#I will be first in line for your Pride and Prejudice

[placetneplacet]

“Why, there’s a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate.”

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

An Analysis of Alhaitham’s Story Quest In Its Relation To Kaveh & Queercoding In Pride and Prejudice

An inherently romantic connotation can be found in Alhaitham’s Story Quest, as the last quest of The Illusions of the Mob is entitled ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Firstly, the content of Alhaitham’s Story Quest and how it can be related to Kaveh will be explored in order to further identify the romantic connotations present here.

Within ‘The Illusions of The Mob’ similarities exist between Ilyas and Kaveh, not only in their views on conformity, but also in overcoming prejudices formed around Alhaitham’s character. As The Illusions of The Mob story quest deals with Alhaitham’s views on the individual as compared to the collective, just as expounded upon in his character stories. Considering this, it makes sense that Kaveh be of relevance within this story quest, since, as previously discussed, Kaveh and Alhaitham’s character stories are written in response to one another, particularly on their respective ideas on individual talent and the collective. Therefore, whilst these parallels between Alhaitham’s story quest and Kaveh are speculatory – lacking conclusive textual evidence that these links are deliberate – it is still relevant to discuss Ilyas’s character development within this quest, as it can be seen to closely align with that of the narrative push for Kaveh’s progression.

Ilyas is part of Siraj’s Hive Mind, in which he functions as an extension of Siraj and is therefore subject to Siraj’s thoughts and emotions. Ilyas consented to becoming part of the Hive Mind due to his longing to conform to a mass collective after reporting the fraud of a revered researcher, was labelled as a ‘hero’, and therefore was shunned by other scholars, ultimately misunderstood by those around him.

In an attempt to avoid being singled out as ‘other’, he sought the collective as a means of comfort, and thus rejected his own merits and individualism. This mirrors that of Kaveh’s longing to fit in which stems from his prioritisation of others above himself, and with this, his rejection of the title as a ‘genius’, due to this ostracising himself from others.

After the dismantlement of the Hive Mind, Ilyas reveals that where he initially wanted to conform in order to fit into the collective, he could not perpetually commit himself to do so, as his own differing opinions still set him apart. He realises that the collective is not “powerful” like he had previously thought, and this understanding encourages him to aspire to not care about conforming, “just like Alhaitham."

In this sense, it is of note that Alhaitham asserts that the Hive Mind’s downfall was ultimately down to people’s differing thoughts and opinions, and that they were reminded of their own individuality due to Alhaitham’s promptings: “A few words were enough. Believe in the power of words...”

Ilyas opting to reject the collective in favour of considering himself more mirrors that of Alhaitham’s desire for Kaveh to better prioritise himself in order to be free of expectations and obligations forced upon him by others (this is discussed more in detail here). It is how Ilyas is able to realise this which is of particular interest, as it is ultimately through Alhaitham’s words to him commenting on his own merits which led to downfall of the Hive Mind:  “… What I said to Ilyas was the trigger for all of this."

Through Alhaitham, and through Alhaitham’s words, does Ilyas choose to prioritise himself. By drawing this parallel between Kaveh and Ilyas, a possibility can be surmised of what Kaveh could benefit from adopting this particular aspect of Alhaitham’s philosophy in the potential betterment of himself. However, this appears to only be possible through mutual understanding in expression (this is further explored here), as Alhaitham’s words and how he conveys his meaning can serve as the catalyst for Kaveh’s potential betterment, just as they serve Ilyas.

In terms of prejudices, there exists a link between the pride and prejudice propagated within Siraj’s Hive Mind and that of the relationship between Kaveh and Alhaitham. In this, Ilyas can be viewed as a narrative foil for Kaveh. Whereas Ilyas’ prejudices and his innate “loathing” of Alhaitham stemmed from the leader of the Hive Mind, Siraj, he recognises that these prejudices he holds against Alhaitham are, actually, unfounded, as he finds Alhaitham to not be someone he would dislike to such an extent.

Upon returning to the Hive, Ilyas’ personal perception of Alhaitham is introduced to the collective consciousness and thus contradicts the prejudices against Alhaitham that Siraj has propagated. This gives rise to “new conflict” as these two differing perceptions of Alhaitham struggle to co-exist. These juxtaposing impressions of Alhaitham act as the catalyst for the collapse of the Hive Mind.

This contradiction of perceptions is interesting in considering Kaveh’s dual versions of Alhaitham, in which he appears to recognise that there is a mutual regard between him and Alhaitham in that they are ultimately known only, through and through, by the other, all the while believing that Alhaitham holds “disdain” for him and his ideologies.

Ilyas’ prejudice against Alhaitham is founded on Siraj’s hatred of Alhaitham due to Alhaitham having once rejected Siraj’s research proposal. This caused Siraj to believe that Alhaitham saw himself as superior due to his perceived arrogance that comes from the title of being a ‘genius’.

However, Alhaitham states that, contrarily, he never looked down upon Siraj and instead exercised objectivity, which Siraj misinterpreted to his particular way of thinking, and ultimately his own arrogance due to his need to be correct, and therefore his dependence on other people’s opinions of him.

There are similarities present between the conception of Siraj’s prejudice against Alhaitham and that of Kaveh’s, both being formed from an assertion of their own ideals to be correct; that Alhaitham distancing himself from others is due to a perceived arrogance; and that Alhaitham’s rejection of their ideals is an assertion of this arrogance, and therefore a personal attack. Ilyas, then, harbouring Siraj’s hatred for Alhaitham is a prejudice, which Ilyas himself debunks once understanding why Alhaitham behaves in the way that he does, being that of objectivity rather than arrogance, and thus, this contradicts with Siraj’s impression of Alhaitham.

In this, Ilyas can be viewed as a narrative foil for Kaveh. Upon discovering that Siraj’s hatred of Alhaitham is unfounded, and that his prejudice is incorrect, Ilyas reinterprets Alhaitham through his own perspective, and decides, that he does not dislike Alhaitham, and ultimately, he admires that Alhaitham has no fear in not conforming to the collective in order to stay true to his ideologies.

With Kaveh holding dual versions of Alhaitham, his prejudices borne from a belief of Alhaitham’s arrogance must be surmounted in order to reinterpret Alhaitham, and with this, the meaning behind Alhaitham’s behaviour. Just as with Ilyas, as established, this has the potential to be achieved through communication, as with Alhaitham’s words does Ilyas understand why Alhaitham behaves the way he does. If communicated properly, it is possible that Kaveh can interpret Alhaitham’s comments on his detrimental philosophies as concern, rather than arrogance, and therefore forego the belief that Alhaitham holds “disdain” for him.

The parallels between Ilyas and Kaveh can further be drawn when the Traveler and Paimon are invited back to Alhaitham’s house, and Kaveh is introduced as Alhaitham’s roommate. Kaveh shows embarrassment over being discovered living with Alhaitham, due to his fronting as a successful architect, and begs the Traveler and Paimon not to disclose this information to others.

Alhaitham follows this by stating that he has books on “collectives” at home, referring to them being the reason he invited the Traveller and Paimon over. Kaveh’s desperation in avoiding his financial situation to be discovered by others, the collective that he seeks to conform to, is directly tied in with the nature of Alhaitham’s story quest, being that of focussing on the individual rather than the collective.

Returning to queercoding, romantic connotation can be located within a less speculatory aspect of The Illusions of The Mob and stems from its final quest title. The inherent nature of Alhaitham’s Story Quest pertaining to Kaveh and their miscommunication holds an explicit romantic connotation when considering the origin of the quest title ‘Pride and Prejudice’. This title serves as a reference to the novel of the same title by Jane Austen published in 1813.

To reference Pride and Prejudice within Alhaitham’s Story Quest is to make direct parallels between Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy to Kaveh and Alhaitham, which are irrevocably romantic parallels. Elizabeth Bennet can be identified as the ‘Pride’ in the title, whereas Mr. Darcy is identified as ‘Prejudice’. Kaveh, then, can easily be assigned as ‘pride’ due to it being labelled as his shortcoming by Alhaitham in A Parade of Providence.

The role of Mr. Darcy can then be assigned to Alhaitham, who, although may not be blinded by prejudice, shares common attributes of Mr. Darcy’s character, in being socially adverse and blunt in his manner of speaking, despite having great awareness of social etiquette, thus allowing for others to easily form misconceptions of him.

Relating this to the analysis of The Illusions of the Mob, then, the parallels between Ilyas and Kaveh can be used to ascertain a potential future for Alhaitham and Kaveh. Kaveh overcoming his pride borne from the “correctness” of his ideals, in comparison to those that Alhaitham perceivably once asserted over him, goes hand in hand with the overturning of the prejudices formed against Alhaitham – just as Elizabeth Bennet must overcome the misconceptions formed of Mr. Darcy’s character in order to better to both understand herself and Mr. Darcy.

The romantic connotation here is conceived from the alignment of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett’s opposing viewpoints ultimately leading to matrimony. This future romantic attachment as a potentiality is generated upon the quest title of ‘Pride and Prejudice’, with Alhaitham and Kaveh being narratively assigned the roles of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Considering this, the purpose of identifying this queercoding is not to allude to a potential canonical confirmation of a romantic relationship between the two, but instead highlight the romantic speculation that can be garnered by the game's referencing this novel.

[psformybss]

“Current Boyfriend”

drew starkey x actress!reader

You’re both curled up on the couch in your shared apartment, a rare day off where neither of you is on set, flying out, or doing press. The weather outside is gray and cozy, rain pattering gently against the windows. Inside, though, it’s chaotic—because you’ve decided to film a TikTok with Drew, and he doesn’t know he’s about to be ambushed.

The camera is subtly perched on the coffee table, angled just right to catch both of you—him in a hoodie and sweatpants, you in one of his old t-shirts with your legs tucked under his. He’s sipping from a mug of coffee, blissfully unaware that you’re seconds away from disrupting his peace.

You hit record and turn to him, speaking sweetly.

“Okay, I’m gonna ask my current boyfriend some questions about me to see if he gets them all right.”

You deliver the line casually, almost too casually.

Drew pauses mid-sip, lowering the mug slowly as his eyebrows draw together. “I’m sorry,” he says, blinking. “Your what?”

You keep a straight face. “My current boyfriend.”

He tilts his head, mouth falling slightly open in a way that’s both confused and deeply offended. “Current boyfriend???”

“Yeah,” you say, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Current. Boyfriend.”

He stares at you for a solid three seconds like he’s waiting for the punchline. When you don’t offer one, he lets out a disbelieving laugh, sitting up straighter and adjusting the throw blanket over your legs.

“Oh, word?” he says, eyes narrowing. “So I’m… just the latest edition? Like a damn iPhone?”

“Basically,” you reply like this isn’t escalating fast.

Drew dramatically clutches his chest. “That’s wild. That’s real wild. Here I am, thinking I’m your man, and I’m just out here holding the title temporarily.”

You smile sweetly. “That’s right. So let’s see how well my current boyfriend knows me. First question—what’s my go-to coffee order?”

He eyes you with mock suspicion but plays along. “Iced oat milk vanilla latte, light ice, no straw, because the turtles.”

“Correct,” you say, nodding.

“Damn right,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Current boyfriend. You’re lucky I’m caffeinated.”

“Next question,” you continue, completely ignoring his growing dramatic offense. “What’s my favorite movie?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Pride and Prejudice. 2005. Keira Knightley. You force me to watch it at least three times a year.”

“And you love every second,” you grin.

“That’s beside the point,” he shoots back. “You know what? Since I’m apparently just one boyfriend in the rotating cast—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over to slap his arm lightly.

“—I’m demoting you too,” he continues. “Effective immediately, you’re no longer my girlfriend. You’re my main side piece.”

You choke. “Your WHAT?”

Drew sips his coffee again, raising an eyebrow smugly. “My main. Side. Piece. I got a whole fictional roster now. You’re in the top three, but like, don’t get comfortable.”

“DREW,” you shriek, laughing so hard your body folds over. “Not the main side piece.”

He shrugs like he’s talking about the weather. “Hey, don’t be mad. I’m just following your energy, sweetheart. Current boyfriend, main side piece—it’s giving equal chaos.”

You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, breathless from laughing. “You are so unwell.”

“Says the woman casually demoting me to temporary status on a public platform,” he fires back. “Nah, I’m gonna start wearing a name tag that says ‘Drew: boyfriend in progress.’”

You regain some composure and lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He automatically shifts to accommodate you, his arm looping around your waist like it’s muscle memory.

“Okay,” you mumble into his hoodie. “You’re not temporary. You’re like… forever trial version.”

He gasps again. “You did not just call me a free trial!”

You dissolve into another fit of laughter, body shaking against his as he pretends to be personally victimized.

“Thirty-day money-back guarantee,” he mutters under his breath.

You lift your head just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m keeping you, you big baby.”

“That’s what they all say,” he deadpans.

“Drew.”

“Until the next current boyfriend comes along.”

You slap his chest lightly again, both of you still grinning like idiots.

The video ends with him tackling you sideways onto the couch, blanket tangling around your legs as you squeal.

[uravichii]

"best friends who kiss?"

character/s: bakugo katsuki

summary: recently, your best friend has been kissing you at random times. you have no idea why because he refuses to talk about it. either way, you're not about to let this to ruin your precious friendship.

genre & trope: fluff, best friends to lovers, angry confessions, reader is terrified of love but bakugo wants them so bad 😁, tw kind of ooc bakugo

a/n: i've been watching a lot of pride & prejudice and bridgerton scenes n i'm now obsessed angry confessions 🤩 + this is heavily inspired by that scene in little women :) ALSO i haven't posted in a year 😟 so pls be nice ik my writing's rusty in this :'D

the first time bakugou katsuki kissed you, he pretended he never did.

"what... " you brush your fingers against your bottom lip, your whole face hot. "what the hell was that for?"

"what?" bakugo shrugs, feigning innocence as he takes a swig of his soda.

you try and trace back the events that could have led to the kiss.

you said something along the lines of: "i wish i had a boyfriend. i could definitely pull a cute guy off the street."

then you heard him scoff and say: "no man's sane enough to put up with your insufferable ass." ーor something more insulting than that.

you can't remember what you said in response, and you rack your brain to figure out what prompted him to grab your face and kiss you. it's impossible when all you can think about is the unexpected supple feel of his lips, its faint ghost still lingering on yours.

"that kiss, katsuki! you violated my mouth!"

"dunno what you're talking about. you hit your head or something?"

you blink and second-guess yourself for a second.

"okay, no. you're not gonna gaslight your way out of this." you swat his arm, earning an irked glare from him. "why the hell did you kiss me?"

"you're imagining things, idiot. this stupid game's givin' ya some serious brain damage for sure."

he stands up and swings his bag over his shoulder.

"where are you going? we're not done yetー!"

and he's out of the door.

was he drunk off his soda? maybe he kissed you to mess with your head. he's not that cruel though, you think. maybe he couldn't think of any other way to shut you upー that was something he always struggled with after all.

at least the second time bakugo katsuki kissed you, he was kind enough to warn you.

after enduring the most awkward hour-long study session with him, you decide to put an end to your agony by wrapping it up. you start gathering your things when he stops you with a calloused hand on your wrist.

"what?" you turn to him, your cheeks already heating up from his touch.

there are no thoughts you could read behind those vermillion eyes, and all of a sudden, you don't know your best friend very well anymore.

he walks some tentative steps closer to you until the back of your knees hit the table. he cradles your jaw with such delicacy you didn't even know he was capable of. he slips past your awaiting lips and presses his nose on the side of your head, his warm breath kissing your flushed skin.

"punch me in the face and scram if you don't want this, got it?"

you gulp and forget to answer if not for the gentle squeeze on your wrist. "y/n, you got it?"

"s-sure."

when you two kiss, it's different from last time. it's unhurried, curious, and so intoxicating. the kiss speaks: 'i want you. i want you. i want you' but whose thoughts are these?

he groans into your lips as if to urge you to keep up with the sheer hungriness that has consumed him. you try your best to do so as he deepens the kiss with a palm on the back of your head and practically drinks you in. he doesn't pull away until he hears the tiny whine that escapes you.

"shit, sorry." he mutters, avoiding your stunned gaze.

"t's okay."

"did i hurt you?" the quiet lilt of his voice surprises you.

"no, no. i'm okay, but why'd you kiー"

"bye." he blurts out as he turns to the door and leaves, as if he didn't just invaded your mouth and permanently tainted the years of friendship you two have had. you click your tongue as the heat subsides in your cheeks.

"son of a bitch."

the third time bakugo katsuki kissed you, you let him, and he didn't stop.

you had barely escaped death when you lost your footing while sparring with todoroki. naturally, bakugo yelled the poor guy's ear off and would have murdered him if eraserhead hadn't interfered at the last second.

now, you find yourself heaving in your bed. you don't know whether your hastened pulse is from the adrenaline rush or from the fact that bakugo is all over you right now.

he's planting feather-light kisses all over youー your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your eyelids, your hands, and your wrist, as panicked murmurs spill out of him in between kisses. 'you scared the hell out of me. you have no idea, fuck. are you okay? are you really okay? tell me you're okay, y/n.'

"i'm okayー" you barely manage to gasp before he dips his lips into yours, desperate and frantic. tremulous hands find solace in your hips as he holds you, gentle enough not to mar your injuries but snug enough to assure his restless heart that you are safe.

your head feels hazy. your limbs ache and lie motionless, and though your lips could barely move to reciprocate his kisses as much as you wanted to, bakugo didn't stop. you tried to ask him about it the next morning, but of course, he ignored you and walked away.

you don't know when he stopped kissing you that night. all you know is that there was a line that was crossed, and your friendship was never going to be the same again.

bakugo katsuki is going to kiss you again. your heart thrums incessantly. whether it's dread or anticipationー you don't know.

you think about the sensation of his lips that's become so familiar to you that you've learned to crave it. it shouldn't be familiar to you, and you sure as hell shouldn't want it. so you do what you think is necessary.

you kick him in the shin.

"motherfー!" sure enough, he's pissed. "what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"i was going toー"

"no! you're not gonna kiss me again and walk away and pretend it never happened. you're messing with my head, katsuki! it's not funny!"

"wasn't trying to be funny!" he barks back.

"okay, so what exactly are you trying to do? what is this? i meanー" you stammer, struggling to find the words. "katsuki, what are we?"

he sighs and shifts his stance, his discomfort apparent. when the silence lingers on for too long, you speak.

"well, whatever it is that you want from me, we're going to stay friends. nothing more, nothing less. that's it." your breath hitches, and you don't know why you feel like crying as you speak. "... so i don't want your stinky mouth anywhere on me again."

silence weighs heavily between you. sometimes you wish you didn't know him too well, then the hurt he veils in his eyes wouldn't be so plain and vivid to you, and you would have walked away by now without an ounce of remorse.

"i like you, y/n." is all he could say when he finally speaks.

you shake your head. "no, you're just confused."

"i'm not confused. i like you."

"katsuki, you've been bitchless all your life, and i'm just the closest thing to a s/o. maybe go take a walk or something."

"i like you." he persists. "i've liked your stupid ass forー"

"stop saying that. you don't."

"i do, and you like me tooー"

"what?!" you laugh incredulously.

'who does this dumbass think he is?' is he right? surely, he's not. then what are you so afraid of in the first place? why have you been counting down the days until he kisses you again? why do you yearn for his touch as if it's something you own? why do you feel so infuriated and so tormented when he leaves the room after kissing you?

you do what is necessary again.

"you're delusional!" you yell at his face, a childish shrill that's awfully familiar to your childhood best friend.

"jesus christ." he inhales sharply in frustration. "you're a fucking pussy, y/n."

you clench your jaw and match his glare. anger surges in your chest and bleeds into your voice.

"i'm not the one who chickens out after kissing their best friend! you can't even acknowledge the fact that you kissed me because you'reー!"

"do you think i want to chicken out? why do you think i run away after kissing you?! if i stayed and confessed all this shit the first time, you would've refused to hear it like the damn coward you are!" he leans close to you, his voice lowering into a ragged snarl that quickens your pulse. "and you're just proving it right now, y/n. you're always going to shut this down and deny your feelings because you're a fucking pussy. you're terrified of relationships, and it's dumbest shit ever. pathetic, really."

you rear back from his words. if anything, you always thought it was katsuki who was afraid of love. now, you can't help but feel small and vulnerable underneath his searing gaze.

