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m asking you to let me prove to you that I’m ready to be with you. I want us. I want to try. I want you to know that this... us... this is real. It’s always been real.”

Y/N’s back was still turned, but Charlie could see the slight shift in her posture—the hesitation, the quiet battle inside her. And then, after a long pause, she slowly turned around, her eyes no longer as guarded, but still cautious. Her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but she didn’t.

Instead, she took a step closer, her gaze searching his. "Charlie, you hurt me," she said, her voice quieter now, not angry, just sad. "You made me feel like I was nothing more than an option, someone to keep around until you figured things out. I couldn’t just sit there waiting for you to wake up." Her words were heavy, but they held a sense of vulnerability that Charlie had never heard before.

He nodded slowly, his chest tightening at the honesty in her voice. "I know, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. But you don’t have to wait for me anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Y/N. I’ve been waiting for us, for the right time, and I was wrong. I know I can’t change the past, but I want to be with you. I want to make it right. Please, let me try. Let us try."

Her eyes softened, just a little, but she took another step back, as if unsure. "I don’t know, Charlie. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend it didn’t hurt."

"I don’t want to go back to what we were either," Charlie said quickly, his voice firm. "I want something real with you. Not games. Not confusion. I’m not asking for everything at once. I’m asking for a chance—just a chance to show you that I’m not the same person I was before." He paused, stepping forward. "I know we’re both scared. Hell, I’ve been terrified the whole time, but I’m not running anymore. I want to be with you. That’s all I know for sure."

She was silent for a moment, studying him, the conflict clear on her face. Charlie’s heart raced in his chest, the waiting unbearable.

And then, finally, she took a deep breath and smiled, just a little. Not the carefree, sarcastic smile he remembered from before, but something softer, more tentative. “You’ve got one chance, Charlie,” she said, her voice steady but warm. “One. Don’t make me regret it.”

Charlie felt something light and pure spread through him, like the weight of the world had finally lifted. He smiled, his heart leaping. “I won’t. I swear.”

And with that, she stepped closer, her hand brushing his in the briefest touch. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was enough. Enough to tell him that maybe—just maybe—they could make it through this together.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered.

“I know,” Charlie said, his voice quiet, but full of the promise of everything he was willing to give to make it right.

Charlie couldn’t believe this moment was actually happening. All the fear, the confusion, the mistakes—all of it had led him here, standing in front of her, heart racing as he waited for her to make her decision. She wasn’t just someone he cared about anymore—she was everything. And now, after all the time apart, he couldn’t let this chance slip away.

Y/N’s eyes softened, her lips parting as if she was about to say something, but for once, Charlie didn’t need to hear the words. He could feel everything she was trying to say in the way she looked at him. The hesitation in her eyes was still there, but there was something else now—something warmer, something that told him she was willing to take that first step toward them again.

"Charlie..." she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, and he could see her vulnerability mirrored in his own.

He took another step toward her, his pulse hammering in his ears, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of her, not of what might happen. He just knew he couldn’t walk away again. Not without knowing if they could truly have what they’d both wanted for so long.

For a moment, everything was still. Her gaze flickered down to his lips, and that was all it took. With a breath that seemed to catch in her chest, she closed the distance between them, her hand reaching up to rest lightly on his chest. She leaned in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Charlie closed his eyes, letting everything around them fade away.

When their lips finally met, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was everything he’d been holding back—the months of silence, the longing, the regret—and in that single touch, it all came crashing down. Her lips were soft and warm, and Charlie felt like he was breathing again, as if the weight of everything that had gone wrong could somehow be erased in this one moment.

She kissed him back with the same intensity, her hands moving to rest against his neck as they held each other, both of them finally understanding what they’d been too afraid to admit before: they were meant to be together.

As they pulled away just slightly, their foreheads resting against one another, Charlie couldn’t help but smile. "I swear to you, Y/N, I’m never letting you go again."

Y/N chuckled softly, her voice still full of warmth. "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere either."

And in that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the fading afternoon light, everything felt right. The past didn’t matter anymore. They had found their way back to each other, and this time, Charlie knew he wasn’t going to let fear or doubt take it all away.

They were finally together, and that was all that mattered.

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