"it's not dumb..." you shuffle uncomfortably. "what, i'm supposed to ruin our friendship for a relationship that we're going to break off anyway?"

"we're not going to break it off."

"how do you know that?"

"because i'll be the best goddamn boyfriend in the world!"

"first of all, gross." you scoff. "second of all, it's never gonna work out! you're going to get sick of me in three days max."

"i've known you since we were brats, and i still want you."

"you literally said no man's sane enough to put up with my obnoxious ass."

he smirks. "i said 'insufferable ass'."

"katsuki!" you fight the urge to strangle him and punch that stupid smile off his face.

"wasn't even serious that time." he grimaces and reluctantly continues. "you know damn well you can pull any guy you want, and he'd be the luckiest bastard on earth."

if it were any other day, you'd grin at him and say 'i told you so,' but your lips remain unmoved, and your eyes stay dim. you're afraid you'll never go back to being the same katsuki and y/n again.

"this is pointless, katsuki. i mean, look! we're already fighting." you grouch and tell yourself you don't want this. "i still don't want us to happen so while this friendship is still salvable, let's agree to stay friends, and whatever sappy shit you feel for meー suck it up."

in one swift motion, he closes the distance between you, his face hovering dangerously over yours.

"suck it up?" he breathes, his face taut in frustration. "restraining myself from you is the hardest shit i've ever had to do. it takes everything in me not to kiss your stupid face!"

he shudders, weakly resting his forehead against yours as if this conversation alone has exhausted him. still, he goes on.

"and everytime i failedー everytime i kissed those lips, it was... a moment of weakness, but that's the fucking problemー you're just..." he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a desperate attempt to escape your wide-eyed gaze. "i'm weak for you, y/n. every second. and it drives me fucking insane that you keep running away from me."

he rises to meet your eyes again. the cadence of his voice changes into something weak and desperate, stripped of all the pride and anger he's ever known.

"i love youー fuck. i love you." he lets the words hang in the air, letting the words hear itself spoken because for once, you're not stopping him. "i love you, so please... let me."

after much thought and another agonizing minute of silence, you lean in to kiss bakugo katsuki.

he kisses back almost instantly and revels in the way you wrap your arms around his neck and bear your weight on him completely. he kisses back ardently, his pent-up desires and years of longing etched in the way he seeks your lips, kiss after kiss after kiss.

when you finally pull away, you're met with a devilish smirk, his begging eyes long gone. you wonder to yourself when you'll see those eyes again.

"took ya long enough." he kisses you again. he raises a brow at the way you're caging him in your arms. "jesus, no one's gonna snatch me from you."

"i'm making sure you don't run away again, dumbass."

"i won't." he says earnestly as he props his forehead against yours. "and you won't either. i'll make sure of that."

you nod your head with a giddy smile as he pecks your lips again.

"so..." you say as you exaggerate a pensive look, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. "we're best friends who occasionally kiss?"

he rolls his eyes. "you're impossible."

"recite that speech again, and i'll consider calling you my boyfriend."

"fuck off!"

TAGLIST [1/2] @uxavity @joy-the-reader @kiiraes @escapenightmare @afk-dreaminq @avocamich @theboredvee @wonderwrench @ur-local-simp @p-ol @x0xuglyh0tgrl2005xoxo @cosmonettica @melin-oe @mitzi127 @lilac-o @r2katsu @bakucumsackslut @idunnomynamesince2005 @astralwaifu @taurus852 @creepyproxies @maycat-19-142 @stella-fleurets @veenxys @devilgirlcrybabiey @drawingaddict @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @lexiv-web @angelshimaa @izukus-gf @christiansdior @homosexualjohnwayne @uwiuwi @hirugummies @cupidines @loveisningning (bold couldn't be tagged)

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: movie quotes associated with your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will give you movie quotes that associate with your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon Masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

"I think I’d miss you even if we’d never met." – The Wedding Date (2005)

"You complete me." – Jerry Maguire (1996)

"I wish I knew how to quit you." – Brokeback Mountain (2005)

"I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly." – You’ve Got Mail (1998)

"To me, you are perfect." – Love Actually (2003)

"I love you. I’ve loved you for nine years. I’ve just been too arrogant and scared to realize it." – Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011)

"It would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you." – The Fault in Our Stars (2014)

"You're my person." – Grey’s Anatomy (TV, but still iconic!)

"You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you." – Pride & Prejudice (2005)

"You are my greatest adventure." – The Incredibles (2004)

Extended reading

Pile 2:

"You make me want to be a better man." – As Good as It Gets (1997)

"I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her." – Notting Hill (1999)

"After all... I'm just a man, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him." – Parallel moment in Notting Hill (1999)

"They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops… And that’s true." – Big Fish (2003)

"Sometimes you love a person for all the reasons they’re not like you. And sometimes, you love them for all the reasons they are." – Juno (2007)

"You had me at hello." – Jerry Maguire (1996)

"You were my new dream." – Tangled (2010)

"I wanted so badly to be good enough for you." – The Notebook (2004)

"I love how she makes me feel, like anything is possible." – 500 Days of Summer (2009)

"We’re like two peas in a pod, but one of us is cracked." – I couldn’t find where this was from, but this fit so perfectly I couldn’t not add it

Extended reading

Pile 3:

"It’s like in that moment the whole universe existed just to bring us together." – Serendipity (2001)

"I will return. I will find you. Love you. Marry you. And live without shame." – Atonement (2007)

"I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to catch up." – Silver Linings Playbook (2012)

"You and me. It’s a forever kind of thing." – Unknown, but very fitting!

"Our love is like the wind. I can’t see it, but I can feel it." – A Walk to Remember (2002)

"It was always you." – The Vow (2012)

"I know we’re supposed to be together. I knew it the first time I touched you." – Twilight (2008)

"I waited for you for 99 years, and you were 2 hours late." – The Age of Adaline (2015)

"It's not over. It was never over." – The Notebook (2004)

"The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return." – Moulin Rouge! (2001)

Extended reading

[moonlight-joy]

Love Letters in the Margins

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Spencer has a habit of leaving handwritten notes in the books you borrow from his personal collection. One day, you finally write back.

Pairing: Reader/Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid’s personal library was nothing short of magnificent. Towering shelves filled with well-loved books lined the walls of his apartment, their spines worn from years of eager reading. When you had first started borrowing from his collection, you had done so carefully, treating each volume like a fragile artifact. But what you hadn't expected to find—hidden between passages and prose—were his words.

The first time it happened, you had borrowed Pride and Prejudice. Nestled in the margins, in neat, slightly slanted handwriting, was a comment next to Elizabeth Bennet’s sharp-witted retort to Mr. Darcy.

“You remind me of Elizabeth—sharp, observant, and far too intelligent for the company you keep.”

You had stared at the note for minutes, heart pounding. Spencer had written this long before you borrowed the book, hadn’t he? It wasn’t meant for you, was it? The thought of confronting him about it seemed daunting. Instead, you traced his words with your fingertips, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

That discovery led to another. And another.

In The Picture of Dorian Gray:

“You would never be swayed by vanity. Your soul is too kind.”

In Jane Eyre:

“If I were Rochester, I wouldn’t have kept secrets from you.”

Each annotation, each carefully placed comment, felt personal. They weren’t just general observations; they were thoughtful, tailored to you.

Days passed before you gathered the courage to respond. You chose one of the books Spencer often reread—The Great Gatsby. As you turned the familiar pages, you found a passage underlined in Spencer’s careful hand:

“He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity.”

And next to it, in his delicate handwriting:

“Longing is a difficult thing to master.”

You exhaled deeply, running your fingers over the ink. If Spencer had been leaving these notes for you, maybe he had been waiting for a response, just as you had been waiting for a sign. With a rush of courage, you picked up a pen and, in the same margin, wrote:

“I wouldn’t need a green light. You’ve always been within reach.”

When you returned the book, carefully placing it back on his desk at the BAU, you felt the weight of your silent confession settle in your chest. What if he never noticed? What if he saw it and said nothing? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but it was too late to take it back now.

The next day, Spencer found you in the bullpen, book in hand, his expression unreadable. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“You…” he started, voice soft, reverent almost, as he flipped open The Great Gatsby to the exact page where your response was written. His fingers traced your words like they were delicate, precious.

“I—” you faltered. “Was that okay?”

His eyes locked onto yours, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiled. Not just any smile—one of those rare, genuine smiles that lit up his entire face, the kind of smile that made your stomach flip.

“You wrote back.” His voice was breathless, in awe.

You swallowed hard. “I was wondering when you’d notice.”

For a long moment, Spencer simply stared at you, the book clutched to his chest. It was as if he was processing every possibility at once, and you could almost see the thoughts racing in his brilliant mind. Then, before you could panic, he took a step closer.

“I—” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “I’ve been leaving those notes for you.”

Your breath caught. “You have?”

Spencer gave a short, nervous laugh. “For a while now. I didn’t know if you’d ever see them or if you’d—”

“I saw them,” you interrupted, a smile tugging at your lips. “And I loved them.”

His shoulders relaxed, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

You nodded, warmth spreading through you. “Really.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Spencer exhaled, flipping the book open once more. “So… does this mean I can keep writing to you?”

You tilted your head playfully. “Only if I can write back.”

His smile widened, his fingers brushing against yours over the worn edges of the book. “I’d like that.”

From that day forward, every book exchanged between you contained more than just stories. Between the lines of famous literature, nestled in the margins of classic texts, you found something even more precious:

Love letters in ink, waiting to be read.

The notes continued, hidden within the pages of literature both of you adored. A stolen thought in Wuthering Heights, a whispered confession in Les Misérables. Each time Spencer handed you a book, your fingers would brush, lingering longer than necessary, and his eyes would search yours for recognition.

Then, one evening, as you flipped through Anna Karenina, you found a note in the final pages, underlining a passage about fate.

“Sometimes, love is written long before we even know it exists.”

And below it, in a nervous, yet determined script, Spencer had added:

“I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I realized.”

Your breath caught, your heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn’t just a passing thought, an intellectual observation. It was real.

Without hesitation, you reached for a pen and, with steady fingers, wrote beneath his words:

“Then it’s about time we stop reading between the lines.”

That night, when Spencer saw your response, he didn’t just smile.

He kissed you.

And for the first time, there were no more words left unwritten.

The notes continued, but they became something different now—love notes, secret confessions, playful teases. You wrote to him in the margins of history books, and he replied with riddles in the pages of mystery novels. The space between you had once been filled with unspoken words, but now it was a novel of its own, each sentence a promise, each underline a touch.

One day, Spencer handed you a book without a title on its cover. Puzzled, you flipped it open to the first page, where a single line was scrawled in his familiar handwriting:

“Every great love story deserves to be written.”

And beneath it, in smaller letters:

“Will you write ours with me?”

Please support my work with like and comment

[hoe4hotchner]

Can you do Aaron x Rich!old money!non-bau!reader, where the team is invited for a dinner for the first time and r’s house is elegant and luxurious and the maids set up a 3 course meal and the team is just trying really hard not to fan girl? And since r is old money she is very classy and etiquette

Elegance | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Rich fem!Reader | WC: 1k | CW: Fluff

The team wasn't sure what to expect when Hotch had mentioned his partner was hosting a dinner. He didn't talk about you much, not out of shame but out of privacy. All they knew was that you weren't in law enforcement, and from the brief mentions, you seemed poised, intelligent, and incredibly composed.

When the team arrived at your estate — because this wasn't just a house, it was an estate, several times larger than Rossi's mansion — they were stunned into silence. The wrought-iron gates had opened to reveal a long driveway lined with perfectly pruned hedges and lantern-lit trees. At the end of the drive stood your home, a stunning Georgian-style mansion that seemed to glow in the soft light from the setting sun.

Inside, it was even more breathtaking. Gleaming hardwood floors reflected the light of crystal chandeliers, and classical music played softly in the background. A maid in a newly ironed uniform greeted them at the door, offering to take their coats.

"Wow," Emily whispered to JJ as they stepped into the grand foyer. "This is like stepping into Pride and Prejudice."

"More like Downton Abbey," JJ replied, trying not to gape at the oil paintings and gold-accented details around the room.

Hotch was already waiting for them in the parlor, standing beside you. He looked utterly at ease in this space, his hand resting gently on your lower back as you greeted each of them with the kind of effortless elegance they’d only seen in old Hollywood movies.

"It’s such a pleasure to finally meet all of you," you said, your voice smooth and melodic. "Aaron speaks so highly of his team. I’m glad we could host you tonight."

When you invited them into the dining room, they nearly froze. The table was set for a three-course meal with polished silverware, fine china, and wine glasses so thin they looked like they’d shatter at a touch.

Rossi, the connoisseur of the team, leaned toward Morgan and whispered, "I’ve been to some fancy dinners, but this... this is next level."

The first course was served promptly by a small team of maids — velvety smooth soup accompanied by freshly baked bread, still warm and fragrant as it was placed in front of each of the agents. You sat at the head of the table, posture effortlessly elegant, your demeanor calm and inviting. Despite the opulence of the setting, you carried the conversation with a warmth that put them at ease. You asked about their work, their interests, and their families with a sincerity that softened even the most reserved among them. It wasn’t prying; it was a genuine curiosity wrapped in a refined charm that made each of them feel seen and valued.

"You’re very kind to host us," Reid finally said, his voice tinged with awkwardness as he fidgeted slightly with his silverware, not used to this style of dining. His gaze darted around the room, unable to fully process the splendor. "This is... beautiful."

"Thank you," you replied, offering him a gracious smile that somehow felt personal despite the formality of the setting. "This house has been in my family for generations, but Aaron and I are slowly making it our own."

Morgan, in the middle of a sip of wine, nearly choked. "Our own?" he sputtered under his breath, his sharp eyes darting toward Hotch. The words echoed in his mind, laden with implications. He glanced at Emily, who was carefully maintaining a neutral expression but raised an eyebrow in subtle acknowledgment of his reaction.

By the time dessert was served — a delicate soufflé topped with powdered sugar that the maids brought out in synchronized movements — the initial awe had faded into something more comfortable. You had a way of balancing the grandeur of your home with an approachable presence.

As the evening wound down, the glow of the chandelier cast a warm, golden light over the room. The laughter and conversation had softened into a comfortable hum, the kind that only comes from good food, good company, and a perfectly executed evening. Aaron leaned close to you, his voice low and steady, but deliberately audible enough for the team to catch. "I told you they’d like you," he said, the faintest hint of pride in his tone.

You turned to him, your smile radiating both grace and affection. With an almost imperceptible touch, your fingers brushed his hand, grounding the moment. "It’s easy to make a good impression when I’m hosting such wonderful people," you replied, your voice carrying the kind of calm sincerity that left no room for doubt.

As the team gathered their coats and made their way to the cars, the tension of the day seemed to melt away. Once outside, Garcia was unable to contain herself any longer, and spun toward the others, her eyes wide with excitement. "Okay, that was like having dinner with a Bond girl. Aaron Hotchner is marrying royalty. I mean, did you see that house?" she gushed, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis.

"And her composure," Emily chimed in, a mix of admiration and disbelief coloring her voice. "She’s like Grace Kelly reincarnated. Every movement, every word — she's so elegant. Honestly, I felt like I should have curtsied when I walked in."

Rossi smirked as he lit a cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the night. "Hotch always was full of surprises," he said with a chuckle, referring to the early days at the BAU when it was barely just Hotch, Rossi, and Gideon working on cases.

Meanwhile, back at the estate, the two of you stood at the top of the steps, watching the taillights of their cars fade down the winding drive. The stillness of the moment was a sharp contrast to the lively evening, but it was a welcome kind of quiet.

Aaron turned to you, his features softened by a smile. "I think they like you," he said.

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning into him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Good," you murmured, your tone was warm. "Because I adore you."

He reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as the soft rustle of the night surrounded you both. The estate, grand as it was, suddenly felt small and intimate — a fitting end to a perfect evening.

[planetveensz]

the feeling that remains — ellie williams

— part 1/7 you meet ellie during highschool, the catalyst of some of the best years of your life... until they aren't. three years after breaking up, you're trying to move on with your life. dina and jesse are getting married; and when dina asks you to be one of her bridesmaids, how could you refuse? but guess who just so happens to be jesse's best (wo)man? tw: second chance romance! exes to lovers! modern!au, fem!reader, slow burn, mult storylines, angst, fluff, first meetings, religious trauma, homophobia, gay slurs, drinking, smoking, mild violence, possibly some ooc vibes, eventual smuttt :p wk: 5.4k, spotify playlist! an: ellie my wife <3 i hope i do you justice in this fic <3 this is probably going to be a bit slower to update, once every two weeks maybe? a lot of this is based off my own personal experiences as a gay woman so it's very near and dear to me :) i am always open to suggestions, feedback, and ideas! so pls send them in! enjoy xx

series masterlist | part 2

IT RAINED THE NIGHT you first met Ellie.

You knew who she was; there were always rumors about her floating around school. People called her terrible names behind her back, said she was someone you shouldn’t hang around. You avoided her not because you believed them, but because you were intimidated by her. 

Ellie was devastatingly pretty; had such kind green eyes and a sweet smile, she was also way cooler than you could ever dream of being. You were sure if you tried to speak to her you wouldn’t get one word out, she made you so nervous.

You watched her diligently from inside Dina’s living room, a paper party hat on your head. Dina invited you over to celebrate her 16th birthday, throwing a small party. Her parents were out of town and her big sister Talia had gotten her hands on some alcohol. You’d known Dina from a very young age; you went to the same preschool and became best friends in kindergarten. Dina was one of your only friends, aside from the girls in your church choir. 

Now that you had entered the second half of your sophomore year, you felt as if Dina stayed friends with you out of pity. She was always dragging you along, taking it upon herself to invite you to things. You appreciated it but had an inkling no one else wanted you around like she did. Dina required that you made an appearance at all events she hosted; she was also sure to bring you to bonfires and house parties, claiming you as her “plus one”.

You sighed and passed a red solo cup from one hand to the other, wiping the condensation off on your jeans. You were tipsy, it was the second time you had ever had alcohol outside of church. When you first arrived, you eyed the cup Dina handed you suspiciously. “Don’t worry,” Dina said, “you won’t go to hell for getting a little drunk.” 

You had taken the cup with a shy smile. “Happy birthday, Dina.” You handed her the gift you’d been holding in your other hand. She gasped, hands falling on your shoulders with the most gleeful smile on her face. 

The wrapping was perfectly done, you had hunched over the thing until every line was parallel and taped down perfectly. You finished it with a charming blue ribbon, tied in a neat bow at the front. “Oh, it’s lovely!” Dina gushed and you preened under her kind words. She untied the bow and carefully ripped open the paper to reveal her present. She squealed, pulling out the special edition copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You shouldn’t have!”

Really, you shouldn’t have. You saved up every cent you earned from chores the last four months to afford the book, but you wanted to spoil Dina. She deserved it, for sticking with you all these years, for being such a good friend. Before you could reply, she snapped that stupid party hat on your head and gave you a big kiss on the cheek. “You’re precious,” Dina said earnestly, “I adore you.”

You flushed at her words, unable to take the compliment. You scratched the back of your neck, attempting to brush off the twisting feeling in your stomach. You laughed awkwardly, “thanks.” Dina snorted, patting the same cheek she’d smooched.

“Now drink up, church girl, the party just started!”

You’d lost sight of Dina a while ago, choosing to stand aside in the living room while people chattered around you. Some music was bumping from an old speaker Dina thrifted with you a few months ago. There weren’t that many guests, a handful of people you knew from school, some of Talia’s friends as well. Ellie was sitting on the back porch around the firepit with Jesse and a couple of buddies, smoking a joint and talking loudly with each other. 

The fire flickered and illuminated the freckles on her cheeks. You smiled to yourself when you noticed her dimple became more prominent the more animatedly she spoke. That’s when the rain started, along with a boom of thunder in the sky. Your little bubble popped and everyone shuffled inside, opting to sit in the living room. You could feel the strained expression form on your face as it became more crowded.

Jesse noisily suggested playing truth or dare and you took that as your cue to leave. You snuck off into the kitchen, filling a glass with water. Your mouth had gone dry from your drink and your head was swimming a little from the effects of the alcohol. The water soothed your throat as you drank it.

“Not interested in playing games?” You choked on the mouthful you were about to swallow, whipping around to see Ellie leaning against the entranceway to the kitchen. Her eyebrows raised at your reaction and you could see that she was fighting off a smile.

You wiped your mouth with your hand. “N-no. Well, yes, I mean—” you paused. “Just needed some water.” You lifted the cup in your hand. 

“I can see that.” Her smile was sly and precarious. You weren’t sure if she was teasing, flirting, or making fun of you.

You squinted your eyes at her, “are you not interested? In playing games, I mean.” Ellie took a few steps towards you. Her auburn hair was damp from the rain and you could smell it on her sweatshirt; an earthy, rich scent.

She plucked the cup from your hands, sipping on your water. She placed it on the counter, empty. “Not really, no. They’re lame.” She tilted her head at you, a hazy look in her eyes.

“Are you high?”

She laughed right in your face, “yes, you priss. That’s what happens when you smoke.”

A raging warmth bloomed on your face. This was maybe the second time you’d ever spoken to Ellie alone; the previous being a bunch of stuttered sentences while you both waited for Dina to join you after school. You didn’t remember her being this snarky. “Okay.” You stressed, “no need to be rude.” You crossed your arms defensively.

She huffed through her nose, a smile on her lips. She flicked the hat on your head. “Just messing with you.” She bit her bottom lip and your gut twisted in anticipation.

You ripped the hat off your head, placing it on the counter next to the cup; suddenly feeling juvenile for wearing it. You plucked up all of the courage you had, from the alcohol and pure spite. “You sure you aren’t being a flirt? I’ve heard things about you, Williams,” you tilted your head playfully so she knew you were joking too.

She was full-on grinning, her eyes sparkled. That dimple below the left corner of her mouth appeared. Your breath caught in your throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leaned in slightly, looking at you with an expression that made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

You scrunched your nose at her, genuinely smiling for the first time that night since seeing Dina. “Y’know,” you turned your head away from her, looking up at the ceiling to avoid her piercing green eyes, “I’ve never smoked before.” 

Her smirk was pure electricity, “well, that just won’t do.” The cutesy butterflies became a hoard of bats when she pulled a new joint out of her back pocket. Her hand grasped yours and you were taken aback at how soft her skin was. You stared at your conjoined hands as she began pulling you to the other side of the kitchen, towards the connecting hallway.

You laughed and allowed her to lead you upstairs to the last door on the right, Dina’s room. Ellie shut the door behind you both and plopped herself on Dina’s window seat. You watched, frozen, as she wrestled the creaky old window open and stuck the joint in her mouth. “C’mere,” she nodded to the space next to her, speaking around the joint, “I don’ bite.”

You sprung into action, stumbling over to her. You sat next to her, your knees knocking against hers. She lit the joint, sucking in air so that the end ignited. She grasped it between her pointer finger and thumb as she passed it to you. “Now, don’t inhale too much, you’re gonna cough a lot cuz this is your first time.” She facilitated, “just take small hits until your throat’s used to the burn.”

You nodded, letting her words sink in. You brought the joint to your mouth, curling your lips around the filter, and breathed in. The taste was pleasant, but the burn was not. You immediately let out a cough, a puff of smoke escaping your mouth, unable to help yourself. You passed the joint back to her.

She smiled at you knowingly, “I was really bad the first time I smoked,” she laughed slightly, “nobody told me to take it easy so I inhaled way too much.” She took a hit of her own. “Coughed so hard I threw up.”

You let out a surprised laugh, shocked to hear that someone with her reputation had a story like that under her belt. “When was this?” You asked curiously.

“Back in Boston, before I moved here.” Ellie explained, “I did it right in front of the girl I had a massive crush on. It was so embarrassing.”

You smiled at her affectionately; passing the joint back and forth, you allowed a light daze to settle over your mind. “The first time I ever drank, Dina and I snuck a whole glass of vodka from her mom’s stash during a sleepover. We got so drunk we had to lay on the floor, everything was spinning so bad.”

Ellie gave you a bemused smile, “damn, church girl has a bad side.”

“I didn’t really want to do it at first, but, y’know,” you shrugged, picking your fingernails.

“What?” Ellie urged.

“It’s Dina.” You stated.

Ellie nodded, understanding settling on her face. “Oh, so you have a crush on Dina?”

“What?” You exclaimed, “no! I mean, she’s my best friend—”

“Yeah.” Ellie interrupted, “your best friend. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” She shoved your shoulder, laughing at your mortified face. “All closeted girls fall in love with their best friend, it’s a right of passage.”

“Wha—?” Your face flamed with embarrassment, “Ellie, I am not gay. It’s a sin.”

Her eyebrows raised at you and she scoffed. “Right.” She said.

“I have nothing against gay people,” you held your hands up, attempting to explain yourself, “I just can’t—I can’t be gay.” She chewed the inside of her cheek as you accepted the joint from her hands, taking an especially large hit. You cough like crazy when you pass it back to her. “I have no problem with you, I’m sorry I said that.”

“‘s okay.” She said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and dropping her head to gaze at her shoes.

“No, it’s not.” You leaned forward so that you could look her in the eye. “I’m not like the other kids at school, I’m not some bigot.”

Ellie laughed at you again, “I got it, I got it.” Her eyes sparkled when the moonlight bounced off of them; you found yourself needing to catch your breath, chest tight. It was the smoke, just the smoke. 

There was a knowing look on her face when she looked at you again, like she understood something you didn’t. “So, what exactly have you heard about me, then?” She asked you suddenly.

“That you’re a… raging lesbian that sells drugs and fights people for fun.” You crooked a smile at her when you said it. Ellie laughed out loud, cackling with her head thrown back. You couldn’t help but join in.

IT BEGAN TO RAIN when your flight took off for California.

You had the window seat and because of your anxiety, you held your pee for three hours instead of squeezing past your neighbors to get to the restroom. While rushing to the airport bathroom, you felt a string of buzzing in your pocket. You pulled your phone out and watched as nearly a hundred texts from Jesse pinged on your phone, stress-ridden and panicked; finally loading after you got cell service again.

You smiled wistfully, using the toilet before even attempting to respond let alone read his manic word vomit. You headed to the baggage carousel as you began to sift through the messages. Most were just mangled screaming, some half-literate, some fully realized thoughts. You rolled your eyes affectionately, a smile tugging on your lips.

Jesse was asking Dina to marry him today.

Instead of sending a supportive text, you decided giving Jesse a call would do a lot more good. He picked up after the first ring. “Jess,” you greeted carefully, “I got your messa—”

“Please help me!” He wailed on the other side of the phone. You attempted to disrupt the laugh that passed through your lips with a cough; he had never sounded this frazzled before.

“What’s wrong?” You urged, eyes flickering to the conveyor belt as it started spitting out suitcases.

“I’m not sure if I should wear the blue suit with a red tie or the black suit with the black tie or the gray suit—”

“Jesse, dude,” you said slowly, “please, calm down. You’re working yourself up for no reason.” You spotted your luggage and huffed as you lifted it off the carousel. “This proposal is super intimate and private, I don’t think you should wear a suit at all.”

“But Joel said—”

“Jess, I love and respect Joel so much, but don’t take advice from a man who’s never been married and hasn’t had to worry about what he’s wearing for a woman since Ellie graduated from college.” You said expressionlessly, all in one breath. There was a pause over the phone. 

Jesse erupted into laughter. “Oh, man,” it sounded like he was wiping a tear, “I can always count on you to make me feel better.”

You couldn’t help the smile that twitched onto your lips. “You should wear dark bottoms with a light top or light bottoms with a dark top. Think dressed up casual, if you go too fancy it’ll clash with the location.” You had the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder as you fiddled with your purse, trying to grab your sunglasses. “I’ll find some inspiration for you on Pinterest.”

“Ugh, you’re a lifesaver.” Jesse sounded much more relaxed. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Jess, call me if you need anything else, okay?” He made an affirmative sound before you said your goodbyes and hung up. You chuckled, shaking your head at your best friend.

Your next call was to Talia, who said she was parked in front of your terminal. The California heat embraced you when you stepped outside of the airport lobby; it felt like coming home. You loved the feeling of the dry, unforgiving air against your skin. It had been too long.

A melancholy feeling took hold of your heart, squeezing it gently within its bitter palm. So much had changed since you were last in Cali; everything had changed the day you left Cali.

Talia drove a swanky little Volkswagen Beetle, it was a bright yellow and she had the top down. The wind brushed your balmy skin as you drove along the Californian coast; it was like a dream realized. In two hours, your best friends would be engaged.

“The engagement party’s gonna have an open bar,” Talia grinned, one hand on the steering wheel, “you better know I’m gonna abuse that shit after all the trouble we’ve gone through.”

It was true; keeping this massive secret from Dina, being emotional support for Jesse, and helping to plan the proposal. It was a lot of work, but it was worth it.

“She’s going to love it so much, I don’t even care how stressed I’ve been.” You replied, imagining the look that was going to be on Dina’s face when she showed off her ring. 

Most guests didn’t know what the party Jesse had planned was actually for, meaning it’d be a shock for nearly everyone there. Dina loved surprises and having a surprise engagement party after her proposal was going to be like icing on the cake for her.

Talia hesitated and you looked at her inquisitively, “...are you like—worried about Ellie being there?”

You laughed nervously in response,  “now that is something I’m not thinking about.” And you really hadn’t. You had gotten so good at pushing Ellie and all of the emotional baggage that came with her out of your mind. You forced yourself not to think about her; to keep her intimate smiles and loving giggles from resonating in your head.

It had been three years; having thoughts about your ex after that long was kind of concerning.

Talia relented, allowing you to stop the conversation before it happened. You spoke about the dress you’d brought to wear to the party and sent Jesse some outfit ideas from your Dina + Jesse Wedding Inspiration board.

Dina’s face sparkled as bright as the darling ring on her left fourth finger. Just as you thought it would. You were over the moon for her; the choked gasp she let out when she saw you for the first time in the cramped bar nearly made you sink to your knees. Your sweet Dina was finally getting everything she’d dreamed of.

“You’re here!” She exclaimed into your hair as she hugged you tight against her.

You rubbed her back, “of course I am. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” When you pulled apart her eyes were wet with emotion.

“Ugh,” she dabbed at her lashes, “don’t make me cry, you fucker.”

She’d slipped away into the crowd not much longer after that, tending to the other guests who were congratulating her and Jesse. Before you could huddle back into a corner, Jesse squeezed you into his embrace and kissed the top of your head. The tears that burned the back of your eyes convinced you to grab another drink before disappearing.

You signaled to the bartender, who approached you with a smile. “Whiskey, neat,” you said, propping your arms onto the bartop. “Please.”

“I see some things never change.”

Your head whipped to your right at the sound of a familiar drawling voice.

Ellie Williams’ gorgeous green eyes met yours, a hundred-watt smile forming on her face that sent your heart into palpitations. She was wider, fuller, clearly stronger. All signs of youth had been erased from her face with age. She’d always been annoyingly attractive, but apparently, you couldn’t catch a break from that fact even if she was your ex-girlfriend.

Even if she was your biggest heartbreak.

“Ellie,” her name left your mouth like a whisper, or maybe a prayer. How long had you secretly begged to see her again?

“Hey,” she greeted; leaning coolly against the bar, propping her tattooed forearm on the edge. You swallowed thickly.

“When’d—” your voice cracks, “when’d you get here? I didn’t see you come in.”

Her gaze swept down the length of your body and it felt like she just casually set you on fire. “I snuck in a couple minutes ago. I missed the big entrance, don’t tell anyone.” She gave you a half-smile, that fucking dimple creasing the corner of her mouth.

You felt like you were totally fumbling this interaction. She had completely thrown you off your axis; tossed a wrench into your meticulous plans to avoid interacting with her. The bartender placed your drink in front of you and Ellie grabbed their attention to order her own.

You gulped down your whiskey in three large mouthfuls, eye twinging at the taste. Your sinuses cleared and the additional oxygen to your brain calmed you a bit. “Oh—and another whiskey for the lady, please,” Ellie said as you placed your empty glass on the bar top.

You chuckled embarrassedly when Ellie winked at you while she spoke, mortified with yourself. Oh, you were entirely falling apart.

“How’s your mom?” Ellie asked and you released a breath.

“Um—good,” you cupped the back of your neck with your hand, avoiding her face. “She moved up to Boston last year to be closer to me. She’s uh, remarried.”

Ellie’s voice raised in surprise, “oh, you’re on the East Coast now?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, sending the bartender a smile when they placed your new drink in front of you, “moved there for work.” When Ellie didn’t say anything you spared a glance at her.

She looked kind of shell-shocked, a tick in her mouth that made your gut turn. You knew why, but didn’t have the strength to say anything about it to her. “What’s Joel up to? We haven’t spoken for a while.”

Ellie forced a smile, “oh, you know. Being an old man.” She wrung her fingers together like she was building her courage. “So, were you ever gonna tell me that—”

Someone called out your name from behind you. Abby Anderson approached you with her arms open and you let out a gasp when you saw her. “Abs!” You gave her a big hug. “Jesse said you weren’t coming!”

“I wasn’t, but when I heard you’d be here—”

You smacked her shoulder playfully, “stop that.”

“I was able to use some PTO last minute.” Abby’s pouty lips pulled into a smile.

A warm hand brushed your lower back, sending a shiver up your spine. Ellie leaned down to speak softly in your ear, “I’m gonna go congratulate the happy couple, I’ll see you later?”

The musky, spicy scent of her cologne flooded your senses and everything became hazy. She smelled downright edible.

“Yeah.” You breathed out, eyes fixed on the slope of her nose and lips.

She squeezed your hip lightly as her hand moved away. “Anderson,” she greeted Abby. 

“Hey, Ellie, nice to see you,” Abby replied. Ellie sent her a two-finger salute, then walked towards the hoard of people surrounding Dina and Jesse.

“Jesus fuck,” you complained, fanning a hand on your blistering cheeks.

Abby snorted, “how ya doin’?”

You sent her a withering look. “Shut up.”

DINA FORCED YOU to come to her house for a party again.

This time, you arrived before most guests; tupperware of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies clutched in your sweaty hands. You were nervous about the social interaction, dreading it, actually. Your hand trembled when you pushed open Dina’s front door. 

Ellie trailed in after you, keys dangling off her index finger while she held the screen door open for you. She was your designated driver for the night. You insisted you didn’t need one, you weren’t going to have more than one drink, but she wouldn’t surrender.

A cookie Ellie had hand-picked as the best from the batch was hanging out of her mouth. You suspected that was the real reason she wanted to drive you, first pick out of the cookie selection. You rounded the corner and entered the kitchen; some of your anxiety was chased away when you laid eyes on Dina and Jesse.

Jesse squealed in excitement when he saw the treats you brought over. He did a little dance when you opened up the container for him. “You are an angel.” He said as he groaned into the cookie he’d snatched.

Dina smacked his shoulder when he grabbed a second one, telling him to fuck off and save some for the rest. You could see the hearts in her eyes when he turned to her with a sweet smile on his face then devoured the second cookie in one bite.

Time passed, more people were filtering in from the frigid air. You could tell most of them pregamed, eyes drooping and cheeks flushed with blood. One especially belligerent guy you’d seen in the halls at school screamed, “Merry Christmas, bitches!” when he entered the doorway. You cringed, and Ellie laughed at the disgusted look on your face. She pulled you to the couch, shoving a glass of whiskey into your hands.

You cast another look at the sweater she was wearing, a reindeer with the word “horny” underneath it, and dropped into the cushions. “That sweater is so stupid,” you told her for the third time that night, and she gave you a devious smile.

“So you’ve said.” She plopped down next to you, spreading her legs comfortably, “I think you’re secretly jealous. Your sweater looks straight out of a granny catalog.”

You gasp, feigning offense. “How dare you!” Glancing down at your cheerful sweater, you realized that maybe it kind of did look like it could be found in an old lady’s arts-and-craft magazine. There were three snowmen lined up across the front with sewn-in sequins, pom-poms, and other knick-knacks as decoration. You sighed defeatedly, “but you’re right.”

Ellie shoved you on the shoulder as she laughed. You loved seeing her this way, carefree and relaxed. Whether it was the false bravado or misconstrued rumors, your impression of Ellie before your friendship began was completely wrong.

In the months since Dina’s window, you’d learned how similar Ellie really was to you. She preferred the quiet; she liked to read, play video games, and have movie nights. You look back on how nervous you were around her and laugh, Ellie was a big dorky sweetheart at her core. Nothing like the sly playboy-like image you had in your head.

You pulled your legs up, turned to face her, and tucked your socked feet under her thigh as you sipped on your drink. The burn in your throat was pleasant. You leaned your side against the back of the couch as you asked her, “have you finished Jane Eyre yet?”

“No! Shit, I’m sorry!” She turned to you with wide, guilty eyes. You laughed against the back of your hand at her expression. “I’ve been meaning to finish it, but I’ve been playing that game I told you about,” her hands flailed as she spoke, “you wouldn’t believe what happened.”

You suddenly focused in on the way her mouth moved as she spoke. The way she pressed them together when she was thinking of a word to use, the way she licked her bottom lip between sentences. She was so enthusiastic when she talked about the things she was interested in, her eyes lighting up with delight.

You realized that you had been tuning out her words as you stared, only catching the last half of her rant. “Is this about your fungus game?” You asked, playing dumb so that you could see the annoyed expression form on her face. 

“I’ll have you know that fungus game is the most emotionally tormenting thing I have ever played in my entire life.” She stated, looking you dead in the eye.

“Oh, I believe you. Remember how you called me crying—”

“No.” Ellie cut in. You laughed into your whiskey as you took another sip.

“I wonder if I’d survive that apocalypse.” You mused out loud and Ellie snorted from beside you.

“Definitely not,” she said confidently, “you’re too sweet, you’d die after ten minutes outside.”

You gave her an offended look. “I am not that sweet, I’m just nice to you because you’re my friend.”

“Yeah, right.” Ellie teased, “you feel guilty after killing spiders.”

“They are an essential part of our ecosystem!” You defended yourself. 

Ellie snickered like she’d won the argument; you opened your mouth to make another point when someone cleared their throat from beside you. That drunk boy you recognized from earlier stood in front of the couch, glancing between the two of you. “Hey.” He greeted.

“Hi?” Ellie responded, the tone of her voice raising into a mocking question.

The boy didn’t deter, “I’m Axel.”

“Okay?” Ellie’s voice became more sarcastic.

He was looking at you when he asked, “do you want another drink?”

You glanced at your nearly-empty glass of whisky and shrugged, “honestly, I’m good, I wasn’t planning on having more than one. Thanks, though.”

“‘Cmon,” Axel smiled broadly at you, “it’s Christmas! Just have one more—”

“She said no, Axel,” Ellie said firmly, “why don’t you fuck off?”

Axel scoffed, his eyes still trained on you, “why do you even hangout with this faggot?”

Before Ellie could get up to put him in his place, before she could even react to his words, you were out of your seat. Ellie could only watch stunned as you punched Axel so hard in his face that he stumbled, dropped his drink, then fell to the floor. There was a lull in the crowd of people as they watched it all unfold, Jesse pushing through the kitchen to see the commotion.

If that wasn’t enough, you stomped towards a man already wounded, rearing your foot back threateningly. That’s when Ellie finally reacted, standing up quickly and grabbing you around the waist to pull you away as you screamed, “don’t you ever use that word you limp-dick, good-for-nothing—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Jesse held his hands up, trying to calm you down. “What the hell is going on?”

“Get him outta here, Jesse!” You growled, fuming, “get him out or he’ll have two black eyes!”

Ellie hadn’t removed her arm from around you yet, watching as Jesse pulled the boy up and walked him to the front door. She released you when the door closed. Dina approached, grabbing your face between her hands. “You okay?” She asked, watching as you took quick, aggravated breaths.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said sternly, wiping at the angry tears forming in your eyes. “He called Ellie a—” you send a sidelong glance at Ellie, whose gaze hadn’t left your face during the entire altercation.

“We’re okay, Dee,” Ellie soothed, “he was just being an asshole.”

Dina nodded, looking between the two of you. You huffed, lurching towards the coat rack to grab your jacket and shoes. “Need some air.” You informed everyone before stepping out the back door.

The frigid winter air nipped at your nose as you huffed breaths into the night. Your fists were clenching and unclenching, the buzz of adrenaline still in your ears. Ellie stepped out not five minutes later, dressed in her boots and jacket.

“Hey…” she began cautiously. But you threw all caution to the wind.

“Aren’t you sick of it all?” You asked angrily, turning to look at the side of her face. Your implication goes unsaid. The rumors, the homophobia, the name calling.

“I mean, yeah, but what am I gonna do?” Ellie shrugged, unperturbed. “I can’t control anyone's actions, only my own. I choose to ignore it.” Then she smiled at you, tilting her head towards the grassy lawn, “‘cmere.” She grabbed your hand and a blanket off the back of a chair and pulled you away from the porch.

Ellie spread the blanket out in the middle of Dina’s yard, sitting on top of it and motioning for you to join her. You sighed, obliging. Your shoulders touched when you situated yourself next to her, laying down flat on your backs.

It was quiet for a few moments, then you saw it. A streak of white light flashed across the sky and you gasped; one hand jumping up and pointing to where the burning asteroid just was, the other grabbing her forearm. “A shooting star!”

When you turned your head to see if Ellie had caught it too, she was already looking at you. “Make a wish,” she said softly, her eyes just as tender as her voice.

You dropped your arm and the fingers on your other hand trailed down her forearm to lace her fingers within yours. You smiled, bad mood completely forgotten. “I wish I could see your face again when you realized I wasn’t as sweet as you thought I was.”

Ellie’s astonished expression made you giggle and squeeze her hand. “I can’t believe you.” She said earnestly, turning back to look at the stars.

“I know, I’m full of surprises.” You said cockily, proud that you threw her off so much that she hadn’t been able to come up with a single sarcastic comment. She laughed freely into the crisp night air, you watched her breaths condense and then evaporate.

An overwhelming feeling overcame you, something like endearment or adoration. “I’m so glad you’re here.” You whispered, just loud enough so she could hear you. You weren’t sure if “here” meant “here in this moment” or “here on planet Earth”, but Ellie didn’t seem to care.

She squeezed your hand back, “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

© planetveensz 2024

[just-shairahhh]

Wings and Venom

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw fem!reader.

Part: One of (Undecided Yet).

Part Two | Part Three |

Summary: When Theodore Nott, a brooding Slytherin bound by his family’s dark legacy, and a fiercely determined Ravenclaw collide as Potions partners, sparks fly. What begins as sharp-tongued rivalries and cold glares slowly unravels into a connection neither of them expected. As secrets, prejudices, and insecurities surface, they must decide whether to let their differences define them or risk everything for a bond that could rewrite their stories forever.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I really hope you enjoy this story. This series contains themes of emotional repression, societal pressures, and the consequences of prejudice. Both characters are grappling with identity and self-worth. If you have any special requests you'd like for me to include in the storyline, let me know. And, I'd love to hear your views on this part.

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"If you’re so confident in your abilities, why don’t you take over completely?” Theodore snapped, his usual calm replaced with a simmering irritation.

For a second, you were taken aback. After all, you were just trying to help. But the surprise on your face was fleeting, replaced by a sharper undertone. “Maybe I should. We are, after all, being graded as partners. If you mess this up, it’s going to reflect on me.”

Theodore’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping a degree colder. “I’m not going to mess it up.”

“Really? Because your potion looks more like murky pond water than something worthy of Snape’s approval,” you retorted, your tone cutting.

Theodore’s temper flared. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, “some of us don’t have to rely on everyone else for everything. Some of us actually know what we’re doing.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. You've never had to rely on anyone for anything. You're one of the top students in your year, and you take immense pride in your hard-earned success. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what exactly would you know, then? Clearly, following instructions isn’t one of your strengths.”

Theodore’s voice dropped lower, his words coming out sharper than he intended. “You wouldn’t even know how to brew a proper potion if you weren’t holding someone else’s hand. Mudbloods like you don’t belong here.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the instant they left his mouth, Theodore immediately regretted them. His gaze snapped to your face, and he saw the flash of anger —something far sharper than he'd expected. You two had always clashed, sure, but it had never escalated like this. It had never felt this personal. Maybe it was the letter from his father that he got this morning, burning a hole in his pocket, feeding that simmering frustration inside him. But even then, there was no excuse for what he'd just said. He didn’t even believe in the Mudblood and Pureblood nonsense, despite his family’s obsession with bloodlines and their obsession with the old ways.

Your hands clenched on your cauldron, lips pulling into a tight line. “You really think that matters?” you chuckle, your voice cold and tight. There's no humour in them. “That your blood status is somehow better than mine?”

Theodore opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain that he hadn’t meant it—but you were already a step ahead. Sure, you and Theodore had clashed since the very first day you were paired for Potions, but this was different. This—this stung. You hadn’t realized just how deep the poison of old bloodlines ran within him. This idea, this poisonous belief, had nearly obliterated your existence from the very first year, before you could even fight for it. You’d fought tooth and nail to carve your place, to prove your worth—and no privileged, entitled prat was going to strip that away. Not now. Not ever.

“Must be nice to have your precious little pureblood status to fall back on, isn’t it?” Your voice cut through him like a dagger. “But maybe you should worry more about whether your daddy's name will protect you when people start asking questions you can’t answer.”

The insult hit him harder than he expected. His father. Theodore had lived in that shadow for years—had been consumed by it—and yet he couldn’t escape it. The weight of the name was suffocating. Every step he took felt like it was tied to his father’s reputation, pulling him further into the depths of expectations he never asked for.

And immediately his mind drifted back to the letter. That morning, a letter had arrived, sealed with his father’s unmistakable crest, a reminder of everything he could never escape. The letter sat heavy in his bag, unopened, as it always was, but its presence alone burned through him. A letter meant to remind him of his place, his bloodline, the legacy that was already set out for him. And now, here he was, echoing the same disdain he’d heard for years.

But this time, it was different. The words he had spat at you lingered, an unforgiving reminder of the man he was trying—and failing—to avoid becoming. What was he doing? Theodore’s mind raced, a blur of confusion and regret. Who did he want to be? The man he had been taught to become—driven by family, tradition, and bloodlines—or the man he feared becoming—the man who followed those ideals blindly, without question, without thought of the consequences?

The world felt like it was choking him again, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by the sting of your words. The weight of it all pressed down on him—his father’s shadow, his family's expectations, and now, the sudden realization that he had pushed you away. The worst part was that with those words, he had seen the respect you once had for him—his intellect, his hard work, his quiet dedication—fade away. It was replaced by the same look everyone else gave him. The look of someone privileged, spoiled, entitled.

And he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Why it cut deeper than anything else. But it did. It hurt in a way he couldn't explain, a way he didn’t know how to handle. Maybe it was because, for the first time, you saw him exactly as everyone else did. And that scared him more than anything.

But he wasn’t going to let you see how much it hurt. Without a word, Theodore turned and walked away, his footsteps loud and defiant. He didn’t look back.

.

.

.

That day, you entered your room, slamming the door behind you, the weight of the moment crashing down in a final, thunderous sound. Your bag hit the floor with a dull thud as you sank onto your bed, your thoughts spiraling back to your first year. Back when Draco would make cruel remarks about your non-magical roots, and every word felt like a dagger. It had taken you time—so much time—to accept who you were. The proud daughter of two hardworking, brilliant, loving parents who had raised you with love and strength. And you’d never let anyone—anyone—make you feel ashamed of that again.

Your intellect, your kindness, had always been the things that carried you forward, the things that earned you respect in places where golden blood could never flow. A respect that comes not from your lineage, but from your knowledge. And yet, Theodore’s dismissal of it today stung in a way you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why it hurt so much. It was as if he had shattered something delicate—something you had worked so hard to build.

“Hey,” a voice pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed the door crack open.

Elena, your best friend, stepped into the room with a sympathetic expression, her blonde curls bouncing slightly with each movement. “Bad day?” she asked, already dropping her bag by her desk and crashing next to you on your bed, like the two of you had done, for years.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you flopped back next to her, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know why I let him get to me,” you muttered. “It’s like everything I’ve worked for, all the things I’ve fought to stand by… he just dismissed them like they were nothing.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. She was mad at Nott herself for treating you the way he did in class. “Still thinking about Nott?" She asked, her lips pressed in a thin line.

You winced at the mention of his name. Theodore and you were never friends, but after being partnered up, it's like the last few weeks had been a rollercoaster of awkward glances, clipped conversations, and sudden, uncomfortable silences whenever the two of you were together. There had been moments when you thought things might’ve changed, but the tension was always there, just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I don’t even know why it matters. He’s just one person. But he—he just has this way of making everything feel… wrong.”

“Well, I mean, that’s Theodore Nott for you,” Elena said with a mischievous grin, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced toward the door. “The broody, annoyingly good-looking Slytherin with a chip on his shoulder.”

You shot her a look, but Elena just shrugged, her expression turning playful. “What? He’s got that whole ‘mysterious bad boy’ thing going on. I’m just saying, it’s hard not to notice. And even harder not to fall for.”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing tone in her voice made your cheeks warm. “You’ve got a weird taste in guys.”

Elena laughed, unfazed. “I’m not saying I’m interested. But let’s be real here, Theodore Nott is NOT a "weird taste in guys". He's like....” Elene finishes her sentence with a deep sigh, pretending to swoon over that one guy, most girls in your year had tried getting with.

You smiled, despite yourself. “Yeah, well, I used to think he was just some grumpy guy who didn’t care about anything. But there’s something different now. It’s like... he’s always watching. Waiting for me to mess up or something.”

Elena gave you a knowing look and straightens up. “It’s because he’s an absolute idiot, and you’re way too brilliant for him. He probably doesn’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t fit into his little Slytherin world. But, if you ask me, I think he’s a bit jealous. You’ve got this whole ‘I-don’t-care-what-you-think’ vibe that he could never pull off, and it probably bugs him.”

You shot her a half-smile. “Yes, because it's so hard for Theodore to pull off that vibe. Please. His entire personality says "I don't give a shit" or "I'm too cool for school". Except he is smart as a whip."

"And that bothers you? I don't even know how the two of you got into this academic competition thing anyway." Elena asks with a huff.

You chuckled, shaking your head at the memory. “You know, it actually started in first year. I remember it so clearly.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes fondly. “We were in the library—no surprise there—and I was working on a potion assignment. I had it all figured out, but then I heard this voice. ‘You’re not supposed to add the powdered moonstone before the powdered dragon liver.’ And I looked up to see Theodore, sitting across from me, looking at me with a straight face. Except, his face was flushed. I'm guessing from all that ego boost he was getting from this." You scoffed again.

Elena leaned forward, grinning. “Let me guess, you argued?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a smile. “But then I double-checked, and he was right. He’s insufferable about it.”

"And that was the start." Elena finsihes.

"Yeah" You continue. "Potions and weirdly, Charms was always his thing. DADA and Care of Magical Creatures was mine."

"And both of you are collectively bad at Divination" Elena supplies.

"Hey! We just don't believe in the concept." You defend.

"Riiiight" she drawls playfully.

Elena and you spend the night gossiping about your previous school years. You were so grateful for her. She always had her way of making you feel better about things and distracting you from what hurts you, when you need it.

.

.

.

The next morning, Theodore enters the Potions classroom and immediately notices that you’re not sitting at your usual desk beside him. Just then he heard a melodious laughter, from the back of the room. His eyes snapped to it immediately, as if his body had its own reaction to that laughter he had now gotten used to and somewhere, started to love. And there you are, sitting with another Ravenclaw, whatever-his-name-was, who was whispering something that made you laugh. You’re laughing—something that, only yesterday, he could have made happen with just a quiet remark, a sarcastic comment. The sight twists something inside him, a pang sharper than he expected.

He freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the unfamiliar weight in his chest. Why did it bother him so much? It wasn’t like you were friends. If anything, the two of you had always been at odds, sniping at each other over Potions techniques or study strategies. You were supposed to be rivals—partners by necessity, not choice. So why did seeing you so deliberately avoid him feel like… loss?

He’d spent most of the night replaying his words, hating himself for how easily they’d slipped out. A part of him had thought he’d come in today and—well, not apologize, exactly, but something. Fix it, maybe. Yet now, watching you sit so far away, the distance between you felt bigger than just a few feet. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why that mattered so damn much. So, in that moment, he did the only thing he could—he kept stealing glances at you. There wasn’t a single trace of yesterday’s storm etched onto your face. It was as if it had never happened. And yet, the ease with which you seemed to have erased it from your mind gnawed at him. He didn't want you to hold onto whatever he had let slip in a moment of weakness, he had spent most of last night trying to erase the memory of your hurt expressions. The fleeting vulnerability that passed through your face in that moment, stabbed at his heart more times than he could have counted. Yet, he didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—why this indifference bothered him so much.

What he doesn’t realize is that you’ve been watching him, too. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him hesitate, his posture tense, his movements less precise than usual. His uniform is rumpled, his tie hanging loose and slightly crooked, a stark contrast to his usual meticulous appearance. His dark circles are more pronounced today, as though he didn’t sleep at all last night, and his hair, usually tousled in a way that feels deliberate, looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times.

Your frown deepens as you catch the way his jaw clenches and unclenches—a habit you’ve noticed he falls into when he’s agitated. He looks… off. Tired. Worn down.

You try to shake the worry off. He doesn’t deserve your concern, not after yesterday. Still, it’s there, lingering at the back of your mind like a whisper you can’t ignore. You tell yourself you’re just being observant—it’s what you do, after all. But deep down, a part of you wonders why he looks like the weight of the world is pressing on his shoulders. And why you care at all.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you turn towards Nathan and try to focus again on whatever he was saying, his voice a low hum against the storm of thoughts in your head. You nod absently, trying to piece together a response, but the weight of the tension in the room—of him—is impossible to ignore.

Nathan says something that might have been a joke, and you force yourself to muster up a smile, hoping it looks convincing. You don’t want him to notice your mind is elsewhere, but it is. Despite your best efforts, your thoughts keep drifting back to Theodore: his rumpled uniform, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to sag just a little more today.

You shift in your seat, gripping your quill tighter than necessary, willing yourself to stay present. Whatever this is—this inexplicable worry that keeps pulling at you—it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But no matter how hard you try to push it away, the image of him, sitting there in silence, keeps creeping back into your mind.

The bell rings, pulling you out of your thoughts, to signal the end of the lesson, and Theodore watches as you gather your things quickly, almost too quickly, like you're trying to avoid anything that might make your paths cross. You don’t even glance in his direction. It’s like he’s invisible, like all the moments, the words, the discussions you’ve shared have been wiped away in an instant.

But as you reach the door, something unexpected happens. You pause, just for a fraction of a second, your hand gripping the frame as though you’re hesitating. Theodore catches the movement, his heart leaping despite himself. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for—an accusation, an apology, a glance, anything—but then you step out without looking back, leaving him sitting there, alone with his thoughts.

He stares at the empty doorway, jaw tightening as the silence in the classroom swallows him whole. And then, as if on instinct, his fingers brush against the letter in his pocket—the one from his father, the one he hasn’t stopped thinking about since yesterday. His gaze flicks to the spot where you’d been sitting.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters under his breath, so low even he barely hears it. “I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

.

.

.

[jessiso]

"Let's pretend (we're not falling)"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Spencer Reid asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family wedding, but the line between fake and real begins to blur. Between slow dances, sleepy confessions, and soft smiles, something real quietly blooms.

cw: mild language, emotional vulnerability, light romantic jealousy, kissing and cuddling, fake dating, VERY FLUFFY.

w/c 4,812

(Longest one I've written yet - I could've kept going but felt like this was ENOUGH fluff for one fic!!)

...

You’re halfway through alphabetizing your bookshelf—again—when your phone buzzes with a name that always makes your heart skip: Spencer Reid.

"Hey, I know this is weird, but...would you be willing to pretend to be my girlfriend for a weekend?"

You freeze, a half-shelved copy of Pride and Prejudice in your hand. “I’m sorry—what?”

"Okay, so it sounds worse than it is," he rushes on, his voice tumbling over itself like he's tripping on his own thoughts. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Everyone’s going to be asking questions about my love life, and I may have...kind of already told them I have a girlfriend."

You blink. “You did what?”

"I panicked," he admits, and you can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting like they do when he’s nervous. "My mom kept asking, and it just slipped out. And then everyone was excited and asking when they could meet her, and—I didn’t want to disappoint them. I know it’s ridiculous."

You walk over to the couch and sit down, phone pressed closer to your ear. “So... your brilliant solution was to invent a girlfriend?”

"Technically, I didn’t invent you. I just… repurposed you. Temporarily," he says, and you can almost hear him wince at his own phrasing.

“Wow. I feel so honored,” you say dryly, but there's a smile creeping into your voice.

"No—I mean, you were the first person I thought of. You’re smart, charming, and we already spend time together. I figured if anyone could pull it off without making it weird, it’d be you."

Your heart does a little skip. “So this is your version of a compliment?”

"I think you’re amazing,” he says quietly, more sincere now. “But if this is too much or just weird or uncomfortable, I understand. I shouldn't have asked you like this.”

You let the silence stretch for just a moment, savoring the warmth in your chest. Then:

“Spencer,” you interrupt gently, smiling. “I’ll do it.”

He exhales in visible relief, and even over the phone, you can feel the warmth behind his "thank you."

"You’re sure? There’s a hotel room involved. And dancing. And my extended family. They’re a lot."

“Positive,” you say. “I’ve always wanted to go to a wedding where I can fake a romance with a handsome genius. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

He chuckles softly. “You might regret saying yes when my Aunt Patty corners you about astrology.”

“I can handle Aunt Patty,” you say confidently. “Just promise you won’t leave me alone with the bouquet toss.”

"Deal," he says.

You hear the smile in his voice, and it lingers in your chest long after the call ends.

...

Spencer picks you up in his vintage Volvo, nervously fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater.

His hair is a little messy in the way you like best, and there’s a stack of books in the backseat, including The Evolution of Marriage in Sociology and A Beginner’s Guide to Wedding Etiquette.

“You studied for this?” you tease, climbing in with your overnight bag.

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I just wanted to make sure I knew what to expect. Statistically, weddings can trigger heightened emotions due to social pressure, alcohol, and romantic ambiance.”

You laugh. “So you're emotionally bracing for impact?”

He glances at you, sheepish. “A little. I also wanted to be the best fake boyfriend possible.”

“Well, that’s very noble of you, Dr. Reid.” You smile and buckle in.

The drive begins with your usual easy banter, but quickly shifts into something more comfortable.

Spencer starts reciting facts about the towns you pass through, pointing out obscure historical landmarks like he’s hosting his own nerdy podcast. You playfully correct him once, and he lights up.

“You’ve been paying attention when I ramble,” he says, sounding genuinely touched.

“Of course I do. It’s one of my favorite sounds,” you admit before you can stop yourself. The car goes quiet for a beat too long.

“Really?” he asks softly.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. It’s kind of like background music. But smarter.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but you notice the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

A little while later, he turns on a podcast about penguin mating rituals. “I thought this might be thematically appropriate.”

“Because of the wedding?”

“Because some penguin species mate for life. I thought it was... sweet.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice.

Eventually, the road hum and soft voice of the podcast lull you to sleep.

Your head drifts until it finds his shoulder, and he stiffens only for a moment before relaxing.

When you wake up, your cheek still pressed to him, you find his hand resting gently on your knee.

“You were snoring softly,” he says with a smile, his voice low. “It was cute.”

You flush and stretch, not moving away. “You let me sleep on you?”

He shrugs. “You looked comfortable. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Your heart does a soft, silly somersault.

You look out the window and smile. “This fake boyfriend thing? You’re already really good at it.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Yeah. I might be in trouble."

You glance over at him, catching the way his fingers tighten just slightly on the steering wheel.

“In trouble how?” you ask, voice light, testing the waters.

He swallows, eyes flicking from the road to you, then back again. “Just… starting to realize how easy it is to pretend. Too easy, maybe.”

You don’t respond right away. The silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s soft, brimming with something unspoken. The kind of silence that only exists between people who are on the edge of something new.

Spencer clears his throat. “Also, your head is surprisingly heavy for someone so… not heavy.”

You snort. “Did you just call me dense?”

“I said surprisingly heavy. That’s different. Scientifically.”

You hum, mock-pensive. “I should’ve known you’d insult me with science.”

He smiles again—small and fond. “I wouldn’t dare. You’re very aerodynamic. Perfect for shoulder naps.”

You both laugh, and it breaks the tension just enough to breathe again.

The sun dips lower as the car winds through golden hills and quiet towns.

At one point, Spencer reaches across the center console and gently adjusts the blanket you'd haphazardly thrown over your lap earlier. His fingers brush your thigh, featherlight.

He doesn’t pull away immediately.

You turn your head, and for a heartbeat, you both just look at each other.

It’s not dramatic.

It's not a movie moment with music swelling.

It’s quiet.

Still.

But you feel it settle somewhere deep and certain.

You smile at him. “We’re gonna pull this off.”

He nods, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your breath catch.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I think we already are.”

...

The inn Spencer’s family reserved is charming in a way that feels almost too picturesque—wooden beams, soft lighting, flower boxes under every window.

It smells faintly of lavender and old books when you walk in, which feels on brand for a Reid wedding weekend.

Spencer checks in at the front desk while you take in the lobby, smiling at the framed photos of local landmarks and antique clock that ticks loudly in the silence.

The woman at the counter—Nancy, according to her name tag—hands Spencer one keycard and a warm grin. “We’ve got you both all set. Room 203, queen bed, garden view. Breakfast starts at seven, and congratulations, by the way!”

You blink. “Congratulations?”

Nancy winks. “You make a lovely couple. I hope the wedding goes beautifully.”

Spencer doesn’t respond—he just nods, thanks her politely, and practically power-walks you toward the elevator.

When the doors close, you look at him. “So… queen bed?”

He winces. “Apparently my cousin booked everything through a family rate package. She assumed we’d want one room since we’re…” he clears his throat, “a couple.”

You cross your arms, amused. “She really committed to the bit for us.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” he blurts, eyes wide. “I mean, or the chair, or—do hotel bathtubs count as beds if you’re desperate enough?”

You laugh. “Spencer. Relax. It’s just a bed.”

He hesitates, glancing at you sidelong.

"Right. Of course. Just a bed.”

The room is cute—floral wallpaper, a vintage desk, and yes, a single queen bed neatly made with a pale blue comforter. One bed. Right in the middle. No pullout couch in sight.

You drop your bag near the closet and sit on the edge of the mattress. “At least it’s fluffy.”

Spencer stands awkwardly by the window like he's unsure whether to sit, pace, or teleport out of the room.

You pat the other side of the bed. “C’mon. It’s not like we’re strangers.”

He walks over slowly, toeing off his shoes before sitting beside you, careful not to shift the mattress too much. “I know. I just… didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You glance at him, softer now. “Spence, you’ve read me bedtime stories when I couldn’t sleep, and once accidentally bought us a matching pair of Star Wars pajamas. I think we’re past ‘uncomfortable.’”

He smiles at that, eyes crinkling. “I forgot about the pajama incident.”

“I haven’t,” you tease. “Mine had little Ewoks.”

His voice is warm when he says, “You looked really cute in them.”

You both go quiet again.

Outside, the sun is dipping low, casting soft gold shadows across the room. It feels like you’re caught in a moment that doesn’t quite know what it wants to be yet—more than friends, but not quite labeled.

Not yet.

Finally, Spencer lies back carefully, folding his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. “I’m just saying, if I roll over and accidentally elbow you in my sleep, it’s nothing personal.”

You slide under the comforter beside him, settling in with a little smile. “Noted. And if I steal all the blankets, you’re allowed to steal them back.”

He glances at you, eyes fond. “Deal.”

For a while, you both lie there in the dimming light, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth between you.

And even though the room only has one bed, somehow, it feels like just enough.

The room is dark now, save for the warm glow of the bedside lamp Spencer insisted on leaving on “in case you need to get up and don’t want to stub your toe,” which you’d teased him about affectionately.

You’re both lying in the bed, backs to each other at first—an unspoken, awkward little agreement made after brushing teeth side by side and pretending not to notice how close your shoulders were.

But now, a few long minutes later, Spencer shifts, and so do you, until you’re facing one another in the soft hush of the room.

“Are you warm enough?” he whispers.

You nod. “Mhm. You?”

“I think so.” He pauses. “The comforter is a little thin. But the proximity to another human increases shared body heat by at least three degrees.”

You smirk. “Was that your way of asking to cuddle?”

His eyes go wide. “No! I mean—unless—was it? I didn’t mean to. Unless you wanted to. Not that I’m assuming you do. Just, thermoregulation and all—”

You reach over and gently tug the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Spencer. Come here.”

He hesitates, but then scoots a little closer, tentative and sweet. You meet him halfway, curling into his side, your head tucked under his chin, his arm slipping around you like it was always meant to be there.

His heart is beating faster than usual. You can feel it against your cheek.

“You’re a very good fake boyfriend,” you murmur, letting your eyes close.

You feel him smile into your hair. “Thanks. I’ve been studying.”

You let out a sleepy laugh. “I can tell.”

Silence settles again—safe, content. His fingers gently trace circles against your back, slow and absent-minded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

After a long while, just as you’re about to drift off, you hear him whisper:

“You smell like the lavender shampoo you always use.”

You hum. “You notice that?”

“Always.” He pauses, voice quieter now. “I notice a lot of things when it comes to you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, but before you can say anything back, his breathing shifts, slowing into the steady rhythm of sleep.

You don’t move. You just smile, curling in closer, and let the feeling carry you gently into dreams.

You wake to soft light filtering through the gauzy curtains and the distant sound of birdsong.

For a moment, you’re not quite sure where you are—everything feels too warm, too still, too perfect.

And then you shift, only slightly, and realize there’s an arm wrapped around your waist.

Spencer.

His hand is resting on your hip, fingers curled just enough to anchor you there against him.

Your back is pressed to his chest, your legs tangled under the covers, your bodies aligned like puzzle pieces.

He’s still asleep, breath slow and warm at the back of your neck. You can feel it each time he exhales, like a secret.

You should move.

You should, except… you really, really don’t want to.

Instead, you let your eyes flutter closed again, and for a few minutes more, you simply exist in the comfort of it.

The quiet, the softness, the way his presence fits so easily into the morning.

Eventually, you feel him stir behind you.

His fingers twitch slightly against your side before he freezes, like he's just realized where he is and what he’s doing.

“…Good morning,” he says, voice husky and sleep-rough.

“Morning,” you whisper back, smiling into the pillow.

He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he shifts just enough to get more comfortable. You hear him exhale, like he’s been holding his breath since waking.

“I didn’t mean to—uh—sprawl,” he says, sounding adorably apologetic.

“You didn’t sprawl,” you say gently. “You snuggled. It was nice.”

There’s a pause. Then: “You think I snuggled?”

“You absolutely snuggled.”

“…Did I snore?”

You laugh. “Not even a little. Though you did mumble something about echidnas.”

He groans quietly. “Great.”

“I thought it was cute.”

You turn slightly so you can look at him.

His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, and his cheek is creased from the pillow.

He’s never looked more endearing.

He gazes at you for a long, quiet second.

"This is going to sound strange, but… waking up with you felt really natural.”

Your smile softens. “It didn’t feel fake.”

“No,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Not at all.”

He reaches up, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear like it’s something he’s always done. His fingertips linger for just a moment too long.

You lean into his touch without thinking.

The knock at the door—his cousin announcing brunch downstairs—startles you both out of the moment.

But even as you untangle yourselves and climb reluctantly out of bed, the feeling lingers.

Something has shifted.

You both know it.

And maybe… maybe you don’t mind one bit.

...

The dining room smells like fresh cinnamon rolls and sunshine.

Golden light spills through wide windows, catching dust motes in the air and warming the linen-covered tables already cluttered with carafes of orange juice and scattered cutlery.

It's loud—but in that cozy, familial way that makes it feel like every voice has a place.

You and Spencer step in together, freshly dressed.

His sweater vest is just slightly crooked, and he’s fussing with his sleeves again—a telltale sign he’s nervous. You reach over and smooth the hem with a casual familiarity that catches even you off guard.

“Better?” you murmur.

He blinks down at you, nodding like you just saved his life. “Infinitely.”

His cousin—a woman with a messy bun, lipstick on her teeth, and an air of authority like she runs every group chat—waves from the far end of the room.

“Spencer! There you are! And this must be the famous girlfriend!”

A chorus of greetings follows. Chairs scrape. Someone makes room by scooting down with a dramatic sigh. You squeeze Spencer’s hand once before letting go and sliding into the empty seat next to him.

"Welcome to the chaos,” he murmurs, looking like he wants to sink into the floor and disappear.

You smile warmly. “Chaos is charming.”

"Spoken like someone who's never seen my family at a wedding."

Introductions come fast—half the table seems to be named either Julie or Dave, and every person seems determined to quiz you about how you met Spencer, what he’s like outside of the BAU, and most importantly, whether he’s always been “such a little know-it-all.”

“I heard he could recite Pi to, like, a thousand digits when he was eight,” one cousin says around a bite of blueberry pancake.

“I’m not that bad,” Spencer mutters, clearly mortified. “Just 1,022 digits.”

You bite back a grin and casually lace your fingers with his under the table.

His posture straightens immediately, his head turning to glance at you in soft surprise.

“Come on,” you tease gently. “It’s kind of impressive.”

“It’s kind of terrifying,” someone else says. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Spencer says automatically, but you can see the pink rising in his cheeks.

Later, the toddler brigade shows up—small children with juice mustaches and suspiciously sticky hands.

One of them, a wide-eyed girl with pigtails and a glittery dress, marches straight over to your side of the table.

She climbs into your lap like it’s her birthright and points an accusatory finger at Spencer.

“You! Tell me all your favorite dinosaurs. Right now.”

He blinks, startled. “All of them?”

“Just five. But the best five.”

Without missing a beat, he rattles off, “Deinonychus, Parasaurolophus, Therizinosaurus, Diplodocus, and Quetzalcoatlus.”

The little girl gasps. “The flying one?”

He nods. “Largest known pterosaur. Wingspan over thirty feet.”

She stares at him, awe-struck. “You’re like a real-life museum.”

You lean toward her and whisper loudly, “He even does the museum voice.”

“I do not—”

“He does!” you interrupt gleefully. “Give us your best ‘Welcome to the Natural History Exhibit’ voice.”

Spencer groans but plays along, deepening his tone with mock-solemnity. “Welcome to the Hall of Mesozoic Life, where the past comes roaring back to life.”

Laughter bubbles around the table. One of the uncles claps. The toddler claps. You beam.

Later, after she’s wandered off in search of more syrup, Spencer leans in close, eyes sparkling.

“You're really good with kids.”

You shrug, heart thudding a little. “You're really good with facts.”

“I didn’t mean that as a joke,” he says quietly, gaze lingering. “You just… fit in. Better than I ever expected.”

You try to breathe past the warmth blooming in your chest. “I like seeing this side of you.”

“What side?”

“This… soft, sweet, occasionally flustered side. And the dinosaur trivia doesn’t hurt.”

He ducks his head, hiding his smile in his teacup.

Halfway through brunch, a spontaneous toast begins—someone stands and clinks a fork against their mimosa glass, calling for “a round of love stories.”

“Oh no,” Spencer whispers, squeezing your hand.

“What?”

“It’s a tradition. Everyone shares how they met their partners. Every single couple. I didn’t think we’d get called on.”

You grin. “Guess we’d better improvise.”

When it’s your turn, you straighten your posture and beam at the table.

“We met in the library,” you begin, and Spencer exhales slowly beside you, relieved. “I was trying to reach a book on the top shelf—The Psychology of Collective Memory, if anyone cares.”

“She called me tall and intimidating,” Spencer adds dutifully.

“You were looming,” you say, teasing.

“She thought I worked there,” he says.

“You had a name tag!”

He leans closer, his smile lazy and warm now. “You asked me out a week later.”

You look at him, surprised—but nod. “I did. Best impulsive decision of my life.”

The table collectively awws. Someone mutters, “Get a room,” and someone else offers to officiate if “things escalate before the ceremony.”

Spencer’s hand is still in yours under the table.

His thumb strokes across your skin, soft and slow.

There’s something very real about it now—too warm to be performance, too natural to be coincidence.

And when the toast ends and you lean into his side just a little, he lets you. Quietly, easily. Like he was always waiting for the chance.

After brunch, as the family begins to scatter and the kids start racing up and down the hallway with napkins on their heads like superhero capes, you and Spencer hang back at the table.

He looks over at you, shy and fond. “Thank you for doing this.”

You bump your shoulder gently against his. “I’m kind of having fun.”

“I keep forgetting it’s not real,” he says quietly.

You meet his eyes. “Same.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his family and the leftover smell of syrup and orange juice, you realize—pretending doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.

It feels like something you don’t want to let go of.

The pre-wedding reception is held outside, under strings of golden fairy lights and the soft hum of a hired jazz trio.

Everything smells like lilac and freshly mown grass.

Tables are scattered across the lawn, twinkle lights woven through centerpieces of wildflowers and white roses.

You and Spencer arrive just as the sun dips low on the horizon, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. He's beside you, freshly changed into a deep navy blazer and that soft, nervous smile he wears like armor.

“You look beautiful,” he says, almost too quietly to hear.

You glance over, heart doing that ridiculous flutter it’s been doing all weekend. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Dr. Reid.”

His ears flush pink. You nudge him playfully with your shoulder.

The two of you are barely through your first round of canapés when Spencer is whisked away by an aunt determined to introduce him to someone she swears is a cousin but might actually just be her neighbor.

You’re left alone, sipping your drink, watching kids chase bubbles near the dance floor.

That’s when he appears.

Ryan. Spencer’s second cousin. Or third? You can’t remember. He’s charming, golden-tanned, and clearly two drinks in.

He plucks a champagne flute from a tray and slides into the seat beside you with a grin that’s just shy of too confident.

“So… you’re the famous fake girlfriend.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He smirks. “I figured. No way a guy like Spencer pulls someone like you without divine intervention. Or bribery.”

You stiffen. “Well, I guess miracles happen.”

“I’m just saying,�� Ryan continues, leaning a little too close, “if this whole thing is just for show, maybe you’d want some… real company later?”

Before you can respond—or throw your drink in his face—a familiar voice interrupts, quiet but sharp.

“She’s already in real company.”

Spencer’s back.

He’s standing just behind Ryan, eyes unreadable but jaw tight. His hand finds yours instantly, fingers lacing through yours with more certainty than you’ve felt all weekend.

Ryan laughs, holding up his hands. “Hey, man. No offense. Just thought she might want some actual fun.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Fun, statistically speaking, often involves mutual interest. And consent.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Ryan mutters something and slinks off toward the bar.

You turn to Spencer, surprised, but he’s still holding your hand, thumb brushing across your skin in slow, grounding strokes.

“You okay?” he asks softly, eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah. Thank you. That was very… chivalrous of you.”

He shifts, a little embarrassed now. “I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you.”

“You didn’t have to come to my rescue, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to.”

Something flickers between you—warm and full of questions you’re not ready to ask yet. The music shifts to something slower, something sweeter.

And before you can overthink it, Spencer gently tugs your hand. “Dance with me?”

You let him lead you onto the grass, where a few couples sway under the fairy lights.

His arms slide around you, one hand settling at your waist, the other cradling your hand against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” you murmur, resting your head against his shoulder, “if you keep doing things like that, I might actually fall for you.”

His breath catches, but when he answers, it’s soft, honest.

“…Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

The music plays on. The stars blink to life above you. And in his arms, nothing feels fake anymore.

...

The wedding ends in a blur of dancing, laughter, and sparklers flickering in the night air.

By the time you and Spencer stumble back into your shared room, shoes in hand and cheeks still flushed from spinning each other around the dance floor, the inn is quiet.

Only the muffled sound of someone giggling down the hall reminds you the night hasn’t quite ended for everyone.

Spencer sets your shoes by the door like they’re made of glass, then shrugs off his jacket, looking content and sleep-soft in his white button-down and loosened tie.

“That was…” you start.

“A lot?” he finishes, smiling gently.

You laugh. “I was going to say beautiful.”

He turns toward you, face lit only by the lamp you flicked on by the bed. “Yeah. It really was.”

There’s a pause. A warm, quiet kind.

“I cried during the vows,” he admits suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I know,” you say with a fond smile. “I noticed. You were blinking really hard and pretending to adjust your tie every five seconds.”

He groans. “I was trying to be subtle!”

“You were about as subtle as a fire alarm,” you tease, walking over to him and gently fixing the part of his tie that’s askew. “But it was cute.”

His gaze finds yours and doesn’t let go.

“I guess weddings are just… a lot for me,” he says softly. “So much love in one place. It’s overwhelming.”

You nod, fingers still at the knot of his tie. “In a good way?”

He hesitates. “In a way that makes me wish I had that. For real.”

The quiet between you deepens. Thickens.

You look up at him, your hands slipping from his tie to rest lightly on his chest.

“Spence…”

He exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment like he’s debating whether or not to say the next words.

But when he opens them again, there’s only honesty there.

“I thought pretending to be with you would be harder,” he whispers. “But it’s not. It’s easier than pretending not to want this all the time.”

Your breath catches.

“I know we said it was fake,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper now. “But every time I looked at you tonight—laughing with my cousins, dancing with me, kissing my cheek when my aunt got too nosy—I kept forgetting we were pretending.”

You feel the words sink into your chest, warm and weightless at once.

“I wasn’t pretending,” you say, quiet but certain.

His eyes widen just a little. “You weren’t?”

You shake your head, stepping closer.

“I wanted to hold your hand. I wanted to slow dance with you. I wanted to fall asleep next to you and wake up and do it all again tomorrow.”

Spencer looks stunned—like someone just gave him a map to a place he never thought he’d reach.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You mean it?”

“I do,” you whisper.

He lets out a breath—half laugh, half relief—and leans his forehead against yours.

“I’m kind of in love with you,” he murmurs.

“Just a little. Or maybe a lot.”

Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. “That’s good. Because I’m kind of in love with you too.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes shining, smile soft and disbelieving.

Then he cups your cheek like you’re something fragile and precious and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

You melt.

The two of you change into your pajamas in a haze of quiet giggles and stolen glances.

When you finally crawl into bed—your bed, not just the one assigned to two fake lovers—you curl up beside him without hesitation.

His arms wrap around you instantly. Like he’s meant to be there. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

“You know,” you murmur as your fingers trace lazy shapes on his chest, “this fake relationship really took a turn.”

He laughs, a sleepy, golden sound. “Best plot twist of my life.”

You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, your hand in his, the weight of every unsaid thing now lifted.

And in the quiet warmth of that shared bed, everything finally feels real.

[minhosimthings]

Prideful

Synopsis: You never thought that Lee Heeseung, the man who had proven you wrong in the subject you were best at, would be fucking you on the classroom floor, but here you were.

Pairings: Heeseung × fem!reader, sort of enemies hate sex, includes Sunoo from Enha, and Soojin

Warnings: Smut with plot in the beginning, MINORS DNI, fluffy in the beginning, mention of food, degradation, praise, fingering, oral (f receiving), sex on the floor, unprotected sex (not for you bubs), rough sex, overstimulation, swearing, Heeseung calls reader princess and doll, open ending my babies have fun with that

A/N: idea came into my brain and I thought I'd forget about it and just added it to my wip list but then I was like NOPE IMMA WRITE THIS SHIT. So this makes my third smut for Heeseung (idk why I'm writing only smut for him) enjoy it y'all

Jane Austen once wrote an entire fanfic about enemies to lovers, slow burn, and she thought no one would notice. Well almost no one. Nothing ever gets out of the eyes and pens of literature majors does it? Especially not out of hardcore Jane Austen fans like yourself.

You must have analysed that godforsaken piece of literature atleast a thousand times since you recieved it as a gift for your birthday. And every single time, you failed to understand how such a love could be possible. I mean come on, a man and woman who hate each other, falling in love with each other? Either Jane Austen must have been a reincarnation of Aphrodite, or a madwoman who still kept faith in love.

Your heart nearly exploded when your professor had assigned a full fledged essay-presentation, costing half your grade on Pride and Prejudice. "Explore your opinion!" She had called out cheerfully, "Tell me what your heart truly feels about this beautiful piece and I'll give you a full half grade and no assignments for the rest of the semester." The class gasped in excitement at her words as you pretended to be interested. Internally, you were groaning. Wasting half of your night to make a presentation about a book you hold no love for? The universe really was against you. You picked your books up dejectedly and walked towards the entrance, shoulders hunched and music at a higher level of noise than it should have been at.

"Oh shit!" You cursed, dropping your books at the sudden interruption. A flurry of blue wool flooded in your face, as you leaned down quickly to pick up your fallen books and phone. "I'm so sorry." You apologised not looking up at whoever you crashed into. "It's alright." A voice responded back, and you looked up to see him. Lee Heeseung. You had seen him a few times in class, heard him actually. With his pristine glasses, and his woolen sweaters, he was the definition of a movie nerd. He was actually smart, you had to admit, always quick to respond to the questions that you had no idea about. Best in the class after you, according to your professor. Although his choice of literature slightly weirded you out. You often spotted him sprawled out under a tree, holding Pride and Prejudice to his nose, deeply engrossed in taking in each word.

"Is that The Neighborhood you're listening to?" Heeseung asked, as he handed you your phone, which he had picked up before you had the chance to. "Do you have an ear for them?" You asked, taking the phone from him. His hands felt soft, like the first snow when you were eight. Heeseung shook his and chuckled. "I'm more of a Arctic Monkeys person." You smiled awkwardly and shuffled your feet. "To each his own then."

"Macbeth." Heeseung said, before you could escape from the conversation. "I'm sorry?" You questioned, confused at his sudden outburst. "That line's from Macbeth." Heeseung sent another smile your way, pushing his glasses up from his nose, "Polonius says it, 'To each his own'." You felt a pang of jealousy hit your chest. You didn't know where that line was from. Of course, what normal person would know the origin of a common idiom?

"Cool." Your laugh was not without a tint of awkwardness. "Well-" Heeseung shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Bye then." "Bye." You bid each other goodbye and rushed off in opposite directions, not wanting to be stuck in another neverending loop of conversation.

"Don't tell me you actually talked with The Lee Heeseung." Your roommate Soojin laughed, accidentally smearing some turquoise nail polish onto your thigh. You quickly wiped it off with a tissue before frowning at Soojin. "It's not a big deal." You scoffed, having another slice of pizza, "I mean he's just a guy. Kinda nerdy actually"

Soojin burst out laughing again, this time shutting her nail polish close. She gasped for air as she pulled out her phone and showed you a picture of a what looked like a frat party. "Girl-" she got up from her leaning position, "Nerdy is the worst way to describe Lee Heeseung. I'm telling you-" she picked up the last slice of pizza, "-he's the playboy representative of this college."

"Oh come on." You scoffed again, getting up to go to the bathroom, "Stop joking around." Soojin shrugged her shoulders as you disappeared into the bathroom. "Whatever you say."

The next day, you strolled into your favourite cafe with your laptop, headphones, a copy of Pride and Prejudice, money in your pocket, a sketchbook, and a positive mindset. Always need one to write an essay right? You were thankful that it wasn't raining today like it had been for the past few weeks.

The cafe was mostly empty, with a few medical students drinking coffee to their death, as they always did. You walked up to the counter, where you saw your friend Sunoo, working his shift.

"Y/N hey!" He flashed his bright smile at you, putting down the glass he had been cleaning. "Hey sun." You clapped back, leaning in front of the counter, "The usual please." Sunoo nodded his head and started to prepare your drink. "So I've heard something." He put on his mischievous smile, one that he often wore when he had gossip on his fingers. "Please tell me it's not about that girl from Chem again." You sighed, as he put a coffee cup down in front of you. "No it's about you dumbass." Sunoo scoffed, taking the money you handed him, "I heard you bumped into Lee Heeseung." You let out a groan at his words, and quickly grabbed your drink, going off to sit in the corner. "Yah take your change!" Sunoo shouted after you to which you shouted back, "Keep it! Your broke ass needs it anyway!"

You didn't get the chance to see Sunoo giving you the stink eye, as you plopped down on the comfortable couch and opened up your laptop. You had prepared a few opening lines the night before, since you had learnt that doing half of an assignment on the day of the announcement is better than starting the next day. Whoever wrote that theory needs to clarify it to you, but hey never pass up a good study tip right?

Immersed by the clacking of the keyboard keys and the pretty syllables decorating your page, you were completely absent from the world around you. Until, you heard a familiar voice, which broke you out of your hypoxia.

Heeseung.

What was he doing here?, You thought, not realising that you were basically staring at him. He was dressed in full black today, a leather jacket adorning his broad shoulders. A single earing dangled from his right ear. He still had his glasses on, which were fogged up completely, courtesy to the weather outside. Chatting away sonderly to Sunoo, as Sunoo prepared his drink in a way familiar to you, Heeseung caught your eye. He waved joyfully to you, akin to a child waving to their best friend. You waved back, not aware of the face you were currently making.

"Hey!" Heeseung said, sitting down in the chair next to you, with his drink in hand, "Working up on the Pride and Prejudice thing?" There were atleast a million other seats empty in the cafe. Why did he have to sit next to you? You didn't really realise how handsome he was, until he was sitting face to face with you. The mere sunlight coming in from the windows seemed to illuminate his face well. "Oh yeah I am." You replied, shooting him a smile, "Same thing?" You asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. Heeseung smiled jovially at you and propped his laptop open. "Yep." He replied and glued his eyes to the screen as you went back to your own work. "The Neighborhood again?" He raised an eyebrow, peeking at your open Spotify. You smiled gently and replied, "Arctic Monkeys?" As if ticking a correct answer, Heeseung laughed and showed you his phone where 'Arabella' was playing. A pretty album cover, you thought, subtle and sleek. "To each his own then?" Heeseung said. You nodded and smiled in response, before dropping your head back down to your laptop.

An hour must have passed like this, both of you hypnotised in writing and editing, and downing the refills of coffee Sunoo was providing you with. You stole tiny glances at Heeseung from time to time. Concentration was a good face on him, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands typing away furiously at the keyboard. He didn't talk to you at all, except for the initial hey and hello. But something about the way he spoke to you in the beginning, about the way he asked if you had a pen, and about the way he said 'Hey you have an eyelash on your nose' made your stomach erupt into butterflies.

Heeseung left before you did and before leaving he had extended a hand out to you. "May the best essay win." He spoke, shaking your hand and showing you his smile. God he never stopped smiling did he? His hand was soft, as was his grip on yours. It felt like how your father would hold your hand when you were little on the crosswalk.

"Girl just ask him out." Sunoo called after you as you were about to leave, "The tension between both of you back there was almost poetic." Even though you laughed at Sunoo's quip, and denied the offer, a part of your mind lingered on Sunoo's words and the way Heeseung spoke to you that afternoon.

The days leading upto the hour of the presentation went fast. Too fast almost. Your mind went over your short conversation with Heeseung atleast a million times, sometimes distracting you from typing. You didn't know where all the red bull cans littered across your room came from, but you remember where you threw every single one of them and why. The presentation was perfect. It must have been checked by your eyes atleast a hundred times. Finally, a time was coming when you would be able to express your true feeling about it. Despise and Trouble ran through your veins as you walked up to the board as your professor called on you to present. The class seemed to hold a tight breath to themselves. Everyone knew you, teacher's pet, best at English, known for using the most difficult metaphores in her essays yet having a straightforward point.

"Shall I begin?" You asked your professor who gave a curt nod and leaned back in her chair, an expectant smile plastered on her face. You returned the smile and turned to your classmates, who seemed most interested in your essay.

"Well to begin with, as one does-" humor was always the best way to start off speeches, which was shown by the subtle laughter of the students, "-I would like to say that Pride and Prejudice may be one of the most despised books I have sitting in my bookcase." You heard gasps around the room as everyone started murmerring. Your professor leaned forward in her chair, her mouth pressed tightly to form a thin line. That's good, you thought, a good way to break into their corneas.

"While most people would disagree with me upon this apparent piece of art, I truly believe that this sort of a romance is highly impossible. And no-dont tell me that this is fiction and in the fictious worlds you can quote unquote 'do whatever you want'." The audience held their breaths back as you continued with your rant. Your professor was watching it all with a smile on her face, knowing that she couldn't disagree with you. After all, you had to present your own opinions no matter how opposite they were to everyone else's.

"Well-" you professor stood up from her chair, as you finished your presentation. It had been a 25 minute rant about the book and by now everyone seemed to be meekly looking at their own essays. "That was brilliant Y/N. Truly brilliant." You professor clapped you on the back, "I must say, you have a flair for arguing in a way no one can find counter-attacks. I wonder why you did not choose law as your major?"

"Because there is another argument to be discussed here."

A cold voice rang through the room, as you were about to laugh at the professor's quip. You spun around on your shoes to face the culprit.

Lee Heeseung.

"Heeseung!" Your professor delightfully responded clapping her hands together, "Well why don't you tell us your opinion then? And we'll see if Y/N can fire back." She sat in her chair again, looking positively delighted at the forthcoming, "A battle of the best wits perhaps!"

Heeseung smiled widely and stepped forward to where you were sitting, plopping down on the opposite chair. Your professor had always kept two chairs facing each other in front of her class, for debates, her reason sounded. And now, as you sat in front of Heeseung and his stupidly handsome smirk, you swore you were going to bring him down.

"First of firsts-" Heeseung began, as everyone's attention caught on you. "-your opinion is speaking from a highly biased perspective." "How so?" You fired back, before he could even breathe, "I had already stated in the beginning, about how this cannot be on a biased perspective, since fiction based in actual words cannot be this animated." Heeseung smiled again, which threw you off track a bit. God he's handsome, you thought, too handsome....

"Of course but must I remind you, that this book was perhaps the first out of many to start with the trope of enemies to lovers?" Why were his eyes like galaxies?, "Jane Austen invented an entire trope, which still remains a genius scan of literature to this day. How could you say it's too animated?"

"Yes but-"

"Furthermore-" Heeseung continued, not giving you the chance to breathe, "inventing new tropes does not break this 'law of literature' as you say. Since there was no law of literature to begin with. So please Miss Y/N-" he leaned forward, looking at you with dangerous eyes, "-don't you dare say that Pride and Prejudice is a worthless piece of literature just because it does not have proof of poetry."

The class let out a breath as you sat frozen in your seat. Someone actually breaking your argument was a first for you.

God, his hair. His pretty curly hair.

You didn't realise how long you'd been staring at Heeseung with widened eyes until your professor clapped her hands together again.

"Well then!" She said cheerfully, effectively breaking you out of your stupor, "I believe this goes for grading both of you an A+. Half of your grade is filled you two! Congratulations!" The class broke out into applause as you thanked her and awkwardly shook hands with Heeseung as the bell rang loudly. "Well class I'll be seeing you next time!" Your professor announced, as everyone started filing out. "Oh Y/N, Heeseung a moment please?"

You stopped your feet from stepping out the door and immediately spun around, marching off towards your professor, seeing Heeseung doing the same. "Yes Professor Kim?" Heeseung responded with those stupid puppy eyes of his before you could. Professor Kim smiled gently at both of you, before pulling out her tablet.

"I need a bit of help from both of you. It'll be sort of a favour to you too." She handed you the tablet, which had a sort of letter open on it. Heeseung leaned from behind you, and put his chin on your shoulder, making your stomach feel clammy. He smelled good too, you thought, like fresh paper.

"An event is being hosted by our Dean for all majors." Professor Kim smiled, "Sort of a career booster you could say. We were instructed to pick two students from our classes to have the assignment of checking essays, and documentations and whatnot pertaining to their majors."

"And you chose to pick us Ma'am? I'm flattered." Heeseung chuckled, as Professor Kim laughed to his quip. "Well you two are my best students." She drawled, "So the assignment I'm giving you is-" she pulled out a huge stack of papers from beneath her desk. It shocked you how quickly they appeared out of nowhere, like magic. "-these are all essays collected by last year's class. I want you to go through them, give them a good critic, and grade them according to you. You will personally grade each one, taking each other's help of course,since it's a group project. And it will lend you a helping hand since you'll be getting a certificate which you can use to get into any company you'd like!"

You and Heeseung glanced at each other and we're relieved to see the same excited expression face back at them. This was a rare opportunity, a diamond of the first water you'd say. And you had to grab it, even If that meant it was with a person you despised with your entire being.

"I'll do it Professor!" You replied positively to which Heeseung also nodded frantically as if to say the same thing. "Great!" Professor Kim clapped her hands together again, "Oh and one rule is you two have to work together in this classroom. Since the Dean wants to provide you with an opportunity to see how workplace relationships doon out."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you heard her words. You, working with Heeseung in an empty classroom? You would rather have praised Pride and Prejudice.

"Here, the keys." Professor Kim handed you and Heeseung a pair of keys, "You can work in the evening if you want. But make sure to complete it as soon as you can alright? Oh and you can skip classes if you want to do this first, since the Dean is prioritising this before anything else." You nodded in response to her instructions and bowed her goodbye as you and Heeseung walked out.

"So-" Heeseung stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You wanna work on this shit tonight?" "Unless you have any other appointments, sure we can work on it tonight." You responded, coldly, not looking at him in the eye. "Alright then." Heeseung scoffed, "Meet you here at 8?" "Alright." The end of your conversation came a little too fast, you thought, but you couldn't stand looking into his pretty little eyes and talking to him, as if he didn't just embarrass you infront of your entire class a few minutes ago. "Y/N wait!" Heeseung called, running up to you, as you were about to exit the building. "What?" You spun around to face him. "Shouldn't we exchange numbers first?" Heeseung handed you his phone, which had his contact list open. "Why? So you can take me out on a date later?" You shot at him. A smirk tugged on the corner of Heeseung lips, but he resisted, not wanting to anger you more. You looked cute when you were angry in his opinion. "No. Maybe incase you were murdered by someone on the way here, I can call you and scold you on why tardiness is a childish thing to do." Heeseung joked. You smiled sarcastically at him as you handed him his phone back, having typed in your number. "Eight o'clock princess don't you forget now."

Tick tock tick. The clock's quiet sons echoed through the empty class. 'Don't forget.' you scoffed, 'And he's the one who's late.' The time on your watch sounded 8:30 and yet Heeseung wasn't here. You had given up waiting for him, and started on the assignment yourself, already finishing two of the army of papers. You were a hard critic, and it clearly showed in the way you were seeping your eyes through the ink.

"Soojin he's late! I can't come back now!" Your roommate had called you, in the midst of your third paper, complaining about a cockroach in the room. "Just call your boyfriend, and don't be such a pussy it won't hurt you." You scoffed at Soojin, whose scared whimpers were heard clearly through the phone.

"How's the checking going?" Soojin asked, having seemingly calmed down. You groaned and leaned back in your chair, wincing at the crack of your backbone. Your back must have become stiff from the amount of time you had been sitting in that chair. You felt pity for your professors for the first time, having finally been in their shoes.

"Heeseung's not here yet and I'm literally so fed up right now." You complained to Soojin, "That handsome bastard told me not to be late, and now look where I am! Asshole seriously." "He'll turn up, cool down Y/N." Soojin soothed you. You heard a sound of crashing in the background and stifled a laugh, assuming that Soojin must have miraculously jumped from one bed to the other. "I told you he's a playboy." Soojin panted through the phone, "Maybe he's busy fucking some poor girl in his frat house." You rolled your eyes at her statement.

"Please." You scoffed, "He couldn't fuck a girl if he wanted to, with the tiny ass cock he has." Soojin let out a raucous laugh from the other side of the phone. "How the fuck do you know he has a tiny cock?" She chuckled. "Intuition baby." You responded, "And my intuition is never wrong."

"Like how it was on the day of our debate?"

A familiar voice again. But this time, the warmth in it wasn't present. You whipped your head around to the door, where Heeseung stood, leaning against the door and smirking. "Soojin I'll call you back." You cut the call, before Soojin could respond.

"Hey." You called out to Heeseung. "Hey." Heeseung shot back, sitting down on the chair in front of you, spreading his legs wide. An involuntary gulp went through your throat. "What were you saying princess?" He leaned forward, his shirt dropping down slightly, "I have a tiny what now?" The dim lighting of the room, made his eyes look dark, and the leather of his black jacket, gleam more. "I- I wasn't saying anything Heeseung." You responded, turning your chair back to the desk, warmth coming up on your cheeks. Heeseung cocked his head to the side and smirked at your flustered state.

"Really princess?" He smirked, edging closer to you. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils again. His glasses dropped on his nose, and he hadn't even bother to push them back up. "Heeseung just get to work." You sternly responded, trying to keep your cool. How could you though? When he was so close to you, lips almost touching your ear. "For you information-" Heeseung spoke, turning your attention away from the paper you were working on, "-I had a friend who needed a lift to his dorm, so I ran a little late. But you couldn't wait for me could you princess?" He smirked, laying his hand on top of yours, "Just couldn't wait to critique all those papers like the good girl you are." "He-Heeseung." "Shh don't." Heeseung shushed you, "You want to see how tiny of a cock I really have then hmm?"

"Heeseung we shouldn't." You hesitated, feeling your legs warm up. "No one's gonna know, as long as you don't make a noise alright?" He kissed your neck gently, turning your figure to his, still sitting in the chair. "Oh princess, already wet for me?" He chuckled, toying with the button of your shirt. "Heeseung-" you moaned out, quickly unbuttoning your shirt, as Heeseung took off his jacket and threw it on the desk. You pulled back slightly as your mind came to its proper senses. "Where are you going doll?" Heeseung questioned, hands resting on your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, "Don't worry princess, no one's gonna know."

Heeseung brings his lips down to yours in an instant, wasting no time. You gasp at his sudden actions and he takes advantage of that by entering his tongue into your mouth. You grab at his shoulders while he cups your jaw with both of his hands. Your hands reach his hair, softly tugging at the root and you hear him whine. Heeseung sucks on your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and pulling it back to look at you. You look up at him and he takes your face in his hands.

“You wanna see my cock baby?” Heeseung asks in a teasing tone as he looks down at you. You could feel the throb in his pants press against your legs as you whimper. “Hee please.” You whine, squirming as he places a kiss between your breasts. Heeseung runs his hands up and down the sides of your body. If he was going to fuck you on the classroom floor right there and then, you were going to let him.

“Oh, you're feeling extra polite today huh? Please, Heeseung.” Heeseung mocks you with a tiny laugh. You groan in embarrassment and hide your face with your hands. Heeseung just lets out another laugh and wraps his hands around your wrists, prying them away from your face. He transfers both of your wrists to one hand, holding them over your head as he uses his other hand to trail his fingers down your body.

“Don’t hide your pretty face now, princess.” Heeseung says nonchalantly as he dips a hand inside your leggings and panties to feel your dripping cunt. His glasses were beginning to fog up slightly as he whipped them off of his face, setting them down on the desk. You clench around nothing when you feel his middle finger dip into your wetness and bring it up to your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. You moan softly as Heeseung teases your clit, never taking his eyes off of your face.

Heeseung begins to rub your clit faster, and you buck your hips up into his fingers. You hear him laugh at your eagerness and he presses soft kisses into your neck. Heeseung takes his fingers off of your clit and he snaps the waistband of your trousers against your pelvis.

“Dirty girl. Never thought you'd be like this.” Heeseung says with a smirk and you dumbly nod your head. The sounds of your heavy breathing and your pussy squelching around his fingers make your legs begin to shake.

Heeseung spits on your cunt to lubricate it even more, and that's what makes you come undone. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, sucking them in as he fingers you through your orgasm.

Heeseung takes his time kissing down your body, letting your need and desperation build by the second. He tugs one nipple and then the other into his mouth, suckling at the perky nubs and massaging your areola between his lips. Your hips are trembling with anticipation, the space between your legs aching to feel Heeseung's kiss.

Stars hover over you, or at least, that’s how it feels. Your eyes are closed, awareness cut off to the world around you except the place Heeseung's face is buried. He devours your cunt like a man starved, swallowing you whole. Heeseung doesn’t come up for air; he doesn’t need to, because all he breathes is you. Your back is arched and arms stretched forward, fingers clutching Heeseung’s hair in fistfuls.

Your thighs are shaking, reflexively clamping around Heeseung's’s face. He keeps forcing them open, demanding full access to your cunt, even as you buck and claw and convulse. Your mouth hangs open in a stupor; a thin line of drool trickles down your cheek and connects to the cold floor beneath you.

Heeseung laps at your slit like he’s never tasted you before, like he never will again. His tongue pads between your lips, upward strokes that end with the tip of his tongue flicking your clit with a firm intensity that has you reeling. Tugging at his hair, trying not to scream his name incoherently, you ride out the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears burn the corners of your eyes, stars bursting in the black sky of your vision. Heeseung doesn’t stop licking your cunt till you release his hair.

“M’gonna fuck you now, okay?” Heeseung says sweetly and you nod your head. He runs his hard cock through your folds, and he catches your clit, making you jerk a little. Heeseung slowly begins to push himself into you and you throw your head back against the hard material of the desk.

“Fuck, knew you’d be tight when I felt you around my fingers.” Heeseung grits out, and he continues to push himself into you until he bottoms out. He starts to move at a slow pace, and he whines when you beg him to move faster. “Fucking whore. Bet you think about me fucking you in class don't you?” Heeseung spits out as he pushes himself harder and deeper into your sloppy cunt. You moan at his words, and you try to reply but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You cry out, and you clench around Heeseung's fat cock.

“ Cum for me princess.” Heeseung. moans out, fucking into you so deep, a ring of your cum and his has formed at the base of his cock. You run your fingers through his hair, harshly tugging on it as you come undone at his expense. Heeseung buries his face into your neck as he cums, sucking at your pulse point. You feel his cum shoot into you and it only prolongs your own orgasm.

After a couple minutes of you two catching your breath, Heeseung takes his face out of your neck and plops down in the chair, pulling you onto his lap. You sit there, dazed for a few seconds, burrowing your head in his chest, his heartbeat reminding you where you were.

"Well that was a whirlwind of emotions." He says at last, when you start to stir from your hypnosis, "You good doll?" You nod slightly and feel Heeseung's arms wrap around you, putting you safely down on the chair, as he put his clothes back on, slowly picking up yours as well.

"Heeseung the assignments." You panic, as he puts your shirt back on you. "It's alright princess." He coos at you, wrapping an arm around your waist, "We can do that in the morning. Let's get you home." He guides you slowly out the door. "So-" he smirks, locking the classroom with his key "Same time, same place tomorrow?"

[livvymd]

Poems Meant for Silence.⋆｡˚ — arthur tv x reader

You never meant for him to find it.

The letter — no, the offering, the quiet hymn stitched from the thread of your heart — had been nestled at the bottom of your bag like a sleeping bird. Thirty pages bound in soft ivory paper, flecked faintly with gold like sunlit dust dancing through a window. You hadn’t written it with the intention of being seen — only with the need to breathe, to bleed in ink the kind of love that sits too large in your chest for conversation.

You were meant to spend the evening curled up on his sofa, legs tucked under you like a cat, a tart between you and a film murmuring in the background. Maybe Pride and Prejudice, if he was feeling particularly sentimental — which, with Arthur, was more often than not.

But in a moment of clumsy, laughing chaos — your bag slipped from your shoulder, tipping gently open like a secret unwound.

And there it was.

He bent before you could stop him, fingers brushing the bundle like it was made of spun sugar. His eyes flicked over the cover — the title written in careful, deliberate ink:

“Thirty Pages About the Boy Who Makes Me Believe in Poetry Again.”

You froze. Like a deer caught in lamplight. Like a stanza suspended mid-thought.

“I—Arthur—please, that’s not for—” you stammered, reaching out instinctively, breath caught in your throat.

He held it delicately in both hands, almost reverently. “You wrote this?”

“Yes. But I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Is it about me?” he asked. But the question wasn’t suspicious or smug. It was reverent. Wondering. As if he were trying to speak in the presence of something holy.

You swallowed. “All of it.”

Silence bloomed in the room like a hush in a cathedral.

And then, softly, like a vow: “May I read it?”

Your heart twisted. “You… want to?”

Arthur looked up at you then — really looked — and there was a sort of quiet awe in his eyes, like you’d hung stars from your fingertips and handed them to him.

“You wrote thirty pages for me,” he said. “How could I not want to?”

He sat cross-legged on the floor beneath the soft yellow light, back to his bookshelves, and began to read. You didn’t dare speak. You didn’t even blink too loud. You simply watched as his eyes skimmed line after line, turning pages like they were petals from some long-forgotten love song.

He read slowly. Thoughtfully. Not like someone flipping through a letter, but like a man walking through a museum alone, letting each word echo in his mind like the click of his shoes on the marble floor. He didn’t skim. He absorbed.

And sometimes, he smiled.

Once, he even laughed — that breathy, nose-wrinkling laugh you loved — at a line you'd nearly edited out: “You don’t know how often I think about the way you hold your tea like it’s a first edition you’re afraid to smudge.”

Twenty minutes passed like a dream.

And when he looked up at you, you felt the moment lodge itself into your ribs — something about the quiet reverence in his gaze, the way he held the book close to his chest like a relic, like he needed to feel your words pressed to his heart.

“You,” he said, voice low and full of wonder, “write like you love me.”

You nodded, barely a whisper: “I do.”

In three slow steps, Arthur came to you.

But he didn’t just sit beside you — he reached out, gently guiding you into his lap like you were a silk thing he didn’t want to crease. You let yourself be gathered, straddling him, legs tangled with his, face hidden in the warm wool of his jumper. You could hear his heart like a steady drum beneath your ear.

One of his hands rested on the curve of your hip. The other… wove into your hair, slow and tender, fingers combing through the strands like they were threads of starlight. He stroked them back gently, again and again, grounding both of you in that unspoken rhythm.

“I had no idea,” he murmured. “That someone could feel that deeply. That you… feel that deeply for me.”

You couldn’t speak — not without shattering. So you nestled closer.

“I’ve walked through galleries and stood in front of portraits that took a decade to paint,” he continued, “and none of them have ever made me feel what your words just did.”

You closed your eyes. It felt like floating. Like the hush between waves.

Arthur’s voice dropped even lower, soft as a sigh. “Reading that was like walking through the halls of your soul. And every room whispered, I love him. I love him. I love him.”

A breath caught in your chest.

“I didn’t know someone could write that way,” he said. “Not about me. Not for me.”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face — flushed, eyes wet, smile like something sacred.

“I’m keeping it,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “This book. These words. All of it. I’ll keep it forever. Read it when I miss you. Memorise it like a prayer.”

And then — slowly, deliberately — he kissed you. Not with urgency, but with something deeper. Worship. Wonder. The kind of kiss you only read about in your favourite pages.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, as though the moment itself was too beautiful to fully open his eyes to.

You blinked through the prickling behind your eyes. “You really liked it?”

“I loved it. I love you.”

And you — heart blooming, soul unraveling — buried yourself back in his chest.

He held you close. He played with your hair like it was his favourite melody. He murmured sweet, sleepy things into the air: lines he loved, words you’d written, and little I love yous tucked between breaths like hidden verses.

You stayed like that for ages. No tart, no film. Just the boy who loved museums and words and you.

And the poems, finally, were no longer just pages. They were this.

They were him.

They were yours.

TAGLIST:

@jamiekluivert

@wherethezoes-at

@pretendyoucantseeme

@artvscvntymullet

@chrisolivia4l

@formulaal

@smzyyx

[curryshesus]

bts fics that give me life in a drought

(aka my favorite fics of all time) pt. 2

didn't expect to make a part 2 so soon but seeing how much recognition the first one got, here we are! some of these contain a hearty amount of angst, and oh they're just simply divine :( once again, please make sure to show your love and support to these lovely authors if you enjoyed any of these reads as much as i did!

➺ knife’s edge - by @readyplayerhobi

| jungkook x reader, jimin x reader | 141.8k

mafia au, fluff, angst, smut, violence, series

>> summary: "the jeon clan is family, built on blood and loyalty. it’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the clan, jeon jungkook. you would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?"

this fic absolutely BROKE ME. i was so conflicted all throughout and deadass went through all the 50 stages of grief. the angst was unparalleled. the fluff had me giggling like a madman cuz jk is an absolute sweetheart :( jimin is too :(( y/n is dumb and so is her situation :((( i cherish this fic sm

➺ novocaine - by @kinktae

| jimin x reader |

1990s au, exes au, angst, eventual smut, series

>> summary: "going home was hard – painful even. but falling back in love with jimin, the boy you left behind? downright gut-wrenching."

➺ ghostin him- by @adonis-koo

| namjoon x reader (taehyung x reader) | 26k

angst, angst, as well as angst. comfort too dw, one-shot

>> summary: "life is nothing more than dull colors for you, your world shattered and laying in the shards of what once was rather than focusing on what is. that is until you meet kim namjoon, who is immediately taken by you without realizing you’re a girl with a whole lot of baggage, through tears and many sleepless nights you’re faced with a choice of hanging on with bleeding hands, or accepting what is, and letting go."

ohmygod the writing hello? the amount of soul, depth, and sheer utter beauty in missy's words are beyond me. had me sobbing every other line and my heart aching all throughout and boy was it worth it.

➺ take five - by @jiminrings

| yoongi x reader | 10k

angst, fluff, unrequited love, pinning

summary: "dr. min yoongi's a board-certified dermatologist; skilled, renowned, and in-demand - oh and also, he's divorced."

➺ page turner - by @gukslut

| taehyung x reader | 13.6k

teacher!tae/ librarian!reader, fluff, smut, minor angst

summary: "corny romance and a zillion cheesy Romeo and Juliet quotes and references."

my tainted hopeless romantic heart ugh. they're so cute.

➺ bloom- by @hobidreams

| namjoon x reader | 20.7k

assassin!reader x florist!namjoon, smut, angst, action, sprinkles of fluff

>> summary: "family is who you kill for. who you die for. in this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. but when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. that is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom."

➺ counterfeit culture - by @ggukcangetit

| seokjin x reader | 29k

modern day au loosely based on jane austen’s pride & prejudice, e2l, fluff, smut, comedy

>>summary: “for as long as you can remember, you’ve always known right from wrong, good from bad, and woke from entitled/ignorant. but when you continue to cross paths with Kim Seokjin - the apparent antithesis of everything you believe in - certain walls begin to crumble. and over time, you come to realise that the world isn’t black and white, first impressions can be misleading, and that you are just as guilty as each person you’ve judged so harshly. realisation brings acceptance, and maybe, just maybe, acceptance can bring something more.”

➺ if i told you - by @gukyi

| jungkook x reader | 22k

friends to lovers!au, college!au, fluff, comedy, angst

>> summary: "in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him."

➺ to hold a dragon's heart - by @softlyjiminie

| taehyung x reader | 19.1k

dragon prince!kim taehyung x warrior princess!reader, smut, angst, fluff, forbidden romance, dragon shifter!au, royalty!au, enemies to lovers!au

>> summary: "two kingdoms, two hearts and the world between them. your whole life has been a challenge, never an easy moment on your road to becoming queen but will one decision, one encounter with the man you were destined to hate, change the fate of your worlds, forever?"

[rivalsispunk]

Beneath The Surface (Chapter 2 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter summary: Declan grapples with the risk of hiring you while you grapple with whether or not you're good enough. Once the verdict is in, you both realise you may have jumped in feet first a little too hastily.

A/N: Things are heating up in more ways than one and I am soooo ready for you guys to meet the silently unhinged Declan... Oh, and in this universe, Declan did end up interviewing Margaret Thatcher. Also not entirely proofread so may be some mistakes. Happy reading!

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter Two: Beneath The Surface

“A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.”

You’ve spent the last half hour reading, then rereading, the same page of Pride and Prejudice, your creature-comfort book since you were a young teenager. Normally, you’d be able to recite the passage from memory by now, but your mind has been elsewhere than focussed on the words in front of you. It’s been over a week since your interview with Declan and you’ve heard nothing. Zilch. Nada. For days, your brain has been stuck in a constant loop of questions you’ve no answers for.

Why hasn’t he called? 

Why haven’t you heard anything? 

Did he find someone better?

That last one has been the most burning question of them all, coupled with the memory of Declan’s gravelly voice telling you, I’d be lucky to have ya.

So, why hasn’t he called?

It’s not lost on you that you sound more like a needy girl hanging out for a guy after a date than someone waiting to hear back about a job you weren’t even sure you wanted until the moment you were sat in his office. But you do want it.

The job, that is.

Taggie was none the wiser, too. She’d told you her father had barely given her an inkling of where his head was at, and that he remained suspiciously mum on the outcome of the interviews he’d had in the days succeeding yours. “I think he’s just been busy,” she countered, mentioning that Declan had been on edge in the lead up and preparation for his televised interview with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. You were well aware, and knew how much the opportunity meant to him, so you’d made a conscious effort to stay away from The Priory, as not to overwhelm Declan or put any additional pressure on him to make a decision about the assistant position. Instead, you’d met Taggie in town for afternoon tea on the days she wasn’t preparing for an event, or a meal at Bar Sinister when time called for a catch up. But the Thatcher interview was days ago now — a roaring success with both viewers and ratings — and you were getting restless for news.

Slamming your worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice shut, you reach for the phone by your bedside and dial your best friend for what feels like the fiftieth time this week. You’ve called The Priory so often in recent days that she doesn’t even say hello when she answers.

“Still no word yet,” she sighs down the line. “He’s in an awful mood tonight, though. Went straight up to his office when he got home, refused dinner. I think Mummy being away is getting to him.”

You hum in agreement, not that you have any real insight on the matter. “I’m sure he’s fine, Tag. Probably tired of putting up with that Tony Baddingam’s shit. I told you what a right arse he was to your dad when I was there, didn’t you?”

“You did. Honestly, I didn’t think about anyone else at Corinium when I suggested you work for Daddy. It’s one thing for you to be under him, but to be at the beck and call of Lord Baddingham, too?” You practically hear Tag shudder down the line. “Makes me feel ill the way he treats the women who work for him.”

You push aside any runaway thoughts elicited by Taggie’s mention of you under Declan and shrug. “It’s fine, Tag. I’ve dealt with enough Baddinghams in my time to know to tread carefully.” You pull the phone cable taut and pluck it with your finger. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve got the job anyway. I should have heard by now.”

In the room above Taggie, Declan stubs out his cigarette, reclining in his office chair as he listens to his daughter’s voice reverberate through the house. One final plume of smoke emerges from the pile of ashes and butts that have accumulated in the tray over the last twenty-four hours. He ought to be prepping for his next TV interview, a fairly benign chat with a local farmer who has grand plans for the land on the outskirts of the Cotswolds. A piece of cake, he’d told Tony earlier today when he was asked how his preparation was coming. However, he’d flicked through his notes and research God knows how many times this evening, yet couldn’t recall one lick of fact about his upcoming subject. Instead, he’d spent hours — no, days — agonising over whether he should hire you. His producer, Cameron Cook, was breathing down his neck for him to hire someone so he was spread less thin, but it’s not an easy task. On paper, you’re the perfect choice. Hell, in reality, you’re the perfect choice. Still, he prayed that one of the interviewees after you would prove better candidates (and notably male), but no one measured up to you. Sure, they were intelligent. Passionate, somewhat. But then there was you; intelligent and passionate, and looking far too delectable in that bloody skirt that belongs to his fucking wife. Yes, his wife — that’s if she still even wants to be called that — who’s been gone for weeks without as much as a phone call or letter to the house. Their son, Patrick, had mentioned that she’d phoned a couple of weeks ago to inform him she was back in the city, but spared their university-bound child the details of her whereabouts. Declan loves Maud, despite her shortcomings — of which there are many — but he couldn’t help but resent his wife for her absence, and moreover, for the constant dull ache that had been burdening his cock since seeing her skirt on you. He rationalised that if Maud was here, he wouldn’t be up at night thinking obscene thoughts about his daughter’s best friend who had showed up to his office all smiles and curves in his wife’s long-forgotten hand-me-downs. Every time Declan closes his eyes he sees the shallow dimple that adorns your left cheek. He gets random flashbacks of that black lace bra he imagines holds perfect breasts, if he just allows his mind to wander.

He flexes his hand in an attempt to rid it of the itch that’s been daring him to relieve himself ever since you left his Corinium office. There have been countless instances over the last week where he wondered if he just gave in — just a little, just a stroke, something, anything — that the ache will go away. But there’s a bigger part of him that’s afraid that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and then how will he ever be able to face you again? Face Taggie again, knowing the pure filth that’s taken him over in the moments when he’s alone?

Cameron had demanded that afternoon that he chooses someone to pick up his slack by the weekend so help her God or she’ll stick him with an intern with more boobs for brains, and he knows — he knows — he can’t be stuck with someone with the same level IQ as a stale loaf of bread. He’d combust. So, against his better judgement, he decides as he lights yet another cigarette, that he’ll offer you the job as his assistant.

So help him God.

The phone rang just after half seven as you took your first bite of marmite toast. “Do you want the good news or the best news first?” You wince at Taggie’s chirpiness so early in the morning.

“Umm, best ‘til last,” you option. “Good news first.”

“Well, I’m making shepherd’s pie for dinner and you’re coming over.”

“Alright,” you giggle. “And the other news?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating you making shepherd’s pie?”

“No, you nitwit! We’re celebrating you! You got the job! Daddy just told me on his way out this morning.”

Your chair whines against the floorboards of your flat as you shoot to your feet. “I got the job?”

“You got the job!” Taggie shrieks down the line. “Daddy said he was going to phone you when he gets to the office but I couldn’t wait to tell you myself. I know you’ve been anxious waiting to hear back.”

“Oh, Tag, I can’t believe it! I really thought he’d found someone more suited,” you express, cheeks pinching with a grin.

“He said he was very impressed with you,” your friend continues, voice laced with pride. “He also suggested we go shopping for some new officewear.”

“So, he hated my outfit, is what you’re saying.” Him and everybody else at that bloody station.

“No, it’s not that. I think him seeing you in Mummy’s clothes freaked him out a little, is all,” Taggie confesses. “He’s been a bit all over the shop since she’s been gone and I suppose when it comes to her, out of sight, out of mind is best.”

You think back to Declan spluttering his tea everywhere during your interview, and his little explosion afterwards. It makes sense that he doesn’t wanted be reminded of the woman who stepped out on him. You were just glad his reaction wasn’t to something you had done.

You and Taggie chat for a few minutes more about potential shopping destinations and your plans for the day before she rushes through a goodbye, eager to get to the market to pick up groceries for your celebratory meal. An hour later, Declan calls.

“Morning, it’s Declan,” he says, words stifled by the cigarette between his lips. “Declan O’Hara.”

You bite down a smile at the unnecessary clarification. You do the same to thwart your enthusiasm at finally receiving his call. “Hiya. It’s nice to hear from you. How’re you this morning, Declan?”

“Yeah, good, good. Tony’s riding my arse as per usual but other than that, good.” Silence reigns as you wait for Declan to relay the good news. After a moment, he clears his throat like he just remembered you’re on the other end of the line. “Look, I don’t have long, but I wanted to give you a bell to let you know the assistant job is yours. If you want it.”

Although you were already aware of the job offer, you do a happy jig in your kitchen. “Yes, thank you! Of course, I accept.”

“Great. Does Monday work as a start date?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there. Thank you, Declan.”

“Welcome. Chat soon.”

The line goes dead not second later, and while you’re still overcome with excitement about the new job, your chat with your new boss seemed off. Declan seemed off. Far removed from the chatty, friendly man you sat across from at Corinium just days ago. But like he said, Tony was on his back. He’s probably just… tense.

It becomes clear to Declan as he watches you and Taggie move seamlessly around the kitchen while clearing up after dinner that you’re effervescent. Far more than he’s ever noticed, in all the times you’ve visited his daughter over the recent months, and it bothers him. He hated how his pulse quickened at the sight of you on his doorstep two hours earlier, David Bowie T-shirt peeking out from beneath your checkered coat. If you were at least the tiniest bit irksome or slow-witted or just plain dull, he’d be able to reckon with the fact that his reaction to you was purely chemical. Just another man taken by a young woman’s good looks. But then again, if he found you any of those things, he wouldn’t dare allow you anywhere near his work, near his research. Nor would he be impressed with his daughter adopting a friend as such, either. 

Your laughter trills, egged on by the celebratory champagne Taggie had provided, and Declan catches the tailend of his daughter flinging a handful of dishsoap suds in your direction. You were a good girl, a good friend, being there for Taggie in the last few months. Always willing to lend a hand, or an ear, certainly a shoulder to cry on more than Declan liked to think about or admit. But you were just that: a girl. A girl who was now his assistant. He’ll be damned if he were to become another man at Corinium taking advantage of that power imbalance, which is why he replaces his glass of bubbles with a whiskey and retires to his office after supper, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead as he goes.

You decide to sleepover at The Priory after consuming a few too many glasses of champagne for it be considered safe to drive home. Although, sleepover may be too generous of a word because you’ve barely slept a wink since sinking into bed beside Taggie over an hour ago. Your friend, however, had no trouble drifting off, only to start snoring so loudly the whole bed vibrates. You’ve already tried covering your head with a pillow and the counting backwards from one hundred trick to coax yourself to sleep, but it’s no use. You slide out from under the poppy-printed covers and tip-toe downstairs in a sweater hanging on the back of Taggie’s bedroom door. You’re swimming in the woollen brown garment. It falls to mid-thigh and is sleeves are at least half an arm-length too long, but it keeps the chill at bay when you swing open The Priory’s back door. You slide on a pair of Wellington boots that sit on the doormat and step out into the biting air. In it, the inches of skin between the hem of the sweater and your long socks prickle with goosebumps, and your breath forms a fog under the soft glow of fairy lights leftover from a garden party the O’Hara’s hosted in the summer. Somewhere in the distance, a owl twoos and foxes rustle through shrubbery. When you lived in the city, the nights were overrun with sirens and drunken hooligans singing football chants down the alleyways and other racket that made it very difficult to hear yourself think. Meanwhile, out here, in the countryside, you could just be.

“Nice sweater.”

“Fuck!” The sudden verbiage shocks your shoulders to your ears. There’s no mistaking that voice, yet you have to scan the area to see where the Irish lilt is stemming from. It’s not until you hear the swish of water that you realise he’s in the hot tub that’s tucked away from the courtyard, his silhouette barely visible against the night. “Declan. You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” he croaks. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “Taggie’s snoring like a freight train.”

As your eyes adjust to the dark, you just catch Declan���s moustache quirk with a lazy smile. “Just like her mother.”

The comment coaxes you closer to the tub, waiting for Declan to elaborate, but whatever story he might’ve spieled evaporates with the steam from the water. The heated pool was just another of Maud’s extravagant buys, and Declan hated the addition when it showed up in a delivery van, during summer, of all seasons, because he knew it would be forgotten about in a matter of days once she’d found something new to obsess over. There was always something with Maud. If it wasn’t an extravagant purchase to distract herself with, it was a lover, and if it wasn’t a lover, it was a trip far, far away from the Cotswolds. Her recent truancy being case in point.

There’s hardly any light in this corner of the yard, aside from a small golden glimmer beneath the hot tub surface, but it’s enough for you to take in Declan’s form. He’s lax, whiskey in hand, with his head reclined against the lip of the pool. You notice the thick smattering of chest hair across the breadth of his torso, dark and unruly. The few men you’ve ever been with have been around your age, either trimmed or unable to grow body hair where its desired. But then again, they were just boys in the scheme of things. Declan has always been so fucking manly. His already dark hair black with water, pushed away from his face like he’s slicked it back with his hands. It hasn’t stopped miniscule curls frizzing to fruition at his temples. Declan takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass.

“If I’m being honest, I thought you’d be a tad more excited when I spoke to you this morning.” The subject change surprises you.

“Oh, trust me, I was! But–“

“But Taggie had already broken the news to you by then, hadn’t she?”

You look down at your feet, not wanting to give your friend away, but Declan knows his daughter has a hard time keeping a lid on her excitement. “It’s alright,” he chuckles. “She means well.”

“She’s a good friend. They’re hard to come by.”

You’re telling me, Declan thinks, taking a one-handed inventory of his own close companions.

The frosty air hugs you and your toes seize under its bite, even through your socks and boots. “Do you mind?” You point to the hot tub. It takes a moment for it to click in Declan’s brain that you’re asking if you can join him. It would be rude for him to say no. Stupid for him to say yes. Instead, he gives a non-commital shrug and whispers Lord, help me into his glass. Over its rim, he watches you perch on the edge of the tub to while you toe off your wellies. They land with a thud on the pavement and you giggle to yourself, oops, when one ricochets into a nearby shrub. Muscles zip up the back of your leg when you peel off your socks, and Declan has to force himself to look away when the hem of your sweater — no, his sweater, one of many Taggie had stolen away — rides dangerously high on your thighs as you swing your legs over the lip of the heated pool. He’s thankful that only one of the lights below the surface is in working order because his prick rouses when a satisfied hum seeps from you as your feet kiss the warm surface. Declan’s jaw ticks. The devil on his shoulder probes that you’re purposely torturing him and his conscious bites back that he’s a sleazy bastard for thinking as much. You’re not doing anything. You’re just here.

Get a grip on yourself, O’Hara, he scolds, and chases it with a swig of whiskey he only hopes will burn away the filthy thoughts you manage to conjure for him.

“You got another one of them?” When he faces you again, you’re pointing at the glass that’s fogged up in his sweaty palm.

“The champagne not enough for ya?”

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t want to share, just say so.”

“You can’t handle this.”

“Are you really going to sit there and tell a girl what she can and can’t handle?” you press, eyes locked in on his. “You’d be surprised what I can handle, Declan.” You don’t mean for it to sound so provocative, but challenging him has set your whole body ablaze. For good measure, you quirk an eyebrow at Declan, and the subtle move has his cock doing the same in the confines of his striped swim shorts. Without another word, Declan floats across the hot tub to where you’re seated and presses his glass into your hand. You offer a thank you in the form of a gentle smile before pressing your full, blush lips to the rim. Tilting the glass to the sky, you can feel Declan’s heavy gaze on you, watching. Waiting. You allow your eyes to fall shut as the bitter prickle of the whiskey waves over your tongue, so you don’t see him slide a hand to the back of his neck. His nails dig crecsents into the skin there, both as punishment for and distraction from the fact his mind is trekking to dark places where your lips are pressed somewhere far more sinister. He can’t keep his eyes off you while you drain what’s left of the whiskey, your eyes fluttering open when you realise there’s nothing left.

“I told you I could handle it,” you tell Declan, ignoring the slight burn that stings at the back of your throat. You both reach your hand into the small space between you, fingers grazing as you pass the glass back to Declan. 

The air between the two of you is charged. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone lit a match and the whole world went up in flames taking the pair of you with it. That same pained look that took Declan’s expression over during your interview rears its head again. Before you get the opportunity to put a name to it, a door creaks in the distance and your name echoes into the night.

“Are you out there?”

Taggie.

Taggie.

There’s a flurry of movement as Declan slides to the opposite side of the hot tub again and you all but catapult yourself onto the pavement as if you’d been caught redhanded. Doing what, you weren’t entirely sure, but you were certain it wasn’t a good look. You yank your socks over your damp feet, followed by the wellies and make a start for where the kitchen light illuminates your friend in the doorway.

“There you are!” she sighs, almost relieved, when you meet her at the step. “You alright? I thought you might’ve driven home after all.” “God, no. I’m fine! Just…” you glance over your shoulder to where the blaze of a cigarette burns in the darkness. “Just getting some air.”

Loved writing this chapter, and things are just getting started!! Reblog, share, comment: it all means the world to me!! <3

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in May 2025. For more new fics, check out this month’s fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

🩵 Note to Self by @berzerkshires

(E, 42k, canon omegaverse soulmates) When he saw Harry for the first time in many years at the Euro finals, and Harry grabs Louis' hand, lacing their fingers abruptly to help him out of the way of a drunken fan. They immediately know.

🩵 All I've Ever Known by @haztobegood

(E, 34k, Pride & Prejudice au) “It is a truth universally acknowledged that anybody that wants to live in a tiny home must be lacking in both taste and sense.”

🩵 In This World (It's Just Us) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 33k, fantasy) Louis participates in a scientific study, but everything is not what it seems.

🩵 Voice from the Grave by harryanthus_annuus / @harryanthus-annuus

(E, 30k, mystery) When a body is found in Harry's drawing-room, it's practically bound to spark notoriety in the public increasingly morbidly fascinated by the diminished gentry. But assets are easier lost than class.

🩵 Too Young by @jaerie

(E, 18k, omegaverse) accidentally bonded as 8 and 10 year olds, Louis starts resenting Harry once they were old enough for him to realize what had been taken away from him and now they're roommates who fuck out of obligation

🩵 My Home And My English Rose by @nauticalallusions

(M, 8k, established relationship) Everything is uncomplicated, perfect, even, until Harry gets an offer to become a famous musician if he goes to Nashville. Louis supports him, as always, with his decision to go and make it big, but it’s never as easy as it seems.

🩵 The Tokyo Surprise by @srldesigns6277

(E, 8k, canon) Harry surprised his fans by running the Tokyo Marathon, so Louis surprised him in return.

🩵 Always Darkest before the Sunrise by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(NR, 7k, historical) “Harry Styles, ward of the church no longer, you are under arrest for the use of witchcraft against the innocent townspeople of Salem, Massachusetts.”

🩵 is this just fantasy? by @tracksuitponytail

(M, 7k, canon) While stranded at an airport between tour stops, Louis discovers that Harry has been secretly reading fanfiction. Will 30 minutes in a sleeping pod blur the lines between real life and fantasy—and change the way they see each other for good?

🩵 the perfect sky is torn by @disgruntledkittenface [Quote post]

(NR, 6k, crack) Louis and Harry both think it's a coincidence that strange things start to happen when they break up. It's not.

🩵 Unmatched by @elleseekeepdriv

(E, 6k, exes) the one where Louis and Harry are exes but they match on Tinder.

🩵 Squeegee and Skin by finelinefeelings

(E, 6k, pwp) Harry is a self proclaimed exhibitionist. Louis comes to clean the windows. Harry does what Harry does best.

🩵 Oblivious Hearts by FelintoGirl / @felinto-girl

(G, 5k, friends to lovers) Harry and Louis are roommates in Uni, Louis is in love with Harry and he tries to leave hints/does gestures to try and tell Harry but oblivious as always Harry doesn't realise them 

🩵 some fights you’re never gonna win (keep your eyes off him) by boyfriendstages

(E, 5k, established relationship) Harry can be good at sharing—when it comes to expensive perfume, designer heels, or maybe even the last sip of his drink. But Louis? Louis is not up for discussion.

🩵 Skulls and Crossbones by sweetkalachuchi / @neverforpickles

(G, 3k, omegaverse) “Thanks for the tea, mate… but uh, why did the steam turn into a skull and crossbones when you stirred it?”

🩵 Smells like heaven, feels like luxury by marshashlands

(G, 2k, omegaverse) one direction are touring, and well, louis get a habit of making a nest out of his best friends clothes. until he catches him, that is…

🩵 Let Life Take Its Time by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down

(T, 1k, friends to lovers) Ever the doting best friend, Louis has been looking after Harry for a few days, when Harry lets a secret slip.

🩵 Doppio by @reallynotmemoi

(NR, 1k, uni) Louis had one job — to reach out to the pretty boy he fancied and ask him out. Easy as pie… or so it should have been. Sequel to Expresso.

🩵 everyday a little more alive by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou

(T, 1k, uni) Louis and Harry have hated each other all four years of being in rival frats. One day their friends make them realize maybe they don't actually hate each other as much as they think they do.

- Rare Pairs -

🩵 Football, Dancing, Same Game by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(T, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Li was a boy, Z was another boy, can I make it any more obvious? Li was a football player, Z did ballet, what more can I say?

[shaiyasstuff]

Hello Shaiya!! I have a request! Can you PLEASE make a Xavier x Reader/MC actor AU? I don't mind if you make it a one shot or headcanon. In this AU Xavier and MC are like the main leads in a romcom!! If you decide to write it then thank youu!!

Hi loveee! Of course I can. Ask and I shall deliver :)) hope this satisfies your request and needs. Xavier being an actor was wew, I almost didn’t know how to write this. But I did :D so here is actor Xavier.

“You’re still holding your coffee like a cryptid,” you say, watching him with a smirk as he grips the paper cup with both hands, fingers curled stiffly around it like it might bite him.

Xavier glances down, his silver brows drawing together in mild confusion. “Is this… not normal?”

“Not unless you’re trying to emotionally connect with it.”

He considers that for a moment, lips twitching. “Maybe I am. It hasn’t disappointed me yet.”

You laugh, leaning back against the bench.

He’s still in costume—a soft white sweater under a tan overcoat, hair tousled like the wardrobe team gave up halfway.

His blue eyes flick toward you, quietly attentive.

“You did the nose scrunch again,” you say softly.

He tilts his head. “I did?”

“Yeah. Every time the character says something flirty, you do this little—” You mimic the expression. It’s completely ridiculous.

“Like you’re offended by your own charm.”

Xavier blinks once. “It’s involuntary.”

“Adorable.”

He blushes.

Not dramatically—just a faint dusting of pink at the tips of his ears. He sips his coffee like it’ll help hide it.

There’s a comfortable silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the crew resetting lights and adjusting boom mics.

You glance at him again, catching the way he’s watching the extras go by, lost in thought.

“Do you ever think about what we’d be like if this wasn’t a film?” you ask, casually. Too casually.

Xavier blinks. “As in… if this was real?”

“Yeah. You and me. Running into each other in a bookstore. Bickering over the last copy of Pride and Prejudice. Accidentally falling in love.”

He looks at you, gaze softening. “I think you’d win the book.”

You laugh. “That’s all you got from that scenario?”

He hums. “Well, I wouldn’t stand a chance, would I? Not with you looking at me like that.”

Your smile falters just slightly. “Like what?”

Xavier doesn’t break eye contact. “Like you already know the ending.”

Silence falls again—heavier, warmer this time.

Neither of you move.

Somewhere, someone yells “Five minutes to reset!” but it feels distant.

Then he breaks it with a soft, unsure laugh. “That wasn’t in the script.”

You grin, heart thudding. “No. But maybe it should’ve been.”

Xavier looks down at the now-cold coffee in his hands, then back at you. “We should improvise more.”

And just like that, the director calls you both to set. The final kiss scene is next.

Neither of you quite remember your marks when the camera starts rolling.

The fake city park is bathed in the warm haze of studio sunset—artificial, but convincing.

The lights dim just enough to cast a golden glow on the bench where you and Xavier now stand, inches apart.

You’re both in character. Supposedly.

Your character has just confessed, eyes bright with tears, voice trembling with hope. His character is supposed to close the distance and kiss her like it’s the first day of forever.

The director calls, “Action!”

Xavier steps closer. Not the confident stride you rehearsed—this one is slower, more tentative, like he’s not quite sure he should.

His brows furrow, but not from the script.

His eyes—always too clear, too honest—search your face like he’s reading between the lines of something unsaid.

Your line catches in your throat. You deliver it anyway.

“Say something. Please.”

A beat. A breath.

“I think I fell for you the second you looked at me like I mattered,” he says.

Not the line.

You blink.

That’s not the line.

The script said something about fate and serendipity and a coffee shop.

But this—

This is different. More quiet. More real.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything.

You can’t.

Because Xavier’s hand is now at your waist, fingers brushing tentative warmth over the thin fabric of your costume.

And his other hand rises slowly to your cheek.

His thumb barely grazes your skin, like he’s afraid to touch you fully.

And then—he kisses you.

It’s supposed to be a three-second kiss.

Soft. Clean. Fade to black.

But the moment your lips meet, something shifts.

It’s not choreographed.

It’s not clean.

It’s slow, and aching, and far too gentle for something pretend. His breath shudders against your mouth. His hand tightens at your waist.

You don’t know who leans in first for more—you or him—but the kiss deepens like it’s pulling from something hidden, something that’s been waiting in silence all along.

You feel his exhale. Feel the tremble in your fingers as they find the fabric of his coat.

He kisses you like he’s learning you.

Like he’s been trying not to.

Like he forgot the cameras existed.

And for a moment—you forget too.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. Eyes closed. Breathing unsteady.

The silence is deafening.

Then—

“Cut!”

The director’s voice is distant.

Someone claps. Someone else mutters something about the lighting being perfect.

But neither of you move.

Xavier doesn’t let go. Not immediately.

When he finally does, it’s slow—his hand dragging reluctantly away from your waist, as though the parting hurts.

You glance up at him, heart pounding, lips still tingling. He opens his eyes. Blue, wide, unreadable.

“That—” you begin, but the words don’t come.

He beats you to it. Voice low. Rough. “That wasn’t acting.”

You swallow. “I know.”

And maybe the camera’s still rolling. Maybe the crew is watching. Maybe the whole world will see it someday.

But in that moment, none of it matters.

Because he’s looking at you like he just wrote a love story and finally realized it was real.

—•

“That was…” you trailed off as you walked deeper into your dressing room, the door shutting with a soft click behind you.

Xavier followed close behind.

“Xav—”

You stopped. Or maybe he stopped you.

He was suddenly just there—standing so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. His presence wrapped around you like gravity. Heavy. Inevitable.

Your breath hitched.

His eyes—blue, half-lidded, unreadable—searched your face. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. The air between you buzzed with the unspoken.

You swallowed hard. You knew what that kiss had meant.

You wanted it too.

But—

“Xavier…” you started again, your voice a whisper that trembled under the weight of logic. “We have to think about—what people will say. Your fans. They—”

You flinched at the memory of the last actress tangled in rumors about him. How they tore her apart in interviews, on forums, in comments filled with venom.

You weren’t afraid of love.

You were afraid of what it would cost.

But your thoughts shattered the second his fingers brushed against yours.

Barely a touch. Delicate. Testing.

But it was enough to silence the noise in your head.

You didn’t pull away.

He didn’t either.

You looked up at him, lips parted, breath uneven.

“This… Xavier…” You said his name like it meant everything and nothing at once.

His gaze dropped to your joined hands, then slowly returned to yours, steady and sure. “I know.”

The quietness of his voice made it feel more intimate than any shout.

Then, he tilted his head—just slightly—and gave you that look.

That knowing look.

Calm on the surface, but laced with something smug beneath it.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly what you wanted.

“Tell me this isn’t what you want,” he said, softly. Challenge humming just beneath his words.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

He was giving you an out.

You didn’t take it.

Instead, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

And whispered, “I can’t.”

That was all it took.

Xavier stepped closer—close enough that your back brushed against the vanity table. His hand slipped into yours, lacing his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t kiss you again.

Not yet.

He just looked at you like you were the answer to a question he hadn’t known he’d been asking until now.

And for once—you didn’t feel like running from it.

—•

The next morning, something shifted.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was there.

Xavier still held his coffee like a cryptid. You still teased him for it. He still did the nose scrunch whenever his character said something flirty.

But now, when the director called “Cut,” his hand lingered on yours just a second longer.

When the cameras stopped rolling, he’d lean in just close enough that your heart stuttered—like a secret only the two of you knew.

There were small things.

Like the way he started showing up at your trailer with your favorite snacks.

Or how he offered his coat between takes, even when you weren’t cold.

Or the way he looked at you, like the lines were blurring—on-screen and off—and maybe, he didn’t mind at all.

On the second-to-last day of shooting, the whole cast went out for drinks. Someone brought karaoke into the mix.

You weren’t sure who. Xavier didn’t sing, but he sat beside you with a soft smile as you belted out a chaotic duet with the lead supporting actor.

When you collapsed beside him, laughing, cheeks flushed and breathless, he didn’t say anything.

He just brushed your hair from your face and whispered, “You’re kind of magic, you know that?”

And you had to pretend your heart wasn’t doing somersaults.

On the last day of filming, the crew gifted everyone little wrap-up tokens.

Your gift was a photo. A still from that scene. The kiss. Golden hour melting across your faces, his forehead resting gently against yours.

You stared at it longer than you should have, fingers brushing over the glossy paper.

Xavier walked up beside you, holding his own wrapped gift. But he wasn’t looking at it.

He was looking at you.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Just… feels like something’s ending.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Not everything has to.”

You looked up. He looked nervous—Xavier, of all people.

The same man who could face fan mobs and chaotic press tours with a calm smile was now shifting from foot to foot like the floor might vanish under him.

“Do you want this to end?” he asked.

And you didn’t even hesitate.

“No.”

He let out a quiet breath of relief.

You smiled up at him. “But we’ll have to be careful.”

“I know,” he said. “We’ll take it slow. Quiet, if you want. I don’t care how long it takes. I just… I want to try. With you.”

You stepped forward, closing the small gap between you.

“And if your fans riot?” you teased, fingers brushing the hem of his sleeve.

“I’ll protect you,” he said easily. “With my coffee cup if I have to.”

You laughed, and he smiled like the sound made the whole world better.

The set was being dismantled behind you. Lights dimming, props packed away. People saying goodbyes.

But here, tucked just behind one of the now-empty sound stages, with your wrap gifts in hand and his fingers laced through yours—

It didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like a beginning.

He kissed your temple, soft and unhurried.

And you, for the first time, didn’t worry about tomorrow.

Because Xavier was warm beside you, your hands fit just right, and maybe—just maybe—this was your real-life romcom after all.